The Morality of A Necromancer Page 8

  His brother did not rise from his spot on the table. His normally tanned complexion had taken on a distinct gray pallor.

  Roark patted Eohan’s forearm and called back, “I should think your brother prefers not to see you deceased.”

  Seweryn rolled the boy onto his stomach. Like Kian, the boy had scars on his back. Yet, he asked Kian to lift his tunic to match the major scars. He even matched the three moles on his shoulder.

  Pressing his blade again the corpses scalp Seweryn cut off the dead boy’s ears and sewed on the Fairsinge ears which Doriel procured for him.

  “My lord, that is amazing.”

  “Not my best work, but it’ll do for a corpse.” Seweryn covered the body with the oiled tarp before he walked outside and pumped water to clean himself.

  *

  Chapter 10

  The Great House of Josael in the Realm of Daouail

  Kajsa and Seweryn road into Josael. The path into the Daosith capital was coated in crushed white petals and lined with white, green and black bunting, most likely left over from the coronation celebrations.

  From the road, the Empress’s palace, with its spiraling towers and arcing domes looked peaceful, but Kajsa knew the Empress of Daouail would be guarded and might even have a truthsayer amongst her advisors. As long as the boys remained with Doriel, they would be safe, but she didn’t like crossing into any elfkin city without her brother.

  They were greeted politely, but there was mistrust from the guardsman to the stablehands to the herald who called out her noble name quickly and to the point, followed by Lord Seweryn and every relative he ever had.

  Finally, they were led through the heavy wooden doors to the Great Hall.

  The opulent carved white stone was filled with dancing light from the stained-glass windows. Fireplaces were set every ten paces or so, and between the fireplaces were groups of the elfkin generational portraits.

  At the head of the hall sat the Empress upon her throne. A woman of twenty-six, her obsidian skin glowed with youthful radiance the way many young elfkin do, but the opal and emerald crown sitting on her head threatened to crush her slender neck.

  Kajsa bowed; Seweryn lay the oiled tarp on the floor and knelt. “Empress. It is my great honor to present, Lady Kajsa, Daughter of the House of Goldvein, and this of which you seek.”

  He opened the tarp. “We have found the boy Kian for you.”

  The Empress nodded, still balancing the crown upon her head, but her courtiers dove towards the body, screaming and hitting it with their hands while shouting, “We gave you a home!” and “We gave you a position!”

  Kajsa was careful not to show emotion, but with the knowledge that it would be even easier to hide any discrepancies between Kian and this boy, she inwardly smiled.

  “Enough!” the Empress said. “Tell me how did you come across this murderer?”

  Feigning ignorance in the ways of the Daouail, Kajsa spoke in the language of her people while Seweryn translated. She specifically made mistakes in her diction, so Seweryn needed to ever so slightly, shift the meanings of her words. “On the peak of Laithmor, we found this child, beaten and stabbed. Between gasping breaths, the boy told us he was Kian, a runaway slave from the House of Josael. He cried, for his name would be one with a murderer, and cried for his mother who he hadn’t seen in nearly two years.”

  Kajsa was interrupted by the grumbles of the court, but the Empress sat still, her piercing violet eyes never leaving her face.

  “When Roson found him that night, Kian was only looking to get a sip of wine. Roson told him he would know freedom if Kian got him out of the castle. The boy was innocent of your grandmother’s murder. He didn’t even know she was dead until they made it to a town where they met up with an acquaintance of Roson. If you investigate the body, you shall note Roson and his brutish friend treated him cruelly over the days; and when they were stopped in Daubmor, they stabbed him, then left him to die either from his wounds or exposure.”

  “If they were seen in Daubmor, were they from the Guild?” The Empress asked.

  Kajsa worried this question would come up but answered smoothly: “Misunderstandings between the Guild and the ruling class frighten my people too. If there was a contract, it did not come from the Guild House on Laithmor.”

  The Empress nodded.

  “Thus, in good faith, I rode to you in order to find the murderer and return the royal ruby to its place for the amount of the bounty.”

