Morticai's Luck (15 page)

“This was a sorcerous wound.”

“Yeah, I know. That’s what Geradon said. So, what happened with Udall? The last thing I heard was Kirwin telling someone to check his gear.”

“Indeed. They found nothing in his trunk, but when they searched his body they discovered a vial of powder which Brother Kinsey says is the poison that was used in your broth.”

“I never thought I’d have to kill a Northmarcher,” Morticai said solemnly. “What’s happening in the city?”

“There is an ill wind that smells of war, I am afraid. I understand you were told about Sir Aldwin’s assassination and the rioting.”

“Has there been more?”

“No, but then, not many corryn are braving our streets, either.”

Morticai shook his head. “And no one is trying to find out who we fought or where he is, are they?”

“I believe the Inquisition is looking into it.”

“Yeah, I’ll wager!”

A soft knock sounded at the door, which had been repaired. Dualas opened it to find Brother Geradon Kinsey standing there. A shorter human who wore the robes of a priest of the Faith stood beside him.

“Good morrow, Sir Dualas,” Geradon greeted.

“Good morrow, Brother.”

“Sir Dualas, if you could come with me, I have something to discuss with you,” Geradon said. “My associate here shall tend Morticai’s wound this morning.”

Morticai sighed, and the sigh turned into a wince. So much for practicing with his knives—they weren’t going to give him any privacy.

“Good day,” the priest said as he began unpacking bandages.

“Yeah, that’s what they’re sayin’,” Morticai replied.

The human stopped and looked at him thoughtfully.

“I am sorry. I suppose you do not see it as a ‘good day’ at the moment.” He finished unpacking and began carefully unwinding Morticai’s bandages.

“Well, let’s just say I’m gettin’ awful tired of lookin’ at the ceiling.”

“I understand you actually had a rather busy day, yesterday.”

“Yeah, you could say that—and worse.”

Morticai automatically held his breath as the last of the bandage was removed. Yesterday’s activities had reawakened the injured nerves near the wound.

“Do you hunt Droken officially for the Northmarch?” the human asked.

“No. In fact Kirwin isn’t too fond of it. I’m afraid that when this is all over, he’s going to ship me to Mid-Keep.”

“Kirwin, that’s your commander?”

“Yeah.”

“So,” the human said as he inspected the wound, “because you have been hunting Droken, you think Kirwin will send you to Mid-Keep?”

“Well, actually because I keep disobeying orders. Not that I mean to. But this is important, y’know, and he just doesn’t understand that.”

“What about the Faith? Shouldn’t the Faith be able to handle this?”

“Well, they’re supposed to. No offense, but the Faith just doesn’t use the right tactics. If I hadn’t gone to the Pit, I wouldn’t have found out that the Droken were using that abandoned manor house. I just can’t see ‘the Faith’ going into the Pit.”

“Hm. It’s time to get these stitches out.”

Morticai inhaled sharply. “It is?”

“I promise you, it will not hurt as much as when they were put in. I understand this was lanced a few days ago?”

“Yeah. That certainly hurt!”

“Well, let us see what we can do here. I believe you will find that the wound will feel better once the thread is removed. Roll over a bit more. That’s good. Now, hold steady. I shall do this a small piece at a time. There.”

Morticai winced.

“That was the first piece of thread. That wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“No. Just get it over with, will ya?”

“If you are ready.” The priest carefully removed the remaining stitches.

Geradon Kinsey entered the room. Without looking up, the human addressed him.

“Yes?”

“The knights from the Sanctorium have arrived, Inquisitor.”

“Thank you, Geradon.”

Morticai jumped. Geradon exited the room again.

“I’m sorry, Morticai. Did I hurt you?” the Inquisitor asked.

“Uh … ah, no. S-so you’re Inquisitor Glaedwin?”

“Yes. You can call me Rylan, if you wish. I am sorry I was unable to visit with you earlier, but I had a lot of work to do. All things considered, it looks as though your wound is healing very well.” Rylan began to redress the wound. “I must tell you something about this wound that you do not know. You were told that the wound was sorcerous?”

“Yes.”

“Well, the sword that wounded you has quite a reputation. In fact, the sword even has a name—Ducledha. Because of the way the wound bled without closing or clotting, and based on the physical description you gave us, we are fairly certain we know who it was that you fought in that alley in the Snake Pit.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Have you ever heard of Prince Luthekar?”

“No. What’s he prince of?”

“The Droken.”

“W-what?”

“That’s right. The Droken. And I am very pleased to say that you will survive this wound from his sword, Ducledha, despite the fact that no one before you has ever survived such a wound. All those before you have bled to death.”

Morticai stared at this strange man who sat beside him and talked so calmly about such things.

“I fought the prince of the Droken?”

“One of them, yes. There are actually two princes, Luthekar and Mortern. They have only been sighted a few times in the thousand years that the Faith has attempted to keep record of them.”

“A thousand years?” Morticai asked incredulously.

“Yes. Of course, they are not mortal in the normal sense. As you saw, Luthekar is corryn. And as you know, a corryn is at the end of his days at five hundred years at the most. And yet Luthekar seems to be in his prime. Mortern is human. It is a dread price indeed that they must have paid to win such favors from foul Droka!”

