Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness

by Carl Sargent, Marc Gascoigne (v0. 9) (epub)

  "Well, I hadn't seen him. Not until recently, that is."

  "How recently?" Cassian asked suspiciously.

  "Less than an hour ago," Jerenn said. "He's dead."

  "I had feared as much," Cassian said. "So why don't you tell me how you managed to lay your eyes on him, then? The last I'd heard he'd already left the city on an airship out of Sky Point."

  "Oh no, sir," Jerenn said firmly. "That's the last place he is. He's lying murdered outside the walls, sir." Words began to tumble out, and Cassian waited patiently for the boy's account of his unsanctioned wanderings to be completed.

  "The walls of the house, you mean?"

  "No, sir, I mean the walls of the city—out in the Broken Quarter, I mean."

  "And no one left the house?"

  "I'm absolutely certain. I kept my eyes on it all the time. I didn't go away even for a minute and no one bothered me."

  "I believe you." It was possible someone might have sneaked away from the house without Jerenn seeing, but Cassian knew the boy to be both sharp and stubborn, and not one to let his attention wander easily. The murderer could have escaped unseen through a trapdoor in the floor, or possibly even escaped under cover of magic. He? Cassian thought. No, much more likely a she.

  "Well, you shouldn't have gone, of course," he said at length, having heard the boy's excuses for disobeying him. "But I can hardly scold you for having done so." Cassian sat down and thought carefully for some time, chin cupped in his hand. Jerenn did not interrupt his thoughts, still looking somewhat unwell.

  "You should rest now. You've had enough shocks and surprises for one day."

  "Will you go to see the body?" Jerenn asked slightly morbidly.

  "I think not," Cassian mused, gesturing to the portrait. "As long as you're absolutely sure it was him."

  "I have no doubt at all, sir," Jerenn said fervently. "It's that little scar on the forehead as much as anything."

  Cassian looked carefully at the portrait. Sure enough, there was a small dimpling right in the center of Ladamair's forehead just below the hairline. He hadn't really paid it much heed when looking at the portrait previously. That the boy should note the detail when he himself had not was proof enough of Jerenn's powers of observation. He was perceptive, and not only truthful but accurate.

  "What will you do now?" Jerenn asked.

  "After seeing that you are put to bed and remain there I think I shall have a word with akarenti Ilfaralek," the elf said grimly.

  Back at his offices in the barracks, Ilfaralek was jubilant about Tarlanth's arrest. He was in no mood to worry about Cassian's misgivings.

  "So we have the word of a witness whose identity you will not reveal," he began. Cassian was annoyed with the man. Ilfaralek knew perfectly well that he couldn't give Jerenn's name lest he get the boy into trouble; he had, after all, used a gate pass which was illegal without Cassian accompanying him. Ilfaralek knew that, and also knew perfectly well that Jerenn must have been the witness; and he was happy to keep the elf in his bind. Cassian did not think well of him for it.

  "Who makes this claim about someone he's never seen," Ilfaralek concluded. "Not very impressive, is it?"

  "You can at least send men to examine the place," Cassian said, trying to sound more reasonable than he felt.

  "Oh, I will," Ilfaralek said. "However, you know as well as I do that every soldier in the city has enough work to keep him occupied for forty-eight hours in the day. Still, I will have the matter looked into."

  You'd be a lot more eager about it if Ziraldesh were a noble with enough money and influence to have some say in who is appointed to your position, Cassian thought, and then dismissed the notion as being too small-minded.

  "Of course. And I trust that your men have not unduly troubled Tarlanth's son since his father's arrest. The lad is an invalid, Ilfaralek. He knows absolutely nothing of his father's business affairs."

  "One cannot be sure of that," Ilfaralek replied rather pompously. Resplendent in the formal attire of a general, wearing medals and awards that had surely not been earned on any field of battle, his demeanor was beginning to resemble his appearance.

  , "Come now," Cassian protested. "You must have met the lad. He has as much idea of business and the scheming of nobility as you or I do of nethermancy."

