When the allotted time passed, she went to the café and just like her brother, she ordered a carafe of something hot to drink, and something warm and freshly baked to eat. As she placed her order, Malwynn slipped the last cookie into a pocket in his robe, and polished off his cup of tea. He made sure to slip out of the shop before the help could see the family resemblance. Malwynn assumed his sister's role immediately, dreamily wandering the same businesses as she, looking for that one item that could quench his retail thirst. Of course, there was nothing he wanted, but the reasonably friendly shopkeepers looking to free him from his Crowns sought to find something to fulfill that need. He smiled, and thanked them kindly, and moved on.
That day ended with nothing sighted. The twins made their separate ways back up the lift to the High City, and then to Sorber Manor. Fortunately, the man who had caught sight of them in the Low City wasn't able to relate their ultimate destination. Deflated, he returned to his master with news that their prey had been sighted.
"We must proceed with some caution," Omniri said somberly to his gathered servants. The necromancer sat in a large room carved out of the deep stone of the mountain, seated far in the back of his fortress-like home. They were gathered on a raised portion of room nearest to the city street that overlooked the massive torch lit room, and the geometrically arranged pillars of stone supporting the ceiling. Omniri was not the opposing physical presence Dram was. He was short, and far squatter, and his head wasn't obscured by the hood of his dark purple robe. His hair was thin, black and wispy like curls of ebony smoke. They clung to the pasty flesh on his white skull like seaweed left on a cold, wet beach. His eyes were the source of his power. They were dark, and intense, radiating a piercing quality that would make most men look away when challenged by them.
Omniri's apprentice, Makar, agreed with his mentor, "Indeed. Anyone capable of killing Ivar must certainly be dangerous." Makar resembled his patron in many ways, save the eyes. Makar's eyes were a forgettable brown, sunken deep in his skull, and almost hidden away like a lost pair of unwashed gems.
Three warriors wearing supremely crafted chain mail stood aside as the two spell wielders discussed the affairs of late. Their skin was clean, not dirty and sweaty like many other warriors of Elmoryn. A soldier's weapons are always cleaner than his body, but protecting Omniri afforded these men the time to maintain both. The trio was each armed with daggers, short swords, and hand axes hanging off of belts menacingly. They stood with competent ease, ready for action even in the depths of their safest refuge.
"I am worried less about the two who landed Ivar's deathblows, and more about who motivated them, and why. It is safe to assume Ivar had his share of enemies here in the Empire, but who do these two serve? And why would killing Brodull be necessary now? I fear in killing Ivar's murderers we reveal a secret we are unaware others are in search of." Omniri's dark eyes roamed the depths of the dim cavern he called home. The flickering light of the torches played on the hundreds of shadows in the room, comforting him where others would fear.
"Lord Decadra if it pleases you I can confront these two and dig deeper into their motives. I am certain of my ability to get them to talk."
Omniri considered his gifted apprentice and nodded ,"You are a skilled spell caster Makar. You also are wise, and can represent both myself and the Queen admirably. Dig into Ivar's recent activities as well. We have been woefully out of touch this winter, and I am at a loss for what he might have been filling his time with. Then seek out these two and ask them who they serve, and what their ideals are. If they refuse to answer, then we are left with dwindling options."
Makar nodded, a sinister smile already playing across his face. He beckoned for the three warriors to follow, and they all left the massive room in the heart of Omniri's lair. The Lord High Inquisitor sat alone, gazing out into the room where he kept his legion of armed and armored undead, a hundred strong. Shoulder to shoulder they filled the hall, waiting for his command to go to war against those who would threaten their master.
Omniri smiled. He loved to play games.
The following morning Malwynn was already in the bakery, seated and awaiting the day's first batch of savory treats. They'd brought him his tea already, and he sipped a cup of the warm, sweet drink as he inhaled the delicate aromas of expensive and frivolous delicacies. The windows of the café were fogged up from the heat of ovens churning in the back of the café kissing the glass against the cool air of the late winter morning outside. As the warmth of the sun took the bitter chill out of the dawn the fog died away, and the heat of the ovens claimed a victory in the name of comfort.
