Kalanon's Rising (Agents of Kalanon Book 1)

by Smith,Darian

  Behind him, Draeson tripped on a rock and swore. Brannon quickened his step to bring himself closer to Jessamine and Taran. “How long has it been since you were here last?”

  She shrugged. “I spent a little time in Sandilar village before I came to Alapra to join the Physician’s College. I haven’t been back since.”

  “I still don’t see why we couldn’t have at least tried to get to a village and buy some horses,” Draeson complained loudly.

  Brannon ignored him.

  “A horse would really be useful about now.”

  “Oh for Blood’s sake, Draeson, shut up about the horses! You know why we’re avoiding major settlements. There are likely others like the man on the boat, waiting for us. Do you want to get attacked again? You weren’t much Hooded use the last time!”

  The others stopped walking. Brannon felt his face flush. He’d been furious about how things had gone on the boat for days.

  “Sounds like you have something to say,” Draeson said. He lifted his chin. “Spit it out.”

  Brannon looked around. The others were staring. This wasn’t the time to do this. And yet, when would there be time? “You know what? Fine. You put us all at risk with your behavior on the boat. I don’t understand how you can be four hundred years old and behave like a child!”

  Draeson blinked at him. “I saved us on the boat!”

  “No, you got us off the boat once it was already too damaged to continue. If you’d helped when I asked you to, instead of shagging random sailors like a teenager in heat, we could have saved the boat and be in Sandilar by now. You’ve let your new appearance go to your head. Grow up and stop acting like this is your second childhood!”

  Draeson’s jaw tightened. He stared into the distance for a long time, his breath loud and forceful through his nostrils. “Do you know why there are so few mages?” he said at last.

  “Because they were all as annoying as you and killed each other?” Brannon said, before he could stop himself.

  “It’s because it takes at least a hundred years to master magical energies. How many people do you think live long enough for that, Brannon?”

  Brannon frowned. “But, Ula . . . ”

  “Ula dabbles in freaks and elementals! What she does is nothing compared to true magic!” Draeson’s eyes narrowed fiercely. “I spent my entire natural lifetime studying hard and searching for a way to live long enough to achieve my dream and serve my country. I had no childhood. No youth. I sacrificed them to become what I am. And what I am keeps this country safe. You and your army boys spending their wages on whores would be overrun by Nilarians now if it wasn’t for me.”

  “You’re not the only one who fought for Kalanon,” Brannon said darkly.

  “I’m the only one who has done it for almost four hundred years! Most of which was in a very old body—decrepit, I believe you described it as. So forgive me if, when I finally get a chance to return my body to a youthful state, I’d like to enjoy it!”

  Brannon’s anger drained away. “You still have to think about your responsibilities, though, Draeson. You can’t put the rest of us at risk. Have your fun, but do it in your own time.”

  “Blood and Tears, Brannon. I’m well aware of my responsibilities, thank you very much. Nobody died. Leave it alone!”

  Brannon opened his mouth to press the point, but Ula laid her hand on his arm.

  “Draeson give up much to be powerful wizard,” she said. “Is to be understood.”

  “I’m not a wizard,” Draeson snapped. “I’m a mage. Wizards are fools with parlor tricks. What I do takes a bit more than that. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Ah. Is my mistake of words. Kalan not my language and I only dabble in freaks and elementals. Sorry, Mr. Wizard Draeson.” Ula’s face remained deadpan.

  He huffed loudly and stalked off, shaking his head.

  Brannon rubbed at the scar on his face and sighed. “He was never this much trouble during the war.”

  “Really?” Taran raised an eyebrow. “Maybe you just didn’t notice because he was older.”

  Brannon thought about it. Actually, he did remember Draeson being a cranky old man. “Huh. He was older and I was younger. You might be right. Funny how things change.”

  “We’ve got company,” Draeson called from up ahead.

  Brannon looked to see two riders coming toward them over the hilltop. He dropped his pack to the ground and drew his sword. “Stay behind me until we know it’s safe.”

