The trip back from the high heaths of Lake Everbrite was uneventful, although Vulk found the return portal opening to be more difficult than when they had gone out. It seemed to take more effort, seemed to open less “wide,” and left him more drained than the last two gates he’d opened.
But the transfer was successful, and the group was able to catch up with the Earl’s Progress in the town of Lorethal. Once they had unloaded both their own hard won herbal bounty as well as that captured from the tribesmen and mysterious trader/mage, they each went on to their own tasks.
Vulk reported to the Earl, in his guest quarters in Lorethal Keep, to inform him of the results of their search and the encounter with what might be yet another element of the drug ring operating in his domain. The nobleman was disturbed to find that the network was apparently not completely broken, but pleased that they’d suffered another set-back.
“Although I could wish that you had managed to capture this mage, or at least killed him,” he said as Vulk prepared to take his leave. “But I know how devilishly trick that sort can be… Keep me posted if you find anything of interest in his possessions.
“Also, Ser Vulk, I have a request of you…”
♦
Drake stayed with Ser Petral as he sorted through the harvest they’d brought, then accompanied the physician to the makeshift work tent he’d set up near Devrik’s tent. Ser Petral had divided the sample of the Baylorium Fungus they’d given him into several pieces, and already had it growing in various meat cultures.
“A fascinating discovery my boy,” he murmured to Drake as he prepared to make the first of the compounds they’d need to save Devrik’s eye and possibly his life. “I’m intrigued by the spectacular results you claim for it in that little kerfuffle in the Theocracy… I look forward to replicating it here!”
“Now pay attention, and I’ll walk you through the preparation for the making of the Elmithra elixir, which will take awhile…”
♦
While Erol helped Cris stable the horses and unload the captured mule, Mariala hurried into the tent that Devrik was sharing with Raven and Blackhawk, to check on their friend. The wounded man was sleeping, and though a film of sweat covered his face, she thought his color looked better, and the gashes that peeked out from the bandage over his eye not quite so inflamed as before.
“The phisicker has made him more comfortable,” Raven said, running her hand over his brow. “But, although the fever has slowed, he still burns too hot… and the eye…” she started to tear up, and turned away.
“We’ve found what Ser Petral needs to help Devrik,” Mariala reassured her, putting an arm around the pregnant woman. “He and Drake will soon have your man up and strong again, I promise you!”
♦
Drake didn’t join the group for dinner that afternoon, sending word via Cris that he and Ser Petral were deep in their work to create the medicines that were needed, not only for Devrik, but for Lady Lania and other sick and wounded in the entourage.
But Erol did join them, and announced the results of his and Cris’ search of the mysterious trader/mage’s clothes and saddle bags.
“The usual crap that men carry, of course.” he said as he sat down, dropping one of saddle bags on the table.
“A few coins, which I gave to Cris,” he said as the boy ducked out of the tent to fetch their food. “Some cheap jewelry, the bracers he wore, a dagger, and the clothes themselves. Nothing of interest, but you should probably check them for any… um, arcane energies… Mariala. They’re in the bag.
“But the thing I’m most interested in,” he continued, reaching into the scruffy leather bag. “ is this!”
He pulled out a narrow waxed leather tube, about 8” long and 1” in diameter. The black leather case was unadorned, but the end cap of red leather was stamped with strange, disturbing symbols.
“I missed this, but Cris found it in a secret pocket at the bottom of the bag, sewed into a seam.” He shuddered slightly as he handed it to Mariala. “I don’t know from magic, really, but this feels… wrong, somehow. Trying to read the symbols on the cap made me want to throw the damn thing away.
“I resisted the impulse, though, and popped the cap… but I don’t know what to make of the contents…”
Mariala studied the tooled symbols for a moment before opening the cap, and also shuddered, more deeply. It took a definite effort of will not to hurl the leather case from her and try to forget she’d ever seen it.
“Oh yes, there’s magic here,” she said grimly, as she pulled the cap off, letting it dangle from it’s attached cord. “And not clean magic.”
She turned the tube over and tapped it on the table to make its contents slide out – three tightly wound sheets of very fine vellum parchment, and a strange metallic object. She quickly set aside the case, and picked up the papers, glad to have the leather out of her hand. Vulk picked up the strange object, turning it in his hand.
