D&D 10-The Death Ray

by T. H. Lain

  "Yes, madam," he said, "this is the...unfortunate room."

  Naull ignored the sarcastic tone she was sure she heard in his use of the word "madam," and she waited patiently for him to finish unlocking the doors.

  "Leave us here," Regdar told the proprietor. "We'll come find you when we're finished."

  The tall, skinny man raised one tall, skinny eyebrow and looked down his tall, skinny nose judgmentally at Regdar. He swung the doors open and stepped out of the way, clicked his heels on the marble floor, and tipped his head in a cursory bow.

  Regdar walked into the room and Naull followed, but not before she smiled graciously at the man and said, "Thank you, sir. Do let us know if any more murders occur while we're here."

  The man's face blanched and Naull closed the doors behind her.

  The room was as opulent as the one Naull shared with Regdar. The massive bed was draped in the finest silk and wool, and the marble floor was covered with exotic rugs that might have been woven by elves. The furniture was quite old but in impeccable repair. The air smelled of lavender from the scented candles burning in gold sconces. Lingering just at the edge of Naull's senses, though, was another scent. It was the odor of something burned, the scent of a lightning-struck tree...something like that.

  Regdar strode purposefully to a small table set for two. On the duke's orders, the body had been taken away but nothing else had been touched. The remains of a light supper from the night before was congealing on plates of the finest porcelain, and the dregs of a bottle of vintage elven dew wine stained a pair of crystal glasses.

  "Our friend had a guest?" Naull asked.

  Regdar nodded and said, "A young elf he was...seeing, I guess. The duke asked me not to be too specific about that in public. I guess it would cause some kind of scandal."

  "Why?" Naull asked. "The sons of the rich and famous aren't supposed to date elves?"

  Regdar actually blushed and looked down, pretending to examine the fine linen tablecloth.

  "What?" Naull asked.

  Regdar cleared his throat and said, "In the army, it's more common than you...well, anyway...we're not supposed to ask..."

  When Naull realized what he was saying, she nodded vigorously and felt her cheeks flush.

  "I get it," she said. "Well, that's hardly a crime—wouldn't draw a death sentence anyway. Are the rich and famous of New Koratia so uptight that they'd kill one of their prodigal sons just for dallying with other prodigal sons?"

  "I wouldn't know," Regdar said. "I don't think so, but we shouldn't discount it as a possibility. These people are very sensitive when it comes to children, bloodlines, and all that."

  "Really?" Naull asked, crossing her arms over her chest. "Do tell me more, Lord Constable. Your own bloodline, for instance. Is it clear of all such impropriety?"

  Regdar looked at her with narrowed eyes, seemed to think about it for a second, then sighed and said, "That's not fair, Naull."

  "Well," Naull replied, "If you say so, milord."

  "You don't have to call me that."

  "Don't I?" she asked. "What shall I call you, Lord Constable?"

  Regdar sighed and turned away. Naull felt suddenly very petty and just as suddenly cold and unsafe.

  "Could the food have been poisoned?" she asked, in an effort to rescue them both.

  Regdar seemed as relieved as she was to move on to the business at hand.

  "Perhaps," he replied. He gestured to the table and stepped back.

  Naull brought to mind the simple cantrip she'd prepared that morning on Regdar's request. It required no material components or focuses, so all she did was murmur the proper incantation and move the fingers of her right hand just so.

  She let her gaze fall over the table. When her eyelids started to twitch, she knew the magic was active, but nothing about the cold food and warm wine looked different. If anything in the general vicinity of the tabletop had been poisoned, she would have seen it glow a subtle purple. There was no such glow.

  "No," she said to Regdar. "Nothing's poisoned. At least, not the food or wine."

  Regdar nodded and looked around the room.

  "There's only one way in or out," he said, "besides the windows anyway."

  "None of the other guests saw or heard anything?" Naull asked.

  "Nothing of value," Regdar said. "Some reported sounds of a ruckus, of heavy footsteps in the hall."

  "So someone heavy came in the front door and...did what?" Naull asked.

