Darkblade Justice: An Epic Fantasy Murder Mystery (Hero of Darkness Book 7)

by Andy Peloquin

  “Bryden!” Ilanna’s voice cracked like a whip. “Shut up for just one moment and listen.”

  Bryden’s eyes flew wide and he opened his mouth to retort, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

  “Listen,” Errik said. A single word, yet spoken by the Master of House Serpent and the foremost assassin in the Night Guild, it carried weight. All in the Night Guild knew of Errik’s close friendship with Ilanna. Even the youngest apprentice knew that going up against Master Gold meant facing Master Serpent’s blades. Few dared risk that.

  Ilanna set down her goblet and met Bryden’s gaze. “I know your Hawks are innocent, Master Hawk. I have spent time with each of them, and have heard extensive reports on them from my son.”

  Bryden’s scowl deepened. His dislike for Ilanna hadn’t quite extended to mistreatment of Kodyn, but it had come close more than once. There had been times when only the calming voices of Ria, Errik, and Darreth had prevented Ilanna’s motherly instincts from overriding her good sense.

  She turned her gaze to the other House Masters. “I believe you when you say that you have no knowledge of these crimes, but perhaps there are things going in your Houses that you are unaware of. That spectacle in the Menagerie was for the sake of your Journeymen and apprentices. If one of them is responsible, I want them terrified of what the Guild will do to them. Terrified men and women make mistakes, and we will be ready to catch them when they slip up. But no,” she said with a shake of her head, “I do not believe anyone in the Night Guild is guilty of these murders.”

  Relief filled Master Grubber’s one good eye, and tension drained from Master Fox’s thick-muscled shoulders.

  “Yet, as I said, the Night Guild will not let it stand.” Ilanna’s voice hardened. “I want everyone in every House on the lookout for anything that could lead us to those guilty. They must be caught, for the sake of the Night Guild and all of Praamis.”

  “As you say.” The whip-thin Master Hound bowed.

  “Go, speak to your people.” Ilanna thrust a finger toward the door. “Instill the Watcher’s fear in them, and once you are certain the killer is not among our ranks, set them to hunt the bastard down!”

  Ilanna turned her back on the House Masters in dismissal, and she heard the door open and close a few seconds later. When she returned to her seat, she found Errik and Ria hadn’t moved from their places.

  Errik spoke first. “I’ve already set my Serpents loose on the streets.” He gave her a confident nod. “We’ll find whoever’s doing this.”

  Ilanna smiled. “Thank you, my friend.”

  “Always, Ilanna.” He returned her smile—an expression she rarely saw cross his face these days—nodded to Ria, and left the room.

  Silence hung thick in the chamber for a moment. Ria shattered it by driving her fist into the earthen wall.

  “Damn the bastard!” Ria snarled. “Chantelle was a good girl, Ilanna. She didn’t deserve to die like that!”

  Ilanna hadn’t known the prostitute by name, but Ria did—she knew every working girl, courtesan, and fancy-tickler in Praamis. It was her duty as Master of House Phoenix, one she took seriously.

  “I know she didn’t.” She came around the desk and reached for Ria’s hands. The woman’s balled fists slowly relaxed in her grip, and Ria lifted dark, angry eyes to her. “But I swear to you that her death will not go unanswered.”

  Ria bared her teeth. “Give me five minutes in a room with the bastard, and he’ll think death a mercy!”

  “As soon as we find him.” Ilanna drew in a deep breath. “And no one in the Night Guild is going to rest until we do.”

  Ria’s grip, strong from years of wielding her forearm-length assegai spear, tightened on Ilanna’s hand. “Damned right!” She blew out her cheeks. “I’m off to do the rounds of the pleasure houses. Meet me at The Gilded Chateau in two hours? I should have something for you by then. If anyone knows or has heard anything, Aisha and I will get it out of them.”

  “I’ll be there,” Ilanna said with a nod.

  Ria pulled Ilanna close and pressed a kiss to her lips. “Find them, Master Gold,” she whispered when she broke off. “Find them, and make them pay.”

  “I intend to.” Ilanna’s voice was low, hard. She felt that same cold fury that had filled her gut when she’d killed Allon for his betrayal.

