Vercleese led Gerard across the Town Square. "Where are we headed now?" Gerard asked.
"There's someone else you should meet. Ah, here we go," he said as they reached another stairway into a stately vallenwood. The foot of these stairs, Gerard noticed, was flanked by two members of the town guard, obviously on duty. They nodded briefly to acknowledge Vercleese but only stared at Gerard, remaining at attention. Vercleese started up the stairs and Gerard followed. At the top of the stairway was a functional-looking building with a distinctly military flavor. Vercleese ushered Gerard inside, where a tall, lanky man of middle years sat at a desk.
"Gerard, meet Blair Windholm, sergeant of the town guard. He and his small regiment will be among those under your command. Blair, this is Gerard uth Mondar, the new sheriff."
Blair bounded to his feet and stood rigidly erect. "Sir, it's an honor to meet you."
"At ease," Gerard said, taking one of the two guest chairs in front of the desk.
Blair resumed his seat stiffly.
Gerard studied the man, trying to place his features. Something about him looked familiar. "So, sergeant of the guard, eh? I take it you served under Sheriff Joyner as well?" he said.
"Sir, it was my privilege to serve under the late sheriff. His death was a terrible loss to the whole town."
Gerard cocked his head. Nothing about Blair's words could be taken amiss, and yet Gerard had the distinct impression that the sergeant was challenging anyone who presumed to fill Joyner's shoes. "Well, I will only be staying as sheriff until after the temple dedication," Gerard said, trying for an amiable tone and seeking to ease the tension in the room.
No sooner were the words spoken than Gerard realized he had made a mistake. Blair's expression turned frosty. "A short-timer, then," he said. It was spoken as an accusation.
"Well, filling in until the mayor can find someone permanent." Gerard scowled. "Wait a minute, now I know where I've seen you before. You were at the inn last night, weren't you? Flirting with that pretty serving maid. What is her name? Kaleen something?"
Blair flushed. "That's not a pretty serving maid. I mean…" He trailed off, flustered and turning even redder. "I mean, that's Kaleen Duhar, and I intend to marry her!"
"Hmm, Kaleen Duhar," Gerard said, watching his glowering subordinate with amusement. "I got on her wrong side, I think. I must be sure to make amends. So, she's your betrothed?"
"Not exactly," Blair muttered. Vercleese coughed. An awkward silence followed.
The air in the guard headquarters had turned decidedly chilly, Gerard noted. He was wondering what a safe topic of conversation was when a member of the guard burst into the room. "Sir, we have a situation brewing over at Stephen's Grocery."
Blair leaped to his feet again. "What is it?" he asked, heading for the door.
"That elf, Kirrit Bitterleaf."
Blair swore under his breath and followed the guardsman out the door, his visitors forgotten.
"Kirrit Bitterleaf?" Gerard asked Vercleese, hastily following.
Vercleese grimaced. "Local leader of the exiled elves," he said, his distaste evident. "They maintain a base in the mountains from which they harass Baron Samuval, but some of them come into town once in a while for supplies."
Gerard and Vercleese hurried down the stairs hard on the heels of Blair and the guardsman. The four hastened across a corner of the Town Square to the base of the vallenwood housing the town's largest grocery. In the street, an elf Gerard recognized as one of those from the inn the previous evening was loading supplies onto a wagon. Nearby, three or four rough-looking, well-armed men looked on. "I hear elf blood is blue," he heard one man say, with a nasty laugh.
"Naw, everyone knows it's yellow," another said.
"Maybe we ought to spill a bunch and see," remarked a third, his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.
But the elf continued loading his supplies as if blithely unaware of the men. The only hint of reaction, Gerard saw, was the muscle in his jaw tensing nervously.
Meanwhile, a number of townspeople had gathered and stood in clusters, watching. From their expressions, they sided with the roughnecks. Gerard turned to Vercleese, his eyebrow cocked in an unspoken question.