  Regdar shrugged.

  "Aren't there guards in here?" she asked. "I've seen guards."

  Moving in and out of the Thrush and the Jay over the past several days, Naull had even commented to Regdar on the professional, experienced mien of the inn's uniformed guards. She'd even surreptitiously cast a spell that showed her the auras of their enchanted weapons and armor. No expense had been spared.

  "The guards are kept outside," Regdar said, "and in the common areas on the ground floor. Apparently, the guests' privacy takes precedence here. There are no guards roaming the halls."

  Naull sighed and said, "No loose lips to wag about midnight indiscretions, youthful or otherwise. Unfortunately, no loose lips to wag about murderers either."

  "I guess so," Regdar replied. "The entrances are so well guarded, though, the question isn't so much how did our man get into this room but rather, how did he get into the Thrush and the Jay in the first place?"

  "I prepared a spell that might answer that question," Naull said. "It would be easy enough to discern if there's some secret way in or out of this room, but it would take a while to cover the rest of the inn."

  Regdar nodded and said, "Go ahead."

  Naull called the spell to mind. This one was just a bit more difficult than the last, requiring a very peculiar cadence to the incantation and an overly precise dip of the left ring finger. She performed the spell adequately, though, and was reassured by a smaller, nettling feeling in her eyes. She scanned the room, concentrating on the uncomfortable sensation.

  Regdar was smart enough not to disturb her, even after she'd made a full circuit of the room without giving her report. She concentrated more deeply and was rewarded by a growing pull on her senses that made her turn her head to the left, and tilt down. She felt like something was gently but firmly pulling her face to the floor, through it, down, deeper. When she closed her eyes, the pull was broken.

  Naull shook her head to clear the spell from her consciousness. She needed a few seconds to focus again on Regdar, who was approaching with a hand extended and a worried look on his face.

  "I'm all right, Your Lordship," she said, stepping away from him.

  Regdar pressed his lips together and sighed.

  "There's a secret door," she said, breaking the uncomfortable moment she was happy enough to have instigated. "Not in this room, but somewhere at least a couple floors down—likely the basement or the wine cellar."

  Regdar nodded and said, "Handy spell."

  Naull shrugged and replied, "I have my moments."

  "What else have you got up your sleeve?" he asked.

  Naull looked around and her eyes settled on a cloak that was draped over one of the chairs at the table. It was a fine cloak.

  "Was anything stolen?" she asked.

  Regdar shook his head, then stopped to think about it.

  "I don't know," he said.

  Naull crossed to the chair and touched the cloak. It was made of very expensive silk and quite masterfully tailored. She patted the length of it and felt something not only swing against the chair behind it, but she also felt lumps in one of the cloak's pockets.

  "Something in there?" Regdar asked.

  Naull slipped the cloak off the back of the chair, and said, "I guess so."

  Under the cloak, hung on the back of the chair, was a thin leather belt on which was suspended a stunning jeweled rapier and a long dagger of matching design. Even Naull recognized them as a significant pair of weapons, likely a family heirloom.

 
Regdar stood next to her and pulled the weapons belt from the chair. He examined the rapier closely with a soldier's eye for both form and function, then drew the dagger. The blade was so highly polished that it sent up a flash of reflected candlelight that made both Naull and Regdar blink.

  "It's a safe bet these belonged to the victim," Regdar said. "That's an aristocrat's weapon if I ever saw one."

  Regdar slid the dagger back into its sheath and returned the belt to the chair.

  Naull turned her attention to the cloak, fishing around in the pocket instead of looking at Regdar. Her hand closed on something made of cool metal and she drew out a long, thin vial of brushed electrum, stoppered and sealed with wax. There was something else in the same pocket, and Naull reached in again, still holding the vial. She wrapped her finger around a length of soft cord and pulled out a small, suede pouch.

  She set the vial and the pouch carefully on the table. The telltale sound of coins rattled in the pouch. Naull hung the cloak on another chair as Regdar examined the contents of the purse.