  “And if it’s the Guild?”

  Kajsa liked the straightforwardness of this Empress’s questioning. “Empress, you will have your satisfaction. Is there anyone who can reasonably answer questions about these slaves?”

  The Empress said to her herald. “Bring Cook to me.”

  The Daosith cook hurried into the Great Hall. He dropped to his knees in front of the Empress and pressed his face to the floor. However, Kajsa still detected the week-old purplish welt which graced his dark plump middle-aged face.

  “Is this the boy, Kian?” The Empress asked.

  Trembling, the cook side-eyed the body. “It looks like him, your Highness.”

  “Do you wish to face my interrogators?”

  “No, no. I know how to be sure. His face is scratched. May I touch the body, your Highness?”

  She gestured for him to continue.

  The cook bent down and gingerly touching the corpse, he pulled down the boy’s tunic and exposed the shoulder.

  Yes, your Highness, yes. It is him.”

  “How do you know?”

  “These moles on his shoulder; Kian had moles there.”

  When this wasn’t challenged, the cook looked on his back. “Highness, his back bears the scars he received from Lord Josael, may the royal consort’s spirit be resurrected on high.”

  This supplication made the entire court shift in discomfort, including the Empress. However, she sat straighter and looked older than her twenty-six years. Kajsa could see the Empress’s thoughts as if the dancing light of the windows had formed images. The entire court remembered the affairs, gambling, misuse of slaves and servants. No matter what people thought of the wise, ancient Empress; her consort had been loved by none.

  Seweryn raised his hand and spoke in the traditional manner. “Friend of mine, speak with an open heart, so we may we know the truth in the service of your Empress and in service to all the Realms. The Guild seeks the truth in this matter. Rise and speak. In front of these many witnesses, may no one raise a hand or voice for your memories or they will face the might of the Guild.”

  The Cook glanced at the Empress.

  “Speak,” the Empress said.

  The cook shifted his weight and rose to his feet. His voice creaked, and he did not raise his eyes. “The boy was used to pay a debt …” He gulped. “Kian came to my kitchen, frightened, but he knew how to cook.”

  “Any problems, anything at all, no matter how small the detail?” Seweryn asked.

  “Well, he was a boy, and once or twice made a boy’s mistake. I’d give him a smack, and he’d not do it again.”

  “Such as?”

  “He was supposed to be watching a pie, but it burnt. He apparently was taking sips from the dregs from a used carafe. I sobered him up with a good smack. He never did it again.”

  “Cook, I believe this boy to be innocent of the crimes of larceny and regicide, just a boy who perhaps woke up when the knife was stolen,” the Empress said. “Tell us what you know about the other slave, Roson.”

  The cook shifted his weight on one foot, then the other. “But I don’t know him. I never spoke to him. I only saw when they brought him in in chains through the butter door. That night, when I took to my pallet, Kian was already in his. In the morning, I realized Kian was gone. I informed the magistrate. They kept asking questions I can’t know.”

  “Cook,” the Empress said softly, “Return to your duties in peace. I thank you for your honesty -- even when there is painful truth to be heard.” And as if to prove he
r point, the Empress stood and curtsied.

  The cook’s dark eyes teared. He bowed lower to the Empress and backed out and into the darkness of the servant’s corridor. The entire court looked to be in awe too. The Empress may have never expected to rule, but she was a wise woman. Perhaps the Empress and Royal Consort’s deaths would dawn a new day on House Josael, but thinking about the Cook’s injuries, she doubted it.

  *

  Chapter 11

  The Guild House of Laithmor in the Realm of Daouail

  Six days waiting, and another six to wait. Roark hoped he’d made the right decision by hiring Kajsa and waiting at Laithmor.

  Thunk. The dagger missed the target, which Doriel had set up for him in the Great Room of Kajsa’s chamber. He hit the wooden beam beside it.

  “Your arm’s getting stronger,” Eohan said.

  Kian mumbled something and ran to get the knife. He threw it again.

  Thunk. Kian’s bare feet slapped the stone.