After a moment of fiddling with it, he gave a start as what had seemed to be a single crooked arm suddenly snapped out into three, equally spaced around their pivot point. Each arm was of a different colored metal: bright silver, deep red copper, and a stange, almost translucent black metal. The body of the object was made of bronze; on each face was a raised disk of gold.
“I have no idea what this might be,” he admitted, setting it on the table. “Maybe it’s a paper weight…”
When no one else offered any better ideas, they all turned their attention to the papers Mariala still held, as s set them on the table as well. The three sheets immediately unfurled and lay perfectly flat. Each one was notched on one of the short edges, near the corner.
“Well, these don’t need a paper weight anyway,” she observed dryly.
As her companions watched, Mariala spread the pages apart and examined each one carefully, then placed them one on top of the other, with the notches aligned. She shuffled them into all the possible orders and combinations of sides facing one another, but the sheets remained utterly blank.
“Hmmm… I’m sure there’s an enchantment around these sheets, though I’ll have to… um, study them… more closely, to be sure. But I don’t yet know how to reveal whatever they may be hiding, if anything. What do you think?” she asked, handing them to Vulk.
But Vulk could make no more of them than she, and set the sheets down in frustration next to the metal object, which he had managed to retract into its original state. By then Cris had bustled back in with their food and laid the table, and everyone turned their attention to the meal.
It wasn’t until they had finished eating and she was preparing to take the papers and the strange paper weight back to her own tent that she remembered the leather tube – and then only because she stumbled on it as she stood up to leave.
“Oh, that’s right,” Erol said in surprise as she picked it up. “I’d forgotten about that creepy case.”
“Yes, so had I,” Mariala agreed with a worried frown. “I think this thing should be destroyed, and sooner rather than later.”
Thus, after stowing the blank vellum sheets in her locked chest in Lady Lania’s coach, she headed into the woods outside of town, accompanied by Erol and Cris. In a secluded glade she built a fire, and when it was at its hottest she tossed the leather map tube into the flames – although it took her a moment to remember why she’d built the fire or that she still held the case in her hand.
The flames eagerly devoured the waxed leather, turning a sickly green and producing a thick, oily smoke. Mariala made sure that they all stood far downwind until the fire died down to embers. Cris shoveled the remains into a pit she’d had him dig earlier, and tamp the earth over it solidly.
Maybe, she thought as they turned back toward town, I should have Vulk come out here and consecrate the spot…
♦
Vulk, meanwhile, was busy preparing to fulfill the Earl Kinen’s request of him – to act as the Crown Prosecutor at the Shire Moot the next day, where the surviving members of the Zebarin drug ring would be tried. It was more usual that an itinerant herald or cantor of Kasira such as he would act for the defense of commoners accused before the courts, but under the circumstances he was happy to let another take that job.
He worked long into the night, by the Light of Kasira, in the keep’s library, a room that the Sheriff apparently seldom visited and had been happy to turn over to his use, at the Earl’s request. By the time he finally retired to the small chamber he’d been given, he felt he was as prepared as he was ever going to be for his public debut before a Nolkiori court.
♦
The next morning Vulk accompanied the men-at-arms and the defense, a cantor of Agara, to the dungeons to retrieve the accused. Several other men and women, clearly peasants, were also brought out of cells and trooped off to stand before the moot court, but Vulk noticed one older man, clearly of higher blood, who was left in his remote corner cell.
The man caught his gaze and came to the bars, where Vulk could see that a ball gag was securely affixed around his head. But before he could do more than step toward the cell, the sergeant of the Sheriff’s guards rapped the man’s knuckles hard with his truncheon.
“Back, you!” he snarled as the prisoner shrank back in fear. “The Sheriff’ll deal with you in good time. ‘Til then be glad he ain’t ordered your tongue cut out!”
At Vulk’s surprised look the sergeant gave him a half-salute and a shrug, as he herded him back toward the group.
“He’s a bad ‘un, Brother, make no mistake. A dangerous warlock… charged with betraying the King’s Peace.”
