by Ben Cassidy
“Go?” Maklavir looked genuinely surprised. “I’m still your friend, Joseph, even if you’ve forgotten it.”
Joseph looked up at the man, surprised himself.
Maklavir allowed himself a smile. “I paid your bail on the way in, old chap.” He reached up and rapped on the metal door.
The guard reappeared with the keys. Two minutes later, the door to Joseph’s cell was open.
The grizzled pathfinder gave a slow nod of his head. “Thanks, Maklavir.”
Maklavir got up from his bench and opened the cell door wide. “No need to thank me, Joseph. I’ve still got a spare bed back home, if you want. And a hot breakfast in the morning.”
Joseph chewed on his beard for a moment, then gave another slow nod of his head. “That’s kind of you.”
“Like I said, I’m your friend.” He patted Joseph on the shoulder. “Now let’s hope that that coach is still here, or I’m afraid we might be in for a very long and very wet walk home.”
For the first time in what seemed a long while, Joseph managed a genuine smile. “All right,” he said softly. Lead on.”
They walked down the row of cells, then out into the main entrance of the Jail.
An older, plump woman stood at the front desk, waving her arms frantically at the gendarme manning it.
Maklavir frowned, then quickened his step. “Iola? Goodness, woman, what are you doing here this time of night?”
The woman spun immediately. “Mr. Maklavir? Oh, thank Eru. I stopped by the house, but Guvin said you had come here, and—”
“Calm down.” Maklavir took the woman by the arms and led her to a nearby bench. “What in Zanthora is the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
“No,” the woman stammered. She was soaked from the falling rain outside, and her body trembled. “I left Volga with her, but I had to find you—”
“Her?” Joseph’s eyes widened as his mind worked out who the woman in front of him was. “Kara? Are you talking about Kara? Are you the Baderan nurse?”
Iola looked up at Joseph, her face stunned and her mouth wide open. She looked barely able to speak.
“Iola.” Maklavir’s voice was deathly calm. “I need you to take a deep breath and tell me right now what has happened.”
The woman did, shuddering as she tried to get control of herself.
The two men waited. It was an agonizingly long few seconds.
“It’s Kara, Mr. Maklavir,” said Iola. She put a shaking hand on Maklavir’s chest. “She’s awake.”
Chapter 5
“There.” The militiaman pointed towards a tavern just across from one of the wharfs. “The Demonbane is in there.”
Tomas glanced over at the man in surprise. He had forgotten the informal title that Kendril had picked up during the horrific battle in Vorten. “In there? You’re sure?”
The soldier shuddered. “Aye, I’m sure. With his mule.”
Tomas had started forward, but stopped. “His what?”
“His mule.” The soldier eyed Tomas’ black hooded cloak with unease. “You’re one too, aren’t you? A Ghostwalker?”
Tomas nodded.
“I’ve heard stories, you know. We all have.” The man shrugged. “Still, after what the Demonbane did last night, New Marlin’s grown a little more tolerant for your cult.”
Tomas frowned. “What did he do?”
It was the soldier’s turn to be surprised. “You don’t know?”
“I just got into town an hour ago,” Tomas said irritably. He hated being caught off his guard, and prided himself on knowing things before other people. Whatever feat Kendril had accomplished to win over the people in this place, it must have been fairly impressive.
The soldier smiled, revealing a couple broken teeth. “I’ll let him tell you, sir. I’d be careful if I were you, though.”
Surprise after surprise. Tomas arched an eyebrow. “Careful? Of what?”
The soldier leaned against one of the barrels that were stacked alongside the dock. “He’s…in a bit of a mood, I think. Chased everyone out of the place about an hour or so ago. Haven’t seen him since.”
Tomas stared at the tavern. On closer inspection, he could see that at least one of the front windows was shattered. A wooden stool lay just in front of the door. “And no one’s gone in after him?” Tomas turned his head back towards the soldier. “You haven’t arrested him?”
The man actually laughed. “After what he did last night? He could have half the town if he wanted, sir, and he’d get it. Mayor has told us all to back off. Give him some time to stew.”
