Her Knight's Quest: A Warriors of the Mist Novel

by Alexis Morgan

  “I don’t know yet. One minute we were—”

  He stopped right there and tried again. “I was trying to get Merewen to rest for a while. She was up all night treating the wounded. One second she was fine, and then she was screaming and holding her head.”

  He held her close, wishing he could do more. “Merewen, you need to tell us what happened.”

  “It’s the horses.” Her answer came out in short gulps, the tears still pouring down her face. “They screamed in pain. I don’t know how many, but they’re dead. All dead.”

  Gideon’s stomach plummeted, his fears confirmed. “Can you tell me where? We need to see what has happened.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  When she tried to stand up, he supported her until she regained her balance. He wanted her to stay right where she was, safe within the walls of the keep, but he knew better than to try to stop her from going. The horses were her life’s work, the wealth of her clan.

  “Kane, saddle our horses. We’ll join you shortly. I’ll want you to come with us. Averel, you stay here. Post extra guards. I’ll send Scim aloft to scout ahead for us. This could be a distraction to draw us out before another attack.”

  The young warrior took off at a run. Kane lingered long enough to pat Merewen on the shoulder, offering his own bit of rough comfort.

  When Gideon was sure Merewen could stand on her own, he strapped on his sword. Then he offered her his arm for support as they hurried down the steps to the great hall below. He caught the attention of one of the servants.

  “Tell Lady Alina that Lady Merewen, Lord Kane, and I have business to attend to out on the plains. I’m not sure when we’ll return. After you speak to her, tell the cook that we’ll be gone and not to hold the evening meal.”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  Good to his word, Kane was waiting out near the gate with the horses saddled and ready. After giving Merewen a boost up onto her mare, Gideon mounted Kestrel. Kane led the way out of the gate on Rogue, who was Gideon’s stallion’s rival for the mares that ran free on the grasslands.

  Once they were clear of the keep, the three horses needed no urging to break into a full gallop, nor did they require direction. Merewen’s gods had gifted her with a magical connection with the horses under her care.

  Right now, with her face so pale with pain and grief, Gideon thought it more of a curse than a gift. Someone would pay for hurting Merewen this badly. Maybe not today, but soon Gideon would hunt down the proper target for his fury.

  And when he did, blood would run.

  Chapter 6

  Duncan gritted his teeth as the elderly herbalist tended his wound. He suspected her real talent was for torture rather than healing, but at least she was thorough. She’d scrubbed the wound clean and then poured some foul potion over it that scalded his skin.

  And all of it was for naught. By tomorrow, the wound should heal on its own. In two days, the scar would have faded enough to look years old, but he said nothing. Lady Lavinia already doubted his story about being a scribe in need of work. He couldn’t risk finding out what she’d do if she learned he was something more than human.

  At least he didn’t have to feign how much it hurt. Lady Lavinia kept her gaze averted unless she thought he wouldn’t notice. Didn’t she have more important things to do than watch him getting his leg stitched up? He was at enough of a disadvantage sitting there with his pants down without having an audience, especially when that onlooker was an attractive woman.

  At long last, Sister Berta snipped the thread. “Now, young man, you’ll need to keep that wound dry and clean for at least two days to give it a chance to heal.”

  Young man, indeed. He was older than Berta by centuries, but that was his secret to keep. He watched as she tottered across the room to the shelves full of jars and bundles of dried herbs. After picking up and then discarding several, she found the jar she’d been looking for and added it to a stack of clean cloths she’d set out earlier.

  “Leave it open to the air when you can. Then use this twice a day when you replace the bandage.”

  “I will, Sister Berta. Thank you for your kindness.”

  She patted him on the cheek. “You were a good patient.”

  He bit back a grin and set the bundle of supplies she had handed him down on the bench beside him while he righted his clothing. Lavinia immediately looked away while Berta watched his every move, probably to make sure he didn’t need assistance.

