Centaur of the Crime: Book One of 'Fantasy and Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 1) (12 page)

I shook my head. “Doubtful. Whoever this is, I’m sure they’re an Andeluvian. They don’t know much about my world’s weapons, but they’re learning, and learning fast.”

“As Galen would say, that’s pure conjecture.”

“Maybe, maybe not. There’s one way I can find out, but I need something first.” I took a breath, and then plunged in. “If Angbor gave me someone to work this case with me, then the least the kingdom of Andeluvia can do is follow suit. Give me someone who can assist me, work with me.”

“I agree,” Kajari said, nodding. “I will help you.”

And again, the Andeluvian nobles surprised me. Up to this point, Behnaz and Vazura hadn’t exactly been model citizens, eager to toe the Lord Regent’s line. But now, their attitude took a curious flip.

Together, they clamored against the Duke’s offer to help me.

“Ridiculous!” Behnaz said, “The Lord Regent cannot go out playing part-time investigator when we’re about to plunge into war!”

“I’m sure that I can appoint another to–”

“Might I remind you,” Captain Vazura added, rubbing his hands together briskly, “that the blood in your veins is the only one noble enough to hold the crown until Benedict’s son returns?”

Kajari’s eyes darted back and forth between the two Andeluvians. It looked to me like his mind was working furiously, trying to find a hole in their logic. Each objection he tried to make met with a sterner response.

“Must I come out and say it?” Behnaz said, “You are the sole member of the Good King’s extended family who can lead us.”

“If you are killed, there is no clear successor,” Vazura warned. “Andeluvia will be thrown into turmoil on the eve of invasion. And for what? The passing whims of this otherworldly trollop?”

“A passing whim?” I demanded, as my temper slipped its final notch, “For the record, I’ve had just about enough of every single one of you. Excuse me for holding up the damn war! If it makes you feel better, I’m just here to nail the bastard who’s out to kill
me
. Then I’ll step back and let you idiots slaughter each other to your heart’s content!”

A moment of near silence followed. Everyone glowered at each other. Finally, Kajari smacked his fist into his palm in frustration.

“Curse you all for your slavish following of custom,” he gritted. “Fine. I will not go. I will not help find Benedict’s murderer. Who, then? Who will step up and represent the Good King’s realm in this endeavor?”

Lord Behnaz shook his head side to side. Captain Vazura crossed his arms and followed suit. The two knights and the assorted riders in the Air Cavalry looked down at the ground, into the sky, or into the dark green of the willows. They didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

All went curiously, oddly silent.

The loamy, wet smell of churned up sod hung in the breeze.

And then I heard a voice. Strangely accented. Throaty with gravel, as if it hadn’t been used in a long while. It was so soft that for a second, I thought that I’d imagined it.

“I shall do it,” the voice said. “I shall help.”

Chapter Thirteen

For a moment, I scanned the faces of the men that surrounded me in the Grove of the Willows. The air felt still, confined, even though the cool of evening began to seep in. Kajari and the two knights that had accompanied us from the palace stood silently, gazes intent on the Air Cavalry group.

It hadn’t been Behnaz’s voice that I’d heard. The Andeluvian lord looked towards Captain Vazura, a surprised look on his face. But it wasn’t Vazura’s voice I’d heard either. Right then, the Captain gave a kick with his heels, hindered by the heavy stirrups that he’d slipped his boots into.

“Be quiet,” he said roughly. “You have no reason to speak here.”

“Naught but one.” I blinked, uncomprehending. Vazura frowned, staring down—at his saddle?—as the voice continued. “Honor demands that I assist, if thou shalt not.”

Vazura gave another kick, this one with more force. “Enough! Fly, damn you. If you will not hold your tongue, then it’s time we departed.”

“Nay.” The black and yellow beak of Vazura’s mount opened and closed, matching the sound. The griffin twisted his head, focusing one eye on his rider. “I shall do what I must, my Captain. Dismount.”

Spluttering with anger, Vazura pulled his boots from the stirrups and slid down the griffin’s furry side. His eyes fairly blazed with indignation.

“You ungrateful, featherbrained…” Vazura choked out, between curses. “You speak of honor? When you leave your rider stranded?”