  Ria had just turned to leave when the door opened and Darreth entered the room. One look at the Journeyman’s ashen expression twisted a dagger of worry in Ilanna’s stomach.

  “What is it?” she asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Th-They found another body, Master Gold.” Darreth couldn’t meet her eyes. “It’s one of ours.”

  Chapter Four

  “House of Mercy, my lord,” called out the coachman as he reined in the horses.

  The Hunter opened the coach door and stepped out into the street. The House of Mercy towered three stories above his head, the red brick walls stretching for fifty paces across. Given its location a few streets away from The Gardens, the building alone had to be worth a small fortune.

  “I await your pleasure, sir,” the man said, and knuckled his forehead.

  The man had been paid well enough to transport “Lord Anglion” from Voramis to Praamis and remain available as long as the “nobleman” needed him. The Hunter had selected the coachman based on his reputation for maintaining secrets—provided the coin was good enough, of course. The carriage had been rented from one of Voramis’ many coachhouses and decorated with the colors of Lord Anglion’s noble house: white and red.

  The Hunter tapped his gilded cane on the cobblestones. “I won’t be long, Rayf.”

  He strode through the wide-open front door and found himself in a neat tiled corridor with whitewashed walls and a high-vaulted ceiling. Plain wooden furniture—a simple bench in the waiting area, a solid table to greet guests, and cabinets filled with Bluejacket clothing and shoes—adorned the corridor. The shouts, cries, and laughter of children echoed through the roomy halls around him.

  A woman wearing a long-sleeved grey dress, blue apron, and white wimple looked up as he entered. “Welcome to the House of Mercy, good sir. How might we be of assistance?”

  “I believe it is I who can be of assistance to you this day.” The Hunter gave the woman a magnanimous smile. “I’ve come into a sizeable fortune, but my deceased grandmother insisted that a part of it goes to care for the less fortunate of Praamis. I’ve heard so much about Lady Chasteyn that I knew I had to come down and see her labors for myself. Is she in?”

  “She is, my lord.” The woman’s face brightened. “She’ll be in the common room serving lunch now, as she does every day. If you would like to wait—”

  “No need.” The Hunter gave a dismissive wave. “After all, I’ve come to see the good works I will be helping to fund, so I will be happy to speak to her in the common room.”

  “Of course. Right this way, if you please.”

  The Hunter added a dignified swagger to his stride as he followed the woman through the halls. He caught glimpses of rooms with desks—likely some sort of place of learning—bedrooms, even one room filled with clothes to be mended. The sound of children grew louder as they approached the end of the corridor.

  The woman led him through swinging wooden doors and into what had to be a common room or dining chamber. Long wooden tables and benches filled the room, and children sat at the tables eating the midday meal.

  A stone counter occupied one end of the room, and upon the counter sat two enormous cookpots. Three women stood behind the pots, wielding ladles and scooping a delicious-smelling meat stew into the bowls of the blue-clothed children—all between the ages of four and twelve or thirteen, the Hunter guessed--lined up before them. Two wore the same grey dress, blue apron, and white wimple as the woman guiding him. The third could only be Lady Chasteyn.

  Lady Chasteyn had the pale skin and aquiline features of a Praamian noble, with a prominent nose, a smattering of freckles on her high cheeks, and a
sharp jawline and chin. Her strawberry blonde hair was pulled back into a neat braid coiled in the latest style atop her head. Even her clothes were elegant, cut in the latest fashion, in bright hues of blue and purple layered tastefully with contrasting whites and blacks.

  “Here you are!” she said in a high, singsong voice as she ladled stew into one of the children’s bowls. “Eat up, and there’s plenty more where this came from.”

  The woman that had entered with the Hunter slipped around the table and whispered something into Lady Chasteyn’s ear. Lady Chasteyn’s brilliant blue eyes snapped toward the Hunter. She passed the ladle to the grey-dressed woman, removed her blue cloth apron, and glided around the table.

  “Welcome, my lord.” Lady Chasteyn flashed a dazzling smile. “Susain tells me you have come to speak about making a contribution to the needy.”

