Wrapped in his longcoat, Aiden was almost snap-frozen from their long ride and wanted nothing more than to fall face-first into a roaring fire, but Maggie had other plans.
“You can stable your mounts here, but I want to head straight to the Ducal Palace and speak with His Grace,” she informed them. Aiden noticed that the glove on her injured arm was flexing, albeit stiffly.
“How’s the hand?” he asked, pointing at the gloved appendage.
“It’s bugging me no end, actually,” Maggie grumbled. “I’ve had pins and needles the whole day, so you’ll have to excuse me if I get a bit short-tempered.”
“Yeah, you were probably better off with just the one hand,” Ronan remarked sardonically. Maggie gave him a withering glance.
“Looks like we have a volunteer to stable the mounts and get us some rooms,” she ordered briskly. “If we’re not back when you’re done, come find us.”
“Fine by me,” Ronan chuckled, stepping inside the door to the inn where Aiden had only the briefest glimpse of the warm, inviting room beyond.
Resigned to his fate, Aiden followed them along the freezing streets with the snow crunching under their boots as they walked. Amalis was far smaller than the capital, with less than a quarter of the population, so within ten minutes they had arrived at a large stone building with broad stone steps leading up to the entrance.
Aiden spared a thought for the poor guardsmen standing watch outside the large double-doors, though they showed no signs of complaint. After Sir William established his credentials and their reasons for entry, they were allowed into the building. Stepping inside brought instant relief from the pressing cold, though the large hallway wasn’t itself heated.
The interior of the hall was not what Aiden was expecting. Furniture was piled up against the walls, rolls of carpet were sitting in the floor waiting to be unfurled, and piles of office equipment and personal belongings were stacked in small rooms off the main hall.
“It wasn’t like this last time I came through,” Maggie remarked absently, her small voice echoing along the passageway. Aiden watched a few of the duke’s staff going through sheaves of paper in search of some elusive documents. One of the staffers looked up at the sounds of Sir William’s armoured footfalls echoing down the hall and walked over to address them. She was a large, middle-aged woman who seemed to enjoy her food a little too much.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she began pleasantly. “You’ll have to forgive the state we’re in at the moment. The new duke arrived only yesterday and we’re struggling to catch up.”
“What happened to Duke Markham?” Maggie inquired.
“He passed away last week I’m afraid,” the official informed them sadly. “Old age, you know. The funeral was very respectful. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“I was actually here to see His Grace, but it looks like I will have to speak with his replacement.”
“Ah, well he’s terribly busy—”
“Just send them through, Missus Caversham,” called a loud voice from a room at the end of the corridor.
“At once, Your Grace,” Caversham replied, shrugging at Maggie and gesturing for them to head in. When they entered the office, Aiden saw a man dressed in an expensive blue longcoat standing on a chair, attempting to hang a large painting on the wall. He managed to latch it onto a hook of some sort, and then began trying to level it out.
“Please, be seated,” he said absently without turning to look. The room was still in the midst of being properly set up, judging by the stacks of furniture and equipment, though the duke was slowly bringing some semblance of order to his workspace. Aiden turned a few chairs upright and placed them before the Duke’s large oaken desk for the others to sit upon, before taking one for himself.
“You’ll have to forgive the state of my ‘palace,’” the duke offered as he looked with satisfaction upon the painting before turning to meet his guests. He was not an old man by any stretch of the imagination, though a few wisps of grey hair could be seen at his temples. He was thin, quite tall, and his otherwise dark hair was pulled back into a short tail at the top of his neck, in the same fashion as Sir William’s. His grey eyes were sharp and alert, giving Aiden the impression he was a man of intelligence.
“Think nothing of it, Your Grace,” Sir William said, “we understand the nature of your recent appointment, though I do find it strange that your staff is not setting up your chambers themselves.”
