Centaur of the Crime: Book One of 'Fantasy and Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 1) (9 page)

“Perhaps the killer was making haste?”

“Maybe. Or they could’ve been trying to make a statement. Trying to frame the most obvious suspects.” I surveyed the road as it dwindled into the trees ahead. “Can you tell me more about what happened the day that Benedict…met his end?”

Galen nodded glumly.

“The Good King had been scheduled to ride to the Grove of the Willows quite some time before. The subjects calendared pertained to trivial matters: trading rights along some disputed borders. He was reported to have traveled this way without incident, turned his mount over at the entrance to the grove, and awaited the centaurs at its central clearing, much as before. Then—”

“Wait, wait,” I said, holding up a hand. “I need to know a lot more about what’s going on here. For starters, who knew about his schedule to ride to the grove? And what about these disputes? For you folks, ‘trivial’ seems to mean ‘no one died from the sword wound’. And as far as these ‘reports’ go, you’re saying that you didn’t witness any of the key events leading up to the crime?”

“The Good King’s schedule was no state secret. I knew of it, as did Duke Kajari and all of the nobles at court. And no, I didn’t witness anything pertaining to the murder on that terrible day, for I spent it in my private study. I had asked the King permission to remain at the castle.” Galen’s cheeks colored a little as he added, “I made sure never to attend the meetings at the Grove. I felt that my presence would add an…unstable element.”

An unstable element? I kept my face impassive, but I knew a dodge when I heard one. Galen the Good Wizard was hiding something.

“Galen’s correct in that disputes were minor,” Kajari said, as he shifted in his saddle uncomfortably.

“Nothing worth killing someone over, then?”

“Doubtful. But then, I wasn’t present either. I’d spent the day out riding, on my own estate’s business. Galen and I found out about the murder after the fact. A messenger arrived at court and summoned us to the grove with all due speed.”

I let out an impatient breath as we came out into a large clearing. The dark, piney green of the forest behind us dropped away as I spoke. “This all sounds too damned second-hand to me. Who said that Benedict completed his journey safely, and who sent word back of the murder?”

“In each case, the same two people,” Kajari said, with a rueful smile. “That would be Captain Vazura, who leads the Air Cavalry for the man who rules these border lands: Lord Behnaz.”

I groaned.

“Don’t tell me…Vazura was the one who said I’d only be useful if I moved like a mink in heat, right?”

The Duke actually blushed. “The Captain has a…rather direct way of expressing himself.”

“Spare me.” I appreciated Kajari’s courtly manners, but if we got back to that whole ‘beautiful and fine character’ thing again, I was going to scream. “And the other man…that was the male half of Lord and Lady Better-Than-Thou.”

Galen choked off a laugh with an equine-sounding snort. Kajari threw him a reproachful look. The centaur shrugged in return.

“Truly, Lord Behnaz has played many roles in his life. But it must be said, he enjoyed being the thorn in the Good King’s side far too much. Vazura may be a competent aerial commander, but he too advocated against Benedict’s peaceful ways. A warrior with too much of a need to prove himself.”

“I’m really getting a bad feeling about this,” I said.

“Bad feeling?” Kajari raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, and in spades!” I twisted the warm, smooth leather of the reins irritably. “You’re telling me that the people who had the closest access to the King—and the people who reported the crime—were ones that had axes to grind with Benedict. That smells like motive to me.”

“Behnaz and Vazura are difficult. Yet it’s unlikely that two loyal nobles would strike down their ruler.”

“Agreed,” Galen chimed in, animatedly. “Despite their differences of opinion, Benedict was well liked by all in his kingdom.”

I looked away for a moment. Towards the end of the clearing lay a vast grove of willow trees, their slender branches and gray-green oval leaves tinted with the color of candle flame in the setting sun.

“You’re both very convincing,” I said quietly. “But for one thing.”

“What might that be?”

“The fact that Benedict’s lying dead on a stone slab right now.”

Galen flinched like I’d punched him. One of the knights guarding us let out a cough. Kajari set his jaw. His bright blue eyes flicked skyward, and he nodded, as if to himself. He pointed up and to the right as he spoke.

“Now you get a chance to find out how deep your ‘bad feelings’ run.”

A shadow flitted by overhead. A disconcertingly large one, at that. I heard the beat of predatory wings, smelled the tiniest hint of musk. Heavy, feline, leonine. Next, the light from the sun flickered like a strobe as a host of wingbeats thumped by overhead. The horses whinnied nervously and pawed the ground.

My heart skipped a beat as my steed shifted skittishly as if he planned to bolt. Galen put his hand on the horse’s neck, whispering something soothing, calming. I stared in wonder at what had landed in the clearing before us, blocking our way into the Grove of the Willows.

A flight of a half-dozen griffins, each the size of a full-grown Siberian tiger, landed with surprising delicacy in the short grass. Their leonine bodies shone with golden fur up to the point where any self-respecting lion would’ve had their mane. From that point on, feathers with the color and sheen of elephant ivory led up to a stern eagle’s head and jackhammer-stout black beak. The same feathers, mixed with black bars or dots, lined the backs of their muscular wings.

But that wasn’t the only thing that got my attention. Their armor and armored riders came in a close second. The griffins’ forelimbs were covered in flexible metal segments which led up to a shining armor breastplate. This in turn hooked into the base of a saddle and harness. A leather-clad soldier perched in each saddle, bearing a sword, a short blue bow, and a quiver of rainbow-colored arrows.

I picked out Captain Vazura by his arrogant sneer and the blood-red mantle he had draped across his shoulders, similar to the purple one Duke Kajari wore. Lord Behnaz’s mantle also came cut from the same style, only in the bright felt green of a cheap pool table. The portly Andeluvian noble made a face, as if he’d smelled something distinctly unpleasant.