Vulk had little time to ponder the matter, as they were quickly led into the Great Hall of the keep, where the Sheriff was seated in his Chair of Judgement. The Earl sat off to his right, chief among the spectators, stone faced and silent. Several score other folk, from gentles down to the meanest commons, lined the sides of the hall, though most of them were standing. Vulk caught sight of Mariala, Erol and Blackhawk in the crowd… Drake must still be working with Ser Petral, who was also absent.
Vulk thought the Sheriff, although about the same age as himself, and despite the rich clothes and the chain of office he wore, seemed rather young. He also seemed rather nervous at having the Earl present, given the covert glances he kept darting at the nobleman, who remained impassive. But he nonetheless took his job seriously, and dealt both fairly and quickly with the relatively minor cases on the docket first.
Within a watch he had disposed of them all, and the big case, the one that concerned the Earl and possibly the whole kingdom, was brought before him. His nervousness under the Earl’s gaze, which had faded during the lesser cases, seemed to return as Vulk stepped forward to present the Crown’s case against the accused drug smugglers and attempted assassins.
It took most of the next watch to bring forth all the witnesses and for both Vulk and the cantor of Agara to make their cases; although the older cantor was dignified and eloquent, Vulk had the evidence heavily on his side, and the best the other could do was plead for mercy.
The Sheriff seemed of divided mind at that point, but once the Earl rose and spoke forcefully of the chaos and disorder that this drug trade was already creating in the kingdom, with only the most oblique reference to the possible Succession Crisis that loomed over the realm, his resolve firmed up quickly.
“I have heard the testimony,” he said in a carrying voice when the Earl had finished. “And in the name of the King and under the eyes of the Immortals, I find these prisoners guilty of all charges brought against them.
“Except,” he went on as the crowd began to murmur in approval, “ for Yovon Targeld. She I find innocent of the charges of attempted assassination and of murder, as she was apparently not involved in the creation or delivery of the worried woreen.”
The crowd’s murmuring turned to surprise at this, but he overrode them.
“But there is no doubt that she was intimately involved in the smuggling and dissemination of numerous illicit drugs, and on those charges I find her guilty. As this plague of drugs has caused many deaths throughout the Realm, as His Grace has so eloquently summarized, I find I can extend no mercy to her, no more than to her companions.
“I sentence you all to be hanged by the neck until you are dead, your bodies to be quartered, and the pieces buried in unconsecrated ground. This sentence to be carried out at dawn two days hence; use the time to make peace with your souls. In the King’s name, this Court is adjourned.”
As the condemned were led out and the crowd began to break up into excited, chattering clumps, Vulk noticed that while the air of approval at the Sheriff’s decree was universal, amongst some of the local nobility it seemed a bit grudging.
As he was pointing this out to his friends, who were congratulating him on a well presented case, the Earl motioned him over to where he stood talking to the Sheriff, who seemed relaxed once again. Apparently the Earl had expressed his approval of the younger man’s performance.
“Well done, Ser Vulk,” the Earl said, with one of his rare smiles. “You are and eloquent and effective speaker. I was right to select you for this job.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” Vulk replied, bowing. “It’s always easier when you have truth on your side.”
“Indeed Ser, indeed. The Sheriff and I are going to the chapel to pray for the souls of the condemned. If you’d care to lead us in our devotions, I’d be well pleased.”
Surprised at this invitation, given that the Earl’s preferred Immortal patron was, like most of his fellow noblemen, Cael, Vulk accepted with alacrity. After a few more minutes of the social graces with the local gentry (during which he noticed both the cool regard they felt for the Sheriff and the warm enthusiasm they held for the Earl), the party was able to slip away.
The chapel of Lorethal Keep was in the southwest corner of the pile, on the third floor. It was obvious at a glance that it had been very recently refurbished, and rather lavishly at that. The three men knelt before the alter and the large silver Eldaran ankh that hung on the wall behind it, both bathed in the multicolored light from the west-facing stained glass window. Vulk led them in the prescribed prays for the souls of those condemned to die, that they might be reborn anew to try again to find favour with the All.
♦
That evening Drake joined the group for the banquet being held in the Earl’s honor; Ser Petral was at the high table, in his usual spot, as well. Both men seemed in good spirits, and his friends quickly began peppering Drake with questions.