  As the riders came closer, he saw they were a woman in her forties and a younger man. Both had dark hair and freckled features.

  Jessamine suddenly lurched forward and waved. “Hey! Hello!” She turned to Brannon. “It’s okay. I know them. They’re from Sandilar.”

  Brannon put his sword away but kept his hand on the hilt as the couple approached.

  “Jessamine?” the woman called. “Is that you? Don’t tell me you’re a physician already and come back to our town?”

  Jessamine shook her head. “Almost. I’ve reached apprentice level. This is my teacher, Sir Brannon Kesh. Brannon, this is Shillia Vere and her son Morgin. When I was last in Sandilar, Shillia was the mayor.”

  “I’m still the mayor,” Shillia Vere said, swinging down from her horse. “No one’s fool enough to take that job off my hands, as yet. We were headed out to check for good grazing but . . . ” She looked over Brannon and the rest of the group. “The King’s Champion. Does that mean you’re here to sort out these murders?”

  “We are,” said Brannon.

  “Well, Ahpra’s Tears, it’s about time. It’s been difficult keeping people from freaking out about the whole thing. We think we’ve found the culprit though. And I see from who you have in your group that your thoughts have been along the same lines.” She gestured to Ula.

  Brannon felt his eyes widen. “You caught someone in the act?”

  Mayor Shillia shook her head. “Not in the act, no. Unfortunately we don’t have any proof, which is why he’s not already locked up. But we’re pretty sure and, with you here, we can hold him for questioning again at least.”

  “What makes you think it’s him?”

  “Whoever it is has been using some kind of dirty Djin magic. And there’s only one dirty Djin in all of Sandilar. Until now, of course.”

  “Ula Lanok is a guest of the king,” Brannon began.

  Jessamine spoke over him. “You mean Kholi? You think Kholi Gruul the blacksmith did it? I can’t believe it!”

  “There’s no one else it could be.”

  Brannon held up his hand. “Let’s not get carried away just yet. We’ll need a bit more evidence first. We’ve had a similar murder in Alapra so, unless this Kholi has been out of town recently, he couldn’t be responsible for both.”

  “An accomplice, then.” The mayor shrugged.

  “Possibly. But I’d like to do a thorough investigation before passing judgement.”

  She shrugged again. “Fine. Morgin here has been helping keep track of things. He can let you know everything that’s happened. Let’s get you settled into rooms at the inn first though. While you do that, I’ll have Kholi Gruul picked up.”

  “Ah, let’s hold off on that too.” She frowned at him and Brannon gave his best conspiratorial smile. “We don’t want to tip our hand too soon. Let me and my team snoop around a bit first, bring us up to speed, and hopefully we’ll find something to confront him with. Better that than hold him overnight, find nothing, and look incompetent.”

  The mayor nodded. “Good plan.”

  The town of Sandilar lay in a shallow valley just east of the manor itself. The majority of buildings were made of the stone which was so prevalent in the surrounding countryside, and roofed with thatch. The roads were cobbled and well maintained. The homes had picturesque little gardens, and the main square and many of the side streets were lined with shops almost as well stocked as some of those in Alapra.

  “We get a lot of traders through here,” Mayor Shillia said. “Th
ey like Sandilar gold.” She and her son were leading their horses and walking to keep pace with the group. They’d let Jessamine and Ula ride to rest their legs. Draeson stalked a few paces away from the rest of the group.

  Brannon nodded, admiring the town. “I’m surprised you can keep it so tidy with so many miners around.”

  “Miners don’t come here.” Morgin’s voice was surprisingly low. “Not the live ones anyway.”

  His mother, perhaps sensing the group’s discomfort, hurried to explain. “Morgin is our undertaker. He can have something of a dark sense of humor.”

  “Ah.” Brannon remembered black humor as a staple of army diet. “I take it mining is a dangerous job?”

  “It can be. The mines are further back in the mountains and they have their own accommodation there. We send provisions as required, but there’s really no need for them to come to town. Many of the workers are criminals so they’re kept under guard.”

  “Are you certain none of them could be responsible for the murders?”