  "Gold," he said, "and platinum."

  Regdar dropped the pouch on the table and stepped back, examining the newfound riches with a creased forehead.

  "If you were going to murder someone," he asked, "would you leave this kind of loot behind?"

  "I'll bet you double or nothing for that pouch of coins that at least some of this stuff is magical, too," Naull said.

  "Can you find out for sure?"

  Naull nodded, and brought a third spell to mind. Regdar took a few steps away from the table.

  "It's all right," she said. "It's not a fireball."

  Regdar smiled sheepishly and gestured for her to continue.

  Naull cast the spell—again, not the most complicated casting. She was rewarded immediately with the presence of magical auras sprinkled about the room.

  She narrowed her gaze, kept her breathing even, and concentrated.

  "The vial," she said in a distracted monotone, "the rapier, the dagger, and the cloak."

  She took a deep breath and narrowed her focus again, keeping calm, waiting, and it all started becoming more clear.

  "Something in the vial," she whispered, "not the vial itself. It's an enchantment, I think...a potion...."

  Her voice trailed off, then she looked up, scanning the rest of the room. Regdar's magical accoutrements glowed in her vision, as did her own—and there was something on the door.

  She didn't risk stepping closer, just let her mind concentrate on the door. It was a weak aura typical of old signs.

  She closed her eyes, let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and let the spell fade.

  "The door," Naull said. "A spell was cast on the door."

  "What kind of spell?" Regdar asked.

  "An abjuration," she said.

  "What does that do?"

  "All sorts of things," she answered. "It's a school of magic, not a specific spell. It's very weak now, and it looks like it was never very strong to begin with. I'd bet it was designed either to hold the door shut or make the caster aware of someone passing through it."

  "Like an alarm?" Regdar asked.

  Naull nodded.

  "What about the rest of it?" he asked.

  "The potion is likely meant to make you do something," she said, "or think something...I don't know. The cloak, the rapier, and the dagger, I have no idea. Other spells could tell me, but I would need a few days at least to get through all of them by myself."

  "We should take them with us, then," Regdar said.

  "The murderer wasn't interested in all this valuable magic or gold and platinum coins," Naull replied.

  "Apparently not," Regdar said.

  "So," said Naull, "it's personal, then."

  Regdar nodded, then picked up the weapons belt, the pouch, and the vial. He nodded at the cloak and Naull picked it up, draping it over one forearm.

  "Can you cast a spell," Regdar asked, "like the one that sealed the door, if that's what it did?"

  "I can," she answered. "Actually, I have one in mind that'll likely do a better job of it. I'll be able to open it, but it'll be a tough one for anyone else."

  "Good," Regdar said. "I think we've seen all we need to see here for now."

  Regdar stepped back, gesturing for her to precede him to the door.

  "So, Your Lord Constableness," she said, not moving, "is your high and lofty office going to cover the twenty-five Merchants in gold dust—twenty-five each go, mind you—that I'll need to cast the identify spells?"

  Regdar rubbed his chin with his big, callused fingers.

  "You know what?" he said with a twinkle in his eye. "I don't know."

  Maelani slipped the fine linen camise over her naked body and luxuriated in the soft caress of the floral-perfumed fabric. She shook her long, clean hair out of the plunging neckline and reached for the stomacher of azure silk that Theria had laid out for her.

  Maelani had taken longer than she'd liked to finally get rid of the ever-present maid so she could dress herself in peace. Theria wasn't a gossip, and she kept any number of secrets for Maelani, but that didn't stop her from whining or from trying to talk Maelani out of this plan, that scheme, or the other subterfuge. It was as if the chubby little maid wanted Maelani to settle for some loveless, political marriage.

  Maelani wrapped the stomacher beneath her breasts, adjusting the fit to make the most of what nature had given her. She smiled at herself in the full-length silver mirror and tried to see herself as Regdar would see her.