Tomas was dying to know exactly what it was that Kendril had done, but his pride prevented him from simply asking, especially now that it was apparent that everyone knew except for him. He pulled his hood up against the light drizzle. “I’m going in.”
The militiaman touched a hand to the brim of his helmet. “As you please, sir. Wouldn’t show any weapons, if I were you.”
Tomas swallowed. He consciously kept his hand away from the handle of the dagger sheathed at his belt, and started towards the tavern’s door.
The wind off the ocean was cold, the dock boards wet from the gently falling rain. Tomas glanced out towards the harbor.
Wisps of smoke rose from the black, burnt remains of something large on the rocks of the breakwater. It looked like a ship had burned there. People scurried over the breakwater, shouting and lifting things.
There was something else out there, too, splayed across the rocks a short distance away. It was hard to see exactly what it was through the falling rain and the crowd of people all around it, but it was big.
Tomas reached the door of the tavern and hesitated.
Shattered glass from the window covered the street, shining dully in the falling rain. A wreath of early spring flowers had been hung on the tavern door, but now it was hanging crookedly. Crushed petals littered the threshold.
Tomas took a breath and walked inside.
The first thing he noticed was the mule, right in the middle of the common room. Apparently the militiaman hadn’t been exaggerating.
The second thing he noticed was the barrel of the loaded flintlock pistol pointed directly at his head.
Tomas stopped, not daring to move a muscle. He slowly raised his gloved hands.
“Tomas? What the devil are you doing here?” Kendril glanced around the barrel of his gun. His booted feet were kicked up on one of the tables. A full flagon of ale was within easy reach of his free hand, as well as yet another loaded pistol which lay on the tabletop.
“Well,” Tomas said slowly, “I suppose that depends on whether you’re going to shoot me or not.”
Kendril stuck his pistol back in his holster. “Come on in. Place is mine, at least for now.”
Tomas slowly lowered his hands, glancing around the tavern. “So I see.”
“Simon, quit drinking that beer. You’ll give yourself a tummy ache.” Kendril reached over and smacked the creature.
Simon brayed loudly. He lifted his head up out of a bucket filled with beer that had been placed on the floor. His muzzle was covered with foam.
“Sure, but I didn’t know you’d be going for seconds.” Kendril took a drink of his own beer. “Have you had anything to eat?”
The mule swished his tail and snorted.
“Beside the cake,” Kendril said.
Tomas glanced back and forth between the man and the mule, a look of complete confusion on his face. “So,” he started again, looking around at the overturned chairs and tables in the tavern’s common room, “I see that you’re doing well for yourself here.”
“You could say that.” Kendril put the flagon down heavily on the table and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Folk here threw a celebration for me.”
Tomas cast an appraising eye over the remains of the common room. “Looks like it got a little out of hand.”
Kendril shrugged disinterestedly. “Things started off well enough. Then they re
fused to let Simon here into the tavern.”
The mule lifted his head from the beer bucket and showed his teeth.
Tomas stared at Kendril as if he were mad. Indeed, he was beginning to wonder if the man was mad. “You…you started a fight and kicked everyone out of here…” Tomas glanced at a broken mirror behind the central bar, “because they wouldn’t let your mule come inside?”
Kendril picked up a carving knife on the table and pointed the sharp end towards Tomas. “That’s discrimination, plain and simple.” He flicked the knife around in his hand and began to cut off a slice of crusty bread that was on the table.
Tomas paused a beat. He looked awkwardly out the open door of the tavern. “So what exactly—?”
“I killed a giant, flying monster that was attacking the docks.” Kendril took a bite of the bread.
Tomas’ look of general confusion remained firmly in place. “You…what?”
Kendril tore off a hunk of bread and tossed it to Simon. “I killed it. With a whale gun.” He lifted his hand in the air and swooped it down towards the table. “It was coming right at me, and I had a whale gun. I shot it, and I killed it.” He lifted the knife again. “Don’t believe me? It’s right out there on the rocks. Carcass is huge. Go take a look if you want. Everyone else in this cursed city has. They’re chopping up the body for meat, or souvenirs, or maybe potions. Regnuthu take me if I know.”
