Session One Hundred and Ten - March 29, 2014

Wherein the ongoing story of the FtF campaign may be found ...

Session One Hundred and Ten - March 29, 2014

Postby Matt » Fri May 16, 2014 2:29 pm

Agrazhar 2, 732

Raven Hall
Tashal, Kaldor


The morning of Agrazhar the second started off like any other, with one small but noticeable difference. Sir Baris was not at breakfast! His squire, Kalas expressed Baris's apologies: the knight was still recovering from his trip to Heru, and would not make the breakfast meeting.

“Kalas, how about we go out of the city sometime soon, and I will teach you some horsemanship?” Sir Aeomund asked. He had decided to take it upon himself to teach Kalas how to be a proper squire. In addition to teaching him the rudiments of horsemanship, he could give the lad some pointers on how to properly handle the troublesome knight, relieving Aeomund of that duty.

“Sounds like a plan,” Kalas agreed.

At that moment a servant entered the hall. “Marhet of Lak is at the door.”

“Let him in,” Kaelyn said.

A few moments later the litigant appeared. “Mistress Kaelyn, I am so pleased to see you here. I need your help.”

“If I can,” Kaelyn replied carefully.

“Wybert of Graon has been arrested again,” Marhet explained. “This time they caught him with the body part! He found an arm, he picked it up, and he was arrested!”

“For graverobbing?” Sotor asked.

Marhet shook his head. “For murder!”

“Isn't that a bit presumptuous?” Sotor asked.

“Well, you wouldn't know, he has had some run-ins with the sheriffs before,” Marhet said. “I believe they are holding off on the trial to find the rest of the body. They need to settle on the exact charge – they don't know if it was murder, or assault, or attempted murder.”

Kaelyn sighed. “What do you want me to do?”

“Why your performance in the mystery of the Ogre, which had baffled and bedeviled dozens of people for years, and you solved it in a fortnight? You can handle this.”

“What can I do in the meantime?” Kaelyn wondered.

“Find the real killer!”

“There might not even be one, the arm could have fallen off the dead-cart.”

“I could examine the arm and see how long it had been dead,” Sotor offered.

Kaelyn nodded to Sotor, and looked at Marhet. “Where was he arrested? Where did he pick up the arm?”

“It was along the Heru Road just down from the gate. I believe he was headed towards the Guild of Arcane Lore from the direction of his home.”

Sotor spoke up. “Now now, we can't let this stand. You may assure our esteemed colleague that Sotor and Kaelyn are on the case.”

“Sotor is anyway,” Kaelyn muttered.

Kaelyn turned to Cekiya. “See if you can figure out the route of the dead-cart took today. I will go to the Guild to see if they have contingencies for members being arrested.”

“I take it he was arrested when he reported this arm to the authorities?” Sotor asked.

Marhet shook his head. “No, he picked it up, was examining it, and they arrested him.”

“A filthy kind of justice – you don't see this kind of thing on the continent. Reason governs there. Marhet, we should go to the castle and speak to Wybert. And perhaps I can get a chance to examine this arm- they must be keeping it there; it is evidence, after all.”

Cekiya thought a severed arm sounded fascinating. “Can I come too?”

***

As he approached the castle, Sotor noted that the royal standard still flew above the battlements. As he was directed to the dungeons (as that was where Wybert was being held; his inquiries about examining the arm rebuffed), he noted the servants did not appear more somber than usual, and from these two facts he deduced that the king was still alive.

With a creak that echoed down the damp corridor, the door to the torture chamber opened and Sotor, Cekiya, and Marhet entered the room. Beyond the rack and other instruments of inquiry were the cells. In one rested a man with no teeth. In the cell next to him rested Wybert.

The scholar shot to his feet when the Sotor and the litigant arrived. “Marhet! Sotor! Thank you for coming.”

“This is a great travesty of justice!” Sotor exclaimed. “We couldn't let it go unanswered.”

“What did the arm look like?” Cekiya asked, licking her lips. “Was it cold, sticky?”

Wybert looked quizzically at the adder.

“Please tell us what happened,” Sotor prodded.

“I was leaving my house, as I do daily, to go to the Guild of Arcane Lore, as I do almost daily, and on my way to Mangai square where I typically obtain a light breakfast, I spied a bundle of bloodstained rags lying in the middle of the road. Which I assume, fell off a dead-cart. As I looked at the bundle I thought to myself, “that's a hand!” I might not even have noticed it but for the rat which was gnawing on it. I shooed the rat away and picked up the bundle to examine it. It was beginning to putrefy, and there was a tattoo on the arm, which was a left arm. The tattoo was a dolphin in front of an anchor.”

“That is a tattoo indicating the seaman's guild rank of ordinary seaman,” Sotor said after a moment.

“Interesting,” Wybert said. “Well, the arm had been cleanly severed, I noted. At this point I began to hear voices. People were saying things, but as you know, when you are examining an artifact you can get quite single minded. Before I knew it, I was being arrested! They say when they find the rest of the body I'm to be executed! I'm at a loss as to how to extricate myself from this situation. I assume if the arm fell off a dead-cart it was going to the Peonian graveyard. Or maybe it was going the other way to the Peonian crypt, or maybe it was going to the gibbets to the Orgael Wood. Or maybe there is a seaman's guild in town that might have taken care of him?”

Sotor knew that ocean-going traffic was controlled by the seaman's guild and pilot's guild, but river traffic depended on the size of the ship. Only vessels greater than thirty feet required guilded crews.

“Marhet, we need to cover both possibilities,” Sotor said. “We are looking for an unidentified corpse, missing an arm, the left arm to be precise. The corpse would be someone who looks like they could be a sailor – a man, stocky build.”

“This is why I came to mistress Kaelyn,” Marhet explained.

“I'll go to the crypt, you go to the cemetery,” Sotor suggested.

“No. I will attend to the legal issue; that is my place.”

Cekiya spoke up. “I'll talk to the earth-people. I like the earth-people. They make me laugh.”

“Alright then, Cekiya, you go talk to the Peonians,” Sotor agreed. “We need to locate the body. If you find it, just have them put it aside, don't let them bury it. We'll meet at Raven Hall by dinnertime.”

“Do you want me to go to the Cemetery?” Cekiya smiled. “I know my way around cemeteries very well.”

Sotor shook his head. “We will work faster if one of us investigates each lead.”

***

“How many corpses did you receive today?”

“That is an unusual question,” the gravedigger Sotor was speaking to said, looking up from his work.

Sotor had made his way out the Heru Gate (passing Sir Aeomund who was trying to teach Kalas to properly sit a horse) and down the road to the graveyard.

“I am Sotor of Pelemby, and I come on a mission of justice. It is a matter of life or death.”

“I agree with you there,” the man said gravely. “I will choose death.”

Sotor sighed, and repeated his question. “How many dead people were there this morning?”

“In the entire cemetery?” the gravedigger asked, dumbfounded.

“I take you for a philosopher, but how many came today?”

“I’m more of a jester,” the gravedigger said. “You need a sense of humor in this line of work.”

Sotor looked behind the man and saw two bodies wrapped in coarse sheets. “What is your name good fellow?”

“Is that important?” the man asked. “You may address me as gravedigger.”

“I have some bad news. In the course of business, we will need to unwind these burial sheets. Else an innocent man could die!”

“Then there would be three!” the gravedigger laughed.

