Fires That Forge, page 19
part #1 of Lords of Order and Chaos Series
“The one with a ship’s dock within, on the inside of the warehouse?”
“Yes, sir,” the taller one said again. “That’s the very one.”
“You two saw him clearly?” Dunewell asked. “You saw his face as well?”
“Yes, sir, we did. Both of us. We’ll make our mark on a writ if you’d like.”
“Come with me,” Dunewell said as he turned back toward his quarters.
As Dunewell passed the glass lanterns of the gate post he watched the reflections of the two ‘witnesses’ behind him. They exchanged a suspicious look and nodded to one another.
“You said that was about an hour before sunrise when you saw the assassin?”
“Yes, sir,” the tall one said again. “Saw him good too.”
“From how far away?”
“Oh, maybe fifty yards or so.”
Several minutes later he had completed the written statements of both at his desk. Dunewell read the statements back to them and they confirmed and swore to the veracity of the content. Harol, the tall one, and Twent, the old one, made their marks on the statements.
“You understand you’re taking an oath before an Inquisitor of Moras?” Dunewell asked. “It is a crime to swear an oath of perjury.”
“We ain’t lied to you, sir.”
“Very well,” Dunewell said. “Make your marks here. The reward will be paid out at the Lord High Inquisitor’s office. You’ll have to accompany me there to collect.”
“We’re not too rushed on that end of it, sir,” the taller one said. “You mark a parchment for us, and we’ll be pleased with that.”
“Nonsense,” Dunewell said. “I must stop at the Temple of Fate, but that will only take a few minutes of our time. From there we’ll go to the Lord High Inquisitor’s office so you can be rewarded for your actions.”
Both men began toward the door, nodding and smiling.
“There’s no need in all that, sir,” Harol said. “We’ll be on our and way. We’ll get that parchment from you some other time…”
His voice faltered and then was shut off completely when Dunewell rose and fixed them both with a deadly look.
“You’ll halt where you are,” Dunewell said. “You will march before me and we’ll go to see the Lord High Inquisitor. You’ll tell your story there. There our business will be finished, and you will receive what you deserve in this matter.”
“No need to…”
“If you speak again, I’ll crush your left knee with my war hammer here.”
Harol opened his mouth to reply and then seemed to realize a few simple words would be placing his limbs in grave danger. He exchanged a look with Twent.
Dunewell rode for the temple with his two witnesses marching down the street before him. His anger boiled to the edge of his discipline when he thought of these false witnesses and what Gyllorn was trying to do. He must remain calm and maintain his composure, though. Now was a dangerous time and no time at all for rash acts.
As he turned onto the street a scuffle at the temple’s steps drew his attention. Three templars, he knew them by their tunics of Fate, had a man down in the street and were beating him.
“You’ll keep pace with me and stay within my sight,” Dunewell said to the two deceivers. “If you do not, I will be forced to assume your acts an attempt to impede my investigation. Do you understand what that would mean?”
Both men nodded solemnly.
“Good.”
Dunewell nudged his horse into a gallop and both paid liars ran to keep in front of him and within his sight line. Dunewell drew rein as he neared the temple and called out.
“Halt there,” Dunewell yelled. “Halt!”
All three templars looked up with scorn painted across their faces.
“Mind your business, Inquisitor,” one of them, a captain by the brushes he wore on his pauldrons, said. “You keep out of our affairs and we’ll not get into your own.”
“The man you are striking is my business,” Dunewell said. “What is his crime?”
“Broke a leg off one of the pews within,” the captain said. “Stashed it in his pants and ran for the door. This beating is just the beginning of what he’ll endure for defacing property of the church.”
“Please, we just needed Churchwood,” the man on the ground said through blood that bubbled out of his mouth. “We needed a ward.”
“Release him,” Dunewell said as he stepped down from his horse.
“This is the Mother Fate’s business and the church’s jurisdiction. We’ll do what we will.”