Tomas stared at his fellow Ghostwalker. “I…don’t understand.”
“Really?” Kendril gave a subdued chuckle. “Because I do. Eru hates me. He’s cursed me, Tomas, cursed me to wander this wretched land without even death as a balm for my suffering.”
Tomas started to answer, but stopped.
“It was barreling right at me.” Kendril kept talking, almost to himself. “It should have killed me. I was willing it to kill me. There’s no way I should have survived.”
Tomas looked out the tavern door. “Then how—?”
“Apparently,” Kendril continued, as if he were tutoring a child, “the beast has one vulnerable spot. Just one.” He pointed the knife towards his face. “The eyes. I shot it in the eye. Iron dart went all the way into the thing’s brain and killed it instantly.”
Tomas swallowed. He felt like he was talking to a lunatic. “That’s…quite a shot.”
“It wasn’t.” Kendril tossed the knife down again and took a drink from his ale. “It was luck. Dumb, stupid, impossible luck. No one could make that shot. Not the best marksman in the world.” He slammed the flagon back down on the table. “Ashes, when the thing hit the breakwater it should have killed me right then.” He gave a despondent sigh. “But it didn’t. Missed me by three feet. Knocked me back into the ocean, but like the fool I was I swam back to the rocks.” He reached over and gave his nearby mule a pat on the flank. “So I’m still here. Eru won’t let me die. It’s His curse on me, my never-ending penance. I can’t atone for my past sins even with death, it seems.”
Tomas stared at the breakwater across the harbor. From where he stood he couldn’t see the carcass of the flying beast. “That sounds like some rather…creative theology.”
“I’ve had a lot of time to think it over,” Kendril said. He lifted his bread. “So why are you here, Tomas?”
Tomas risked taking a step closer. “Looking for you, actually. The Order hasn’t heard from you in a while.”
Kendril smirked. “I didn’t know anyone was particularly worried about me. There’s a Despair on, you know.”
Tomas stepped up the two short stairs to the upper level where Kendril was sitting. “That’s one of the reasons why Olan sent me after you. Things are rough out there. Rothland is burning to the ground.”
Kendril lifted his eyes up. They glimmered darkly. “Olan, huh?”
Tomas tried one of his best smiles. “Yes, Olan. He’s a full commander now, you know.”
Kendril turned his face away as if he had been stabbed.
Tomas grabbed a chair and turned it around. “Look, Kendril, I know Madris gave you a long leash. She let you work on your own, check in when it suited you.” He sat down, across the table from Kendril. “But things are different now. Madris is dead, and Olan is in charge of the whole northern operation. He doesn’t like people running off on their own with no supervision.”
Kendril took another swig of his beer. “You mean he doesn’t like me.”
Tomas sat back in the chair. “He doesn’t trust you, no. I know the two of you have history.”
Kendril snorted. He glanced over at the mule. “I told you to lay off on the beer, Simon.”
Simon stuck his head back out of the bucket and brayed angrily. He stuck his muzzle back in, noisily slopping the amber liquid.
Kendril narrowed his eyes. “Don’t give me that. Just because I poured it for you doesn’t mean you have to drink it. Especially on an empty stomach.”
Tomas glanced quizzically over at the animal.
Kendril turned his attention back to his own beer and bread. “So Olan sent you here to spy on me?”
Tomas thought for a moment. “Yes.”
Kendril scowled. “You had to take a vow not to lie, didn’t you? I think I’d like it better if you obfuscated every so often. To spare feelings, if nothing else.”
A shadow passed over Tomas’ face. “I’ve told enough lies in my life.” He smiled grimly. “Besides, it’s always better not to ask questions if you don’t expect honest answers, isn’t it?”
Kendril grunted. “Depends.” He took a great bite out of his bread, washing it down with a hearty chug of the ale. “So you’re Olan’s minion. Nice to know some things haven’t changed. Does he want me to come running back to Santaren?”