  Roark thought about showing Kian to learn to walk softly, but he wasn’t the master, and if he acted thus, they would never be friends. Maybe that’s why Doriel didn’t order them. With Kajsa not around, Doriel was more dour, more like Seweryn. Roark wondered how he didn’t notice it before. Only in the prime hours when Doriel practiced with Roark and Eohan in a daily skirmish did he seem happy. He never gave any encouragement or discouragement. They just exercised. Then he ordered lunch. He never told the apprentices what to do. He didn’t seem to care whether they were there or not. At night, he kissed the locket his wife bestowed upon him and laid on his bed, and the three apprentices returned to the rented cabinet each night to sleep in the sizable Guild bed. Though a small, plain room with the three of them, it was cozy enough.

  Thunk. Kian hit the target. The knife bounced and clattered to the floor.

  “Good show!” Eohan said.

  Kian ran to retrieve it.

  Roark thought about returning to the cabinet where he could have time alone but knew if he left the other two would follow. A pecking on the door grabbed his attention. A gull waddled in and squawked. Roark checked the scroll tube. “Alana sent us information,” he said, excited for the distraction.

  Alana had scrawled a quick note about where she had been -- including visits to Edar Candlewick followed by a longer description of the stone’s true use and composition which he copied in code into his journal. As the letter went on, Alana explained that she didn’t know the exact location for Daena, but suggested seeking a place within the principality, but a few days ride from the castle. Someplace quiet.

  With a quick, “I need to run to the library, but I’ll be back soon,” Roark dashed out the door.

  He ran silently down the hall, happy for the moments of freedom without the other boys. Briefly, he wondered if Alana felt this way about her apprentices. He dismissed the thought as he opened the heavy oaken door to the library.

  Soft light flickered from oil lamps reflected by mirrors. Books and scrolls covered every horizontal surface. Some were digests on strategy while others were the personal journals of war enders, assassins, intelligent officers.

  “How can I help you, Apprentice?” An old Daosith hobbled toward him on her cane.

  “I need a map of Daouail, Librarian.”

  “Certainly, your master has such a thing.”

  “I mean a large one, something that shows details of landmasses and roads. It’s for a lesson.”

  “Lady Alana is a comprehensive instructor.”

  Wondering how she knew Alana was his master, Roark chose the safest answer which happened to be the truth. “That she is, as is Lord Corwin.”

  The librarian glanced at the door, then leaned closer. “Pray, are they still an item? Many histories find my stacks, but very little gossip.”

  Still not having any idea who he was talking to, but trying to be polite, he said, “No, my lady, their daughter’s death pains them still.”

  “Indeed, not surprising with those two’s passions. Please give Alana my sympathies.”

  Ignoring the mention of his aunt’s “passions,” Roark replied, “I will, my lady.”

  “I’d offer the same to Corwin, but he’d not accept them. When they were both war ending, not all the armies of the Seven Realms could stand against them. Did you know their long romance was the subject of several songs?”

  Roark must have looked uncomfortable, because the venerable librarian laughed and led Roark to a wall with a large spiraling family tree showing the Daosith, Fairsinge, and Fate Great Houses. “Did your cousin have any children?”

  “No.”

  She wrote a symbol under Saray’s name. “I was never able to ask Alana, her pain is so great. Let’s get you a map.”

  The librarian unrolled a large map of Daouail on the centermost table and turned on lamps to illuminate it. Roark carefully studied Seweryn’s province, Illuminual, until the librarian left. He focused on Josael and its environments. The Great House was located in the most clement and populated region of the highlands. However, the rivers flowed from the highlands into a large, flat alluvial plain in the southwest corner of the principality. A few farming hamlets were located to the east of the wide, meandering river, but the land on the other side was densely forested.

  Roark copied it carefully into his journal. This had to be where Daena had gone. His plan was coming together.