“Air cavalry,” I said. “I should have known.”

“It takes a will of iron and no shortage of skill to work with a griffin,” Kajari said. “We used to use dragons. Terrible upkeep. Most ended up eating their riders. We still have a few dragons in the keep and care of Captains like Vazura. But only as weapons of last resort.”

“That’s good to know,” I said, as Vazura and Behnaz spurred their mounts towards us at a walk. And a ‘walk’ to a griffin means a ‘predatory lope’ to anyone in its path. I felt myself wanting to freeze up again, and almost violently shook the urge off. “What do they want with us?”

“Likely to welcome us to the Grove of the Willows. These are Behnaz’s lands, and Vazura operates under his authority.”

At that moment, Vazura reined in his mount, a proud-looking griffin with silvery sides. “What are you doing here?” the Captain demanded. “Turn back, or you will meet your deaths!”

Chapter Ten

I’d already seen Duke Kajari blush. This time, as he faced the two nobles astride their battle-ready griffins, his face went white with fury. His eyes fairly speared through his subordinates and nailed them to the green boughs of the willow grove beyond.

“You bear a merry message for your Lord Regent,” Kajari said, his voice as cold as a glacial lake. “Normally, I do not require that you or your Lord patron make the gesture of respect to the crown. Give it. Now.”

Then something happened that I didn’t expect. As I’d noted before, Kajari’s voice was naturally deep and commanding. Certainly, it was the voice of someone who was used to being obeyed without question. But while Vazura and Behnaz didn’t do anything to further inflame their Duke, they exchanged a look which spoke volumes. Captain Vazura turned to Lord Behnaz and raised an eyebrow as if to ask:
should we humor the Lord Regent?
Behnaz seemed to weigh this and nodded brusquely, as if deciding to go along with the game.

Question was, what game were these two playing?

Vazura and Behnaz both dismounted their griffins. With a comical creak of their shiny leather armor, they each went to one knee, looked to the ground, and held their right arm out, palm down. Together, they recited an oath in a bored-sounding drone.

“We serve the King and Lords of our beloved Andeluvia. May the Land Between the Forests never fall nor fail.”

“Your gesture is accepted,” Kajari said, sounding mollified. “Approach, and tell us why your greeting was so poor.”

Behnaz got up and approached first. I’d marked him as a short, paunchy man who used expensive clothes to wrap an otherwise unappealing package. Closer up, nothing swayed my opinion otherwise. Without the fur-trimmed cap I’d seen him wearing at the court, his coarse blond hair and fat, ruddy cheeks made him look like a tubby scarecrow that had spent too much time in the sun.

“My Lord Regent,” he said, his voice toeing the line between respectful disdain and open sneer. “Captain Vazura and I have spotted armed groups of centaurs scouting this area. We’ve not been able to secure the Grove of the Willows, and it makes a fine spot for an ambush. Going in there would likely cost your party their lives.”

“Then you’d best remain here, Behnaz. On the Andeluvian side of the Grove, unless we need call for you.”

“I live to serve, my liege.”

“Really? In that case, you can serve me now. By answering some questions about King Benedict’s last day.” Behnaz’s mouth shut with a snap as he saw Kajari gestured ‘go ahead’ to me.

Good. See if the rat can wriggle free of the trap.

“Two days ago, Benedict supposedly came along this road, to meet with the centaurs,” I said. “I don’t have any eyewitnesses that he even got this far.”

“I…I was at my estates, but I have it on the best authority that he did.”

“Whose?”

“Oh, enough of this!” Captain Vazura rose and all but swaggered up to the side of my mount. Where his lord was fat and squat, the Air Cavalry commander stood slender and tall. Vazura had a long face, but a weak chin that hid beneath his trimmed black beard like a shy child. Fumes from an aseptic-smelling cologne he wore went straight down my throat like I’d been gargling a handful of moth balls.

“I know that Benedict must have reached the Grove safely. My scouts swept the road ahead of the Good King for any dangers. None were reported to me on that day, from the palace hinterlands to outside this very grove. As custom, I waited here with a patrol for him to emerge after his negotiations. Later that morning, we saw a party of centaurs enter the Grove via their usual path.”

He pointed with one leather-clad hand. I looked to the north, and saw a well-beaten dirt trail that led into the Grove from a broad, open slope of short grasses. Certainly, not a difficult place to spot a group of ten-foot tall creatures like centaurs coming or going.

“Shortly after the centaurs entered the grove, my patrol’s magic detectors went off,” he continued, holding up a pendant that looked as if it were made of sand-polished sea glass. “Alarmed, we saddled up and entered the grove. As we got close to the central clearing inside, we heard voices raised in argument. We were almost run over by the centaurs as they left. They left at a full gallop, with weapons unsheathed and without a word to us. Fearing the worst, we spurred our mounts on and found two bodies: King Benedict, and an ambassador he must have met there.”

“One of the centaurs?”

Vazura rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Benedict came to the meeting, as always, unarmed. The wounds on the other ambassador’s body came from the blade of a sword or firebolts from a magic staff. Both weapons are known to be used by centaurs.”

“They are used with equal fervor by humans as well.” Galen said pointedly.

“Wait,” I said, urgently, “this other ambassador—he’s the one who ended up on my autopsy slab, isn’t he? Connor McCloud.”

“We don’t know his name, but perhaps your world’s sorcery is better than ours. He had no known next of kin, and we needed a way to bring you here. So the Head of Parliament suggested that we utilize his body in a productive manner.”