  Ilfaralek's face showed that he agreed, with some reluctance. "Oh, very well then, I'll make sure he has three rooms for himself and his wet nurse and that my men keep out of the way. We've already got enough to go on with," he admitted.

  "Has Tarlanth admitted to anything yet?"

  "Are you jesting? He's a hard nut to crack. But he'll sing a pretty song before too long, don't you worry."

  "Doesn't it bother you that hours after he is arrested another noble's son is found killed?"

  "Ah, but as you told me, the boy disappeared before Tarlanth was taken into our custody," Ilfaralek pointed out with a broad grin. "In any event we can be certain that Tarlanth didn't commit any killings himself. If he's involved in this, he'd surely have hired someone else to do the filthy work for him. He could have given the order for Ladamair's death at any time in the recent past. I've already said I'll have this looked into, Cassian." He shuffled some papers on his desk and began to unroll a scroll with the Overgovernor's seal. Cassian took the hint and left.

  There is little for me to do now until I can see Ziraldesh, he thought, gratefully breathing in the cool night air outside the brightly lit offices. The sounds of whinnying from the stables, yells from sailors singing, fighting, drinking, and generally living their lives down at the riverside, and laughter from the ordinary soldiers' quarters washed over him. I could go to the Broken Quarter myself, but there's no need to do so. Jerenn told me exactly what I would see. It's a job for Ilfaralek and his men now. The elf knew that between his intuitions and what he'd been told there was nothing for his senses to apprehend that he didn't already know. He was left with an abundance of nervous energy and nothing much to do with it.

  You could keep watch over Lyn, something in the back of his mind whispered to him. I do not need to, he thought at once, again trusting the strength of his intuition. He's at no risk tonight. The killer will not strike twice in the same day and the same night.

  You could tell Shusala her son is dead, the thoughts whispered to him. I do not need to, he reflected. She already knows. I realize that now.

  Cassian had come here on foot tonight, leaving Kendreck the coachman to the well-earned luxury of an early night in his bed for once. He walked briskly to the barracks gates and drifted out into the night, mixing with the throng of well-patrolled people moving up and down the Grandwalk under the watchful eyes of the Legion. Feeling no hurry, he began to make his way north to the place he sought.

  Admission was limited now, given the popularity of the place and the number of visitors who would want to experience the Ziggurats for themselves. Showing his Imperial badge gave him permission to ascend the steps and, after some hunting, Cassian found a place where he could sit and let himself go. He knew this was a time to be quiet and wait, that receptivity was what was needed, and he let his reveries and imaginings run away with him.

  Somewhat to his surprise, what came to him were recollections of anything but the recent past. He remembered his days in Kamand, the relics far below the perilously shifting multi-colored sands, said to be stained forever with the blood and bile of legendary and fabulous beasts that had fought and died thousands of years before the Great City was even a glimmer in someone's eye or a hope in a beating heart. He had only needed to venture into some of the surface tombs, thank the Passions; the deepest-lying ones harbored menaces and perils that even the magical skills of a Heavenherd would not prevail against. It had been the one time he'd faced a Horror alone, and though he'd taken his magical girdle from the tomb, that had been quite incidental to the task to hand. From confronting the Horror Cassian had learned of the possession and madness that had all but destroyed House Carinci in Karnand and, if learning the
truth had been bittersweet, it had been the making of him. He had earned much repute for his entirely successful investigation, and having faced and survived a fate worse than death, he was stronger for it.

  Why does this come to me? he mused. So long ago. There is no Horror at work in this city. I will not be confronting any such evils, nor will I be put in such a desperate situation as I was then. He shrugged and rubbed his eyes.

  To his amazement the first streaks of day were appearing on the horizon. A ring of dark blue with the first faint suggestions of a rising sun was clearly visible. I must have been here five or six hours, he thought, astonished. He wasn't sleepy, more refreshed by the reverie than by any sleep.

  Walking back down the steps, his muscles a little tired from the slight edge of cold the deepest hours of the night had brought, he met Shusala heading upward. She waited for him patiently.

  "I thought I would find you here," she said simply.

  "Your husband has returned, then?"

  "He has. He's very tired but he says he will see you now, if you wish to come," she offered meekly.