  *

  Chapter 12

  Province of Sildeir in the Realm of Fairdhel

  The three familiar suns of Fairdhel danced overhead. Alana was glad to touch Fairdhel soil, but her mind was on the boys. Alana counted her charges once more. She and Byronia had found five children from her list and seven enslaved adults, four Fairsinge, and three Daosith.

  Byronia rented a covered wagon in order to transport the children while the adults would walk beside it. The driver, Jaith, was a round man with a kind heart -- especially when Byronia offered to pay twice the usual rate to help keep an eye on the children. His daughter (and apprentice), Jana, had her father’s good temperament. A cheerful girl of twelve, she drove the cart beside him. Yet she enjoyed scampering about with the rest of the children or gossiping with Balrea and Caraine while the elder girls played with Balrea’s moppet. A driver knew the dangers of the road well enough that Jaith would be armed, and he would have at least a passing measure of ability. Still, she counted Jaith and Jana among her charges.

  The freed citizens kept up a constant stream of chatter. If there was danger on the road, they would have to face it head on; there was no chance of stealth. Still, even at this slow pace, only four days travel between the port at Olentir and the capital city of Sildeir which bore the same name.

  Dry branches rubbed together in the breeze. The wind whipped through the grasses. The first day, they passed Guild members, unsurprising since they were so close to the Guild House. As the suns set below the horizon, the party made camp at a known caravan site.

  Focused on brushing Talia, Alana shivered under the moonless night. She knew she could not push the party faster, but each day at this slow pace was an eternity. Damn Corwin and damn me for allowing myself to be indebted to him. She told herself: Roark and Eohan are both nearly grown; allow them to be men.

  They heard voices coming from the trees. On the edge of the dell, they saw four men armed with wooden cudgels. One also had a knife on his belt. They were dragging several women and children bound with ropes. Seeing the group, it was as Alana feared: There were Fairsinge slavers who cared not about enslaving their own.

  “We can’t run in time. Everyone who cannot fight, get into the wagon,” Alana ordered.

  Byronia looked frightened, but she drew her sword.

  Jaith and Jana both drew long spears.

  “Looks like four, milady,” Jaith said.

  Alana smiled. “I’d like to lure them in.”

  “As it pleases, milady,” Jana said with a resolute nod. She might still be a slip of a girl, but at twelve, she had seen the road’s viole
nce.

  Alana, Byronia, and Jaith hid in the nearby brush.

  The four men laughed when they saw Jana alone, pretending to shoe her ox. One made a half-hearted swing of his cudgel, believing Jana was not going to be any trouble. She spun around and backed towards the tree where Alana hid.

  Talia broke through the underbrush as Alana brandished her double blades. She could hear Byronia and Jaith charge. With her left hand, she stabbed the neck of the slaver grabbing the oxen. Clutching on the spurting wound, the man raised his club with his free hand and grabbed the at the girl. Jana spun again and knocked him back with her spear.

  Jaith took the opponent closest to him, and Byronia slashed her saber at the man holding the bound slaves. By the screams, it sounded like the others were making progress, but Alana was too busy with her two opponents to check.

  She thrust her left-hand dagger into her second opponent’s shoulder, missing the neck. In response, the man made a wide fast swing of his cudgel and Talia reared up in order to miss the blow.

  Alana pulled the dagger she kept in her boot and threw it without taking aim. It still landed true, slicing open the man’s neck. He pushed his hand on the wound, but he was bleeding quickly. He swung his cudgel once more, this time the blow was weakened. Talia kicked him to the ground where his blood flowed freely. Alana wondered how that blood would taste. She missed Edar’s potions and regretted not accepting his offer.

  Ignoring that need, she turned to see if any of her allies needed assistance. Byronia’s opponent was bleeding with mortal wounds, and she was freeing the women and children. Jaith was stomping the life out of his opponent.

  After all, the man had tried to put his filthy hands on his daughter.

  The adult citizens came out of the wagon and kneeled in front of them and sang their praises.

  Once they began moving again, Byronia asked quietly, “Is it always like this?”

  “The road?”

  “The praise. It shames me to think my people have suffered under my negligence,” Byronia said.