The temple of fate, p.2
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The Temple of Fate, page 2

 part  #5 of  Bander Series

 

The Temple of Fate
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  As he worked, Bander wondered who Phaler Jeigh was—and why the bandits had kept him alive.

  The man was in his late 40s, well-groomed with a tidy beard streaked with grey. Based on the quality of his clothes and boots—and the fact that he owned a Valer steed—he was certainly wealthy. Maybe a nobleman. Bander didn’t see any signet rings or anything with a family crest, but that didn’t mean much.

  But that didn’t feel right. A nobleman would have been accompanied by more men. A full retinue. Phaler Jeigh looked like he was traveling light—intentionally.

  Well, there was no time to ponder it now. He would have to get going if there was any way he’d make it to Gilweald before dark.

  Chapter Two

  It was nearly midnight before Bander and his cargo passed through the gates of Gilweald. A half hour more and they would have been locked out for the night.

  “Is he dead?” One of the guards manning the city gate held a lantern up to inspect the body draped across the Valer steed’s saddle.

  “Just about,” Bander said. “Bandits in the old orchard. Before he lost consciousness, he told me to bring him to Prichard’s.”

  The guard’s eyes widened. “Melanthris Jeigh must know him, then.”

  “I imagine so. Before he lost consciousness, this man told me that his name is Phaler Jeigh.”

  The guard whistled in disbelief.

  “Where am I going?” Bander asked.

  “I’ll show you.”

  “Shouldn’t we find a healer?” Bander asked.

  “They have their own,” the guard said.

  Gilweald was either a large town or a small city, depending on how you defined ‘city.’ It had maybe three thousand people, most of whom made the goods shipped a hundred miles west down the Meredel to Rundlun. Bander probably could have found Prichard’s on his own, but not nearly as quickly as being escorted by the gate guard.

  His destination was in the nice part of the city on Tayton—a street with gem cutters, jewelry shops, goldsmiths, and the like. Prichard’s stood three stories tall and looked much larger than a typical shop. It took up most of a corner near a small park.

  “Around back,” the guard said. He led the way around to an alley edged by a tall stone wall with a large iron porter door in the middle of it.

  The guard used the knocker, and the sound echoed throughout the alley.

  “Is anyone even awake to hear that?” Bander asked.

  But less than a minute later a little viewing door slid open at eye level, and a thick-featured face appeared in it.

  “Yes?”

  “Injured man,” Bander said. “He asked to be brought here. His name is Phaler Jeigh.”

  The man behind the door didn’t hesitate at all. Bander heard the sound of heavy bolts sliding back and then the door creaked open.

  The guard turned to leave. “You’re on your own now. Good luck.”

  Bander was about to ask him what he meant by that when the man behind the porter door ushered him in.

  “Hurry,” the porter said, holding up a lantern of his own. He was a short, stout man who probably needed go up on his tiptoes to peer through the viewing door. “This way!”

  Bander led the horses, and they made their way towards the back door of the building. Then Bander untied the unconscious Phaler Jeigh and carefully carried him inside.

  “Can you carry him to the parlor?” the porter asked. “It’s not far.”

  Bander nodded, and the porter was joined by other men and women, roused by the commotion.

  “Fetch the mistress!” the porter called to a younger man. “And Wydon.”

  They wound their way through a dark central corridor and then to a medium-sized reception chamber. Bander caught a glimpse of walls decorated with paintings and tapestries.

  “Right here!” the porter said. They walked past finely carved wooden benches and cushioned chairs towards the far end of the room and a lounging couch upholstered in dark-green velvet. The porter directed Bander to place Phaler Jeigh on the couch.

  “Easy, man.”

  Phaler Jeigh was not particularly heavy, so Bander simply eased the unconscious man on to the couch. By that time, a gaggle of other people—servants by the looks of them—arrived in the room, lighting lamps and hovering around Phaler Jeigh.

  The porter touched Bander’s arm and beckoned him away. “Let’s give them some space. Come with me.”