“Yes, it’s been going very well,” Drake laughed, taking a deep pull on his beer, having as usual eschewed the wine selections. “Ser Petral is really a rather fine fellow, and a very good teacher… I feel like I’m learning so much; more than I ever did from my thrice-cursed uncle.”
“I suspect you’re actually relearning many things, my friend,” Mariala said, smiling. “The mind is an amazing sponge, and much that we learned without knowing is retained, to sprout forth when conditions are right.”
“Well, whatever the reason, I’m excited to be working with such a great teacher and healer,” Drake shrugged. “And we’ve concocted a potion that utilizes some of my… our… Baylorium, to heal Devrik. We gave him the first dose at the beginning of the watch, and already his fever has broke completely, and the redness is fading from the slashes on his cheek and forehead.”
“What about his eye,” asked Erol, frowning. “I know your brother does alright with just one eye, but it’s a terrible loss for a warrior, and a danger in a fight.”
“It’s too soon to tell, of course, but Ser Petral feels confidant that he’ll regain full sight. Raven is also quite sure, though I’m sure that’s just love and hope talking.
“And we’ve begun work on a new version of Ser Petral’ “torazium” potion for the Lady Lania. I suggested adding Lyrin Oil to the mix, along with the Baylorium… if only we knew where to get hold of such an esoteric and illegal substance…” He glanced sideways at Mariala as he said that, and she returned a cool stare.
“I’m sure something will turn up Drake,” she said. “It always does.”
♦
Over the next two days, as the entourage moved from Lorethal Keep to Forest Manor, Devrik steadily improved. On the morning of the 10th, as they prepared once again for a long day of travel, he was up and helping with the packing. Both Raven and Ser Petral discouraged him from trying too much, but it was obvious that he was much himself again.
The bandage remained over his damaged eye, however, and Ser Petral suggested that he ride at least one more day in Lady Lania’s coach. Previously too ill to appreciate the company, the last couple of days had seen Devrik being drawn out by the enthusiasms of young Maid Carissa. She in turn was fascinated both by the quiet (and therefore mysterious) fighter and by his healing wounds.
“I plan to be a healer myself,” she assured him as the Progress got under way that morning, an assertion she had made to Mariala many times over the last tenday. Mariala rolled her eyes and smiled, but discreetly.
“What does your father say to that?” Devrik asked the girl as he held his hands apart so she could wrap yarn around them.
“Oh, Papa won’t hear of it, of course,” she sniffed disdainfully. “He’s determined to marry me off to some stuffy old lord. In fact, that’s at least part of the reason he’s doing this whole Progress thing – to check out potential husbands for me.”
She seemed undismayed by this, however, apparently quite certain she would not be taking anyone to husband that she didn’t want to.
“Once he sees me with the Healing Sisters at Rivona Abbey, and they tell him of my true vocation, I know Papa will let me join them.
“Of course, if he decides to marry me off to a young, handsome knight, I suppose I could take up healing on the side… My sister has done something of the same, even though she’s married to an Earl.”
That train of thought set her off on an excited tangent about the prospect of seeing her much admired older sister, the Countess Thilisa Kleftin, by the end of the day.
“Oh, you’ll both like her, I’m sure. She’s very beautiful, even if she is quite old – 23 last month. Her husband Sedris is even older, of course, 27 at least, but he is a great man, everyone says so!
“It’s very sad, of course, what’s gone forward this last year, but Thilisa is so strong…”
“What’s sad?” Mariala asked, setting down her own stitching to listen more intently to the girl. It was always good to get as much inside information about the places and people you were about to visit…
“Oh, don’t you know? No, of course – you’ve been adventuring in far off lands, so you mightn’t have heard yet.” The girl gave up all pretense of darting her yarn, and Devrik happily untangled his own hands.
“Well, Sedris, that is Lord Kleftin, the Earl Yorma, disappeared over a year ago. He set out from his castle – Urkonis, where we’ll be this evening – to track down a murderer” (she said that word quite breathlessly), “a man who had killed his wife and fled before he could be brought to justice.
“Sedris had taken the woman under his protection, when she had fled from her husband after he had beaten her terribly, so when the man managed to kill the poor woman anyway, well Sedris was honor-bound to avenge her personally.