“Then I’ll arrest you,” Dunewell said. “Your jurisdiction ended when you left those steps. You are in the street now. A street of the city of Moras. You are in my jurisdiction.”
“Inquisitor Dunewell, sir,” Harol said. “Perhaps we should just meet you at the Lord High Inquisitor’s office?”
“You’re Dunewell?” the captain asked. “The same that rode with Sir Brutis and Lord Velryk?”
“I am.”
The mood among the templars changed quickly. They all took a step back from the poor wretch who laid prostrate on the stone.
“It seems you’re right, Inquisitor Dunewell,” the captain said. “We are out in the street. I guess you’ll be arresting this man for theft?”
“I will.”
“Then we’ll be about our morning, sir,” the captain said with a measured hate in his eyes. “His fine will need to be at least two silver for the damage.”
“I’ll expect your written statement on the damage and the names of the witnesses delivered to my quarters at Blackstone,” Dunewell said.
“What’s all this about,” came from the large and ornate doors of the temple.
“Just a misunderstanding,” the captain said.
“These templars were beating this man in the street,” Dunewell said as he turned to face the doorway to the temple. “I’ll not have it.”
The priest, one Dunewell didn’t recognize, waved his hand at the templars and they walked up the steps and withdrew inside the temple.
“What can the humble servants of Fate do for you this morning, Inquisitor?” the priest said evenly.
“I need to speak with whoever prepared the bodies of Steward Killian and Lady Helena,” Dunewell said.
Dunewell took the first step and paused when the priest extended his hand.
“Please wait here,” he said. “I’ll not have more disturbances within such a sacred place.”
The priest withdrew as well and Dunewell kept his eyes on the door.
“Harol and Twent,” Dunewell said. “I’ve not forgotten you. Get yourselves around here where I can keep an eye on you.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You,” Dunewell said pointing to the man still lying in the street. “What do you want the Churchwood for?”
“My wife works at the Marble Flagon, sir,” the man said as he brought himself up to his knees. “That vampire has attacked there twice now and I’m afraid for her.”
“Very well, be on about your business and get that warding to your wife.”
“You said you were going to arrest me, sir.”
“And I will, once I have written and sworn statements from those templars,” Dunewell said. “I think they’ll discover the fine for interfering in an investigation more hefty than the fine for stealing a piece of wood. Protect your wife and family. Churchwood makes for an excellent repellant and weapon when it comes to vampires.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
The man scrambled to his feet and trotted down the street holding a hand to one side. Dunewell had no doubt there were at least two cracked ribs there. Moments slid past and, just as Dunewell was moving to enter the temple, a sister of Fate exited the gilded doorway. She wore a simple woven dress and a tunic of wool.
“I prepared the bodies of Steward Killian and Lady Helena,” she said with a nervous glance over her shoulder into the dark of the temple. “What can I do for you, Inquisitor?”
“Did you notice any other wounds on them?” Dunewell asked. “Anything at all. A bruise, a nick, anything.”
“I did notice a slight cut on Steward Killian’s leg, but it was very small.”
“Nothing on Lady Helena?”
“I didn’t notice anything, sir,” she said. “There might have been something that I missed.”
“The injury on Steward Killian, where was it on his leg?”
“It would be indecent to point to it, sir.”
“Was it about here?” Dunewell asked, indicating his inner thigh high up where the leg joined the groin.
“No, sir,” she said, lowering her eyes. “Lower, near the knee.”
“You’re sure it wasn’t high up, near his… closer to his hip?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sure.”
Dunewell expected a quick stab to the upper femoral artery. He knew from experience that a man could bleed to death from that sort of injury in minutes. Dunewell now understood the nature of the injury she described. Someone had bled Steward Killian to death but had done so slowly.
A slow death like that was usually done for one of two reasons. Either the killer wanted the victim to suffer or, and more likely, the killer was interrogating the victim. Dunewell had found the hidden ledger easy enough. Surely someone skilled enough to disable Helena and Killian could have found that on their own. So, why the interrogation?