"There's a lot of ill will against elves," the one-armed knight whispered. "Some people blame them for all the unrest in the countryside hereabouts. Not that the elves don't deserve some of that, as far as I'm concerned. Officially, they're welcome in town, though few actually come here. Just as well, I say. However, those men"-he indicated the lurking toughs with a jerk of his chin-"are probably some of Samuval's men, the very ones the elves are fighting. They're officially welcome here as well, as long as they don't stir up trouble."
"Looks to me like they're stirring up trouble right now," Gerard said.
Just then, a tomato was launched from amidst the townspeople, striking the elf squarely in the head. He stumbled slightly and dropped the sack of flour he'd been carrying. The townspeople and Samuval's men joined in laughter. The elf whirled to confront his attacker, his hand dropping to the knife at his belt. But it was unclear who had hurled the messy missile.
"Kirrit Bitterleaf," Gerard said, stepping forward.
The elf turned, scowling suspiciously, facing Gerard with his hand hovering over his knife.
"You dropped something, good sir," Gerard continued, keeping his hands well away from his weapons. He spoke loudly enough for all to hear. "Allow me to give you a helping hand."
From the corner of his eye, Gerard noticed Blair had started forward as well, but the sergeant was stopped by Vercleese's hand on his arm. Vercleese gave a slight shake of his head, indicating to Blair that it would be good to let the new sheriff handle the situation.
The crowd had fallen silent. Samuval's men looked on with frowns.
For a moment, Bitterleaf remained tense, ready for action. He stared into Gerard's eyes. At last his hand eased away from his knife hilt, and he nodded. Without any further word, the two of them stooped and lifted the bag of flour, which fortunately hadn't burst, onto the wagon. Gerard gave the elf some assistance with the few remaining items then Bitterleaf climbed onto the wagon and drove away without a word or gesture to acknowledge Gerard's help.
Gerard snorted at the elf's arrogance, then turned to the townspeople, who were staring at him. "I'm sure you all have business to attend to," he said equably.
There was muttering among the crowd, but at last they began to disperse and go their ways. Gerard caught the attention of Samuval's men as they were about to turn away. "As for you folks, I'm the new sheriff around here, and I'll expect more decorum while you're in my town."
"What's decorum?" one of the men whispered to the man next to him.
"I think it's like hanging pictures and stuff on the walls," said his comrade with a bewildered expression.
"And just what is your name, sheriff?" the third nan demanded of Gerard.
"I'm Gerard uth Mondar," Gerard said. "And I aim to run a quiet town."
"So did the last sheriff, and look what happened to him," the man muttered to the others, speaking just loud enough to be overheard. They all chuckled nervously.
"What's that?" Gerard asked coolly, his hand edging nearer to his dagger.
"Aw, nothing," said the man as he turned away. "Come on," he called to his fellows. "We'll find better company down at The Trough."
When everyone had gone on their way, Blair turned to Gerard, his expression more deferential than before. "Well done, sir. If you have no objection, the corporal here and I will return to our duties."
"Of course," Gerard said. Then, unable to stop himself, he added with a grin, "And I'll pass along your respects to Mistress Kaleen if I see her at the inn again tonight."
Blair huffed a moment, then stalked away. Vercleese chuckled, joining Gerard. "Betrothed!" he scoffed. "Blair really leaves himself wide open, doesn't he?"
"Who is this Kaleen Duhar he's so intent on marrying?" Gerard asked.
"Oh, Kal
een. She's the daughter of Cardjaf Duhar, one of the wealthiest and most influential men in Solace. He's a landowner from Palanthas, came here about a year ago with his wife and their only child, Kaleen. Since then, he's already risen to be an important figure on the town council." Vercleese watched Blair and the other guardsman as they marched back across the square toward the guard headquarters. Vercleese shook his head. "Blair's a good enough man, even if a bit of stickler for the rules. Everyone in town knows he's sweet on Kaleen. Now you know it, too, though he's got about as much chance with the likes of her as I do catching a kender with its hand in my pocket."
"It seems not everyone was pleased with Graylord Joyner's performance as sheriff," Gerard said as he and Vercleese continued their walk through town. They stayed at ground level now and frequently had to stop to allow wagons and carriages by, or to avoid the swirling throngs of pedestrians who crowded the town. In short order Gerard's boots were caked with the thick mud of the streets, churned up by the many passing wheels and hooves and feet.