Malwynn felt almost relaxed for the first time in days as the owner's teenage daughter brought out another silver platter of treats.
"Sir, we brought you a few extra. Our way of apologizing for the wait," she said with a curtsy and an apologetic smile.
Malwynn thought she was cute, and felt a small rumbling where he hadn't in a very long time, "Oh it's quite alright. The tea has kept my stomach company admirably, though I won't refuse your generous natures. Thank you."
"Our pleasure sir," she said with a more genuine smile before spiriting away behind the counter. She'd be baking the rest of the day.
He daydreamed what mundane activities would be in store for her in the rest of her day, and her life. Malwynn wondered as he watched her disappear how the rest of his life would play out. Would he survive this single minded mission of vengeance in Graben? Would he survive even this very day to see another? He thought of his lost fiancé to-be, the woman he didn't even find the chance to propose to, Marissa. He thought of the curl of her hair, the smell of her summer sweat, the dimples she tried desperately to hide when he had her laughing. He shook his head and steeled his mind. Such wistful thoughts were dangerous at a time like this.
Malwynn continued to read his book on the art of necromancy as the shop bustled around him. Customers, most of whom were garbed in fine clothing and clearly noble elite made their purchases and left, but some took a seat in the café to enjoy their delight and the comings and goings of other elite socialites. After a half hour of unremarkable reading and observation of all the passengers of the Graben lift down the way, Malwynn's mind and eyes caught on to a café customer that had been sitting at a small table the same as he, though on the other side of the restaurant. Malwynn had seen dark brown eyes peering in his general direction and when he looked up to meet their gaze, the man had looked away already.
He was short, and had clearly eaten well in his life. He had soft hands, and wiry black hair that hung limply. He was dressed in finery edged in purple, denoting that he held some form of official office, though not one of high rank. Malwynn, were he interested in showing off his status as Dram's aide might wear something similar. The man sat innocently drinking from a white cup as Malwynn watched him intently. For no good reason, Malwynn felt powerful in the moment, like he'd caught the enemy fox in his steel trap.
The man looked up and Malwynn grabbed his gaze. Once the two men were aware of each other'spresence, the man with the stringy hair smiled deviously, and stood slowly. He gathered his carafe and cup, and walked over to the table Malwynn sat at. Mal's sword hand dipped below the table to the dagger his sister forged and rested on its hilt. He wondered if it would slice up this man as well as it ended Ivar's life.
The man with the bad hair spoke first, "Sir, I can't help but notice you've given me a bit of an eye. It seems rude to gaze so brazenly at an Empire official. Might I inquire what your interest in me is?" The man asked politely.
Malwynn took stock of him and instantly knew he was not a warrior. His posture, stance, and eyes were all off. If he wanted to, Mal knew he could piston the dagger into his gut before he had time to move out of the way, and somehow, that knowledge helped. What stopped him from doing that was the unknown quantity of what other skills the man might be able to bring to bear should a dagger to the midsection prove to be not fatal fast enough.
"I apologize good
sir. You've been sitting here in the café for some time now, and I've noticed your eye upon me as well. I was starting to think you had some kind of interest in me that was of a strange, possibly romantic nature," Malwynn said boldly.
The man's eyebrows furrowed down, clearly insulted by Mal's taunt, "You realize you insult an Inquisitor's Aide? I could have you locked up for a month for such a comment."
"What Inquisitor do you serve?" Mal asked, happy that the man took his bait. Anger was an ingredient in the recipe for bad decisions.
"I serve Lord High Inquisitor Omniri Decadra, I'll have you know. He only an arm's length from the Queen at any moment. What gives you such disrespect of the Throne to say such things to me?" The man's tone was rising, and other customers of the café were starting to back away from the unfolding scene.