“Thank you, sister…”
“Sister Yelphia,” she said. “Sister Yephia. Please, do not call here again.”
With that she slipped back inside the temple as quietly as a whisper. A moment later the door was pulled to with a resounding slam.
Dunewell turned his horse, Harol, and Twent toward the other end of Blackstone Hall and Lord High Inquisitor Gyllorn’s offices. His mind raced. Someone had interrogated Killian, and possibly Helena. What would they know that wasn’t held in the secreted ledger? If this wasn’t about smuggled elven goods, then what other secret was so deadly? What was the true nature of the relationship between Gyllorn and Killian?
Dunewell poured these thoughts over the filter of his notes and sketches. Four murders. Lady Helena, and Stewards Killian, Rugan and Whillyd.
When he reached the southern gate to Blackstone Hall, Dunewell dismounted and handed the reins to a watchman standing nearby.
“Keep the horse close,” Dunewell said. “I doubt I’ll be here long.”
With a quick nod the watchman stepped to the side and Dunewell led his two witnesses up the marble steps to the great structure whose purpose was justice.
“You’ll need to wait here, sir,” a guard at the side of Gyllorn’s door said. “He’s in a meeting with the Reeve.”
“Reeve Sevynn will need to hear this news as well,” Dunewell said as he pushed Harol and Twent past the guard and through the double doors.
Gyllorn and Sevynn sat on a low divan, a silver serving tray of coffee and cheese between them on a highly polished table. The sudden entrance brought their eyebrows up, as well as the tips of the crossbows held by the three guards in the room.
“Reeve, Lord High Inquisitor, I come to you with urgent news,” Dunewell said.
Gyllorn and Sevynn smiled, believing Dunewell had either gone completely stupid or had come ‘round to their way of thinking.
“Tell them what you told me,” Dunewell said with another shove to Harol and Twent’s shoulders.
“We saw the man what killed Steward Killian and Lady Helena,” Harol said, while Twent nodded his agreement next to him. “We saw him clear. We told some watchmen about it and they caught him in that warehouse what belongs to House Theald.”
“You saw him as he left House Morosse an hour before sunrise?” Dunewell asked again. “You followed him to the House Theald warehouse with the inner dock on the west channel?”
Both men nodded and Lord High Inquisitor Gyllorn winced.
“Guard, I want both of these men imprisoned on the charge of False Oath,” Dunewell said. “They will also be charged with Assistant to Murder After the Fact.”
“Now hold on,” Harol said.
“There was a heavy fog on the morning of those murders, that rolled into Moras after midnight,” Dunewell said. “There is no way that you saw the man you claim an hour before sunrise and from fifty yards away. Furthermore, there is no warehouse on the west channel with an inner dock.”
“Lord High Inquisitor, you said…” Harol began.
Harol was cut short when, triggered by a gesture from Gyllorn, three heavy crossbow bolts were loosed. One went through Harol’s neck and another through a lung. The third struck Twent in the ear and sunk several inches into his brain. Both men dropped to the floor; dead before they reached the ground.
Dunewell, instincts sharpened by years in training and combat in Tarborat, had his war hammer in one hand and a dagger in the other before he fully realized what had taken place.
“Hold Inquisitor,” Reeve Sevynn said. “These guardsmen just saved your life, and ours. These men had concealed weapons and were reaching for them.”
The guardsmen, trained to ignore the content of the conversation in their presence, made themselves busy reloading their crossbows. Rage burned throughout Dunewell’s body. He could feel the battle lust upon him as his teeth began to sweat with anger. His nerves burned and his mind went cold and calm.
“These men were clearly in league with the assassin that we have in custody even now,” Lord High Inquisitor Gyllorn said. “Advisor Uriel-Ka assures us the man he has in custody is responsible for the murder of Lady Helena and Steward Killian. He also asserts young Steward Silas is prepared to testify he saw the same man escape from his parents’ rooms on the night of the murder.”
