Kalanon's Rising (Agents of Kalanon Book 1)

by Smith,Darian

  The kings and queens of Kalanon could be a thickheaded bunch. This latest one was no exception. Draeson had no objection to being part of the investigative team for these murders, but he had berated himself since leaving Alapra for not having insisted that their deal be taken care of first.

  As he reached the landing, he heard a scuffle up ahead. Then a scream. He ran into the hallway, listening intently to try to identify the room the sounds had come from. “Jessamine? Is that you?”

  “Help!”

  He shot toward the sound of her voice and almost collided with her as she stepped out from one of the rooms.

  Jessamine was disheveled, some of her hair had pulled loose from her ponytail, but she seemed unharmed. “Did you see him? Where did he go?”

  “Who?” Draeson peered past her. The room was a mess. The contents of Jessamine’s pack and Ula’s bag were strewn across the floor. “What happened?”

  “I found someone going through our stuff. I think he took something.”

  Draeson swore. “Yet another drama. Well, he can’t have gone far. Come on.”

  A few steps down the hallway, a door was open on another room. Inside, the window was open.

  “Ahpra’s Tears,” Jessamine said. “Do you think he jumped?”

  Draeson stuck his head out the window. There was a garden below with soft, springy ground cover. It would have made a gentle landing. “If he did, he’s long gone now. Did you recognize him?”

  “No.” She hung her head. “It happened so fast, I barely saw his face.”

  Draeson sighed. “No matter. Go back and see what was taken. I’ll ward the rooms so it doesn’t happen again.”

  Jessamine went back to the room she was sharing with Ula, and Draeson stepped back into the hallway. He pulled up his shirt to check the dragon tattoo. It was curled into a sleeping ball, just above his right hip. He knew it was his imagination, but he could almost have sworn the colors were a little lighter.

  He let the shirt drop and focused on each of their room doors one by one. Slowly, he pushed power into them, shaping it into an image and a warning. The wood groaned at the impact, but held strong, and eventually he was able to tie off the flow of magic.

  “Wow.” Jessamine looked at his work with wide eyes. The lower half of each door was now painted with the image of a large dog. Each one appeared slightly different to the others in color or breed. They all turned toward Jessamine and sniffed. Seemingly satisfied, they sat still. “What are those?”

  “Wards.” Draeson said, suddenly tired. “They’ll let us know if anyone they don’t recognize tries to get into our rooms.”

  “Impressive.” Her eyes flicked from the shifting images of the dogs to Draeson and back again. “Is that what your dragon tattoo is, then? A ward of some sort, like these?”

  Draeson couldn’t help a bark of laughter and the dogs looked at him, startled. “No. No, my dragon tattoo is nothing like my ward-dogs.”

  “Then what—?”

  He cut her off. “Did you figure out what was taken?”

  “Not really. He must have been after money but there wasn’t any in my bag. I think maybe he got some of Ula’s stuff. We’ll have to wait for her to get back and check to know for sure. What do you think we should do now?”

  He shrugged and opened the door to his own room. “I’m going to get some sleep and then solve some murders in the morning. You might want to run along and ask Brannon first, though, since you’re his apprentice.”

  And, he added silently to himself as he closed the door behind him, when we get back to Alapra I’m going to pin that brat king to the wall and make sure he personally satisfies the terms of the deal.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Moonlight made sleeping sheep almost indistinguishable from the rocks that dotted most of the pasture around Sandilar. In the distance, the larger shapes of buildings huddled together in the dark. The wind blew cool and sharp, shifting the small grove of trees so their branches seemed to be reaching out, ready to grasp passersby. The creaking sound of their movement carried in the otherwise silent night.

  They stood, two figures between the trees and the flock of sheep, unnoticed by the town.

  “Are you sure this will work?” he asked, shifting his feet.

  “I think so,” a female voice answered. She held up a small leather bag. “We have what we need now. The missing ingredients that Kholi Gruul never revealed.”