“I speak as such, Captain.” The griffin worked his great pile-driver of a beak, as if remembering its use. Although his words still came slowly, his voice had already lost the worst of the gravelly sound. “Thou hast refused to assist a defender of the realm. This woman steps forth. She bears no small risk of death. I shall not follow thy path off the way of the just. I shall help.”

“You wish to help her? So be it, Grimshaw! I call you oath-breaker. Disloyal!” And with that, Vazura roughly yanked off the griffin’s armored leggings, breastplate, and halter. Next, he lifted off the finely crafted leather saddle and dropped it in the dirt. “I hereby strip you of your rank and title in the Royal Air Cavalry. Begone!”

The remaining griffins stayed silent. Their bright golden eyes remained wide and staring. Though they remained in their traces, I saw glances traded.

But I couldn’t read human expressions through their stern eagle faces. Grimshaw padded over to me, like a fur-and-feather covered Great Dane. He turned and sat dejectedly at my side.

I’d been wrong to joke earlier with Galen about being Mr. Popular. It looked like I was angling for that award all by myself. Kajari pinched the bridge of his nose, looking for all the world like he was trying to stave off a migraine.

“Now that you’ve deprived the Captain of his mount, is there anything else you would like before we return to the palace?” Kajari asked. “I suppose I could detail an entire regiment of the palace guard to you. Maybe to escort you around the kingdom. It’s not like we need them, after all.”

“Now that you mention it,” I said, startling him. “Before we lose the last of the light, I’d like for your men and their griffins to sweep the woods to our rear. I need them to look for a bullet. It’s a piece of metal the size of a finger joint. It’ll have left a little hole in the ground, or on a tree trunk.”

Kajari nodded, understanding, and then gave the orders. The cavalrymen dismounted and led their griffins into the woods. The Duke walked off to a different corner of the clearing to converse animatedly with Vazura and Behnaz. The discussion didn’t sound particularly lighthearted or happy.

Above us, the sky turned from gold to a dark purple mixed with Pepto-Bismol pink. The breeze picked up, carrying with it the rich perfume of blooming night jasmine. I inhaled, tasted the evening air, listened to the crack of branches behind me and the distant murmur of conversation.

I also listened to the smooth, deep breathing of the creature that sat next to me. As I tried to figure out what to say, I reflexively put my hand out to touch the griffin’s shoulder, right by where his wings lay furled. His fur, dark gold shot through with a great deal of iron gray, felt surprisingly soft. Kitten soft.

“Thank you, Grimshaw,” I said awkwardly. What else could I say? This creature, a stranger to me in more ways than one, had just been dressed down and thrown out of his lord’s service. All because of me.

“‘Tis I who should thank you, Milady Chrissie,” the griffin said quietly. “You do me great honor, allowing me to serve one last time.”

“I do?” I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. I glanced over to where the Andeluvian lords continued to talk. They weren’t listening in.

“Honor counts for all with a griffin,” Grimshaw said, also carefully watching the men converse. “I am getting old. ‘Ere the battle comes, Vazura planned to do what thou just witnessed. Strip me of mine own rank, toss me like used linen.”

“Somehow, I’m not surprised that Vazura would do that,” I said, nodding. Feeling a little braver, I moved my hand to stroke the soft feathers atop the griffin’s head. He didn’t purr, not exactly, but he leaned a little more into my touch. “I’m sorry to hear that, Grimshaw. But I’m glad you’re on my, uh, team.”

He chuckled, a soft but resonant sound punctuated with the clack of his beak. “’Tis not death in battle, but serving you shall do. Thou hast a stern heart, milady. Perhaps a griffin will be able to guard and guide you.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second,” I said with a smile. “Just ease off on the ‘miladys’ if you can. Dayna will do nicely.”

Now the griffin did let out a purr. His great wings rustled softly. “Thou hast honored me a second time with thy name. Call me Shaw, then.”

“Shaw it is,” I said. And with a final skritch on his head, it felt like I’d sealed the deal with the griffin. “Wait here. I need to go find our wizard.”

Shaw nodded and lay down, looking at least slightly less depressed. Which about summed up my feelings right then, truth be told. With a single glance back, I left the clearing, following Galen’s trail.