“What did Killian have on you?” Dunewell asked Gyllorn flatly. “Why was he interrogated? What secret did he hold?”
Dunewell, trained and practiced in the art of observation noticed three things. He saw that the blood drained from Gyllorn’s face almost immediately. He saw that these questions surprised the Reeve. He saw Gyllorn’s eyes dart to his safe behind his desk. These involuntary responses told him a number of things.
Both the Reeve and Gyllorn had something significate to hide. Gyllorn was frightened at the idea that Killian had been interrogated meaning Killian had known something Gyllorn would kill to keep concealed. Reeve Sevynn didn’t know everything about this situation. He had been kept in the dark on some aspect of this cabal. Finally, there was some key piece of evidence in Gyllorn’s safe.
There was the other issue of Silas. The only way Silas would have agreed to lie on oath about identifying this man would be under significant duress. They had threatened him somehow. Dunewell knew the physical and mental tortures Silas had withstood from the church and from Killian in his childhood. Dunewell could not imagine what they could threaten him with that would… The Sanctum.
However this turned out, he must get to Silas. And soon.
“Your emotional involvement in this case has been too much for you,” Gyllorn finally managed to say. “For obvious reasons your capabilities have been compromised. I accept partial blame,” Gyllorn looked to Sevynn and nodded humbly. “I should not have allowed you to continue given that…”
“You have lied and cheated justice for years,” Dunewell said with a dangerous edge in his voice.
“Inquisitor, you will remember your place,” Reeve Sevynn shouted. “You serve the King. However, you are speaking to the Reeve and Lord High Inquisitor of Moras! You will find that the King is far away. Furthermore, he would not likely condone such insubordination under any circumstances.”
Without turning his head, Dunewell addressed the guardsmen.
“You men are only trying to do your duty,” Dunewell said. “I respect that. However, if you do not lower those crossbows, I will feed them to you.”
The three guardsmen faltered and looked at each other. With a nod from Sevynn all three lowered their crossbows and then placed them on the ground.
“This insubordination will not stand,” Gyllorn said weakly.
“Nor will this injustice,” Dunewell said.
Dunewell then turned his back to the lot of them; hoping one of them would be foolish enough to attempt to stop or even kill him. He marched down the halls of Blackstone and shoved open the outer doors. His horse was there waiting for him and he made for it.
Even in his rage his ever-working skills of observation served him. He noticed two men standing out in the street nearby. He knew one of them to be Lancher; a known cutman. The other had some enchantment about him but Dunewell recognized his ring easily enough. One does not forget a black onyx ring that holds the powers of lightning.
Chapter XIII
Chaos Rising
Silas sat in the dirt on the edge of the road less than a hundred yards from the burning structure. His eyes were dry; his mind was clear. He had read an interesting tale recently. It was a fanciful notion about heroes of old who had struck a bargain with mighty champions. Upon their accord the champions’ strength, wisdom, and power were imbued into the very skin of the heroes. The heroes in turn lived by an agreed upon code of valiant justice.
Silas had for a time studied law. The term ‘justice’ always intrigued him. It was a term so malleable yet so often used as an absolute by those who wielded it. Men like Gyllorn and Dyllance wielded such power in Moras.
Thinking these thoughts, he had made his one request of Silenstui. He had asked for a book; a very specific book. The mage of the Archives of the Arcana made his protests, but Silas would not be turned away or dissuaded in the least. Finally, Silenstui’s fears surrendered to Silas’s will.
As he sat in the dirt watching Sanctum Lacra burning, he thought about that book and the information it held. He thought about a ritual in that book called, ‘the hand that heals, the shield that protects.’ As he sat there, he thought about a young girl with blonde hair and burn scars. She had also been named Helena, like his mother. She had been so afraid of fire. She feared the flame no longer. He thought about Gyllorn and Dyllance.