“Was either body missing an arm?” Sotor asked.

“We haven't checked them yet,” the gravedigger explained. “I usually do, to see if I know them, and that they're really dead.”

“As a physician, I appreciate that,” Sotor said.

“As a future occupant, so do I.”

The gravedigger solemnly cut open the shroud covering the first body. It was not missing an arm, and he and Sotor turned to the next body.

“Oh, I knew her!” the gravedigger said, and shook his head sadly. “She was a fine prostitute.”

***

Before he could see them, he could hear them. Creak, creak, the gibbets said as the cages rocked. Then came the smell, the stench. Sotor crested the rise of the hill at the entrance to Orgael Wood, and there stood the gibbets. Some of the bodies in the cages were in an advanced stage of decomposition, leaving behind little more than bones. Rats, crows, and even a few seagulls fought for scraps of what was once a man. Now it was a thing in a cage that almost made the jaded physician shudder. On the ground, below the gibbets, was a midden. There was much detritus strewn about mixed amongst the offal, which could have been a pig, could have been a human. These remains were much more recent than those in the gibbets.

There was a cawing coming from the river where a great number of gulls were fighting over something. Sotor examined the noise and found some cart tracks in the vicinity of the midden, but that was not unexpected. He looked back at the creaking gibbets. The skulls seemed to stare at him from within the cages. Perhaps it was time to get back to the city.

***

A sound echoed off the walls of the crypt. Cekiya crouched and drew her dagger, her ears straining to make out what was making the noise.

Someone down there was singing.

The adder had been investigating the Peonian Crypt for clues, perhaps a recent burial of a one-armed man. But this singing was odd, and she crept closer. As she crept deeper into the crypt, she realized there were multiple voices, joined together. The voices got louder and more distinct. As she turned a corner, Cekiya saw light ahead, and could make out a choir of men and women.

In the flickering light of several braziers, Cekiya saw a large group gathered around a statue near the reflecting pool in the center of the room. Evidently some Peonian rite was underway.

“Earth-people,” Cekiya muttered, and went back upstairs to look at the crypts. Dead people were so much more interesting. Unfortunately, she found no recent burials. The one body she thought was a little suspicious had both of its arms. She recognized the telltale signs of a cut throat and smiled, thinking of all the throats she had cut. It’s important to do it right, otherwise the spurting blood gets on you.

***

Kaelyn made her way to the Guild of Arcane Lore where she was greeted by the Seneschal. “It is always a pleasure to see you, mistress Kaelyn. Is there anything I can help you with?”

“I have a small inquiry. Marhet informs me that Wybert has been arrested.”

“A tragedy,” the seneschal said, shaking his head.

“Does the Guild retain a litigant?”

“Marhet would be our first choice, but we do not have a fund to pay for his services, if that is what you are asking.”

Kaelyn sighed and made her way to the library. The other scholars there were excitably discussing Wybert’s arrest. From the discussion Kaelyn gathered they firmly believed it was a travesty of justice and surely something must be done. But they were not doing anything about it.

***

Having returned to Raven Hall, Sotor wrote to a physician colleague of his, Cail of Tokal. He read the first line aloud. “Dear Cail, have you heard of an arm recently removed from a patient … no, no, that won’t do … Dear Cail, have you heard of a left arm being removed …”

***

“I don't think you're going to make it as a longshoreman, honey,” a muscular man told Cekiya as the little adder passed him as she walked through the Water Gate. As the arm Wybert had found belonged to a sailor, she had made her way to the docks to see if she could find what body it belonged to.

“I’m not going to try,” Cekiya replied.

“Hey, you there!” a gate guard said, running up to Cekiya, having apparently just noticed the stealthy assassin. “Doxies should stay inside the walls, there be monsters here!”

“I can handle monsters,” Cekiya said innocently.

The guard shook his head. “Okay, just don't be plying your trade where I can see it.”

Along the docks many longshoremen were hustling about, loading or unloading crates from the two docked ships, or directing the traffic of laden carts. Other men were standing about, not obviously engaged in any pressing task. Cekiya approached one such group.

“Excuse me?”

One of the men, bald with an earring on his left ear nudged a pudgy friend of his and snickered. “You're excused.”

“I am looking for a man I was speaking to yesterday. Are any of your guys missing?”

Baldy made a show of counting. “Nope, we're all here. There was some excitement yesterday, but it wasn't us.”

“One of the gate-guards got stabbed, killed in fact,” Baldy’s pudgy friend said.

“Oh? Did he have a tattoo of a dolphin and anchor?” Cekiya inquired.

“No, he was a gate-guard!” Pudgy exclaimed, offended.

“Who stabbed him?”

Pudgy shrugged. “Some cutpurse. They grabbed him before he could get away. I'm sure they'll execute him any day now.”

Cekiya sighed. “He doesn't sound like the man I am trying to find.”

Baldy leered and smiled showing toothy yellowed remnants. “Do any of us look like the man you are trying to find?”

“I'm looking for a man with a dolphin tattoo.”

Pudgy turned and lobbed some spittle on the ground. “We're longshoremen, not feckin' sailors!”

“Oh, that's the difference.”

“No, but we can show you the difference?” Baldy pressed again.

“Where do the sailors hang, and not by their necks.”

Baldy pointed to one of the ships. “You see those floating things? You can find them there.” At her glare he added, “You can also find them at the Garb and Flail.”

Cekiya made her way to one of the ships. “Black Gull” was painted on the side, next to a black silhouette of a sea bird, wings outstretched in flight.

A sailor put his arm in front of Cekiya as she approached the gangplank. “Hold on little lady, only seamen allowed aboard!”

Cekiya looked up at the sailor. “I'm looking for someone, but I don't have his name. I guess you all have that tattoo of a dolphin and an anchor on your arm?”

The sailor shook his head. “No, we don’t. Why do you care?”

“It's the only way I know him.”

“You don't know his name?”

“What does that mean, by the way?” Cekiya wondered.

“It means you're a guilded seaman,” the sailor replied.

Cekiya noted this man had no such tattoo. “Do you know where I could find someone who is a guilded seaman?”

“That depends on what's in it for me.”

“We were just talking for a long time yesterday. He left something behind and I wanted to return it to him.”

The sailor laughed. “You wanna tell me a fish story, you can tell me a fish story. I just wanna know what's in it for me.”

Three pence appeared in the adder’s palm. “Will this give me information?”

The sailor looked Cekiya up and down, possibly rethinking his initial appraisal. “Sure, why not,” he said as he took her money. “I have bad news for you. Your friend, without a name, who you had this long involved conversation with – he doesn't need whatever it is anymore. His name was Ubalos of Karnak.”

Cekiya grinned. “No wonder he didn't tell me his name!”

The sailor blinked, and then continued. “He took sick, and they took him to the infirmary at the Temple of Peoni. I don't know which one. I heard he died, and they rang six bells for him.”

“He just got sick?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“When was he taken to the infirmary?” Cekiya asked.

The sailor pocketed the coins. “I don't know that, but he died two or three days ago.”

“Did he have the hurling thing, or was it because of the sun?” Cekiya wondered.

The sailor turned back towards the ship. “I need to get back to work now.”

Cekiya made her way to the other ship in dock.

“I'm looking for a guilded seaman, is there one on your ship?

“I can be one for yah!” a skinny man called down to her.

“Show me your tat!”