“My staff has yet to arrive, Sir Knight,” the Duke explained, sitting down behind his desk and clasping his hands before him. “A few of the locals are helping me in the interim. Trained people are in short supply at this time, as are many things due to the war effort. The full weight of this office fell upon me scant minutes after I walked in, with all manner of complaints and requests piling up. Forgive me, I have yet to introduce myself. I am Richard Sothby, recently appointed as Duke of Amalis.”
“I am Sir William Bryce-Clifton, and these are my associates Aiden Wainwright and Margaret Fairweather,” the old knight said with aplomb. “I offer my congratulations on your new station, though I wish that it were under better circumstances.”
“I am pleased to meet you. Tell me, what brings you here?”
“It’s a straight-forward matter, Your Grace,” Maggie began. “Have you had a chance to review your predecessor’s recent notes concerning the druidic sect to the south?”
“That was my first order of business, as it happens,” the duke replied. “Ah, you’re that Margaret Fairweather then,” he added, drawing a faint smile from Maggie at the recognition, which vanished immediately as the duke continued speaking. “Your former associates have been attacking our patrols south of the city, though I’ve managed to keep that news from spreading, thus far.”
“How many casualties?” Aiden asked, crestfallen to hear that they were too late to avoid a peaceful solution.
“Nine men and women,” Sothby replied stiffly, clearly upset at the news. “But there’s more than that — last night, they began striking at the wall itself, undermining the foundations by moving the earth from underneath. Within a day or two, those walls are going to come down and I won’t be able to keep the lid on this little war any longer.”
“Things have progressed faster than I had hoped,” Maggie surmised. “Have you spoken to a man named Bowen recently? The last I heard, Duke Markham was speaking to him about coming to some sort of arrangement.”
“Yes, I have met him,” Sothby replied ominously. “Such damnable arrogance! He demanded the population of the city leave at once, so that he and his traitorous associates could ‘return it to its natural state’. I threw the man into the street on his britches, wot.”
“I think I have an idea why things have escalated recently,” Aiden drawled.
“It is not my place to surrender His Majesty’s lands to a bunch of savages, sir!” the Duke bristled. “Even if I had the authority, I would rather fight them all by myself than capitulate.”
“My associates and I are going into Feybourne to see if we can put a stop to this before things fly out of control,” Maggie advised. “Please don’t do anything rash until you hear from me again.”
“As I understand it, you were cast out of their order in disgrace,” the duke remarked. “How do you plan to negotiate with those who spurned you?”
“With difficulty, I admit,” Maggie conceded. “But if you pull back your patrols and keep a low profile, I can speak for you in this matter. If they think I have the power to give them what they want, they’ll be more willing to talk.”
“Are you two gentlemen to be her bodyguards in this affair?” Sothby asked.
“After a fashion, yes,” Sir William replied hesitantly. “There is also a third individual who seems to have been waylaid en route to the palace, but we are actually here on an unrelated matter that will take us into Feybourne. Bringing peace to the area is in our best interest.”
“What could be so important that you would walk into a dangerous pla
ce like Feybourne?”
“We are looking to retrieve a relic of some importance to the Crown,” Aiden explained, keeping the details to himself.
“A relic from Feybourne you say?” Sothby asked, leaning back thoughtfully in his chair. “Do you know what you are looking for, and where to find it?”
“Only in a general sort of way,” Aiden admitted.
“It’s curious that you mention this now, Mister Wainwright, as there is an old associate of mine who takes residence here in Amalis, a man by the name of Alain Dufort. Your blank expression tells me you’ve never heard the name, but he is a renowned explorer and has a fine collection of relics, both mystical and mundane here in the city. He has travelled through Feybourne many times in the past, and even managed to retrieve a few items of interest along the way.”
“I’d very much like to meet this man,” Aiden said with barely concealed excitement. There was a slim chance that Alain might have recovered the sceptre already, though something about the duke’s manner told him something was wrong.
