Morticai's Luck (5 page)

“Please, proceed then,” the acolyte said, gesturing toward the gilt doors. “I would not hinder you with idle conversation, Dyagon,”

Aldwin nodded politely and made Droka’s sign before opening one of the large doors. Behind it, the temple bustled with hushed activity. The octagonal room spanned nearly fifty-five feet across. A fifteen-foot tall image of Droka, purported to be made of solid gold, stood against the back wall. Aldwin had long suspected the statue was merely gilt over some baser metal.

Bas-relief scenes of Droka’s triumphs covered the black stone walls. Inlaid gold defined the scenes further. An acolyte was lighting the gold candelabrums that stood like soldiers around the perimeter of the room. Aldwin frowned behind his mask. Three weeks earlier, the candelabrums were to have been cleaned of the old wax that had dripped down their sides, and still, the chore had not been attended to. Had these been Aldwin’s servants, they would have been soundly thrashed for such obvious inattentiveness.

In the center of the room stood an upraised granite platform, also octagonal and nearly fifteen feet across. Droka’s sign, graven into the platform, was filled with dried blood. Two heavy chains ending in shackles hung from the high ceiling. More shackles, these in the form of irons, were embedded in the platform itself. Currently, an acolyte was fastening the chains out of the way.

Aldwin watched as the acolyte finished his work. A small amount of mortar had crumbled from around the base of one of the ceiling anchors. Aldwin shook his head—it was sad to see his temple slowly sliding away from the high standard it had once held itself to. He made a mental note to bring up the issue when the Dyagons next held council.

His gaze drifted to two more acolytes, who also stood on the platform near a small table. The table contained torture implements, which they covered with a black cloth. At least the implements appeared to have been cleaned. Once they’d placed the cover, the acolytes moved the table to the opposite side of the temple and moved it into a closet behind a door made nearly invisible by the intricate bas-relief. No holy day had occurred recently—a traitor must have been caught. Aldwin wondered if it had been anyone he knew.

The acolytes ignored Aldwin as he crossed the room to another nearly hidden door. This one was not a closet, but led into the High Priest’s private section of the underground complex. It was a full priest, not a mere acolyte, who greeted him this time.

“Dyagon, His Eminence awaits you.” Without waiting for a reply, the priest turned, rapped lightly on the door, then opened and held it for Aldwin. The office they entered was spacious and richly appointed, as befitted the High Priest’s station. Corryn furniture from Lorredre, a crystal chandelier from Tradelenor, and carpets from Bracar decorated the room. Behind the desk sat the High Priest. His red robe was embroidered in black and gold. As with all Droken whom Aldwin had seen, his silk mask was in place. As they entered, he closed a large book that lay before him. Aldwin noted it was one of the
Books of Prophesy
.

“Sit down, Dyagon.”

Aldwin sat. “Thank you, Your Eminence.” The High Priest said nothing further until his attendant had left them.

“Your report, Lord Aldwin?”

Aldwin shifted uncomfortably. The High Priest’s habit of using his name in private had always unnerved him.

“Everything went as planned. The Dynolvan Council was furious with our proposal. They are threatening to use the Locguard-Bridlington route as an alternative to Watchaven.”

“Excellent. Did you give my message to Ambassador Volney?”

“Yes. He returned this.” Aldwin deposited a sealed letter on the desk. The High Priest opened it and read it silently.

“Very good, not only are things proceeding well, but they are proceeding on schedule.”

“Your Eminence, I … I must report one other small incident.”

The High Priest’s head tilted slightly. “Yes?”

“Someone broke into my estate while I was in Dynolva …”

The High Priest held up a gloved hand, interrupting him. “Perhaps you should remove your mask before you proceed, Lord Aldwin.”

Aldwin licked his lips. There was no way around the command. Knowing the High Priest knew your identity was one thing—withstanding his scrutiny, not knowing his identity, not seeing his reactions to your words … that was unsettling. Slowly, Aldwin slid the silk mask to the rear of his hood.

“Lower the hood.”

He did so.

“Now. Continue.”