The man grumbled and shook his head. “Bah, we don't have any on this ship!”

“Good day!” Cekiya yelled as she turned away.

“It could have been!”

***

“Sir Ewen, there has been a great travesty of justice. Wybert of Graon, trapped in a world he never made.”

After returning from the tent-makers that afternoon, Sir Ewen had found part of his household embroiled in a mystery completely unrelated to his interests. The knight had more important problems at the moment. “Well, I suppose if you bribe the right officials you can probably get him free.”

“The charge is murder!” Sotor explained.

“What was the station of the man who was killed?” Ewen asked.

“A guilded seaman,” Sotor answered.

Aeomund spoke up. “There is no seamen's guild in Tashal.”

“It’s hard to say why a sailor would be in town at all?” Sotor asked rhetorically, wondering if that was a clue.

“Don't we need to get to Varayne?” Aeomund said, trying to retain focus on what was important: the tournament!

Sir Baris had his head resting on the table in his cradled arms. “Aeomund, I need to wait for my helmet before we leave,” the knight said, lifting his head for a moment. “It's going to be awesome.” With that Baris went back to snoring softly.

Aeomund shook his head. “Are they any legitimate reasons we are hanging around in Tashal?” He looked at Sotor. “I don't believe solving the mystery of one-armed seaman are part of my tasks to perform. Let's just pay whoever we need to pay to get the man out of jail.”

Sotor looked at the assembled group. “No one has found a one-armed corpse?” Clearly he was forgetting that it was only he, Cekiya, and Kaelyn who were investigating the mystery, and Kaelyn grudgingly at that.

“No, but a seaman with such a tattoo came ill and was taken to the Peonian Temple,” Cekiya volunteered.

Sotor turned to Kaelyn. “Kaelyn, you have contacts there, do you not? Would you mind going to he Peonian Temple? I need to examine this arm.”

“Why don’t we all go!” Kaelyn said, exasperated.

***

The Peonian Temple was across Kald Square from Caer Elend. The complex consisted of a large building for worship with two small outbuildings that acted as infirmaries, one for men and one for women.

Sotor, Kaelyn, and Cekiya made their way to the men’s infirmary. There they were met by a young acolyte in simple robes. “Good afternoon, I am Brother Porter, how may I assist you?”

“May you direct us to someone who we may inquire of a patient who came in a few days ago?” Kaelyn asked.

“You are family?” Brother Porter asked.

“No, this is a professional inquiry,” Kaelyn explained.

“You are a physician?”

Kaelyn sighed. “No, but my associate, Sotor is. The death is important to a close friend of ours. The patient had a tattoo of a dolphin and anchor.”

At this last, Brother Porter grimaced, clearly recognizing the case. “Yes you will need to speak to Brother Ollyn.” The acolyte directed the three through a large room with several beds on which patients were recovering. Finally, they came to a small room where two men in robes were tending to patients. “These are Brothers Ollyn and Frama,” the Porter said, and with that he bowed and returned to his duties.

“Hello, I am brother Ollyn, how may I assist you?” the elder of the two men asked.

“Greetings, I am Sotor of Pelemby,” said he.

“I have heard your name!” Ollyn said. “It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Sotor smiled, delighted that his reputation had preceded him, but he focused on the matter at hand and his expression turned serious. “We come to you on a tragic mission. We are inquiring about a patient of yours who didn't make it. It would've been a sailor, with a tattoo of a dolphin in front of an anchor.”

“Oh, yes, Ubalos.” Ollyn shook his head sadly. “It was a blood fever, there was nothing we could do.”

“Did you remove his arm?” Kaelyn asked.

Brother Ollyn looked up from the patient whose wound he was cleaning, offended. “No, of course not, why would we do something like that!”

“How was his corpse disposed of?” Sotor asked.

“You mean how was the deceased properly cared for on his journey to the afterlife?” Brother Ollyn said indignantly.

“How was the deceased properly cared for?” Sotor corrected.

“We wrapped him in a sheet, rang the bells, and called for the cart.” Ollyn retrieved a needle and some sort of tough thread and began sowing his patient’s flesh back together.

“When was this?”

“This would have been three days ago.”

“I must be frank,” Sotor said. “A man’s life rides on this.”

“But Ubalos is already dead,” Ollyn said, confused.

“My friend was arrested for his murder.”

“But he died of blood fever!” Ollyn exclaimed.

“We know my friend picked up an arm, with the tattoo we described,” Sotor explained. “Was the arm strange? Would there have been any reason that Ubalos's left arm would have been detached from his body?”

Ollyn’s eyes widened, and he looked at the door, and over his shoulder.

“This friend of ours, he may be put on trial, and I would be honor bound to bring up this information,” Sotor said, his voice growing hard. “The sheriff would want to know, and might find the need to speak to you. At the castle.”

Ollyn peered at Sotor, considering. “Step this way,” he finally said, and he and Frama moved into a corner of the room. Ollyn spoke softly so the patients would not overhear. “I must ask you to keep this to yourselves. But as you say, a life is at stake, and we could be called to testify. This is deeply embarrassing. Ubalos was not exactly buried. Well, maybe he was, but if so we didn't do it. His body was stolen! We don't know what happened to it!”

“Tell him about the other time,” Brother Frama interjected.

Ollyn glared at Frama and gritted his teeth. “This is the second time this has happened,” he said, turning back to Sotor. “The first time was months ago. We thought it was a fluke, but then when it happened again …” his voice trailed off.

Sotor’s mind leaped to thoughts of Morgathians wandering the streets at night.

“Was the other body a man or a woman?” Cekiya asked.

“A man, a poor beggar,” Ollyn replied.

“And a body went missing from the women's infirmary a month ago,” Frama added. “A prostitute.”

Ollyn looked at Frama, clearly surprised about this development.

“So you were preparing to embalm it, and then what happened?” Sotor prodded.

Ollyn spread his hands. “And when I went to do it he was gone.”

“The corpse was in the embalming chamber?” Sotor asked.

Ollyn nodded. “Yes.”

“Who has access to that chamber?”

Ollyn spread his hands, encompassing all in the building. “Any of the male clergy, I imagine.”

“Ollyn, thank you for your honesty,” Kaelyn said, speaking for the first time. “We will need to tell the sheriff that the body was dead and stolen from here, but we won't say anything about the others.”

Ollyn shook his head. “I am afraid I've said too much. If the sheriff comes here, I will deny it.”

“I will have to go to the Sulaplyn,” Kaelyn said sharply.

Ollyn’s expression hardened. “I think you need to leave.”

“We will have to speak …” Sotor began.

“… I think you need to leave now,” Ollyn interrupted. “Go.”

***

“We just heard – there’s going to be a hanging at ten o’clock tomorrow morning – the gallows are being erected as we speak!” Sotor exclaimed as he stormed into Marhet’s office, Cekiya trailing behind. Kaelyn had already returned to Raven Hall, having said something about interrupted studies.

“Yes, that's for the cutpurse who killed the guard down at the docks,” Marhet explained. “But they'll leave it up if they need it for Wybert.”

“But Wybert didn’t kill anyone!” Sotor explained what they had learned at the Peonian Temple, leaving out the source.

“But you haven't found the body!” Marhet complained.

“No one has, it was stolen,” Cekiya said.

“You can't murder someone who's already dead!” Sotor said.