  “Indeed, my lady.” The Hunter swept up Lady Chasteyn’s hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. Her perfume, an overpowering mixture of amber, cinnamon, musk, and candied flowers, assaulted his nostrils. He forced himself not to grimace, but kept the pleasant smile plastered on his face.

  Lady Chasteyn’s smile broadened and she laid a hand on his arm. “This way, if you please, my lord.” She leaned close to the Hunter as he escorted her out of the common room, down the hall, and into a side room opposite the entrance. By the wooden desk, canvas chair, and book-laden shelves, the Hunter guessed he stood in Lady Chasteyn’s office.

  “As I told Susain,” the Hunter said as he closed the wooden, glass-paneled door behind him, “my grandmother has left me a sizeable inheritance, but on the condition that a percentage is dedicated toward the less fortunate. That percentage comes up to a total of ten thousand imperials.”

  “Blessed Mistress!” Lady Chasteyn’s eyes widened and she pressed a hand to her throat. “May the gods smile on you for your generosity.”

  The Hunter smiled. Humans and their gods. Mention of the gods amused him, in the same way he was amused by watching an incompetent swordsman defending against a vastly superior opponent. What would they do if they ever knew the truth? The few he’d told about the Serenii, Enarium, and the Devourer had struggled to digest the revelation.

  “As I said, the ten thousand imperials are to be given to works like yours that provide aid to those in need.” The Hunter cleared his throat. “But I have not yet decided which of these works to contribute to. Thus, I have come today to see the renowned House of Mercy for myself.”

  “Of course.” Lady Chasteyn’s smile never wavered, but her eyes lost a fraction of their sparkle. “Ask what you will and I will answer gladly.”

  “I must admit that I find it curious that a noblewoman of your esteemed reputation would engage in such activity.” The Hunter had never heard of Lady Chasteyn and had no idea what sort of reputation she had, but flattery always worked wonders with the nobility. People that thought highly of themselves liked to believe others thought the same.

  “You would not be the first to say that, nor the last.” Lady Chasteyn laughed, a high, tinkling sound. “Many of my peers from Praamis and even Voramis have found it odd. But the answer is simple. The House of Mercy was founded by my late father, Lord Vorack Forgolan. Upon his passing, his estate fell to me, but like you, it came with the condition that I keep the House of Mercy open. With a sizeable trust to ensure the smooth operations, of course.”

  “Ah, I understand.” The Hunter smiled. “The shadow of our fathers persists long after they are in the grave.”

  “You are more right than you know, my lord.” Lady Chasteyn nodded. “However, I will admit freely that the House of Mercy is sustained by generous contributions from devout Praamians like you.”

  The Hunter bowed. “One can only try their best, my lady.”

  “Indeed,” Lady Chasteyn said. “That is all we can do in this life, and hope the Long Keeper judges us fairly in the next.”

  Her words reminded him of the brown-robed priest shouting in the marketplace.

  “Now, if I might be so indelicate as to ask a difficult question, is it true that one of your children was recently discovered…” He glanced around and dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “…murdered?”

  Lady Chasteyn’s expression froze, and her eyes went hard, flat. After a moment, she nodded her head. “Sadly, that is the case.” She folded her hands over her lap and dropped her gaze. “The House of Mercy provides the children with food and shelter as best we can, but alas, there are so few of us to care for them that we cannot hope to watch them all. The children are free to go about the city during the day. In fact, we encourage them to find gainful employment wherever possible. Many of them are employed in what the people of Praamis have come to affectionately call the ‘Bluejacket Runners’.”

  This brought a smile to her lips. “My Bluejackets run messages of all sorts around the city, from the palace itself to Old Praamis to The Gardens. We try our best to keep them out of unsavory places, such as outside the Praamian Wall, but every imperial earned is one more that helps to put food in bellies and blankets on beds.”

  The Hunter inclined his head. “Yet, forgive me for returning to the distasteful topic, but have many of your children gone missing in the past? Or ended up in this…unfortunate condition?”

  Lady Chasteyn sighed. “Children go missing all too often, my lord.” Her shoulders drooped. “It is a sad fact to admit, yet there are many wicked people in this world. I do my best to care for those I can. The rest, I entrust to the Watcher’s hands.”