"Almost everyone admired Sheriff Joyner," Vercleese replied firmly. "Almost." He gestured in the direction of The Trough. "But of course, that feeling wasn't universal."
"Something to keep in mind," Gerard muttered, peering in the direction of The Trough as he thought about the men who had retreated there. "I suppose it might help if we were to take a look at the place where the sheriff's body was found. Would you take me out there this afternoon?"
"Certainly," Vercleese said. "Although we should steal out there without making any announcements. No sense in letting everyone know what we're up to in the investigation." Louder, he said to an approaching man, "Ah, good morning, Councilman Tos. I don't believe you've had the opportunity yet to meet our new sheriff…"
By midafternoon the day had grown hot, turning the air muggy as the sun beat down on the puddles and mud left by the rain. Vercleese led Gerard to an untilled field south of town. Gerard slapped at whining mosquitoes as they trudged along. The mud he had accumulated on his boots in town was nothing compared to the heavy layers of it he was picking up here, making each stride difficult. Gerard walked with care lest he lose a boot entirely in the thick, squelching muck.
"Now let's see," the knight was saying to himself. "It's right around here somewhere." He stopped and searched the area for his bearings. "It's been a couple of tendays, and I was out here only the once, before heading out at Palin's request to come get you. We didn't find much." He swung his head ponderously, peering from one corner of the field to another. "Ah, yes, here it is." He led Gerard confidently toward the farthest corner. "I remember now, I think."
He halted before a bit of ground seemingly no different than any other spot in the vicinity. All traces of blood and any impression the sheriff's body might have made on the ground had long since vanished, obliterated by the recent rainfall.
"The Ostermans said they were driving by on the road over there, on their way to town for market," Vercleese said, gesturing back to where they had left their horses. "Tom noticed a flock of crows gathered around something piled on the ground here, and came over to investigate. When he did, he found the sheriff lying facedown here. He was already hours dead."
"Hmm," Gerard said, squatting down and stirring the mud with a finger. The soil gave off a damp smell of rank fertility. There was nothing to see, really, just a few stones, dirt, and some stray flecks of hay. "Hold on." He picked up a couple of the stalks of straw, then stood and looked about the field. "This ground hasn't been planted in hay, at least not recently."
"Hmm, that's right." Vercleese shook his head, studying Gerard closely, apparently still trying to get the measure of his surprising new superior. "Hasn't been tilled in some time, and even then the farmer that planted it was growing potatoes."
Gerard rolled the stalks between his fingers. "Odd place to find hay then, wouldn't you say?"
Vercleese scratched his head. "Now that you mention it, Sheriff Joyner had bits of hay stuck to the bottoms of his boots when we examined his body. But on the other hand, anyone tramping around these parts is likely to pick up a little hay sooner or later."
"Maybe," Gerard said, looking around but seeing little hay scattered elsewhere. "But if he was tramping around, as you say, then the hay would probably come off his boots, wouldn't it?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Maybe nothing," Gerard said, upending his hand and letting the flecks of hay float back to the ground. "Or maybe… the sheriff was killed somewhere else… then the body was brought here after the murder. Just maybe… someone moved him to avoid suspicion falling on them."
"Hmm," Vercleese said, still watching Gerard closely. "Maybe."
"Are there many farms nearby?" Gerard asked, turning to plod back through the mud toward the road and their waiting horses. At each step, the sodden ground sucked at his boots.
Vercleese fell into step alongside Gerard, shaking his head. "Not since the war, anyway. There's mostly elves and Samuval's men in this area these days, lying as it does between their respective bases of operation. It's a troubled area, what with the skirmishes between Samuval's and Bitterleaf's patrols. Too far from town.
Most farmers steer clear."
"Might one side or the other, the elves or Samuval, have killed Sheriff Joyner?"
"Not likely, not just for snooping around, if that's even what he was doing. Their quarrel is usually with each other, not the people of Solace. The sheriff was liked even by them, mostly. Heck, he even played a game of Regal now and then with Samuval himself. Used to go over to Samuval's fortress to do it. That was his way of keeping the channels of communication open."