The light level dropped sharply as I went into the trees, and it took my eyes a minute to adjust. Once they did, it wasn’t too hard picking out the odd hoof print in the dirt. But mostly, I followed the most logical trail—the one with the fewest low-hanging branches to block the passage of a ten-foot tall centaur. It was still, cool, and slightly damp in the depths of the grove. The air held a green, grassy scent that reminded me of the taste of ground sassafras leaves.

I rounded the trunk of one of the larger trees and came across where Galen had sat himself down between a pair of sprawling, gnarly willow roots. He had neatly folded his equine legs under his body while he pored obsessively over a bundled sheaf of parchments. On the ground before him lay the open scale-leather satchel.

Galen didn’t say anything or acknowledge my presence. His face still bore the angry red imprint of his father’s hand. A smudge of clotted blood dotted one nostril. I walked over to where I could sit on a humped bundle of roots from the next willow over. I settled down as best I could on the hard wood, about an arm’s reach away, and waited. It didn’t take long. I didn’t think it would.

“It’s not fair!” he finally blurted out, “Any of this!”

I kept my voice neutral, sympathetic. “Care to tell me about it, Galen?”

He ran his fingers through his long, disheveled hair. “I find that I would like to, Dayna. What I mean is…it feels sometimes like the world has decided, no,
conspired
to play a joke on me. To make a joke of my life.”

I kept quiet and nodded. Actually, there were more than a few times I felt the same way about my own existence.

“When I was but a colt, my father ascended to the throne of the Centaur Realm. He did this by killing the other six contenders to the crown at that time. It earned him the name Skallgrym Angbor. That translates from the old centaur tongue as ‘Angry Skullsplitter’.” He let out a snort. “When your sire has a name like that…it takes some living up to.”

“Yeah, I can imagine.”

“Only once, two decades past, has anyone dared challenge him. After all, there’s never been a warrior like my sire, so a challenge would be tantamount to suicide. So guess what kind of centaur comes within a whisker of defeating him, of knocking him off his belligerent throne?”

“A wizard?”

“A wizard. The first Archmage-class wizard the centaurs ever produced. Until then, anyway.”

“Until you came along.”

Galen hung his head.

“Were I born to any other sire, I’d be a credit to my people. But since I was fated to be Sturmgalen, of Angbor’s get? I am nothing but a source of shame.” He gestured angrily with the bound bundle of parchment, making as if to crush the pages in one huge fist. “I thought…if I could show him what I’ve achieved, how I could help our peoples…”

I reached out, laid my hand on his. Gently, I took the sheaf of parchments from him. He watched me, eyes brimming, as I carefully smoothed out the sheets and tucked them back into the satchel.

“Galen, I wish I knew a way to bring you and your father together,” I said. “But can I share something with you?”

Galen nodded, and then cocked his head to listen.

“My mom and I have always gotten along just fine,” I explained. “Save for one thing. She loved watching Olympic figure skating. That’s a kind of sporting contest, where I’m from. She loved it so much that she decided that I was going to be a champion figure skater too.”

“You did not follow along the chosen path?”

“I tried for a while, Galen. I’m pretty well coordinated. It’s not like I’m going to choke on my chewing gum if I try to walk at the same time. But after a few years of practice, doing jumps and spirals and twirls till my nose turned blue, my coach broke the news to her. I just wasn’t talented enough to compete. Not in the pro leagues.”

“I take it that your mother was incensed about this.”

I shook my head. “She wasn’t into heavy drama. She let me be. What I got into was biology class. Doing wonderfully girly things, like bringing home bugs I’d pinned up in glass cases. Going on about how neat it was to dissect tapeworms. And during my senior year, I won the Chicago High School Science Fair.”

“That was a great honor, I gather?”

“In my mind, it was. I brought home this marble plaque and showed it to her. Mom looked at it, smiled, and said, ‘how very nice’. Like I’d brought her some tulips from the garden. And then she went back to the book she was reading.”

Galen’s expression showed some sympathy, but also puzzlement. “So…she disapproved of your winning?”

“Not at all. It just didn’t mean anything to her. I could bring home the Nobel Prize—another big brainy award—and it would mean less to her than if I’d gotten a mention as a figure skater in the
Pike County Gazette
.” I sighed. “My point is, if your father doesn’t value wizardry, you’re never going to impress him by becoming the best wizard around. It won’t change a thing.”