“Someone broke in. My blacksmith was coming from the coach house and encountered the thief as he attempted to leave. They wrestled, but the thief escaped. The alarm was raised and chase given, but once in the city …”

“And you dared to come
here?
”

“I had—he couldn’t have discovered anything to connect me with the Droken,” Aldwin said, almost stammering. “I had my robes.”

The High Priest’s tone softened. “I see. Was much stolen?”

Aldwin looked down. “No,” he said softly.

“Did your servant describe this thief to you?”

“My blacksmith is human, Your Eminence, and it was difficult for him to see the thief in the darkness. He said the man was slender of form, but seemed of human height. Another servant who saw the man flee thought he was corryn.”

“Very well. You have increased the watch at your estate?”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

“Then, we shall consider the incident closed for now, Lord Aldwin. You will be careful, I trust.”

“Yes, Your Eminence.”

“You may leave. Service begins shortly.”

Aldwin took a deep breath and pulled his hood and mask into place.

The High Priest made Droka’s sign as Aldwin stood to leave. Aldwin returned it, and with relief, left for the comfortable anonymity he always found when surrounded by others at service.

* * *

Once Aldwin had gone, the High Priest turned toward the wall. He had to be there, had to have seen and heard. He could feel His presence, as he always did when either of the two Droken Princes was nearby.

As expected, the wall panel slowly opened. The corryn who emerged was anything but ordinary for his kind. He stood nearly seven feet tall. Even the exquisite silk Lorredre tunic could not hide his tremendous musculature. His silver hair was braided into a warrior’s knot, and although the prince was not dressed for battle, Ducledha—the Black Sword—hung at his side. His ice blue eyes demanded the High Priest’s attention. The High Priest resisted, ever so slightly, before being helplessly drawn to meet that deadly gaze.

“Have Aldwin followed. Determine who is following him.”

“Yes, Prince Luthekar,” the High Priest said. “It will be done.”

Chapter Four

The squalid section of town was teeming with peasants and filthy animals. Despite the noonday heat, Lord Aldwin pulled his light-season cloak tighter about him. The stench was horrid. His guards led the way, shoving through the mass of people. Aldwin silently cursed the streets for being too narrow to allow his coach passage. Finally, his guards turned down an alley that was, incredibly, even narrower.
Gods
, Aldwin thought,
how does the Watch patrol here
? They stopped before a small doorway. The door was missing; in its place hung a faded cloth.

“Are you certain this is the place, Garric?”

“Oh, yes m’lord. Madam Luvena has cured me of several curses. She’s said to be one of the best in the city.”

Aldwin sighed, wondering if he’d taken leave of his senses. Well, he had come this far. “Wait here.”

Beyond the cloth door a narrow hallway led into the dim depths of the building. Small shafts of light penetrated the thatched roof, in need of obvious repair. The hallway turned twice before ending at another doorway—this one curtained with colorful shells, strung like beads.

Despite Aldwin’s best effort to pass through quietly, the shells announced his entrance. He stood within a small room cluttered with the odd paraphernalia of Madam Luvena’s craft. Strangely shaped, stoppered bottles were lined neatly along a small shelf. A large bowl filled with inky liquid sat in the center of a lace-covered table. Aldwin had seen a similar bowl used at the king’s court. Others had claimed to see pictures in the wizard’s bowl. Aldwin strongly suspected those others of too much enjoyment of the king’s fine wines prior to the wizard’s demonstration.

Before he could explore further, a small girl ran into the room through another seashell-strung doorway. She was dressed in a silk blouse and several layers of long, colorful skirts. Aldwin noted that she wore a surprising amount of gold jewelry. Before Aldwin could fashion a question for the child, she was gone, running back the way she had come.

“Mamma, mamma, a lord is here!”

Aldwin sighed.
Surely
, he thought,
all I shall gain here is a lighter purse
.

When the shells rattled again, a lovely, dark-haired woman stood in the doorway. She was dressed much like the child. She did not speak, she but leveled her dark eyes at Lord Aldwin.

“Madam Luvena, I presume?” he said.

“Yes, Lord Aldwin, how may I help you?”

Aldwin jumped visibly as she said his name. “I, ah, require your services.”