“I've already said the sheriff's guard has been looking for an excuse to put him away,” Marhet said. “They consider him a meddler.” Marhet paused. “It seems odd to me that multiple bodies have disappeared from the Peonian Temple.”

“Yes it is bizarre,” Sotor said, “but I'm trying to focus on keeping Wybert from being executed.”

“The sheriff's guard is looking for the body. But they are focusing on Wybert. They've searched his house, they plan to talk to the embalmers tomorrow. Hopefully you can find it first.”

***

“Do we need to expend any more time and energy on this?” Kaelyn complained. “We have connected the dots, and told Marhet everything we know. Wybert didn’t kill anyone – the arm came from a sailor who died of natural causes well before Marhet came upon that arm.” She and Sotor were in Ewen’s study updating him on the status of the investigation.

“We have to look out for each other,” Sotor pressed. “People like us stick out. We need to make sure there is justice for people like us, as a matter of self-interest. Also, I'm interested in this mystery. Who is stealing these bodies, and what are they doing with them?”

“We’ve given Wybert all the help we can. Why should we continue investigating?”

“Because it's interesting?” Sotor asked, surprised Kaelyn of all people would need an excuse to try and solve a mystery!

“I have spells to study,” the mage said, and with that she went back to her books.

“Sotor, if you are interested in this divertisement, you are welcome to it,” Ewen said. “But I will stay uninvolved.”

***

That evening Sirs Ewen, Baris, and Aeomund went to Galopea’s feast for dinner. They ran into Sir Prehil and a knight none of them recognized. Cekiya was lurking somewhere about the building.

“Ewen, you sent me a letter. There were so many words on it!” Prehil said when he saw the trio.

“Did you read it?” Ewen asked.

“Yes.”

“We delivered the message.” Ewen gestured at Prehil’s companion as he sat down. “Perhaps you could introduce us to the gentle knight.”

“Of course, this is Sir Sterba Yardartha. He is the lord of Suvist Manor!”

“Suvist,” Ewen muttered to himself. “Sir Sterba. Might I invite you to a tournament I am hosting in a couple weeks time?”

“I have already been invited by Sir Meden Curo,” Sterba answered, a little confused.

“Well, yes, of course, Sir Meden is sending the invitations on my behalf,” Ewen said, his mind racing. This tournament was getting out of his control. “What brings you to Tashal?”

“My wife and I are here looking at property.”

“Well, I hope you find your way to Varayne manor, and I will see that you are extended every courtesy.”

“So you are the actual holder of Varayne manor?” Sir Sterba wondered.

‘Yes, and he holds it like a leash about my throat’ Sir Aeomund thought to himself.

“I am,” Ewen answered. “Will you be staying in Tashal long?”

Sterba nodded. “I am also meeting with my mother, so there are many reasons for tarrying in Tashal and its environs.”

The rest of the evening passed in amiable conversation, helped along by pleasant drink. The knights were pleasantly warm and relaxed.

Sir Sterba started to rise. “Gentlemen, I must depart, for my purse is empty.”

“Bah, stay!” Prehil reached for his purse. “I'll spot you!”

Sir Sterba shook his head. “No, if I cannot pay for my own drinks, I will depart.”

Prehil grunted acknowledgement.

Ewen nodded at Sir Sterba. “I hope to see you at Varayne.”

***

Aeomund staggered with Sir Baris back to the Elf & Dwarf, Ewen having gone on to Hag Hall. The common room was full, but Barton came over to Baris and Aeomund when the latter brought the former staggering inside. “Good Evening, Sir Aeomund,” Barton greeted. “The usual?

Aeomund nodded.

Barton grinned sardonically. He motioned to Gathric and they took Sir Baris off of Aeomund’s hands and helped him upstairs.

Having discharged himself of the drunken knight, Aeomund looked about. Amongst the laborers and merchants that normally frequented Sir Baris’s establishment, Aeomund saw a few scholarly types drowning their sorrows.

That new serving girl, the short one, slipped behind the bar behind Aeomund. “An ale, Sir Knight?”

“Yes, please.” A moment later, mug in hand, Aeomund went over to the scholarly fellows, who he noted were seated on the Dwarf side of the bar.

“Do we know you Sir?” one of the scholars, a thin man with long hair, asked.

“You seem to be the most morose people in Tashal!” Aeomund exclaimed.

“Yes, we must be.”

Whichever side of the table had least amount of room, that was where Aeomund sat himself down, pushing the surprised scholars out of the way.

“What is your walk of life, Sir?” the thin scholar asked.

Aeomund looked down at his uniform, and found that, yes, he was still wearing the badge of the Order of the Lady of Paladins.

“Oh, that's not for show?”

“No,” the knight said evenly.

“Would you be a common footsoldier, or a noble gentleman?”

The knight took his scabbard and placed it on the table.

“Noble gentleman,” one of the other scholars, a pudgy young man barely out of his teens, said matter-of-factly.

“We are here lamenting the incipient fate of one of our colleagues,” the thin man said.

“Who would that be?” Aeomund asked.

“Master Wybert of Graon.”

“Oh, he's going to be hanged tomorrow!” Aeomund said.

“From whence gained you intelligence?” the thin man asked, his voice rising. “Girl, more ale!”

“Oh I'm only kidding,” Aeomund said. “I have it on good authority that the man they accused him of killing died days before at the Peonian temple. The alderman will sort it out.”

“Which alderman?” the thin man wondered.

“I can't talk about it,” Aeomund said. He might have let the drink get away from him. “Anyway, his lawyer knows about it, it'll all be sorted out,” he finished.

“Well, that’s good news!” the third scholar, who up to this moment had remained silent, said. “May we buy you an ale?”

Aeomund shook his head. “I drink for free here.”

The scholars looked confused.

“It’ll be alright, it’s just an arm! There is no body, so how can they prove it was murder?”

“Do you mean to suggest that the man Wybert was accused of killing may yet be among us?” the thin man asked.

“Oh, no, he's totally dead, but an arm does not a body make!”

“But …”

“Do you doubt the King's justice?”

The scholar blanched. “No, no, of course not!”

Aeomund patted the scholar on the back. “Well then rest easy!”

“But Wybert rests in the gaol!”

“Bah, he's been there before.”

“He has been,” the pudgy scholar said.

“Why does he always find himself on the wrong side of the law?” Aeomund asked.

“Well, he's a lot smarter than they are,” the thin man said.

“But he's in gaol nonetheless,” Aeomund said.

“That's because there's no justice in the system!”

“So you do doubt the King's justice!” Aeomund said.

“No, no, no! Just the justice in the system,” the thin man corrected.

Aeomund did not know what to make of that. Either the man was rather drunk, or the concept went well over the knight’s head. “Well gentleman, good evening.” With that the knight stood, collected his sword, and took his leave.

As Aeomund passed the bar the serving girl smiled shyly at him. “Sir Aeomund. Thank you.”

“It is always a pleasure,” the knight replied.

“No, you don't understand,” the girl explained. “They are, to a man, puffed up gas-bags.”

“I believe there has been some air let out of their sheep's bladder’s this evening,” Aeomund said.

The girl smiled. “That is why I said thank you, if I may be so bold.”

“I take payment in scones.”

***

Hag Hall

Ewen found Rahel in the small hall, taking a late repast. “Let us dine, dear sister.”

A few moments later, though Rahel had not called for her, Eleere brought Sir Ewen a tray of meat, vegetables and a soft bread. The servant placed a fresh bottle before Ewen.