  “And you’re sure we don’t need a fresh dead body for this?” He gestured back toward town. “I can do it, you know. I’m getting good at it. I have just the man in mind.”

  She smiled, her teeth gleaming in the moonlight. “I’m sure you do, but no, we need to stick to the plan. If you start deviating from our intended targets you’ll mess everything up.”

  “That’s easy for you to say. Everybody loves you.”

  “Not everybody.” She reached out and stroked his cheek. “Don’t worry. After this, nobody will be able to ignore you. Not even your father. You’ll be the most important person in this town.”

  The smile bubbled up from within him to burst across his face. “You really think so?”

  She pulled a small clay pot out of the bag and dipped her fingers into the contents. “I know so. Now hold still. We want to do this right.”

  The paste felt cold and wet as she traced the symbols onto his skin. When she was done, she took four new pots and placed them around them like corners of a square. Then she took what looked like straw out of the bag and set it on fire. The light flared like a warning beacon and one of the sheep gave a sleepy bleat, then it burned out and she rubbed the ash onto his skin.

  “You’re sure about this?” he said, hating how quiet and unstable his voice was.

  She spat into her hand and rubbed that onto the ash. “I’m sure. Now hold on.”

  The wind felt suddenly stronger, and warmer. It was like a thousand mouths blowing hot breath over his entire body. “Blood and Tears and Hooded Wolf. What is that?”

  She laughed and he could barely hear it over the rushing in his ears. “Here it comes!”

  His skin burned and rippled, sensation burrowing into his body from every pore. There was a howling in his ears and in his mind, driving away all thoughts.

  The entire flock of sheep awoke, bleating in terror, and scattered like leaves in the wind.

  Deep inside him thrummed the beat of an enormous drum. For a moment, he thought perhaps they had miscalculated. Perhaps he had died. Then breath rushed into his lungs again and his eyes opened for the first time. Light poured over the landscape like magnificent golden oil. He could see everything. The veins on the leaves in the trees, the fibers of wool on the fleeing sheep, the flecks of darker blue in his companion’s eyes and the eagerness in her face.

  “It worked, didn’t it?” she whispered. “How do you feel?”

  He smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

  “I feel strong.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  “I seriously doubt there’s a wolf.” Caidin gripped the pitchfork tightly and quickened his steps across the grass. The moon had clouded over and the night was cooling fast, but thoughts of his ultimate destination that evening kept him warm. Karia would be waiting for him back at the inn. By now the latest guests would be well-settled into their beds and he could join her in hers.

  “Well, something spooked the sheep,” Malvon said. He held the lantern high. “I lost five to wolves last year. They’re getting bolder.”

  “That was in winter. Why would they risk coming close to town this time of year? There’s plenty for them to hunt closer to the mountain.”

  “I don’t know.” Malvon hugged himself nervously. “But what else would terrify the whole flock in the middle of the night? Unless it’s that murdering lunatic.”

  Caidin snorted. “Yeah right, he gave up on stabbing people and decided to take up sheep buggery instead.”

  “You sure you can handle the competition?”

  “Shut up.”
>
  Malvon laughed.

  Caidin grabbed his arm, bringing them to a sudden stop. “Seriously. Be quiet. I think there’s something out there.”

  Malvon’s laugh vanished like a snuffed candle flame. Both men scanned the darkness. “What is it?”

  The wind picked up, carrying with it the sounds of restless sheep huddled together in the corner of the paddock. Caidin turned slowly, straining his ears. There, in the distance, a faint squeal.

  “Over there.”

  As they moved closer, the sound came again, and this time there was a scuffling noise.

  Malvon unshielded a little more of the lantern and the light revealed a single ewe on the ground. Its eyes were wild and its front feet scrabbled on the ground, trying to get away. Its wool was dark with blood and its back legs were gone entirely, ripped away like the heel of a loaf of bread.