  "That is very good of him. I really did mean that he has nothing to fear from me," Cassian reassured her.

  "He hasn't been able to find my son."

  "No," was all Cassian could manage to get out. He was unsure now of his earlier intuition. He didn't want to be the one who told her the truth and, besides, he clung to the fact that he hadn't actually seen the body for himself.

  "You know that he's dead," she said sadly.

  "I fear that may be so," Cassian said, eyes cast down, keeping a step ahead of her. He did not wish to look at her face.

  "My husband is still determined to find him and will wear himself out trying," she said even more sadly than before, but sounding resigned. She had known for some time; perhaps even since the discovery of the note. And yet, Cassian felt certain she had absolutely no idea why Ladamair had met his end.

  "I will say nothing," he confirmed. "I regret I cannot offer you my carriage, for I came on foot. My coachman deserved some rest," he said with a wan smile when they reached the foot of the steps. It was a relief to have anything to say other than words to do with the fate of her son. Especially the manner of it, if Jerenn's description was accurate, which Cassian had no reason to doubt.

  "Then come with me," she said, taking his hand and leading him to her own.

  "I have no idea why you wish to see me. Let's get this over and done with and let me be rid of you so I can get some sleep," the red-eyed man said rudely. Ziraldesh was clearly not in good humor.

  "I don't have any specific queries," Cassian began carefully. "And I assure you I have no—"

  "Yes, I know all of that," Ziraldesh said wearily. "There's nothing for you to be suspicious about anyway. I've no idea what half those people did and care even less. I'm no business person. I've no head for figures at all."

  "I'm interested in the fact that someone strikes at the young. Daralec's death is followed by the death of his son. Mordain's suicide is brought on by the slaying of his son. The killing of Schavian's children seems senseless."

  It was hardly the most diplomatic of questions, given that Ziraldesh had just been out searching for his own missing adopted son, but the man seemed to ignore that.

  "So?"

  "You are a tutor for many of the brightest noblemen's sons. You tutored Schavian's children, I believe."

  "And Daralec's boy, as a matter of fact. But I had no dealings with Mordain's lad. Do you take for me for a child-murderer?" The man's voice was shrill.

  Cassian was beginning to lose patience. "I have already said not," he retorted sharply. "I merely wondered if you had observed anything unusual. Anything."

  "I don't know what you mean," Ziraldesh said clumsily. It was at that moment Cassian knew the man must be concealing some secret.

  "You are a wizard," he said slowly. "Some of the murders have obviously been committed with the aid of magic. Ilfaralek was able to bring a nethermancer to the scene of Crielle's death quickly, but the man could learn nothing from the body. I too have used certain techniques which have revealed to me not only the use of magic but that someone had been able to mask the nature and use of it."

  Ziraldesh looked surprised. "I did not take you for a wizard," he mumbled.

  "I have many talents," Cassian said. The pomposity of the remark might have been tempered by his slightly self-mocking tone, but that was lost on a man weary after many hours of travel and a night without sleep.

  "Well, then, you've learned what you have," Ziraldesh said. "And so?"

  "I'm puzzled now about the wizard Aralesh," Cassian said. "I've found nothing whatever to link him to the other deaths in Vivane. With the twins, there is at least the connection with the deaths of the other young people. The case of Aralesh and his sudden madness stands alone."

  "And?"

  Cassian did not fail to see the shadow of apprehension cross Ziraldesh's face.

  "And I believe it is most likely that he was disposed of—or rendered wholly incapable—by someone who must have had dealings with him. Who may have acquired skill, or learning, from him. Who may have been putting that skill to use, and feared that perhaps Aralesh might suspect who was behind the mysterious events occurring in the city," the elf said smoothly.

  "Tarlanth's already under arrest," Ziraldesh muttered.

  "For the time being," Cassian said quietly. "However, I do not believe he is behind the murders."

  "The man's a bastard," Ziraldesh spat. "I hope his head rolls from the executioner's block when the time comes."

  Cassian found that reaction illuminating. What possible reason could Ziraldesh have to so detest Tarlanth?