  “There have been no escapes and it’s much too far for them to come and go without notice.” She shook her head. “No, it’s someone local, I’m afraid. Someone in town or one of the nearby farms.”

  Brother Taran chewed his thumbnail as he walked. “So, ah, who was actually killed?”

  “Well, first it was Molly, who does all the tailoring for them at the manor. Then one of the stable boys. Then Garrath, who was apparently a distant cousin of the duke himself. A bit too distant, I’d say, judging by the name, but close enough that he got his home and a small allowance from His Grace.”

  “Did they have anything in common?”

  “Not that I could see. They’re all locals, is all. And, of course, how they were found.” She gave a delicate shudder. “Morgin can tell you about that, if you must know. It’s not something I care to remember.”

  Her son nodded, his head bobbing like a sunflower in a strong wind. “I’ve kept good records. Wrote everything down. Even copied out the symbols we found on their bodies and all around them.”

  Brannon tried not to let disappointment register on his face. “I suppose that means the original symbols aren’t still there?”

  Shillia Vere looked horrified. Morgin simply shook his head. “We cleaned everything up nice and proper. People were getting upset seeing that sort of thing.”

  “Yes, I suppose they would.” Brannon glanced up at Ula, who clung to the horse’s mane as though it were the only part of the beast she could be sure was solid. He wondered how much use Morgin’s copied symbols were going to be with no undisturbed evidence to check. He wondered how useful any of it would be. “Well, I’d like to see the sites anyway. It’d help to get an idea of where it was done.”

  “I can take you now, if you want,” Morgin said.

  “We should look at the bodies too,” Taran put in.

  “But they’ve been buried,” said Morgin.

  “Oh.”

  Mayor Shillia gave Taran a sideways look. “It’s a strange group you’ve brought us, Sir Champion. I hope they can help you find some answers.” She gestured to the building up ahead. “This is the inn. Dargin Knox and his family will take good care of you while you stay.”

  The inn was one of the larger buildings in town, three stories high with painted wooden shutters. A stable to one side cornered off a courtyard, and a wide, colorful sign proclaimed it to be the Knox Inn & Tavern.

  “Blood and Tears,” said Jessamine as she swung down off the horse and unstrapped her pack. “I’m so glad to be having a proper bed and decent food tonight. You’ve no idea!”

  “Um, if you feel anything like how I feel right now,” said Taran, “then I have a very good idea.”

  A young woman greeted them at the door. She had auburn hair and warm eyes. She spoke with the mayor for a few moments, then invited them all inside. The main tavern room had a stone floor, long wooden tables, and a roaring fire over which a huge pot simmered, wafting a delicious aroma throughout the room. On the walls were pieces of mining equipment, hung like art. Broken pickaxes, blunt chisels, toothless cogs, and hole-poked buckets, reminding patrons where the wealth of the region came from.

  “Leave your things here if you like,” the woman said. “We’ll bring them up to your rooms later. I can draw baths for you to relax in and we can see to food and drink before you settle in.”

  Morgin took a few steps forward and raised a hand as though to catch her attention. “Hi Karia. This is the King’s Champion, Sir Brannon Kesh. I’m helping him with the murder investigation.”

  She spared him a half-glance. “Good for you, Morgin. If you see Caidin around, can you let him know I’ll be a bit later than expected? I’ll need to see to supper for these fine folks.” Her smile increased several notches when she turned back to the guests. “Now, if you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your rooms.”

  “Actually, I think maybe we should do a little investigating before we get too settled,” Brannon said. He was thinking of the mayor’s attitude. She was ready to convict her suspect on circumstantial evidence at best. If that was the view of the woman in charge, chances were that the general populace were even less patient. “I’d like people to know that we’re here and we’re doing something.”

  Draeson shrugged. “Do what you like. I need a drink.”

  Brannon felt his jaw clench. “Fine. Morgin, if you’re still available to show me the murder sites, I’d appreciate it. The rest of you can come or not as you please.”