"And the elves didn't find that as being a little too friendly with their sworn enemy?"
"Naw. The sheriff used to go up into the mountains once in a while to talk to Kirrit Bitterleaf, too. Not to play Regal, of course; I doubt that haughty elf even knows there is such a game, let alone plays it with any skill. But Sheriff Joyner took a real accepting view of all the peoples of Krynn, as long as they obeyed the law while they were in Solace."
"But we're pretty far from Solace out here," Gerard said softly.
"True enough." Vercleese turned without another word and continued toward the road.
"I suppose I should have a talk with these Ostermans," Gerard said, falling into step beside his deputy. "Where would I find them?"
"Oh, I doubt you'll learn anything new from them."
Vercleese said amiably. "But you can try. You'll find them most mornings at the market." They made the return trek to town in thoughtful silence.
CHAPTER 6
Gerard and Vercleese stood outside the entryway to the new Temple of Mishakal, where construction had grown feverish. Stonemasons and carpenters seemed to be competing over which group could raise the greatest clamor. The taste of stone dust vied with the smell of wood shavings in the air. On the ground, blocks of marble were dressed with hammer and chisel before being raised with block and tackle to the upper reaches of the structure, where they were incorporated into the massive walls, with mortar hoisted from below. Timber was hewn into appropriate lengths with axe and adz, split into rough planks with wedges and hammers, then planed smooth for use in the interior. Overhead, tiles were being laid in neat rows along the roof, a relatively noiseless occupation except for the occasional tile that slid free of a workman's hands and flew in a long, graceful arc to shatter on the ground.
Gerard, safely out of range, shook his head at the frenzied activity. It was a wonder no one on the site had been killed, he thought. "Mayor Palin told me you might find an old friend here," Vercleese said, peering about the grounds. "Lady!" he shouted to the hooded figure of a cleric some distance away. "Oh, Lady! Over this way!"
The cleric, who had been consulting with a man who bore the air of one in charge, looked up at Vercleese's cry and threw back the hood that had obscured her features. To Gerard's astonishment, the individual thus revealed was Lady Odila Windlass. He turned to say something to Ver
cleese, who grinned back at him as he headed toward Odila. Gerard hurried to catch up.
Just then, the man with Odila blew a piercing whistle, and all noise at the site blessedly stopped for lunch. The man strode away with the plans he and Odila had been discussing.
When Gerard reached the female cleric, he suddenly felt awkward, uncertain whether to embrace her as an old comrade from their days in the knighthood together or to kiss her hand in the more formal greeting that befitted her station nowadays as a titled lady. Evidently, Odila shared his discomfort. Her hand rose partway then hesitated before dropping again to her side. She blushed, her freckles almost disappearing in the rising color of her cheeks.
"Oh, go on, you two," Vercleese boomed, giving Gerard a none-too-gentle shove.
Gerard closed the gap and enfolded her in his arms, pounding her affectionately on the back.
"Hey, Cornbread," Odila cried, "leave one or two ribs intact, will you?" But she sounded as happy to see him as he was overjoyed to be reunited with her.
Gerard held Odila at arm's length and studied her more closely. She had let her hair grow out from the short, martial cut she had worn during the war. Now it coiled in a pair of braids pinned atop her head. She smiled at him, yet her deep, brown eyes remained sad, and permanent frown lines tugged the corners of her mouth. Furrows etched her brow. She still wore the look of world-weariness she had acquired during the war, when Takhisis impelled her to confront whatever fears and longings inhabited the dark reaches of her heart. That experience had resulted, ultimately, in Odila leaving the Knights of Solamnia and becoming a cleric of Mishakal.
Evidently, Odila still bore the scars from her encounter with the dark goddess.
"How have you been?" Gerard asked. "What have you been doing for the past year?"
Again she smiled the weary smile that was her trademark. "I have spent much of the year studying in Palanthas, becoming proficient in the teachings and rites of Mishakal." She hesitated before continuing. "And healing a little from the effects of the war." She brightened. "But what about you, Gerard? I… I have heard that you left the knighthood as well."
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