  In both of their short meetings she'd found the Lord Constable to be surprisingly nervous, but that was a reaction from men that Maelani was accustomed to. Since outgrowing her awkward years and coming into the full flower of womanhood, Maelani had become quite comfortable with the attention of the opposite sex. Beauty often made the strongest of men quiver in his boots, the most eloquent choke on the simplest greeting, and the bravest flee in abject terror.

  She drew a cloth-of-gold bodice around her waist and began lacing it. Maelani hadn't done this complex task by herself for so long that she found herself fumbling with the lacing. Growing increasingly frustrated, she even had to stop and start over from the beginning, but finally she managed to get it well secured. Examining herself from both sides in the mirror, she made fine adjustments to the garment's fit, again in an effort to flatter her graceful but modest curves.

  She stepped into a long skirt and drew it up. The skirt hung provocatively on her hips, revealing a scandalous hint of the translucent linen camise between it and the bodice. Looking at herself in the mirror, Maelani blushed.

  There were things no man could resist and if done properly, a lady could take advantage of those things and still be a lady.

  Maelani silently thanked the gods that her mother had lived just long enough to give her that advice and more. Had she been raised exclusively by her father, she might have made a fine man, a capable soldier, and a valiant leader, but she would certainly have been a washout as a lady.

  "True power," she whispered to her reflection, repeating words her mother had said to her a thousand times, "speaks with a woman's soft caress."

  With a giggle, she slipped into a pair of gilded sandals enchanted to allow her to levitate. She found the experience of floating aloft unpleasant, but she had plans for the slippers that night. Next she slid a pair of cloth-of-gold gloves up her forearms. The gloves fit her to her elbows, and the fine silk only hinted at the greater softness of the flesh beneath. She kept her gloved fingers conspicuously free of rings. It was a message most men missed, but she would send it anyway. The duke would die if he knew she was leaving the palace without so much as a ring of protection, but what her father didn't know....

  Maelani regarded the whole outfit with a wider grin. She was beautiful. She was the sort of girl any man would fall in love with on sight.

  "Potion?" she asked her reflection. "What potion?"

  She slipped the vial she'd purchased from Vrilanda into on
e of her gloves, taking care that it wouldn't show, even as she assured herself that she wouldn't need it.

  She took a deep breath and carefully picked up a shimmering, golden diadem from her dressing table. Though it was hardly the flashiest piece in the family's collection, she'd had to send Theria to the vaults with a note to get it drawn out for her. Maelani slipped it onto her forehead, letting the cool aquamarine that dangled from it slowly grow warm against her forehead. The diadem would keep the hair out of her eyes while allowing it to flow free. Men liked that, Maelani knew.

  "My lords, ladies, and gentlemen," she said to the mirror, "may I present Duke Regdar and the Duchess Maelani."

  "For the thousandth time, Naull," Regdar said, a vein standing out on his forehead and sweat beading on his upper lip, "I have no interest in the duke's daughter."

  Naull shrugged and turned away from him so he couldn't see her smile. She crossed to the bed they'd shared since returning to the city and sat down. She sank into the opulent duvet and ran her fingers through her hair. She was careful to give Regdar a good look at her long neck.

  She heard him take a step toward her and her breath caught. As if sensing her reaction, he stopped.

  "You like to tease me," he said.

  "You like to..." she started, but wasn't sure what to say.

  "Ah," he said. "No comeback? No witty reproach of my honor, or the duke's, or his daughter's?"

  Naull clenched her teeth to keep from laughing as Regdar walked up behind her. Even out of his armor his tread was heavy and solid on the marble floor. She could feel him looming over her.

  "What do you want me to say, Naull?" he asked.

  She shook her head, and Regdar's fingertips brushed her hair. His touch was impossibly gentle for a man who had spent his life wielding a sword in defense of duke and duchy. She tipped her head just a fraction of an inch, leaning into him.

  "This Lord Constable business is temporary," he said. "There are crimes being committed, and the duke has chosen this way to stop them. He will choose a husband for Maelani as well, in time, a man who will be his successor. He may be casting about for that man now, but soon enough the realities of the situation will become apparent. The next duke will not have been born a commoner, Naull. It will not be me."