“That is a fine Shenap delivered from Melderyn in the latest caravan,” Rahel explained.

“Delightful, I am looking forward to it,” Ewen said.

Eleere bowed and discreetly took her leave, again with no verbal command from Rahel.

A few minutes later Ewen looked up from his meal. “I think we are all happier now that the sun has left.”

“Oh, the weather matters not,” Rahel replied.

“But it affects the layfolk so.”

“Of course,” Rahel agreed. “If only we could control it.”

Ewen smiled. “My servant, Kaelyn has been trying. But, actually, I am here to ask you a question regarding our abilities. Have you found your mental powers to have been meeting difficulty of late?”

Rahel looked concerned. “No.”

Ewen nodded. “Well then. Let us try and rapport.”

Rahel extended her mind, and Ewen extended his, and they met somewhere over the table.

“Oh, they're at it again,” Rahel said. “The Shek Pvar are always trying to bring us under their rules. Us being the Kivikir, as they call non-Shek Pvar – which is also the term they have for the common folk!” Rahel paused in thought. “The effect I have seen here cannot be a simple spell. It must have some sort of aspect to it. To whit I suspect that an artifact is involved.”

“An artifact used by the caster of the spell, or by those benefiting from the shielding?” Ewen asked.

“The second. No one spell could do what I have seen, but a combination could. No combination of spells, however, could be cast permanently on so many with whom you have experienced this interference. Instead, I believe a number of artifacts have been created and been associated with these individuals. They must have them on their person.”

“Assuming the recipients do not all know of our ways, the objects must be some sort of gift meant to be worn at all times, or subterfuge was used to make sure the recipients do not accidentally discard the items,” Ewen mused. If he could figure out what items were blocking his powers, perhaps he could find a way around this problem.

“It would have to be a durable kind of object,” Rahel said. “Not leather, or cloth,” she clarified. “It would have to be something they would keep with them all the time, otherwise it would be useless.”

“This suggests an enchantment placed upon an object they already treasured.”

“This is all assuming those under the protection of the Shek Pvar do not know the purpose of the item. They are all highborn.”

“Prehil is under the protection of this spell, but Lady Serli Ubael is not,” Ewen said.

“Yes, but I do not believe she needs such protection. I would say that the Shek Pvar are simply trying to prevent undue Deryni influence in this kingdom. It is a very passive action on their part, and very much in line with their philosophy, although very effective. From what I understand it would take several mages of several convocations, or a gray mage, to create an artifact of this nature.

“Do you think the artifact could protect against Deryni actions in a general sense, or is it limited to certain powers?” Ewen asked.

“I think the latter – it would be directed against clairvoyance, and the like.”

“Is this spell directed against just myself, or all Deryni?”

Rahel smiled. “Let’s find out.” She closed her eyes and her face took on the subtle indications of concentration on her power. Ewen only noticed them because of his intimate familiarity with his sister. After a few moments, Rahel opened her eyes. “This spell appears to affect all Deryni.”

“I wonder if we could obtain one of these artifacts?”

“We must obtain one. If it can be done, I will send it to Sir Flavius. He is a physician, a Deryni, and a Shek Pvar. He is a Savoryan, which is the closest Shek Pvar mages have to recreating our magic.”

Rahel put down her fork. “I'm finished eating.”

Now it was Ewen’s turn to smile. “I am as well. It's almost as if you read my mind.”

“Yes. Let us attend to that other matter.”

***

Agrazhar 3, 732

“Okay, how do we save this poindexter from hanging?” Aeomund asked the next morning as the party gathered for breakfast at Raven Hall.

“You know,” Sotor said as he took a bite of eggs and piled some bacon onto his plate. “From a medical point of view, hanging is fascinating. Did you know that if it is done improperly, or properly depending on your point of view, the victim’s head might fall off?”

Kaelyn pushed her plate away. Cekiya continued eating. Baris momentarily had a disgusted look on his face. A swig of small beer solved that and he went back to attacking Ewen’s larder.

“For the medical student, it is the best kind of execution,” Sotor continued.

“Speaking of that, shouldn’t we be getting to Kald Square? They’ll be hanging that thief soon enough.” Aeomund patted Sotor on the back. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and his head will fall off! Just don’t pick it up! Wouldn’t want you to end up next to Wybert.”

***

The gallows stood above the crowd in Kald Square. Everywhere he looked, Baris saw people. The square was packed for the hanging. Men stood in doorways, those lucky enough to be inside hung out of windows. Fathers put their daughters up on their shoulders, so the little ones could have a better view.

Presently a group of midgets was atop the gallows performing a bawdy show under the baleful eye of the Executioner.

Sirs Baris and Aeomund, along with Cekiya, Sotor, and Kalas had gone together to watch the hanging.

“Who are they hanging today?” Kalas asked no one in particular.

“Woll of Nass!” said a peasant, clearly in from the city for the occasion, judging by his tanned skin and strong arms. “That was the cutpurse stupid enough to kill a city guard who caught him in the act! He should've just copped to the act – he would've had time, or a flogging, but now he's gonna hang!”

“He was born to hang!” an old woman nearby cried out.

***

Back at Raven Hall, Ewen realized he had not spoken to his wife in a few days. And he wondered if she was protected by the Shek Pvar artifacts. He decided to attempt a little mind control on the woman- just to see if he could.

Sir Ewen ascended to the third floor of Raven Hall, where he found Sir Rollard and Lady Elena playing Malnirala. Ewen studied the board. The Lady had Rollard on the defensive, but he was rallying.

“Lady Elena, Sir Rollard.” Those two acknowledged Ewen with respectful nods.

“Suh Ewen, do you come to see yuh lady wife?”

“I had thought to do as much. How is she faring this morning?”

“Tolerable, tolerable,” Rollard replied.

“Then the day may be propitious,” Ewen said.

“Then Ah will defer to Lady Elena on this subject.”

Ewen turned to the woman. “Lady Elena, is it your opinion that my lady wife might vouchsafe to entertain me for an interview this morning?”

Elena smiled. “When you ask so sweetly, I must ask her. Maybe you could take over my position for a time.”

Ewen agreed, and the lady went into the back rooms. Ewen and Rollard took a few turns. The knight held onto Elena’s strong position, but at the cost of a few pieces.

“I don't care for this game, but it is similar to a game I played in my youth,” Rollard said.

“I suppose you must consider it a necessary tedium of your life,” Ewen said. “To entertain the lady Elena.”

Rollard looked at Sir Ewen. “There are moah tedious things in life than to entuhtain a beautiful female.”

At that moment Lady Elena returned. “Sir Ewen, your wife will see you.” She looked at the board. “And I must thank you for making such a brilliant move that would not have occurred to me.”

Ewen rose. “I hope you two will continue to enjoy your game.”

“It passes the time,” Rollard said.

Inside Thilisa’s bedchamber Ewen found her in bed, but not alone. She was joined by an abacus, a ledger, and some papers, some of which had been turned upside down. She was quite obviously pregnant.

“Good morning my dear wife, I trust you fare well this morning.”

Thilisa finished a note and looked up at her husband. “I fare well enough. Good morning husband, what brings you to the third floor?”

“I just thought that it has been a few days since we've had a chat, and I wanted to bring you abreast …”

“It has been almost a week,” Thilisa corrected.