“What would you do, were you trotting in my hoof prints?”

“If it were up to me?” I said, considering. “If learning magic gave me the real reason to get out of bed and not waste the day, then I’d go out and be the best damned wizard I could be. For myself, and no one else.”

Galen picked up his satchel and slowly rose to his feet. I followed suit, though my head didn’t brush the lowest branches the way his did. The wizard brushed the dust off his satchel, slung it back over his shoulder, and for a moment, I thought I saw a tiny wisp of a grin. Galen reached out and laid his warm hand on my shoulder.

“You’ve given me a great deal to ponder, Dayna,” he said simply. “I’m in your debt, and as per my sire, I’m also in your service. Is there anything I can do for our cause right now?”

“As a matter of fact, there is,” I said. We started back towards the clearing and I explained. “I have the Air Cavalry searching for one of the bullets that Benedict was shot with. I figured that you can help me get the other two.”

“I can utilize magic to detect and influence small metal objects,” Galen agreed, as he lifted a bunch of low-hanging branches that blocked our way. We stepped back into the clearing, where the griffin riders had returned, and went over to the nondescript patch of earth where Benedict had fallen.

Kajari came up to me. He held a small, badly warped piece of metal in his palm, and then let it roll off into my outstretched hand.

“One of the griffin riders found your bullet, buried deep in the heartwood of one of the trees,” he said. “Is this what you sought?”

“Part of it,” I acknowledged. “Galen, can you cast on this patch of ground over here? If I’m right, and the killer shot Benedict twice more as the King lay prone, the bullets would be buried in this dirt somewhere.”

“Most certainly.” And with a gesture and a word, he did so.

A couple startled exclamations came from the men as a pair of bullets bobbed to the surface with a percussive, champagne-cork
pop
.

I scooped up the pieces of metal, feeling triumphant. I didn’t have my hands on the collar of Benedict’s killer, not yet. But I could still read the evidence right, come up with the events at the crime scene. It felt good.

The feeling vanished as my arms goose-pimpled like nobody’s business. All around the clearing, from the dark recesses of the willows, dozens of bright, unblinking eyes stared at us.

I’d been out in the woods at night before, and I knew the red-gold reflections from coyotes, deer, dogs, and raccoons.

These eyes were brighter. Bigger. Fist-sized, almost.

Alien.

My skin crawled as more and more eyes winked into place around us, sealing us off from any retreat.

Chapter Fourteen

The dark evening sky sat like a charcoal gray lid atop the greenery of the forest. Our four horses, griffin, and centaur picked our way along the trail that led back towards the palace. The two knights carried lit torches to light our way forwards.

All the way from where we’d left the grove, the ghostly, teacup-sized eyeballs continued to watch us. To my annoyance, everyone in the party just ignored them. Many of the eyes would vanish silently, and then appear elsewhere. My arms turned to gooseflesh as I saw something…horrible. The rising moon’s luminescence lit up the forest next to a pair of those eyes. I caught a glimpse of wicked, curving horns, frosted bone white in the moonlight.

I know that whoever or whatever those peepers belonged to couldn’t have been hostile. But I didn’t feel enough at ease to ask about them. Look, I’d just earned a bit of respect from everyone in the group. I’d showed enough courage to stand up to the combined idiocy of the centaur and human nobility. I didn’t want to erase that advantage by looking nervous.

I was able to keep my curiosity to myself for over hour before I spoke up.

True to form, Duke Kajari’s answer told me absolutely nothing.

Me, acting casual and disinterested: “You know, I can’t help but notice that our ride back is being watched.”

Kajari, really being casual and disinterested: “The Legislature.”

I gritted my teeth. I suppose that I could have spoken to Galen instead, but the centaur seemed lost in his own thoughts. Plus, I hadn’t exactly endeared myself to Duke Kajari, given the events at the sacred grove.

I didn’t like that. Kajari at least appeared to be on my side, and I wanted to keep him there, if I could. I figured that talking with him about something uniquely Andeluvian might help repair the bond. I tried to come at the subject from another angle.