  "You knew Aralesh reasonably well," he persisted.

  "I've already told you that we saw very little of each other."

  "But you would have known if he'd had a pupil of importance, or worked regularly with someone. If, perhaps, he was engaged in activities that were in any way questionable." Cassian saw the wizard bristle visibly at these words. "Come, Ziraldesh, he was a nethermancer. It's a profession where certain disreputable practices may be overlooked by the authorities on occasion."

  "I don't know what you mean," Ziraldesh said stiffly.

  "Don't be foolish," Cassian barked back. "It would have been surprising if Aralesh had not meddled with the dead, collected grimoires of dubious sort, engaged in dangerous rituals. We both know that. I've sensed all along that part of your evident anxiety has been a fear of such a discovery because you might be tarred with the same brush."

  The man began to rise from his seat, but Cassian gestured him to stay put.

  "Please, Ziraldesh. I'm not concerned with transgressions of that sort. I am only concerned with the eight deaths that have already occurred and whether there may be more."

  The man looked away for a moment. When he finally turned back to Cassian, his face was stark with fear.

  “Eight deaths?"

  Cassian realized at once what he had just let slip.

  "My son has been killed," the man screamed, seeming to lose all control. "Why did you not tell me?"

  "I cannot be certain of it," the elf said lamely.

  "You knew," accused Ziraldesh, flying for him. Cassian easily overpowered him, gripping the man's flailing hands firmly and forcing him back down into his chair. Ziraldesh struggled for a time, and then burst into wracking sobs, head held in his hands, his face almost on his knees. Cassian knelt by him, an arm around his shoulders, saying nothing.

  The man's sobs, quieting now, had nonetheless roused his wife. She stood in the doorway looking down at the two of them.

  "I didn't mean to tell him," Cassian said regretfully. She walked over quietly, and Cassian moved aside to let her put her own comforting arms around her husband.

  "I think it's time to confess," she told him quietly.

  32

  For an endless and incredulous second, Cassian thought he was about to hear Ziraldesh confess to the
killings in the city. It would have been the last thing he'd expected in coming here. Then his mind rebelled and knew it could not be so. Whatever Ziraldesh was about to admit, it was surely not that. The man was terribly torn, and it was a long few moments before he could collect himself enough to speak.

  "The young ones that have been killed. I taught them all, you see."

  "No, I don't see," Cassian replied.

  "Even Darnius. Well, only for a short time, because he wanted to know the wrong things for the wrong reasons."

  "What are you talking about?"

  "It's not simply a matter of tutoring in the basics of wizardry," Shusala said quietly, prodding her husband to say more.

  "My wife tells me you have sent a kedate to Marac,"

  Ziraldesh said sadly.

  "He should be back here soon, perhaps the day after tomorrow."

  "Then, you may find out anyway so I may as well tell you," the man went on. "I used to be a member of the Brotherhood of the Flesh."

  Cassian's eyes narrowed. He had come across the cult more than once. It was dedicated to the Mad Passion Raggok, revering that infernal entity in its sybaritic aspect. The Brotherhood was an affectation of debauched nobles, jaded people seeking greater and more unspeakable self-indulgences, and most of them ended their lives in delirium, inadvertent suicide from excessive doses of drugs or excitatory venoms, diseases, or worse. It was hard to imagine the slender, almost ascetic man before him as part of such a fraternity. Officially, the Brotherhood was proscribed, but it was often sufficiently influential in high places that membership could go undisclosed and undetected for a lifetime.

  "And you indoctrinated those children with that poison?" Cassian asked incredulously.

  "No! Wait, you do not understand," Ziraldesh protested. "There may be different reasons why different people join the Brotherhood. You know that they have certain knowledge, like any secret and forbidden cult."

  Cassian thought he knew where the wizard was leading. Devotees and questors of the deranged Passion made a specific point of studying Horrors; Raggok was said, more than any other Passion, to serve them. Sometimes a man might join a Raggok cult in the hope of learning more of such matters, trying to keep his sanity and balance while gaining forbidden lore. Usually, that man would end up as debauched and wretched as the most unhinged of its members.