“I wanted to keep you abreast of the tournament …”

“Oh, good. I thought it was another subject, and I would have to turn you down.”

“Invitations have gone out, and …”

“Yes, I have heard that. Under the name of Meden Curo.”

“Yes, he has taken a keen interest, and has been presumptuous in inserting himself as co-planner.”

“Yes. Not at all what I was expecting. I do not like him, and I do not like his family.”

“They are a difficult family,” Ewen agreed. “But they are an important family, and they are important to our plans, so we should …”

“Our plans?” Thilisa asked. “I don't believe they are important to my plans at all.”

Ewen wondered why he even bothered. “I wanted to bring up the subject of your attendance.”

“I am not up for it,” Thilisa said immediately. “I do not want to get up for it.”

“I am sorry your confinement is so difficult …” Ewen began.

“And since you are responsible for it, if you approach me I will drop you with a crossbow.”

Ewen chose to treat that last as a joke and laughed. Thilisa did not. “While I admit to being untutored in these matters, it is my opinion that a bit of country air might do you a bit of good.” If only she would be a little more reasonable. Perhaps he could do something about that. He stretched his mind into the ether, attempting to enter that of his wife.

“There you go again, speaking of country matters,” Thilisa continued while Ewen concentrated. The knight successfully made his way into her mind. He encountered none of the warbling he had found with the other nobles of Tashal. His hold was not complete, however.

“Even the merest appearance should suffice, perhaps at one of the dinners. Of course you wouldn’t have to stay the entire tournament, but just being seen would be enough.” He attempted to guide Thilisa’s thoughts into agreement.

“I will not go, I am not feeling up to it, and I will not say it again. I am done here,” Thilisa said, slapping her knees, her voice rising with every syllable.

“Dear wife, I feel I have taxed you, I will let you get back to your figures,” Ewen gestured to the abacus and ledger.

“Figures?” Thilisa gestured to her pregnant body. “Is that some sort of crack?”

“Perhaps, given the circumstances, I will withdraw …”

“Oh, I would withdraw if I were you!”

A few moments later Ewen was back in the Solar.

“Is everything all right Suh Ewen?” Rollard asked, arms crossed.

“That could have gone better,” Ewen admitted.

Discretion being the better part of valor, the knight retreated downstairs to live to fight another day.

***

It seemed everyone in the city was packed into Kald Square. There Baris spotted Sir Prehil, near to the gallows with the various aldermen.

Soon the bells marked ten in the morning. The Executioner stood upon the gallows and gazed upon those gathered. The roar of the crowd hushed.

Behind and above the gallows the towers of Caer Elend rose to the heavens. At its highest point fluttered the standard of the King.

The castle gate creaked open, the squeal of its hinges echoed across the square. A small group of nobleman processed into the square toward the gallows, among them Sir Harapa Indama and, next to him, Asorn Firith.

A few minutes passed. The crowd began to mutter. Finally, a cart came out of the castle gate, attended by soldiers. By their uniforms they were members of the sheriff's guard, not the royal guard. In the cart was the prisoner, hands bound behind him. He gaped around, his toothless maw slackjawed, straining to take it all in, his last view of the world.

A cabbage flew and struck the cart, and the silence was broken. More vegetables, mostly rotten, followed, and jeers and swears and curses.

It was not a long trip from the gate to the gallows- except for the malefactor. The cart stopped at the steps up to the noose. The thief, staring at the ground, reluctantly marched up to the platform.

Baris, scanning the crowd, thought he caught a glimpse of the thiefmaster Halime.

A man Baris did not recognize left Harapa and the other nobles who had gathered near the gallows and mounted the scaffolding, his chain of office bouncing as he took each step.

“Good citizens of Tashal!” the man proclaimed in a booming voice. “This murderer, Woll of Naas, has been duly convicted of the killing of the guard Abbo of Thora, depriving his wife and his children of a loving father and a good servant of the King. He has been tried and found guilty by a jury of his peers and has been sentenced to hang from the neck until dead.”

The crowd cheered, and called for blood.

Baris leaned over to the man next to him. “Who's this guy?”

“That, Sir Baris,” and Baris was startled to find Sir Rohn next to him, “is the Inquisitor General of the Kingdom, Mydal Serathid.”

“And so, hangman, do your duty!” Mydal finished.

The thief, Woll, leaned over and said something to Mydal. The Inquisitor nodded and turned to the crowd. “Do you want to hear his statement?”

“Yes!” Sotor and a few others cried.

“You may make your statement,” the Inquisitor told he prisoner. “But be brief.”

Woll spoke haltingly of his harsh upbringing, his wayward youth, how his father beat him, and how he never had a chance in life.

“Didn't you kill your father?” someone in the crowd yelled.

“That's true, but …”

“That is quite enough,” the Inquisitor said.

“Just a few more …” Wal started, but his cries were muffled as a black hood was placed over his head, and then the noose was placed over his neck, and then it was tightened.

The Inquisitor stepped back and motioned to the Executioner. The hooded man stepped forward and pulled the lever to drop the trapdoor under the thief. Woll dropped and began to kick. Even over the roar of the crowd, Baris thought he could hear the man scrabbling for breath. His arms flailed and he would have grabbed at the noose, but his hands were still tied behind his back. Baris absurdly thought of men, arms behind them, bobbing for apples.

The crowd cheered. “Die you bastard!” someone yelled. Most looked on eagerly. Baris saw one little boy cover his eyes, but his mother pulled his hands off and made him look. “That’s what happens to bad little boys who don’t listen to their mothers.”

After a minute or two, Woll’s struggles lessened, and eventually ceased.

“That was not very good form,” Sotor said to Baris. “His neck should have snapped instantly.”

“That's true,” Sir Rohn agreed. “Unless the hangman wanted him to suffer.”

“Observe, Sir Baris, as did Meseryn of Shae write, that self-pity is a poisonous fruit, a persimmon rotted on the vine,” Sotor said.

“Uhm, yeah.”

At that point a man approached Sotor. The physician recognized him as one of the fellows of the Guild of Arcane Lore. “Eradas!” Sotor greeted the newcomer.

“Master Sotor,” Eradas said. “I heard you are looking into the matter of the body – a arm, really – that our colleague Wybert found.”

“Yes,” Sotor said and nodded towards the gallows. “I am trying to see that he doesn't meet a similar fate.”

“I don't know if it's important,” Eradas said, “but the rats are not what they seem! Would you be able to come to my chambers in the chantry later today? I will show you what I mean.”

“Of course,” Sotor agreed.

“I will await you there. Splendid hanging, wasn't it?”

“I've seen better.”

‘Probably on the Continent,’ Baris thought to himself.

Eradas smiled. “Then I have something to live for.”

***

After a rather less than pleasant conversation with his wife, Sir Ewen decided to take a walk in the city. He had examined Sir Aeomund’s blade, and thought the the weapon was not even worthy of being called a sword, especially when it was compared to Sir Ewen’s own. His retinue should of course be equipped with the finest of tools.

So it was that Ewen found himself in Mangai Square. He came across a fine looking stall consisting of a table covered in finely crafted small weapons such as daggers and maces, and behind the proprietor was a wall on which hung larger weapons such as swords, axes, and even a halberd. The proprietor was a Khuzdal, of Clan Terrika if Ewen did not mistake the symbol on the shield behind the dwarf. The dwarf was of apparent middle age, possessed of a full beard which had been braided with finely-crafted silver and gold adornments. He wore leather breeches stained a dark green and a crimson doublet with brass buttons.