  As they walked back through the central corridor, Bander asked, “What is this place?”

  “Prichard’s.”

  “I’m not from around here.”

  The porter didn’t respond. Instead he kept walking, down a short flight of stairs into a kitchen and then into what Bander guessed was the staff’s dining room.

  “Wait here. Mr. Coverstone will want to speak with you.”

  He lit some candles and then departed.

  Bander sat down and stretched his legs. It felt good to rest. He was happy to wait. It had never bothered him. And, truth be told, he was curious about this place and who Phaler Jeigh was.

  Twenty minutes later, he heard someone enter the dining hall. The candle light revealed a tall man in his 60s with a hawk-like face. He looked Bander up and down.

  Bander didn’t bother getting up. He was comfortable enough where he sat.

  “My name is Gard Coverstone. I’m the steward here at Prichard’s. The family owes you a debt of gratitude, it seems.”

  “Did he make it?”

  “Wydon is cautiously optimistic.”

  Bander guessed that Wydon was a healer. It was significant that these people had a healer on the premises.

  “I didn’t catch your name, sir?”

  “Grannt. Leocald Grannt.” It was the alias Bander typically used when he was on the road. Leocald Grannt had been a moderately well-known playwright when he was alive, but that was about 300 years ago. Today not many people recognized the name which suited Bander’s purposes just fine.

  Coverstone nodded. “Melanthris Jeigh will want a word with you in the morning.”

  “And who is she?”

  “Mistress of Prichard’s and Phaler Jeigh’s sister,” he said. “Where are you staying, sir?”

  “Nowhere yet. I came directly here—as you can probably imagine.”

  “Indeed. Well, the Ryden Arms is just down the street. Ask for Timon and instruct him to put your room on the Jeigh’s account.”

  Bander was about to protest, but he thought better of it. If these people wanted to put him up, he wasn’t going to argue about it.

  “If you would be so kind, sir, as to relate to me just what happened out on the road.”

  Bander spent the next several minutes recounting how he had found Phaler Jeigh’s steed and how it had led him to the bandits.

  Gard Coverstone took everything in without showing a hint of emotion.

  When Bander was done with the narrative, the steward nodded. “Thank you sir. I know the hour is late and you deserve some rest. I’ll show you out.”

  The Ryden Arms was a much nicer inn than Bander usually frequented. The tavern below the inn had just closed for the night when he arrived, but after Bander mentioned that he had been sent by Gard Coverstone, one of the serving women escorted him to the common room and fetched Timon, who turned out to be the owner of the inn.

  “The kitchen’s closed, I’m afraid,” Timon said. He was a tubby man whose red hair had turned mostly white. “But Peta can bring out a plate of cold sausage and bread, if you like. We’re just arranging things now. Had to move a few people around, but we’ll have your room ready presently.”

  “Don’t go through any trouble. I’d be happy to sleep in the stables,” Bander said.

  “Nonsense. Any friend of the Jeighs is a friend of the Ryden’s.” He left the room and Bander waited in silence.

  But Timon was true to his word. The serving woman brought Bander a plate heaped with food: sausages and bread, buttered beets, cold baked apples with cheese, and a flagon of ale. Bander was ravenous, and he tore into a hunk of bread while the serving woman was still setting out the rest of the food.

  “My apologies, miss. It’s been a long day.”

  She laughed lightly. “No matter, sir. I’m glad you are enjoying the meal. May I fetch you anything else?”

  Bander swallowed a bite of sausage. “No, this is wonderful.”

  “Very good, then. I’ll just be checking on your room, then.”

  She turned to leave.

  Bander said, “One more thing.”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “This is a bit embarrassing, but I’m afraid I don’t know much about my benefactors.”

  “The Jeighs?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are not acquainted with them?”

  “Not in the least. I did a good turn for Phaler Jeigh on the road.” Bander trailed off and shrugged. “And here I am.”