  “Hooded Blood!” Malvon dropped to his knees beside the animal, which pulled back from him even as he did so. “Bloody wolves didn’t even finish the job, let alone eat.”

  Caidin laid his pitchfork down and took the knife from his belt. “It’s your sheep. Want me to finish it?”

  His friend nodded. “You’re the butcher. Do it quick.”

  When the animal’s suffering was finished, Caidin sat back on his heels. “That’s definitely not a wolf,” he said. He pointed to the wounds. “The flesh is torn, but not bitten. There are no bite marks anywhere.”

  “Then what?”

  Caidin shrugged. The night felt darker, ominous. “Let’s go back. We can look for tracks in the morning when it’s light.”

  Malvon looked around. “Yeah, that’d be best.”

  The trip back felt painfully slow, despite their long-strided pace being just shy of a jog. Caidin felt the eyes of the mutilated sheep watching him. He’d butchered many animals and none had been so afraid. His stomach was knotted with the same fear now. Something had been strong enough to pull the legs off a sheep like a vindictive child with an insect.

  “What could do that?” Malvon’s voice was slightly breathless.

  Caidin hesitated. “I . . . maybe we were wrong. Maybe it was a wolf after all. It’s hard to see in the dark.”

  “No, you were right. There were no teeth marks.”

  “Yeah.”

  Malvon’s home was on the edge of town. “You want to stay here tonight? Get an early start tracking in the morning?”

  The stone walls looked very inviting, but the clustered buildings of the town beyond held more appeal. Caidin shook his head. “No. Karia’s expecting me.”

  Malvon chuckled. “Fair enough.”

  Caidin felt the tension drain from his body as he walked deeper into town. The streets were always so peaceful at night. Despite the recent murders, he felt secure here. The familiar buildings were like guardians against the night. No wild animal—wolf or otherwise—would risk venturing so far into human territory.

  He used his pitchfork like a walking staff as he rounded the corner leading to the inn. As he approached, he frowned. The large swinging sign saying “Knox Inn and Tavern” was gone. The post and crossbar from which it usually hung was there, but the sign itself lay on the ground.

  He moved closer. The metal rings that attached the sign to the crossbar were buckled and broken. The night felt suddenly colder. Something had pulled the sign down with impossible brute force. His breath caught in his chest and he backed away.

  A figure stepped out of the shadows.

  Caidin felt as if fire surged through him, then flowed away as light caught the familiar face. “Blood and Tears.” Relief bubbled up as laughter. “You gave me such a fright. Do you know what happened to the sign?”

  “Yes.” The man stepped closer and reached out toward him. “Me.”

  The hand closed around Caidin’s throat.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Brannon awoke from disturbing dreams to an insistent pounding on the door of his room. A moment later the sound of dogs barking dragged him out of bed.

  “Who is it?” He thrust his feet into the legs of his pants.

  “Shillia Vere,” a voice said. “Meet me downstairs. I want you to see what your delaying has done.”

  The barking stopped.

  Brannon sat on the bed and swore. Last night’s exploration of the crime scenes had turned up very little in the way of useful evidence. The mayor’s well-intentioned cleanup had destroyed any subtle clues. He’d stayed up late pouring over Morgin’s notebook, trying to glean what he could, but despite the young man’s faithful sketches and careful notes, all he’d succeeded in doing was feeding his nightmares and imagination. Morgin could only record what he’d thought relevant of what he could see. It was no substitute for seeing the scene firsthand.

  Downstairs, the dining room of the inn felt hollow without any customers. The innkeeper and his family huddled together around a table in the far corner and did not look up. Karia, the girl who’d served them last night, was crying. Shillia Vere stood in the middle of the room with her hands on her hips.

  “Now we have another crime scene to show you,” she said.

  Brannon’s stomach felt as though he’d swallowed lead pellets. “Someone else was attacked last night?”

  “Follow me.”