“You sir, I know you need a new axe!” the dwarf said as Ewen, distracted by running his conversation of the last hour through his head again, started to turn away. “Or is it a sword, or a shield? Or perhaps I could interest you in a new helm.”

The knight returned to the stall and gave it a closer look. “A sword,” Ewen confirmed.

“We have quite a few of those,” the dwarf said, motioning behind him where several fine looking blades hung from the wall. “Look at the back of my stall. Here are some fine swords.”

Ewen looked at each blade in turn. “Let me see that one,” the knight said at length. The dwarf took the sword Ewen had indicated off the hooks it had been resting upon and handed it to the knight. It was a well-honed blade with a simple but elegantly designed hilt, the flowing artistic pattern perfectly melding with the martial requirements.

Sir Ewen took a few practice swipes, testing the balance of the blade. Some passing laborers gave the knight a wide berth. It was an impressive weapon, the knight decided, superbly balanced.

Ewen handed the blade back to the dwarf. “Let me try that one.”

“Ah, a discerning customer!” The dwarf returned the first sword to the wall and retrieved the other sword the knight indicated. This blade was similar to the first, but also had jewels encased in the hilt, which was gilded in gold.

Ewen swung this sword about, automatically going back into one of the forms he had learned as a youth, first miming a high guard, sidestepping and taking a swipe at his invisible opponent’s mid-section. While this was an excellent blade, the first was the better of the two, as the jewels of the second set the balance off a tiny but noticeable fraction. In fact, the first sword was on par with the blade he had won at the tournament.

Ewen handed the blade back to the dwarf. “A fine blade, but I think the first is superior. And what, pray tell, master weaponcrafter, are you asking for this sword?”

“Ah, Sir Knight, for I derive you are a knight,” the dwarf said.

“I am Sir Ewen Ravinargh.”

“Do I recall your name attached to the tournament of a year past?”

“I had the good fortune to win the tournament last year.”

The dwarf nodded, as if this what what he had suspected. “Normally this sword would go for twelve hundred pence. But for such a puissant knight, and as the season is winding down, I would be willing to let it go for one thousand and eighty pence, provided of course that you make sure that everyone knows it is the handiwork of Clan Terrika.”

“This sword, if I was to purchase it, will be borne by one of my liegemen at the upcoming tournament in Varayne.”

“A fine liegeman he must be,” the dwarf said.

“He is a servant of the Lady. There will be a great many knights at the tournament of Varayne, who would hear that this sword is the handiwork of Clan Terrika. I will give you eight hundred and forty pence.”

“When is this tournament?” the dwarf wondered.

“Two weeks hence, at Varayne manor, my holding,” Ewen answered.

“Where is Varayne, my lord?”

“Varayne is a few hours ride south of here.”

“How many knights will be in attendance?”

“One hundred twenty eight,” Ewen said. “Sir Meden Curo has taken it in hand to assist me with the invitations.”

“I am due to depart in the midday, but I could tarry in Tashal, if perhaps I could set up a stall at your manor in your tournament?”

Ewen stroked his chin in thought. “That may be possible. Of course, there will be no other weaponcrafters at my tournament. This would be an exclusive opportunity.”

“Indeed. I might need an apprentice of two, I expect. I will sell you this sword, not for eight hundred and fifty pence, pence, that is too much. Let us say eight hundred even, and you will guarantee me all weaponcrafting business at your tournament. I'll need access to a forge, of course.”

“I believe my metal smith could give you the proper facilities.”

“He may object,” the dwarf said. “If you could assure his cooperation?”

“I am the lord of the manor. Between myself and my bailiff I think his cooperation can be assured.”

“Then we have a deal. Eight hundred pence for this sword, and I will provide weaponcrafting services to your tournament such as no human lord has any right to expect.”

“Master weaponcrafter, I hope that this is the beginning of a fine relationship between my household and Clan Terrika.”

“As do I,” the dwarf said. “It has been a pleasure doing business with you, Sir Ewen Ravinargh. I am Ludrain of Terrika.” The dwarf took down the fine sword Ewen had first tried.

Ewen paid the eight hundred pence in Khuzan coins- as those are worth twice the Kaldoric coinage, he gave the dwarf four hundred Khuzan pence worth.

“Ah, a human of great discernment,” Ludrain said as he took the coins.

“I trust we will find each other such,” Ewen said. “A dwarf of fine discernment.”

Ludrain put the money away. “Will there be anything else you need for your tournament, Sir Ewen?”

“Now that you mention it, I am looking for prizes for the winner,” Ewen said. “I had hoped to offer a suit of armor of excellent quality to the winner of the tournament, and whatever silver goods I might be able to come into.”

Ludrain considered. “What form of armor were you thinking? Hauberk? Plate? Scale?”

“Not scale. A hauberk, or perhaps plate. It depends. Do you have anything? Human sized of course,” the knight added.

Ludrain nodded. “We have come to Kaldor.”

Ewen smiled, indicating he was simply jesting.

Ludrain gave the matter some thought. “I believe there is yet a cuirass of plate available, fashioned by the finest Khuzan smiths, if you believe that would make a suitable prize.”

“It may well indeed. Made by your clan I trust?”

“Oh yes,” the dwarf said. “Though, I must say, not by me personally.”

“Is it available for me to inspect?”

“Not at this time,” Ludrain said. “But I can reserve it. Perhaps tomorrow?”

“That would be acceptable,” Ewen agreed.

“I shall see if I can lay my hands upon it, then.”

“Do you have a sense of generally how much the piece may be worth? I wish for the tournament to stay within its budget, you understand.

Ludrain chuckled. “As a merchant, I understand. I am surprised to hear a knight say so.” He paused, thinking. “The cuirass which I have in mind is a very impressive article. It sells for ten pounds.”

Ewen smiled. “I will see it tomorrow,”

“I will see if I may have it tomorrow,” the dwarf said. “I will be here.”

“Until then,” Sir Ewen said, and then bade the dwarf a good day.

***

Sotor found himself before the castle gate. Between his visits to tend to the King and to assist Wybert, he was becoming acquainted with the place, from the King’s chambers to the dungeons.

“I need to see a prisoner,” he told a young guardsman. “I am in the employ of his litigant, Marhet of Lak.”

“You again?” the young man muttered.

Sotor was taken to the dungeons, where he found Wybert still in his cell. The cell next to him, which had housed the thief, was empty.

“Master Sotor!” Wybert said, gripping the bars of his cell.

“Have heart, good man, we will get you out. I must ask you a few more details about the circumstances that brought you here. Where precisely did you find the arm?”

Wybert thought for a moment. “I had left my home, I was heading south to Mangai Square – it was just where the alley goes off to the left – it was right in the middle of the road!”

“We've identified, I believe, the owner of this arm,” Sotor said.

“That is a very strange phrasing,” Wybert said.

“Well, it's a very strange story. I am fairly sure that the deceased was a sailor named Ubalos who died of fever in the Peonian infirmary, and thereafter his body was stolen!”

“I do not know him!” Wybert cried.

“It is a travesty,” Sotor agreed. You shouldn't have looked at the arm …”

“These past few days I have often wished I had just passed the arm by!”