“Unfortunately, he vanished from his home two days ago,” Sothby replied soberly. “I have only had time to conduct a brief search of his house, yet he is quite clearly no longer there. No signs of forced entry were discovered — no blood or damage to the house itself… he simply vanished, which leads me to believe that our friends to the south might have taken him captive somehow, through unconventional means.”
“That doesn’t sound likely, to be honest,” Maggie mused. “I suppose we could take a look at his house though. I have experience investigating things like this, and if the sect did take him, I’ll know.”
“Your offer is intriguing,” Sothby replied, leaning forward. “Indeed, it has occurred to me that Alain could be somehow responsible for escalating this situation to the point of war, so if you are able to find him it would be of benefit to all of us. Especially Alain himself, of course.”
“Is his house far from here?” Aiden hedged. “We’ve travelled long and hard already this day.”
“It lies but a short walk from here, to the western side of the palace,” Sothby explained. “I’ll have one of my men take you immediately, if you’re in agreement.” Aiden looked at the other two, who voiced no objection.
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to spend half an hour going over the place,” he conceded.
“Smashing,” Sothby declared, standing and smoothing out his blue longcoat. “If any new information comes to light, don’t hesitate to bring it straight to my attention. I expect to be working here long into the night, more’s the pity. This way, if you please.” The duke escorted them down the hallway to the front door, which was opened by one of the guards. The relative warmth afforded by the walls dissipated almost instantly by a cold wind, carrying with it the smell of smoke.
The two guards who were unlucky enough to be assigned the watch outside the doors that evening puffed on cigars, and standing with them was Ronan, hunched into his longcoat against the wind.
“You there — escort these people to Dufort’s house and permit them entry,” the Duke instructed. “And stop smoking those abominable things while on duty!”
“Sorry, Your Grace,” the guard in question grumbled, dropping his cigar to the ground and grinding it into the stone.
“That’s more like it. Now, step to it gentlemen. Good luck in your search, Miss Fairweather.”
“We’ll be in touch,” she replied professionally. “Why are you standing around out here?” she asked of Ronan.
“They didn’t believe me when I said I was with your group,” he shrugged.
“Well… just look at him,” one of the guards complained. “No offence, mate, but you look like a shifty bastard.”
“I get that a lot,” Ronan admitted.
“Alright, well if you gents — and lady — would care to follow me, I’ll show you this bloke’s house and you can do whatever it is the duke wants you to.” Without waiting for a reply, the guard headed down the steps and led them around the side of the hall. The sun had set during the course of their meeting, and oil lanterns hanging from poles along the streets provided dim light, further reduced by the continuing poor weather.
“So, what’s going on?” Ronan asked as the travelled. Aiden brought him up to speed on the plight of Alain, and his possible connection to the druids of Feybourne.
Magnificent houses lined the streets, clearly part of the wealthier section of the city. It was to one of these houses a short walk from city hall that the guard led them, a large brick house with a high wooden fence around it. The gate opened at a light touch from the guard, and a short path through the snow led to the front door of Alain’s home.
“He’s done well for himself,” Sir William said as they walked to the door.
“I wonder how much of this was paid for by ‘recovered wealth’,” Ronan remarked, “and how I’d go about getting in on that racket.” The guardsman spent a moment unlocking the solid oak door with a key, and then opened it to reveal a large, dark space beyond.
“Well, there it is,” the guard sighed. “Fat lot of good all that money did for the man in the end, eh?”
“You’re that certain he’s dead?” Aiden asked, peering inside but unable to see anything beyond a few dark shapes.
“We’re not really sure what happened,” the guard shrugged. “We found a half-eaten meal upstairs in his workshop, so whatever happened here was abrupt and bloodless. I need to get back to my post, so I’ll leave you to it. Good hunting, folks.” After the guard closed the gate on his way out, Aiden conjured a light on his right glove, and stepped inside the house.