  “Well, sir, the first thing you might want to know about the Jeighs is that they prefer that people don’t talk about them. Especially behind their backs.” With that, she departed—leaving Bander alone with his food.

  He wasn’t about to complain. A good meal. A roof over his head. A night to rest his feet. But he was curious. Very curious.

  And maybe that’s what Gard Coverstone was counting on.

  Chapter Three

  The next morning, Bander returned to the common room for a large breakfast of barley cakes, aebol, smoked fish, potatoes, and plenty of hot moxa.

  Afterwards, Timon told Bander he was free to avail himself of the baths. They were out back in a separate building that connected to the inn via a covered walkway.

  Bander took the innkeeper up on the offer and made his way to the bathhouse. It was a small square structure with four iron metal troughs filled with heated water that flowed in through copper pipes.

  The attendant told Bander that the water ran behind the ovens in the bakery next door.

  “Clever,” Bander said.

  The bath house had all sorts of grooming implements available, including brushes, combs, and a shell scraper that did a decent job of removing the caked-on dirt from his skin. Once he was all done, Bander judged himself presentable enough to call upon the Jeighs.

  In the light of day, the Prichard’s building was even more impressive, with a marble facade and elaborate ironwork ornaments running along either side of the low staircase that led up to the large green and gold painted front door. Unlike all the other establishments on Tayton Street—which sprouted good-sized signs from their walls noting the type of shop as well as the name—Prichard’s had no such advertisement. Instead, the front door was adorned with a discreet bronze plate bearing the name and a knocker which seemed like the smaller twin of the one Bander had seen on the back gate last night.

  He knocked on the door and within moments it was opened by a liveried doorman.

  “How may I help you sir?”

  “Leocald Grannt to see Gard Coverstone.”

  “Please, sir, come right in. Mr. Coverstone is expecting you.”

  The doorman led Bander through a short hallway where two uniformed guards stood and then into a finely appointed reception room with high ceilings and wood-paneled walls. At the far end of the room another officious-looking man sat behind a sturdy linnaewood desk. He looked up from his ledger book as Bander and the doorman approached.

  “Mr. Leocald Grannt for Mr. Coverstone,” the doorman announced.

  The man behind the desk didn’t say a word, just waved half-heartedly towards a doorway behind the desk.

  Following the doorman, Bander walked down a thickly carpeted corridor lit with large, expensive glowstones. The corridor took several turns before ending up in front of an open door leading to an office. Coverstone’s office, it turned out.

  “Ah, Mr. Grannt. I trust the accommodations were to your liking.” Coverstone rose and clasped Bander’s hand.

  “Very nice. Thank you again.”

  “Our pleasure. Thank you for coming this morning. Melanthris Jeigh is taking her moxa in the garden room. She would like to thank you personally for the service you’ve done the family.”

  Bander nodded. “I’m glad I was there to help. How is Phaler Jeigh?”

  “His body has been healed as much as possible, however he suffered some head injuries which may take a week or so to recover from.”

  Bander wasn’t surprised. Even the best healers can only do so much to bring a man back from death—or the brink of death. Still, Phaler Jeigh should count himself lucky. If he had been left for dead in the middle of nowhere, all the healers in the world might not have been able to help him.

  “Mr. Coverstone, may I ask: what type of establishment is Prichard’s?”

  The steward pursed his lips as if deciding whether to answer. But after a moment he said, “We deal in antiquities. Sometimes of a magical nature. Sometimes items valued purely by their aesthetics.”

  “So, a rare goods shop?”

  “Indeed. Many, actually.”

  “Many?”

  “There are several Pritchard’s offices in various towns and cities across the Empire.”

  Bander couldn’t remember ever hearing the name Pritchard’s, but that didn’t mean much. Still, he wondered about where they obtained these rare goods. Twenty or thirty years ago, people like the Jeighs would hire adventurers like Bander to explore delvings or ancient fanes to recover rare artifacts. But all the sites had long since been picked bare and these days the Guild closely monitored the trade in these types of goods.