  Dawn had barely broken and the cobbles of the courtyard were still damp with early dew. The town was yet to fully wake to the new day. In Alapra, the smell of new-baked bread and last night’s chamber pots would be roiling out from every corner. Here, there was just the crispness of a country morning and the faint scent of the stables.

  The fleeting peace of it was quickly burned away as the mayor gestured to the signpost at the front of the tavern. For a moment, his mind would not register what he was seeing. It was part of the signpost. It was a shadow. It was an effigy. Then it clicked into sharp focus: It was a man.

  Limp feet dangled two or three handspans above the ground, a pool of blood beneath them, staining the cobblestones. The back of his skull was impaled on the crossbar and the blood made his blond hair red. His eyes were wide in shock.

  “Blood and Tears.” Brannon felt himself flood with sadness. After all they’d gone through in the war, how could people do this to each other? “Who was he?”

  Mayor Shillia’s voice was clipped. “Caidin Ray. The fiancé of Karia, the innkeeper’s daughter crying inside.”

  Brannon nodded. “I remember her.”

  Shillia’s eyes narrowed. “This wouldn’t have happened if we’d had Kholi Gruul in custody last night, like I wanted.”

  He sighed. “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “You wanna tell that to Karia?”

  Brannon met her eyes. “Please bring the rest of my team here. We need to get to work.”

  While he waited, Brannon examined the scene. The sign had been torn down to make way for the victim. Caidin Ray had been hung very deliberately in its place. This was a message of some kind. Like enemy troops putting the heads of fallen soldiers on their walls. This was personal.

  He stepped back and looked at the Knox family inn. There seemed nothing out of the ordinary about them so far. Was the message for someone in the family? Or, and his chest felt heavy at the thought, was it a message for the investigators who had just arrived in town?

  The door opened and the rest of the team followed Shillia out into the courtyard.

  “That’s different,” Draeson said.

  Jessamine paled and her lips were tight. “It’s horrible.”

  “There’s bruising on his throat,” Draeson said, peering closer. “It looks like finger marks. None of the Djin symbols though.”

  “Exactly,” Brannon said.

  “Maybe it wasn’t done by the same person as the other murders?” Taran said.

  Brannon shot a glance at Ula. “It takes a lot of strength to drive a skull onto a spike like that. Especially a living, strong man lifted up off the ground.”

  Ula looked away.

  “We all saw how strong Keldan was when
he attacked his father in the crypt. He picked him up one-handed.” Brannon nodded toward the body of Caidin Ray. “This man was picked up with one hand around his throat and rammed onto the spike. Could a Risen have done this?”

  Ula stared at the ground.

  “Ula?”

  She looked up, her eyes dark. “Risen very strong. If the body is fresh, then, yes, very strong.”

  “Ahpra’s Tears,” Jessamine breathed. “They’ve done it. Whoever it is, they’ve been trying to raise a dead slave and they’ve finally succeeded.”

  Brannon reached out and squeezed her shoulder for support. His own chest felt very tight. “It looks that way,” he said. “Which means there’s likely evidence somewhere else in town of the actual raising ceremony itself. There’s also the question of what they did with the Risen once they had it. Why use it to kill Caidin? They could have killed him at any time before—they’ve killed plenty of others. Why him now?”

  Mayor Shillia turned so that her back was to the corpse. “Why does this lunatic do anything? He’s mad and evil.”

  Brannon shook his head. “No, there’s a reason. No one goes to this much trouble without a reason. This has been a lot of effort for someone. If we could figure out why, we’d have a better chance of finding who. Did Caidin have any enemies? Anyone he didn’t get along with?”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of. Nor did the other victims. They were just innocent people.”

  “They may have been practice runs for Caidin.”

  “Or whoever it is lost control of the Risen and Caidin was just in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Jessamine said.

  Brannon frowned at her. “Let’s not make that kind of assumption, just yet. Whoever this is has been very clever and controlled up to now. There’s no need to frighten people more than necessary.”