“Please follow me,” she said, and led him into the next room. It was furnished much like the previous one, except that the shelves in this room were crammed with books. This surprised Aldwin, but bolstered his opinion of Madam Luvena. The books demonstrated her wealth more than her jewelry.

She led him to an uncomfortable looking, high-backed chair and set about making them tea. Aldwin recognized the scent of it and wondered if she intended it for them both. While he drank
vallemo
occasionally, he did not advertise his use of the mild but illegal spice. Most of his friends who dabbled in such things used moonflower—also illegal, but much stronger and highly addictive.

“Tea, Lord Aldwin?”

“No thank you, I don’t drink
vallemo
.
” He withdrew a cloth from inside his cloak and unwrapped the daggers and rope he had carefully preserved.

Madam Luvena looked at him questioningly. Aldwin’s nervousness eased as it became apparent that there were limits to her knowledge.

“My estate was broken into several days ago,” he said. “The thief conveniently left me these mementos. I would like to know more about this thief. I was told you could help.”

Madam Luvena carefully examined the items. “How many people have handled these?”

“My blacksmith, myself, and now, you.”

“How long ago did this episode occur?”

“Six days.”

Madam Luvena sighed. “This would have been easier if you had brought them sooner.”

“I was out of town.”

“Well, we shall see. It may not be too late. I cannot work with this one,” she said, pointing to the dagger that had killed Aldwin’s servant. “It has recent death upon it.” Using a handkerchief to prevent contact with the dagger, she gave it back to Aldwin.

She produced a black silk cloth that was embroidered with odd markings. She laid the cloth across a low table and then fetched several candles and jars of powders. Aldwin watched with fascination as she prepared the items. The magicians at court had never seemed to take this much effort. Perhaps it was part of her act.

“You must be absolutely silent while I perform the spell.”

Aldwin scowled.
I am not a child, madam
, he thought, but he refrained from telling her so. Madam Luvena began to chant as she sprinkled the remaining dagger and rope with various powders. She then closed her eyes and began to sway while she chanted and gestured over the table.

Gods, this is trite!
Aldwin thought.
Does she think this will impress me?

The dagger slowly floated upward to hang a few inches below Madam Luvena’s hands.

Aldwin blinked. It had to be a fake—there must be a thread—but he saw nothing of the sort.

She lowered her hands. The dagger remained floating. Continuing to chant, she cupped her hands, palms up, a few inches beneath the dagger. The dagger floated softly into her hands. She stopped chanting and opened her eyes.

Aldwin let out a held breath. Madam Luvena stared strangely at the dagger. Finally, she spoke.

“Your thief belongs to the Northmarch.”

“What?” Aldwin asked incredulously.

Her dark eyes caught his, but revealed nothing of what she felt within. “You heard me correctly.”

“Anything else?”

“Yes. He is an orphan.”

Aldwin snorted. “Do you know how many ‘orphans’ have joined the Northmarch? Half of them, I imagine!”

Her stare became icy. “If that is so, we may thank the Droken for it.”

Aldwin returned the stare. Just how much did she know?

“There is more. But first, we should discuss price. Do you know more now than when you came here?”

“Well, yes, of course.”

“Then I ask you for one thousand korun.”

Aldwin pulled his purse from beneath his cloak.

“And I shall ask you for another thousand if you would hear the last of the information I obtained.”

Aldwin stopped for a moment, scrutinizing the witch and wondering at her arrogance. “Very well,” he said. “I will pay what you ask. What’s the rest of it?”

“Your thief is corryn.”

Aldwin settled back in his seat and considered it. “And he is a Watchaven Northmarcher? Based here? Not in Dynolva?”

“Yes,” she said.

“And he’s a corryn orphan. Do you know how many corryn there are in Watchaven’s Northmarch?”

“No.”

“Neither do I. But I know there are not many. Do you know if this thief was working alone?”

“No … no, I do not know that. Do you think he may have been in your estate on behalf of the Northmarch?”

“Ah no, of course not. That wouldn’t make any sense.” Was the damned witch reading his thoughts? “No, I just wondered if he had other friends who might have been involved.”

“I see. No, I do not know that, I am afraid.”

“Well, I thank you. You are quite correct, the full information is worth two thousand korun.”