  Ula came with him, but Jessamine and Taran both pled exhaustion and stayed at the inn with Draeson. “Young people not always know when to put important things ahead of their own needs,” the Djin woman said as they made their way out of the inn.

  “What’s Draeson’s excuse?” Brannon muttered.

  Morgin led them just a short way from the inn, then down a side street to the door of what was essentially a cottage with a shopfront built onto it. His mother had made her apologies and gone about her business. Morgin seemed to stand a little taller as he pulled out the key to the cottage.

  “This is Molly’s place. Mother and I have kept it locked up since.”

  Inside, bolts of cloth were stacked on benches up against the walls. A handful of dressmaker’s models were scattered around, some with half-made clothes attached. When he looked closely, Brannon realized that many of the fabrics were stained with blood.

  “This is where you found her?”

  Morgin nodded. “In the middle of the floor, there. Like she’d been laid out specially. She had the symbols on her and they were all over the floor and walls too.” He pulled out a small notebook and opened it to show them. “These ones.”

  Brannon glanced at the page and tried to picture the symbols in the room. Probably in blood or paint as they had been with Keldan. He passed the book to Ula. “Are they the same?”

  She nodded, her lips pressed together.

  “She was pregnant,” Morgin said. “I don’t think anyone knew about it, but you find stuff out as an undertaker. Her husband’s been dead for years so . . . ” He reminded Brannon a little of Jessamine in his eagerness.

  “Any idea who the father was?”

  He shook his head.

  Brannon sighed. At this rate, the Djin connection really was the only lead. “So, what’s the story with this blacksmith?”

  Morgin shrugged. “He met Alena when she was a soldier in the war. Apparently he was one of the scary ones that would wander around with dead servants and stuff, spying on us. A total freak.” He blinked as though realizing Ula was in the room. “Sorry.”

  She shook her head. “Is true we send some shamans out to watch. More when countries fight. We like to know what happens in the world.”

  Morgin took a half step back. “Anyway, he gave up all that stuff to marry Alena. He came back here and set up the smithy. We haven’t had any trouble from him until now. I guess he just couldn’t leave the dead alone and decided to make some.”

  Bra
nnon looked around the abandoned shop. “Well, somebody did. And they haven’t stopped yet.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Draeson swirled the last of his drink around the bottom of the glass as he watched the normals in the tavern. There weren’t many of them. It seemed the local murders had put people off their drinks. For midweek at least. Soon they’d be back, he had no doubt of it.

  He threw back the last of his drink and swallowed.

  “Shall I get you another?” Karia Knox was running a cloth over the wooden tabletop.

  Draeson looked her over. “Perhaps something different,” he said, laying his hand over hers. “What would you suggest?”

  Karia pulled away but softened the gesture with a smile and a wink. “I’d suggest finding someone else to flirt with. You’re definitely a looker, but I’m an engaged woman. If you like, though, I can take a drink to the target of your choice.”

  He sighed. “Never mind. It’s probably time I went and unpacked anyway.”

  Taran and Jessamine had gone up to their rooms already. Brannon and Ula had yet to return. No doubt he would be in for a lecture on his absence when they did.

  Everything was always a drama for regular people. They were always so shocked when the obvious happened. He found it irritating and moronic, but also, just a little bit, he was envious. For them, the developments of life were new and exciting. Very little seemed that way to him these days.

  He pushed the empty glass toward Karia and stood up.

  “I’m sure your friends will be back soon,” she said.

  “No doubt. Time flies and all that.”

  “Every year goes by faster than the last, they say.”

  Draeson watched her walk away. “That it does,” he said to no one in particular. “That it certainly does.”

  He made his way upstairs, letting the sounds and smells of the tavern room fall away behind him. The upper levels of the inn were surprisingly well-furnished for an establishment in a town this size—another sign of the wealth of the area. Draeson remembered when the gold mines were first discovered here. It had been the work of decades to get them running and providing a profit for the Crown. And it had taken much longer to hammer into the psyche of the kings of Kalanon that only the most trusted of allies should be allowed to ever see what was in Sandilar, let alone have any control over it.