  “Mistress Jeigh awaits,” Coverstone said, motioning to the door.

  As they walked through the first floor of the building, Bander saw at least a dozen workers of various kinds, from maids to footmen to guards. This was some enterprise.

  The garden room was on the south end of the building, up a flight of stairs. It was a long space adorned with a great variety of potted plants and flowers, most on free-standing pedestals and racks. The far wall was filled with tall windows which let a great amount of light in. Standing beside one of the windows, peering out on the park below, was a tall woman with silvery white hair. At the sound of Bander and Coverstone’s entrance, she turned and stared at them with pale blue eyes.

  “Mistress Melanthris Jeigh, may I present Mr. Leocald Grannt.”

  She took a few steps forward and Bander entered the room to meet her. He tilted his head slightly, and she held out her arms as if to embrace him.

  “My dear Mr. Grannt!”

  Melanthris Jeigh took both of his hands and stared into his eyes. She had proud features which seemed like they were hewn from stone. “Thank you for the service you have done our family.” After a moment, she released his hands and motioned to a cluster of overstuffed chairs near one of the large windows. “Please sit with me. Some moxa?”

  Bander never refused moxa. Especially when he was in the Southern cities where the roasting and blending of the seeds was considered an art.

  As they sat, Gard Coverstone served Bander some moxa in a fine ceramic cup and then bowed to Melanthris Jeigh and took his leave.

  Melanthris Jeigh asked the usual questions and Bander told the usual lies. After 22 years as the Imperial Investigator, he had made a lot of enemies—most of whom didn’t care that he was now retired.

  So he told his typical tale of being a retired sellsword from Rundlun traveling to Vale to visit relatives.

  “And what of your own horse?” she asked. “Torquin said you brought ours back, but you yourself were on foot.”

  “Yes, madam. Horses and I tend not to get along well, so I typically travel by foot. But I must say that the Valer was the true hero in this unfortunate incident.”

  Bander went on to describe how the steed had led him to the bandits.

  “Still, three against one—”

  “As I told Mr. Coverstone, the Valer did most of the work. He can be very intimidating.”

  “You’re correct about that, Mr. Grannt.”

  They sat and drank moxa and chatted. It was all very civilized. After twenty minutes or so, Melanthris Jeigh rose and Bander knew the audience was over. But the older woman had something else in mind.

  She escorted him to a doorway on the lower level which was guarded by one of the uniformed men Bander had seen when he first entered Prichard’s. The guard bowed to Melanthris Jeigh and opened the door.

  Inside was a small windowless workroom with a table in the center. On the table was a tall silver candelabra, and a rolled leather bag. Set around the perimeter of the room were shelves filled with all manner of cases, boxes, jars, and other containers.

  “What’s this?” Bander asked.

  “This is where you choose your reward.”

  Bander took a step back. He was not expecting a reward, and he told Melanthris Jeigh so.

  “Mr. Grannt, we have a few rules in our family—rules that have been obeyed for generations. One is that we always reward a good turn.”

  “Your thanks are more than enough for me.”

  “Be that as it may, good words are not enough for us.” For emphasis, she tapped the table with one long painted fingernail. “A Jeigh is never in debt. It’s simply not done. And because my brother is incapacitated, it falls upon me to bestow your reward.”

  She untied the bag with steady hands and unrolled it. “This was hidden in Arran’s saddle.”

  Bander leaned in, curious about the contents.

  Melanthris Jeigh said, “My brother was transporting this from our office in Whill. The lot was acquired from a man who used to work at Delham.”

  Bander raised one eyebrow. Delham University was where the Guild trained its mages.

  There on the leather were at least a dozen gems and items of jewelry. Most looked very old and Bander saw a lot of tarnished silver and gold.

  “Before you get too excited, I should say everything here was evaluated in Whill and none of the pieces are magical in nature,” Melanthris Jeigh said. “But most are extremely valuable. I’d pick the tarfet myself, but you are free to choose any single item as your reward.”

 
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