“My brother-in-law is very honorable,” she added aside. “Papa says it’s his finest quality.
“But anyway, no one has seen Sedris since he rode out that day, nor the two men-at-arms he took with him. My sister has run the Earldom very well, Papa says, but if Sedris doesn’t return soon he worries about what will happen… they haven’t had any children yet, you see, so if a Kleftin succession council is called, who knows what will happen?”
For a moment she was silent, as she contemplated her sister’s tragic plight, but soon enough her naturally cheerful temperament reasserted itself.
“I’m sure Thilisa will find a way to make it all come out alright; she’s quite brilliant, everyone says so!”
♦
Later that evening, as everyone sat down for a formal, but quiet, welcoming banquet at Kar Urkonis, both Mariala and Devrik found themselves agreeing with Carissa’s assessment of her sister. Lady Thilisa, the Countess Yorma, was not only extremely beautiful, but obviously equally intelligent. She greeted her father and his guests with subdued dignity, but her conversation was sharp and quietly witty and she had a firm grasp on what was going on not only within her own domain, but throughout the realm.
A life-size portrait of the countess and what was obviously her missing husband, the Earl Yorma, hung on the wall behind the dais in the Great Hall. Mariala studied it closely as the party was ending, after she had been introduced to the Lady Thilisa, who noted her interest.
“My husband,” she confirmed, smiling. “He commissioned that for our wedding day, and surprised me with it when we returned from the Temple.”
“He is most handsome,” Mariala said, as indeed he was – tall, dark haired, clear gray eyes, a square jaw, and a trim figure. “You must miss him very much.”
“Yes, but I have every confidence in his skill and abilities. Whatever keeps him from us, I’m sure he will overcome it and return to us.
“But I understand I owe you thanks,” she continued, deftly changing the subject. “You have been caring for my lady mother during this… ordeal my father insists on putting her through. And shielding her, I hear, from mystical attack.”
“Well, there’s been no attack to defend against, at least not of that sort,” Mariala said. “But I have had the honor to help care for her, along with your sister and her nursemaid.”
“Ser Petral tells me he may be close to a cure, thanks to the knowledge you and your companions have brought him. If that is true, you will all have more than just words in thanks – from both my self and my father!”
With that she moved off to greet the next of her guests and Mariala turned to find her friends. Vulk and Drake were not far away, appearing to speak quietly together. But asa she approached, she realized they were actually eavesdropping on an increasingly heated exchange the Earl was having with two of the local nobles.
“I have every reason to believe my son-in-law is alive, Ser,” he said. “And full faith in his eventual return.”
The companions couldn’t quite make out the response of the smaller of the two locals, but no trouble hearing Lord Clarin’s response.
“Rubbish! My daughter is quite capable of handling the affairs of the fief as effectively as Sedris could. Indeed, she did much of the work even when he was home. This threat of a succession council is nothing more than a power grab, Ser, and you would do well to consider all the ramifications before you put your own weight behind it…”
At this point the Earl seemed to realize the conversation had become indiscreet, and he and men moved off to find a more private venue, no doubt to continue the debate. The comapnions turned then to head out of the hall themselves and to find their beds.
♦
The next morning the group gathered in a small chamber off the great library to discuss their next move in the fight to bring down the Constable of Dür. Drake reported that he had a brief break from his work with Ser Petral, as much of their material now needed time to age properly.
“And what a stoke of luck it was to find a stash of Lyrin Oil on our doorstep, as it were, yesterday,” he said, carefully not smiling at Mariala. “Now we have a real chance of a cure for Lady Lania.”
When Devrik and Raven entered the room, everyone was pleased to see that he had his eye patch off, and though still bloodshot, he seemed able to see perfectly.
“And these pale scars just add interest to my face,” he growled. “Or so Raven assures me.”
After they had all congratulated Devrik on his recovery, and Drake for his hand in it, and he’d thanked them all in return for finding the shrubbery needed for his recovery, they got down to business.
Mariala pulled out the sheets of vellum they’d found on the trader/mage, along with what they were calling Vulk’s paper weight, and spread them all on the table.
“I still think these are important,” she declared. “They were too well hidden and warded to be just blank sheets of paper and a paper weight.
“I have an idea for learning more about them…”