  Finally, he braced himself for a new onslaught of pain and pushed himself up to his feet. It was nothing he hadn’t experienced dozens of times before, but that didn’t mean he relished the experience.

  Lavinia joined him at the door. “I would speak to you about what happened in the hall. My office is close by if you are up to walking that far.”

  There was no way to avoid the conversation, but what he really wanted was an opportunity to check through Rubar’s possessions. He waited until they’d left the infirmary behind.

  “I will walk that far.”

  If it killed him. Right now the pain made that seem likely. Odd. Normally, no matter how horrific the wound, the pain always faded quickly. It was one of the few positives about being one of the Damned, allowing them to fight on when other men would’ve been screaming in the dirt. This time, though, his leg was on fire, the burning bone-deep all the way from his hip to his ankle.

  He did his best to ignore it as he hobbled down the passageway, trying to keep up with his companion. Right now he needed to ask her a question—a favor, really. Aiming for his best guess as to how a humble scribe might approach the problem, he kept his voice low and soft. “My lady, might I make a suggestion?”

  She shot him a dark look. “Humble doesn’t suit you at all, Sir Duncan. Besides, the scribes I am acquainted with don’t wield a weapon with such skill, and most knights I’ve met are barely literate.”

  He should’ve known she wouldn’t have achieved the rank of abbess at such a young age without being a good judge of people, not to mention possessing a fierce intellect. Still, he was mildly insulted by her assessment of his abilities.

  At this point it would serve no purpose to deny that he’d won his spurs, so he didn’t bother to try. “I assure you, my lady, that I am both literate and capable of performing all the usual duties of a scribe.”

  She stopped to give him a considering look. “Perhaps later you’ll explain to me why a swordsman of your skill would want to seek employment with a pen rather than your blade. If you’re in need of money, a warrior would earn far more than a scribe.”

  The number of men who had died upon his sword didn’t bear thinking about. “Perhaps the reason is as simple as a preference for spilling ink rather than spilling blood.”

  That truth cut a little too close to the bone for comfort. Rather than linger there, he started walking again, leaving Lavinia to follow as she would.

  When she caught up with him, she laid her hand on his arm. “Your suggestion. What is it?”

  It was the lightest of touches, but its impact on him was fierce. Suddenly, his leg wasn’t the only part of his body that was making it difficult to walk. He stared down into her face. The plain gray robes did nothing to disguise her beauty. Now wasn’t the time for such thoughts, especially about her. He tried to concentrate on the real problem at hand.

  “Could you ask that all of Rubar’s possessions and those of the other guard be brought somewhere they can be examined? The clothing they were wearing as well.”

  She looked at him with a great deal of suspicion. “I can, but what do you hope to find?”

  He gave her the only answer he could. “I’ll tell you as soon as I know.”

  * * *

  Within minutes Duncan was settled in Lavinia’s office, staring through the window at a truly amazing garden. What it lacked in size, it certainly made up for in a riot of color and variety. He would’ve been quite content to find a book and sit out there, reading for hours on end.

  I
t was unlikely Lady Lavinia would invite a man, especially one she held in such obvious distrust, to share her private garden. With all of her responsibilities, she probably hoarded the hours of peace that could be found there. It was what he would have done.

  Interesting. He moved closer to the window. The metal stand in the center of the garden held a bowl, perhaps one meant to lure birds with a drink of water. If so, why was it covered with a black cloth?

  A noise caught his attention. Duncan cocked his head to the side to listen. Footsteps were headed in this direction. He stepped back from the window and returned to the chair the abbess had offered him. He wouldn’t want her to think he’d abused her trust by snooping around in her office.

  When the door opened, he was leaning back, his eyes closed as if he were enjoying a few minutes of rest.

  “Sir Duncan, are you awake?”

  Once again he fought against the urge to smile. She was testing him, hoping to catch him in a moment of weakness.