Mal had all he needed to know now. This was Omniri's apprentice, he was sure of it. Malwynn smiled disarmingly, "My name is Malwynn. Clearly we're gotten off on the wrong foot here. Have a seat, and please share with me this tray of sweets. I can't eat them all and stay fit as well."
The apprentice's fury suddenly diminished as he surveyed the handful of cookies and pastries still on the silver platter. Malwynn gestured diplomatically at the other chair at the small table, and the man moved around to sit in it. Once seated Malwynn pushed the tray forward, and inclined his head, offering them to the spell caster.
"My name is Makar," the man said just before nibbling the edge of a fig filled pastry. He went from the nibble to a full bite after deciding it was delicious.
"And I suspect you already knew my name was Malwynn," Mal said with a wry grin. He gently closed the old necromantic tome and picked up his cup of tea. His sword hand still sat near his lap, only a few inches from the hilt of his dagger.
Makar nodded, "My Lord has been looking for you. He has many questions to ask you."
"And yet he sent you to ask them? How curious. He must be intensely confident in your ability to see important things through."
Makar couldn't decipher the true message of Malwynn's statement. Was it insult, or compliment? Makar pressed on, "I have served my Lord admirably for many years. He understands fully what I am capable of."
Mal nodded, "But does he understand fully what I am capable of? I guess that's why you're here, eh?" Mal sipped his hot tea again.
Makar nodded, washing down his pastry with a mouthful of his own drink, "There are bigger questions in play Malwynn."
"Ask away then," Mal offered.
"Why kill Ivar Brodull?" Makar asked.
Malwynn opted for honesty, "He had wronged my family once too many times. A man like Ivar does not live as long as he had without accumulating many enemies. It was a question of how long it took for him to collect enough of the wrong kind of enemies for his life to become forfeit."
"You did this alone? You serve no master?" Makar asked.
Malwynn shook his head and took a small bite of a cookie before answering, "Anyone I would have done this for would be quite capable of removing Ivar from this world on their own. I did what I did for personal reasons."
Makar seemed to agree with Malwynn's statement, "You realize that my Lord was the necromancer responsible for bringing Ivar into his state of undeath? He was put out considerably when Ivar was killed. Compensation is in order."
"Monetary compensation you mean?" Mal asked, suddenly curious as to where this conversation could go.
"Possibly. Omniri might require that you repay his loss in service, or in a Queen's Dungeon. This sort of behavior isn't acceptable. Justice must be served Malwynn."
"I couldn't agree with you more."
Makar looked at Malwynn, clearly taking stock of him, "Then we are agreed. You should surrender yourself to Omniri immediately. Along with your female accomplice."
Mal was unhappy that this Makar character knew about his sister, but he squashed his emotion about it. It was to be expected. He leaned in and whispered forcefully to the necromancer across the table, "I didn't say that in the least Makar. I will offer you this; meet me here in two days at high noon, and I'll be more than happy to speak with your Lord. I will say this though: your Lord, as powerful as he is, does not scare me, and nor do you. I am beyond fear Makar. I am a man that has already lost everything, and has nothing else to lose. If you choose to pursue this in a manner of violence, I will see to it that all those sent my way with harm on their mind will meet an end that does not make your master happy. Ivar was not the first to fall to me, and he won't be the last. You make sure you take good care that your master doesn't become the next person who crosses me and ends up dead. Fully dead."
Makar' eyes blazed with hatred, though he said nothing in anger in return. After draining his last sip of tea he stood up, and started to walk out. He stopped and turned before getting out of earshot, "Two days from today, at high noon we shall meet again Malwynn. We will see how your fears stack up on that day."
Mal tipped his head in acknowledgment and Makar left.
He hoped he hadn't said too much.
"Was he alone?" Mal asked Umaryn in Dram's dining hall later that night. Dram sat at a nearby chair, listening in and calculating the situation carefully. The mood of the room was tense.