“Yes, but your curiosity made you do it, I would have done the same thing – that's why I'm here!” Sotor said from the other side of the bars

“They said Woll hanged today,” Wybert said softly. “Oh god, what's it like to hang?” He put his hands to his throat. “No air, no air!”

“Stay with me!” Sotor yelled. “Someone stole poor Ubalos from the infirmary and dismembered him. I think they were taking him to the Heru gate, and the arm fell out. So somewhere in the south of town is the butcher shop, so to speak. I feel there was something I was missing at the Orgael wood.”

“But master Sotor, how could they possibly have done that? It would have been done in the dark of night and the gate would have been shut fast.”

Something clicked in Sotor’s mind, like the sound of a lock. “Take heart, good Wybert. “There is something I have to go do. But trust me, for the time being, every minute of my time will be dedicated to freeing you!”

“However this turns out, I am your obedient servant,” Wybert said seriously.

“Don't worry man, we'll get through it!”

***

Cekiya and Sotor left the castle, went north through the Heru gate and on to the Peonian graveyard. The gravedigger he spoke to was there, along with a few other laborers.

“You were here yesterday!” the gravedigger said.

“Yes, yes, I was,” Sotor confirmed.

The gravedigger grinned. “People are going to talk.”

“Let them talk. People have always talked about me,” Sotor said. “Trust me, there is nothing to talk about. That was removed a long time ago. Master gravedigger, I feel I have something to ask of you and your companions.”

The gravedigger put down his shovel and spread his arms. “Ask away, we have not had a single body today.”

“I need to see the corpses of a few days ago,” Sotor said.

The gravedigger gawked at Sotor. “Are you asking me, sir, to dig up the dead?”

“In the service of justice,” Sotor explained.

“Would you accept my testimony out here?”

Sotor nodded. “Can you give me your solemn word on pain of the death of a man that everyone you buried in the past week had both arms?”

“What is this pain of death?” the gravedigger wondered. Was it his?

“A man might be executed,” Sotor said.

“So someone who might come before me to be judged,” the gravedigger said.

Sotor was confused. Where was the gravedigger going with this? “Well …”

“I can tell you, I have not buried anyone in the pit missing an arm,” the gravedigger stated.

“It's a long shot, but I need to make sure,” Sotor said.

“In fact, I cannot recall ever burying someone missing an arm.”

“Are you vitally sure?” Sotor asked.

“I'm not vitally sure on the pain of my mortal soul ... but I open up every shroud,” the guard said. “I'm not supposed to. But I told you, it might be people I know. There might be people not dead. There might be people who could unwittingly provide comic relief. I check them all. Now, if you ask me do I check well below their shoulders to their legs to their feet – no.”

“You’re nuts,” Cekiya said.

“That, missy, is an ethnic slur, and I will not deal with it.”

Sotor began to understand the gravedigger. The man was responsible for burying the poor, the paupers, those whose families could not afford a physician to check the body, let alone embalming. He seemed most concerned to not bury someone alive. No one else cared for these people. “I respect you for your dedication to this. I would say it does you as great honor, as any knight or king, for your dedication. I will no longer bother you this day, and will take your word for it. If you see anything amiss at this graveyard, I am at the Red Fox or Raven Hall, home of Ewen Ravinargh. Just send word for me.”

The gravedigger shook his head. “I must ask you again to never associate me with kings and your ilk, I'm just a common gravedigger.

“You'd be surprised at the overlap,” Sotor said.

The gravedigger laughed. “If there is an overlap between a king and a gravedigger, I've clearly gotten the worst of it.”

Cekiya looked from the gravedigger to Sotor, and back. “You both are crazy.”

***

“Guardsman! My name is Sotor of Pelanby. I'm a physician.”

“It is quite nice for you, but I'm quite well,” the guard said, and laughed. Sotor had returned to Tashal and was questioning the guardsmen at the Heru Gate.

“I have some questions.”

“As I said, I'm in good health.” The guard, a young man with red hair, made to shoo the physician off. “You can go through.”

Undeterred, Sotor pressed on. “My question is, what time does the gate close?”

The guard looked at Sotor appraisingly. “You don't have enough patients, do you?”

“I am inquiring in a grave matter.”

“Oh, well in that case the cemetery is right up the road!” The other guards laughed at that one.

Sotor ignored them and repeated his question. “When does the gate open?”

“Dawn.”

Now he was getting somewhere! “About three or four days ago, someone may have removed a corpse illicitly from this city out through this gate, and …”

“That's a very serious charge!” the guard interrupted.

Unaware of the rising tide, Sotor continued. “I said may …”

“Still, it is very serious.”

“I am trying to acquit a man,” Sotor said. “I do this in the interests of justice.”

The guard was not impressed. “That's what everybody says.”

“Were you on duty three days ago, at dawn?” Sotor asked.

The guard began to get angry. “Who's asking?”

“Me, Sotor of Pelanby.”

“That means nothing to me. You have no actual legal standing.”

“I am a friend of Sir Ewen, the First Knight of Kaldor.”

“And that's something to me?” the guard asked. “Who the fuck is the First Knight of Kaldor?”

“So you say.”

“You know what?” the guard said, out of patience. “Maybe you need to talk to my sergeant.”

“Maybe,” Sotor said. He really was getting somewhere! Surely the sergeant would know what was going on! Sotor felt he would be able to tell Wybert some good news very soon.

“Bert, step over here.” One of the other guards, this one practically a wall of muscle, came over. “Keep an eye on him.” Bert stepped between Sotor and the road.

A few moments later a middle aged man with a bristly mustache came out of the watch post. “I’m in charge here. Erdin here,” he gestured to the red-haired guard, “tells me you are asking a lot of questions.”

Sotor stood up straight. “It is a very important matter. I am Sotor of Pelanby, physician, your name?”

“I don't answer to Sotor of Pelanby,” the sergeant growled.

“My only question is, somewhere between three and four days ago, at the dawn watch, did you meet anyone out of the ordinary coming out of the city?”

The sergeant turned to his men. “Boys, arrest this man.”

***

Cekiya watched the guards take Sotor away. Ewen would want to know this immediately! The little adder slipped past the guards and rushed back to Raven Hall. She took the steps to Ewen’s study two at a time.

“The Magpie is in a cage!” Cekiya exclaimed.

Ewen stared at Cekiya. The woman said the strangest things. “Very good,” he finally said, having no earthly idea what she was talking about.

***

“With what am I being charged?” the physician asked indignantly as he was thrown into the cell next to Wybert. The very cell the hanged thief Woll had occupied just a few short hours before.

“You'll be told when you need to be,” the prison guard replied.

“Can I send a message?” Sotor asked.

“Declined,” the guard said with a satisfied smile on his pockmarked face.

“Can I speak with Sir Harapa Indama?”

“Absolutely not. Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I am Sotor of Pelanby, and I will remember how you treated me.”

The guard laughed and went back to his duties.

Some time passed in silence.

Finally, Sotor could take it no longer. “Wybert, who's your favorite poet?”

Wybert was thoughtful for a moment, truly considering the question. “Polgar of Desmond. I must look him up one day,” he said wistfully.

“Don't worry Wybert, we'll be out of here soon enough!”
User avatar
Matt
The GM
 
Posts: 2556
Joined: Thu Sep 16, 2004 3:38 pm
Location: Weymouth, MA

Return to The Melderyn Chronicle

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 2 guests

cron