  He opened his eyes and offered her a small smile. “Just plain Duncan will do, Lady Lavinia.”

  “Fine then, Just Plain Duncan. I have arranged to have all of Rubar’s possessions and weapons brought to one of our workrooms.”

  She stalked around the end of her desk to sit down. “I don’t know what you expect to find, but I hope it is worth offending the trader clans. I have asked Musar and his wife to join us so they can assure their people that we mean no disrespect.”

  If the situation had not been so dire, Duncan would’ve enjoyed sparring with the lady. As it was, he needed to reassure her that his intentions were to clear the names of the two guards.

  “Although I didn’t know the second guard, I had nothing but respect for Rubar.”

  He sat up straighter in the chair and stretched his leg out, trying without success to find a comfortable position. “He went out of his way to befriend me. He was also one of the few who did not feel the need to ward off evil every time I walked by.”

  At least Lavinia didn’t wince or avoid looking at his paler-than-death eyes as so many others did. “Back in the dining hall you made it clear that you believe Rubar wasn’t in control of his own actions.”

  Duncan met her doubt head-on. “Someone used both men as weapons aimed directly at you. We need to learn how that was done and by whom.”

  “How do you know they weren’t trying to get to Musar and Ava? They were seated right beside me.”

  He didn’t blame her for asking the question, but he’d already considered that option and rejected it.

  “If Rubar wanted to kill Musar, he would’ve had plenty of opportunity while they were on the road. Staging an accident could be arranged easily enough or even slipping poison into the trader’s food.”

  He wished he could offer her a less frightening answer. “I’ve gone over what happened in my head. Both men were hunting for you. If they’d been after the trader or his wife, logically they would’ve approached them from the other end of the table.”

  She wanted to argue; he could see it in her eyes. Then she shook her head. “Before we jump to hasty conclusions, we’ll go through their belongings.”

  Her tone made it clear that she didn’t hold out much hope that they’d find any answers by rooting through Rubar’s clothing and possessions. He was as reluctant as she was, but for different reasons. It was yet another foul violation of the friendship that Rubar offered Duncan from the instant they’d met.

  And how had he repaid the man? With a sword through his gut. The guard’s face would be added to the long list of those that haunted Duncan’s dreams. And when a man slept for decades at a stretch, he spent a lot of time with his regrets.

  The sound of someone knocking dragged Duncan back to the moment at hand. Lavinia opened the door to reveal Musar.

  He gave an awkward bow. “We have brought everything to the workroom as you asked. Sister Berta will prepare the two men for burial, but she thought you might want to examine their bodies before she proceeds.”

  Lavinia glanced at Duncan. He nodded, although he wasn’t sure what could be learned when the cause of death was already known.

  “Very well.” Musar sighed. “I will stand in for the dead men’s families to ensure our customs are honored.”

  “I would appreciate that, Musar. We’ll do that first so that you can reassure your people that their friends will receive the honor and care due them.”

  She stepped past him and led the way back to the infirmary. Duncan hadn’t actually been invited, but he followed them anyway.

  The two men had both been stripped of their bloody clothes and covered with muslin. Lavinia slowed to a stop and bowed her head as if praying. Duncan suspected it was also her way of postponing what needed to be done.

  He allowed her a few seconds to collect herself and then stepped over to where Rubar lay on the same bench where Berta had stitched up Duncan’s wound. He pulled down the sheet as far as Rubar’s waist. The fatal wound was jagged and ugly. He swallowed hard and continued his examination.

  It didn’t take long. There were no unexpected marks on either man. He gently pulled the sheets back up to cover the bodies, aware the whole time of Musar and Lavinia watching his every move.

  Lavinia stepped closer to him. “Did you find anything?”

  Duncan shook his head. “No, but I didn’t expect to. If there’d been some physical reason for Rubar to attack, he could’ve done so at any time over the past few days, but Rubar acted completely normal right up until dinner.”

  “Very well, then. Shall we move on to the workroom?”