Tomas cleared his throat. “Well, I suppose that depends. Of course, Olan’s instructions were quite specific.” He lowered his voice. “Look, Kendril, the last thing you told anyone was that you were chasing down a lead. That witch from Vorten—”
Kendril’s eyes hardened. “Bronwyn.”
Tomas nodded. “Bronwyn. Olan thinks going after her is a wild goose chase.”
Kendril stabbed his knife miserably into the bread on the table. “Olan wouldn’t know a goose if it bit him on the behind, wild or not.”
Tomas managed not to smile. “Do you really think Bronwyn is worth chasing down? That’s she’s worth all this effort and trouble?”
Kendril went for the beer again. “Doesn’t really matter, does it? I’ve lost her either way.” He took another hearty drink. “Last one who saw her was some crazy cultist on that ship out on the breakwater, the one that burned last night. And he’s not talking anytime soon.”
Tomas rubbed his chin. “Sounds like you’ve given up on finding her.”
Kendril glared at him. “I still think Bronwyn knows something big. She’s definitely worth hunting down.”
“I’ve interrogated cultists and worshippers of the Seteru from Vorten to Archangel,” Tomas said. “No one’s had any information of any kind of larger plan or grand scheme. Not like what you’re talking about. Right now all the information we have points to this being exactly what it seems like…a coordinated but haphazard series of minor uprisings and attacks in cities across Rothland.”
Kendril gave a determined shake of his head. “No, it’s more than that. Every Despair has been more than that. There’s a bigger attack still coming. I know it. All these cults springing up everywhere, they’re just preparing the way for the big thrust. Softening us up, turning nation against nation.”
Tomas tilted his head. “I don’t know, Kendril…”
“Everyone thought I was crazy back in Vorten too, remember?” Kendril’s face twitched. “Especially Olan.”
Tomas crossed his arms. “So Bronwyn’s really this important?”
Kendril looked away, one hand still on his half-empty flagon. “I don’t know. But we have to start somewhere.” He looked back at Tomas. “But I lost her. New Marlin’s huge. Ships come in and out of here all the time. It would take me weeks to
question everyone in the harbor and the boarding houses.”
“Well,” said Tomas with a sly smile, “it appears that for once I’m ahead of someone here in New Marlin.”
Kendril stopped the flagon half-way to his mouth. “You know where Bronwyn is?”
“I…have a notion.”
The flagon thumped as it hit the table. “Tell me.”
Tomas leaned forward. “One condition. I come along.”
Kendril sneered. “So you can tell Olan what we’re up to?”
“Exactly.”
Kendril’s sneer turned into a withering scowl. “I work alone, Tomas.”
“That’s not what I saw in Vorten,” Tomas replied quickly. “You had three other people with you. You even called them your team, if I remember correctly.”
A quick flash of pain passed over Kendril’s face. “I work alone.”
“Not anymore.” Tomas stabbed his finger on the table top. “This is my neck on the line too, Kendril. Olan’s hopping mad about you going off on this crazy pursuit. Eru help me, I have a gut feeling that you might be right about Bronwyn, but I’m not going to pay the price for it if you’re wrong.”
“So,” said Kendril coldly, “you want to share the glory with me if we uncover something big, but you’re going to throw me to the dogs if this turns out to be a waste of time?”
Tomas grinned. “Now you get it.”
Kendril’s face was dark. He clutched his hand tightly on the flagon, then gave a slow nod. “Alright. What do you know?”
“Found a man in Shawnor,” Tomas said casually. “Part of one of the cults there. Chalranu, or Harnathu, one of the major Seteru. I forget which exactly.”
Kendril waited patiently. His hand gripped the flagon tighter.
“Anyway, the witch had passed through there.”
“That was weeks ago,” Kendril growled.
Tomas lifted his hands defensively. “I know, I know. Hear me out, will you? The man mentioned that this woman, I assume your Bronwyn, mentioned going east. Across the Strait.”