  The Hunter nodded. “It is all you can do.” He’d heard many similar tales in Voramis; fiery hell, in every city he’d visited across Einan. Children could go missing, be hauled into slavery, or imprisoned into far worse fates—there would always be those willing to prey on the weak.

  But the one that had killed this unnamed orphan child hadn’t reckoned on the Hunter. This death, at least, will not go unpunished. Soulhunger would feed well once he found the bastard.

  “If you may permit me a question of my own, my lord?” Lady Chasteyn raised an eyebrow.

  “Nothing as indelicate as those I’ve asked you, I trust.”

  The noblewoman laughed. “Certainly not.”

  “Then ask away, my lady.” The Hunter swept a courtly bow.

  “You are Lord Harrenth Anglion, are you not?”

  “I am he,” the Hunter said. “I did not believe I would be so easily recognized. Truth be told, I wished this donation to remain anonymous.”

  “Your name will never be mentioned if that is your desire,” Lady Chasteyn said. “But I ask out of curiosity at your presence here, for it is well-known that the young Lord Anglion is reclusive to the extreme. Indeed, few in Praamis have seen your face in the last decade.”

  The Hunter nodded. “A question I should have expected, my lady.”

  Which, in truth, he had.

  He’d invested a great deal of time, effort, and gold into crafting his Lord Anglion persona back in his days as the Hunter, assassin of Voramis. He’d purchased a peerage in the Praamian nobility, bribed the scribes to add his fictional lineage to the city’s records, bought a modest mansion in The Gardens and holdings outside of Praamis, even hired staff and workers to care for his properties–all through intermediaries, of course. Even on this visit, he’d added a few years on the eternally youthful, sharp-angled face of Lord Harrenth Anglion.

  “For the last decade, I have traveled around the continent of Fehl, far to the south of Einan.” A well-rehearsed lie, one that few people would bother to investigate. “The gold and silver mines of the Fehlans have kept me overseas for all this time, not to mention made me a very wealthy man. Yet over the last year, I have found myself longing for the comforts of home and civilized life in Praamis. The passing of my grandmother seemed the ideal opportunity for a return. Or, if nothing else, an extended visit.”

  “Then let me be the first to welcome you home, Lord Anglion.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” The Hunter swept a b
ow. “I hope that our paths cross again soon.”

  “Indeed.” Lady Chasteyn beamed at him. “I will be certain to make it so.”

  A knock sounded at the office door.

  “Enter!” Lady Chasteyn called.

  The man who opened the door looked to be in his seventies, with plain features to match his greying hair, dull brown servants’ garb, and his lean form. He didn’t enter, but spoke from the doorway.

  “My lady, we must be goin’ if you’re to be home in time for tonight’s gala.” He spoke in the thick accent of a Praamian from the slums outside the wall.

  The Hunter didn’t catch the man’s scent, his nostrils overpowered by Lady Chasteyn’s perfume as she moved toward him.

  “Of course, Holtan.” The noblewoman swept a curtsy to the Hunter. “I would be honored if you attended our fete tonight. Nothing too lavish, mind you. A small affair to celebrate the anniversary of my husband’s return from his pilgrimage to Shalandra.”

  The Hunter had heard of Shalandra, a city at the southernmost extreme of the continent of Einan. He’d even visited it once, years earlier, to hunt down a nobleman that fled Voramis to escape his wrath.

  The Hunter bowed. “I truly hope to attend, my lady, provided my business in Praamis does not otherwise occupy me. However, I will strive my utmost to be present.”

  “That is all a lady can ask for.” Her dazzling smile returned. “Until tonight, my lord.”

  “Mistress willing, my lady.”

  The Hunter’s eyes followed Lady Chasteyn as she swept from the room in a swirl of bright-colored fabric and golden hair. Her manservant, Holtan, shot the Hunter a curious look before closing the door behind Lady Chasteyn.

  Well, that could have gone worse.

  The Hunter hadn’t learned much about what could have gotten the child killed, but Lady Chasteyn’s mention of the Bluejacket Runners intrigued him. He reached into his pocket and drew out the parchment he’d found clutched in the boy’s hand.

  “Young Lady Riandra’s blood is on your hands, Baronet Wyvern,” it read. “What is it worth to keep her death a secret?”