  The trader nodded. “I will be just a few minutes. I will let my wife know we’ve finished.”

  Musar walked out of the infirmary far faster than he’d walked in. Duncan didn’t blame him. “Shall we go to the workroom?”

  “I should also tell Sister Berta that we’re finished in here.”

  She left Duncan alone with the two men he’d killed. He closed his own eyes and murmured a prayer to the Lord and Lady of the River, asking them to wash the two souls clean of the darkness that had caused their deaths.

  “Amen.”

  Lavinia’s softly spoken word startled him. He hadn’t realized he’d said the prayer aloud. He schooled his features to reveal nothing of the churning emotions he was feeling at the moment.

  Even so, she looked at him as if she were seeing far more than what was on the surface. “You follow the Lord and Lady, then.”

  It wasn’t actually a question, but he nodded anyway. “Yes, I serve them. Is that a problem?”

  “Not at all. I find their teachings interesting, but perhaps we should save this discussion for another time. The workroom is just across the hallway.”

  Ava and the other traders’ wives were waiting outside the door. Ava met his gaze, but the others looked away as their fingers moved in the familiar gesture against evil. He was sorry they felt that way about him, but there wasn’t much he could do to change their opinions of him.

  Besides, Duncan had just killed two of their people. The two men had been the ones in the wrong, but Duncan was the outsider. It was no surprise they’d closed ranks against him.

  Inside the workroom, Musar stood on the far side of the table, leaving Lavinia and Duncan free to search through everything the two men had owned. Duncan started with their saddles and tack. He ran his hands over every inch of the well-worn leather and found nothing. No hidden pockets where something might have been stashed.

  From there Duncan moved on to the weapons. The swords were good quality, but plain, as were the knives. Functional rather than fancy, meaning Rubar had spent his money on the steel, where it counted.

  Next, he went through the small chests that held their extra clothing and a few personal possessions. Still he found nothing that would account for their behavior.

  He reached for the pack that Rubar had carried into the abbey’s guest quarters. It held the usual kind of items a man who lived on the road would have: a change of clothing,
a comb, a bit of soap, and a few other odds and ends. The second man’s pack was much the same.

  That left only the clothing they’d been wearing at the time of their deaths. The shirts were slashed and bloody, but otherwise unremarkable. The same was true of the pants. Both sets of boots were worn but serviceable. Duncan neatly folded what he could and set it all aside.

  When he picked up a coin purse, a shiver of dread cold washed straight up Duncan’s arm. He dropped the small leather bag and stepped back.

  Lavinia had been standing off to the side, watching his every move but making no effort to assist him. “Duncan, what’s wrong?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He pointed to the bag. “Musar, which man did that belong to?”

  The trader squinted to stare at it, still not approaching the table. “It belonged to Teo. That’s his mark on the side.”

  “So you’re sure the other one belonged to Rubar?”

  Musar studied it in turn. “Yes. Again, that’s his mark. You’ll find it on almost everything they own. It helps people who live in close quarters like the caravan wagons keep their belongings straight.”

  Duncan braced himself and picked up the second purse. He immediately felt the same shiver of revulsion. This time, rather than tossing the bag down, he tugged the strings open and dumped the contents out on the table. He did the same with Teo’s, keeping the contents in separate piles.

  Whatever it was he was feeling, he had no desire to touch it with his bare fingers. He used his knife to sort through the coins in each group. It didn’t take long to figure out which token was giving off the dread darkness.

  He carefully sorted through Teo’s, quickly finding an identical coin. Would the other two people in the room sense the same power in the coins as he did? Perhaps a test was in order. Using the tip of his knife, he arranged five coins from each purse in a row, including the one that he knew to be the source of the problem.

  “Lady Lavinia, would you please come closer? You, too, Musar.”

  When they were flanking him, he said, “Don’t touch any of the coins. Simply hold your hand over them and tell me what you sense.”