"I watched through the window as you talked with him. He left the café, and went directly to the lift. I moved to another shop after maybe fifteen minutes, and watched again there for another half hour, but no one moved about in a suspicious way," she answered, unsure of whether or not she'd done the right thing or not.
Dram caught on to her feelings, "It is good you did not attempt to come to your brother's aid. If you had, and Makar had brought along more of Omniri's sycophants, then you would've tipped your hand. As of now they still do not know what you look like, or what your relationship is to Malwynn."
She nodded, feeling a bit better, "I still wish I'd followed him and smashed his skull apart. I mean, if that was Omniri's apprentice, and he was alone, separated from those three bodyguards you speak of, then we missed an opportunity today."
Dram shrugged, "It is very unlikely an attack like that would’ve been successful. Makar is powerful in his own right, and I find it hard to believe that he would have left the protection of the guards behind. He is not foolish. There also would've been the matter of attacking a purple garbed official in open daylight. Your arrest would’ve been immediate."
Umaryn sighed.
"So we have two days to plan this meeting. I'm definitely open to suggestions," Mal said.
"We most certainly do not have two days," Dram countered.
"What? Why do you say that?" Mal asked, a little lost.
"Omniri will have spoken to Makar by now. That they are not knocking at the gate of my garden as we speak means that they have not connected you to me, which is a good thing, but I guarantee you they will not allow us two days to plan their demise. They will strike at you at the next opportunity."
"Why do you say that?" Umaryn asked.
"Because that's what I would do. Your conversation will enrage Omniri. You practically spat in his face Malwynn. You are a threat, clearly a capable one, and to let that threat potentially grow in power without taking direct action immediately is foolhardy. Omniri risks little to no reprisal from anyone here in Graben if you're found dead, especially in the wake of your confession to Ivar's death. The only thing he risks is the deaths of his servants, which I am sure he does not do so lightly, but in all honesty, they are simply means to an end. Tools to break, as it were."
"I don't care for that comparison Dram," Umaryn said.
"I'm sorry my little Artificer. I hope you see through to my meaning."
The twins nodded in unison.
"So we leave the manor here and wander around until they attack us? Like worms on a damned hook." Mal cursed.
"You say that as if we still do not have nearly all the advantages Malwynn. You are still unknown to them, an undefined and powerful threat. So is your sister. We also know that they are coming for us, an
d we know, to a certain extent, when they will come for us. We also have the ability to control where they come for us. Things are well in our control."
"They sure feel like they are out of our control," Umaryn said.
Only a few thousand feet away in a home built into the cliff face, Makar sat at a table not dissimilar to Dram's, telling his master all of what had happened in the café between he and Malwynn. Omniri was not pleased with the exchange Makar described. Insolence was not an attitude Inquisitors suffered, and the fact that this Malwynn person appeared omnipotent, even to a Lord Inquisitor's aide infuriated Omniri. A challenge to Makar was a challenge to Omniri.
"He was also reading a very esoteric book on The Way my Lord. A tome of Necromancy. One I've seen in your personal library. It is not a book for those casually studying The Way. It is certain he has at least some skill in our arts." Makar was positive of his assertion.
Omniri considered the information, "That would explain some of how the two were so able to defeat Ivar. As a Wight he would be susceptible to many of our spells."
"Indeed sir. And it would seem that this Malwynn person had hired Ivar to teach him swordplay."
"Devious. Lure your target out into a private place and strike him down. I should think that if we don't kill these two, we should hire them," Omniri said.
"I would be more comfortable with them as your undead slaves my Lord," Makar said.
Omniri's bright black eyes gleamed in the candlelight as inspiration struck him, "I wonder how capable they are of defeating a living opponent? If they’ve relied heavily on The Way to do what they’ve done so far, I think they'll be unpleasantly surprised when confronted with living, breathing, lethal opponents."
The Wrath of the Orphans (The Kinless Trilogy Book 1) Page 23