The darkness receded as he walked through the foyer and into a large open space, furnished with plush chairs and fine carpets. A gaping fireplace lay cold and still, and a deathly quiet hung in the air. Ronan was the last to enter, closing the door behind him. Maggie walked to a small table near the fireplace and picked up a lantern, using flint and steel to light it before beginning to search the room.
The house was meticulously neat, with strange statuettes perched on tables and mantelpieces here and there. Several works of art lined the walls, including a portrait of a patrician-looking man in ancient clothing, probably dating back more than half a century. In fact, everything he saw here, with the exception of some of the furniture was from antiquity.
“There’s no way this chap is married,” Maggie remarked, looking at the odd collection. “It’s like a shrine dedicated to himself.”
“I’m going to check his workshop upstairs,” Aiden said, striding towards the narrow staircase across the room. “Yell out if you find anything.”
“Whatever happened to him didn’t occur in here,” Maggie replied.
“And nobody tried to steal anything, either,” Ronan added. “These statues aren’t exactly made of gold, but they have to be worth something to someone. They’re small enough to put into a sack, so whoever came to get him didn’t care about money.”
“Perhaps the duke was right,” Sir William remarked. “The motivation was clearly personal.”
“Might as well move this upstairs then,” Ronan said.
“You go ahead, I want to check the kitchen and any other rooms down here just to be sure,” Maggie instructed as Ronan and the knight followed Aiden to the next floor.
The top floor of the house was very small, and appeared to be an extension built onto the original structure. Only two doors led off from the short hallway at the top of the stairs, both of them open. Peering inside the first door revealed a bedroom with clothing strewn over the floor, and the rest of the room wasn’t much better.
“I have the distinct impression this mess wasn’t the result of an intensive search,” Sir William said suspiciously.
“Reminds me of my place before I joined the navy,” Ronan chuckled, stepping inside to search under the clothing in the hope of finding a clue. Aiden manoeuvred his glove to provide optimal light for the search, but after five minutes Ronan shrugged and gave up.
“It’s like the duke said,” Sir William nodded sagely, “disappeared without a trace.”
“There’s still the workshop to check, but I’ll admit things aren’t looking good for Mister Dufort,” Aiden replied, moving into the workshop while trying to hide his elation at what he saw within. If he was to ever have his own place, he’d want a room just like this.
Large desks lined two of the walls, with the third completely covered from ceiling to floor with books, arrayed on an extensive series of shelves. A quick shift of his vision revealed several items pulsing with arcane power on one of the desks, so he stepped in for a closer look. Various amulets, rings and gemstones were clearly empowered in some fashion, and a few arcane scrolls lay upon the desk next to an old book. Next to it was a plate of half-eaten food, Alain’s last meal before his disappearance.
“What’s this on the floor?” Maggie asked, startling Aiden from his reverie with her sudden arrival. Turning to see what she was pointing at, he was intrigued to find a scorch mark on the floor, roughly a yard in diameter.
“I hadn’t noticed that,” he murmured as Ronan knelt down for a closer look.
“Some investigators you are,” Maggie remarked. “You walked right over the top of it.”
“I take it the kitchen was empty, too?” Aiden asked, attempting to change the subject.
“Just some basic food, no signs of any foul play,” Maggie replied, walking over to the desk for a closer look. She had to stand on the tips of her toes to see anything, and immediately set her eyes on the open book.
“What was he reading as he ate his last meal?” she asked.
“I was just about to check that when you came in,” Aiden replied a little defensively. “It’s an arcane work, as there are various runes and phrases that seem to invoke something, the exact nature of which I am unable to determine.” He sat at the chair and scanned the page, mouthing out words as he saw them.
As he reached the bottom of the page, he was suddenly blinded by a flash of brilliant light, and reflexively covered his eyes. His companions cried out in shock at the sudden brightness, and Aiden fell as the chair beneath him vanished, and a deafening roar enveloped them, drowning out their screams of terror.
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