He laid the bagged coins on the edge of the table.

Madam Luvena bowed her head toward him in thanks, and then rose to show him out.

After he had gone, she returned to the table. Aldwin had left the thief’s belongings behind without a single thought as to their disposal. Madam Luvena picked up the dagger and slowly turned it over in her hand.

* * *

Twenty days had passed since Morticai’s assault on Aldwin’s tower. Due to his confinement, and his patrol and gate duties, only three of those days had been off-duty time. He had followed Lord Valdir during those three days, but he’d discovered nothing more than where Valdir’s mistress lived.

He had decided to follow Aldwin tonight, but so far, that had proven equally boring. Morticai’s attention drifted from his thoughts of Aldwin to the more interesting distraction offered by the buxom young woman who was taking drink orders. She glanced his direction, and he automatically smiled. She returned the smile and began drifting his way. He blinked and straightened in the booth. He hadn’t really wanted to talk with her just now.

Sir Ellenwood walked through the door, stealing Aldwin’s attention, which had also been on the young lass’s sweet form.

Morticai sighed with relief.

“Get ya somethin’, darlin’?” she asked.

“’Fraid not, hon.” he said. I’ve already had enough.” Morticai watched as Aldwin got up and began moving toward the door.

“Ah, surely you’d like more than jus’ a couple o’ brandies?” She smiled seductively, but Morticai wasn’t watching.

Ellenwood passed Aldwin without so much as a nod of recognition. Morticai wouldn’t be able to slip out behind Aldwin without causing a scene with the barmaid. A brawny sailor threw some coins on the bar, drained his glass, and shouldered his way out the door. Ellenwood sat down in the booth Aldwin had vacated.

“Well, darlin?”

Morticai settled back on the bench. “Maybe you could bring me another brandy. Thanks.”

She scowled at him briefly. “If that’s all ya want, then that’s all you’ll get!”

Morticai looked up, but she was already heading to the bar. Had he missed something?

His attention drifted back to Ellenwood. He watched with increasing fascination as Sir Ellenwood slid his hand along the edge of the bench. Ellenwood was attempting to be discrete, but to Morticai, trained in sleight of hand, it was as obvious as if he had gotten on his knees and looked beneath the bench. Ellenwood retrieved a paper and slipped it inside his cloak. Then, without even ordering a drink, he rose and moved toward the door.

Sorry, Hon
, Morticai thought in silent farewell to the barmaid,
but I’m playin’ a different game tonight
. He left a korun on the table and followed Ellenwood into the street.

* * *

Ellenwood traveled north from Black Horse Tavern, crossing Mainway into an area of the city filled with small shops. Morticai knew that Ellenwood wasn’t heading home because his estate lay to the northwest. Of course, the fact that he wasn’t traveling by coach was, in itself, unusual.

He eventually crossed Shipwright’s Road, and then he surprised Morticai by turning east, toward the docks. The dockside of the city was extremely dangerous at night—not an area a lone nobleman would wish to frequent.

Ellenwood soon stopped, however, and reversed his fine cloak. Morticai smiled in sudden understanding. The liner of Ellenwood’s cloak looked like the kind of coarse woolen cloak any dockworker would be proud of. Unfortunately, that put Morticai at a disadvantage. He had dressed well, expecting to follow Lord Aldwin to his usual haunts.

Ellenwood continued east for about a mile and then turned north again. If he continued, he would soon be in the poorest section of Watchaven. The area was riddled with long alleys that would make the nobleman easy to follow, but it also contained some of the city’s roughest gangs. Several blocks later, Ellenwood came to one of the area’s ‘major’ intersections. He crossed it diagonally and continued on. Not wishing to attract additional attention, Morticai stayed next to the buildings.

Three young humans suddenly stepped out from a nearby doorway, directly into Morticai’s path. They blocked him deliberately, with their knives drawn. The Northmarcher automatically fell into a fighting stance. His new dagger appeared in his left hand, a throwing knife in his right. The three toughs looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

“What’s this, a knife-fighting noble?” the tallest of the group asked.

“Ya’ gotta’ be kiddin’,” another replied.

“Hey, he’s a corryn knife-fightin’ noble!” the third added, laughing.