Morticai stared at Rylan as his words sank in. Before he could respond, however, the door opened again and Geradon reappeared, this time with Kirwin, Phillip, Coryden, and Dualas in tow.

“Inquisitor Glaedwin,” Kirwin said tersely, “I have been told by Brother Kinsey that you intend to move Morticai from Northgate. For two weeks now, I have allowed Brother Kinsey as much freedom within my stronghold as possible.”

Morticai paled.
Move me
? he thought.
To where
? Morticai fought back the urge to run, even though the thought of running was ludicrous.

Kirwin stalked over to the large table and pounded his fist down onto it. “I have even suspended my normal reprimand procedures. But no one, understand me,
no one
takes one of my men without my permission. So why don’t you tell me just exactly what this is all about? Move him
where
, and
why
?”

Inquisitor Glaedwin finished cleaning his hands on a dry cloth and turned to face Kirwin. “Indeed, Commander,” he said,” I find it commendable that you feel so strongly responsible for your men. You have every right to be informed of our wishes and to approve them. There are several reasons we believe it would be in Morticai’s best interest, and in yours I might add, for him to be moved.”

“First,” he continued, “there is the consideration of security. With the strained relations between Dynolva and Watchaven, and the burden this has placed on you, it is unfair for you to have to deal with the additional threat of Droken assassins attempting to reach Morticai. I am quite certain that if he remained here, more attempts would be made—this, unfortunately, is the Droken way.”

“Second, moving Morticai to Grandhaven Sanctorium would give him the added benefit of expert caregivers to aid his recovery. Mother Edana is quite famous for her skills in healing.”

“And finally, at the Sanctorium, we could continue our investigation without being a further nuisance to you. Your duties here, the smooth functioning of the Northmarch, is paramount, especially in such troubled times. I am certain that it would ease things for you if we were not in the way.”

A stunned look passed over Commander Kirwin’s face. “I see,” he said. “So, you believe that Morticai would be safer at the Sanctorium?”

“I am afraid so. Your fortress here is very strong, but as Udall demonstrated, one can never know who might be Droken. More important, and safety aside, Morticai can receive care at the Sanctorium that is impossible to give here.”

Kirwin’s looked at each of the other Northmarchers, until his eyes fell last upon Morticai. “Inquisitor, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to discuss this in private with my men.”

“Certainly. Geradon?”

Geradon helped Rylan gather up the contents of his bandaging kit before they headed toward the door.

“Sir Dualas,” Kirwin said, “would you please show them to my office.”

Dualas smiled ruefully. “Yes, sir.”

When they had left, Kirwin turned to Morticai.

“Well?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Well, do you want to go?”

“You’re letting me decide?”

Kirwin shrugged. “You know I don’t approve of your methods, nor of your rash solo Droken hunt. If you were on special assignment and working with the City Watch, it would be different. As it is, this would all be an incredible disgrace … were it not for the fact that you were apparently correct. It does appear that the Droken are involved in this disruption between Watchaven and Dynolva—and your foolishness is what exposed their plot.”

Morticai couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

Kirwin continued. “I have spoken with Brother Kinsey at some length. The Inquisition does not hold you at fault for any of this, although they, too, are not in agreement with your methods. But you have certainly suffered enough for your … involvement. So, yes, I think you should make this decision. Mind you, we will have a fight on our hands if you decide to stay here. But the Northmarch stands by its men.”

“Morticai,” Coryden said, “before you decide, I’ve talked with Dualas and his words echo the Inquisitor’s concerning the Droken sending more assassins. I know you’ve never been fond of the way the Faith works, but this would only be for a short while. I think you should consider it.”

“You’re serious.” Morticai said.

Coryden’s concerned eyes met his. “I don’t want to walk in here and find you dead. You haven’t been downstairs, so you haven’t seen it. They’re calling everyone in. I’ve never seen Northgate this crowded. I’ve met Northmarchers I’ve never seen before—and that’s just from the patrols that are out when we’re on leave. I can post a guard, but that’s no guarantee if the Droken use poison again. Even Dualas could be overcome. So, what can I do? Move our entire patrol in here? I know how much rest you’d get then.”

Morticai considered it. “Could you come and visit?”

“I don’t know why not.”

Kirwin said, “I’m certain we could make that a condition of your treatment, if you are willing to go with them.”

Morticai sighed. “All right. You know, I’ve always worshipped Glawres on the beach,” he admitted. “I’ve never even seen the inside of Grandhaven Sanctorium.”

Chapter Eleven

The coach ride from Northgate to the Sanctorium proved grueling. By the time they’d reached the famous Watchaven landmark, Morticai could’nt have cared less what the inside of the place looked like. The coach turned into one of several private courtyards that surrounded the great building. Geradon hopped out of the coach to summon assistance. The Inquisitor gently pulled Morticai over to lean on his shoulder in order to cushion the jostling of the carriage. The change in Morticai’s position relieved a surprising amount of the pain.

“We shall have you settled very shortly, now. I am sorry the ride was so jarring. When you are feeling better, I have a great deal to discuss with you. I think you will be quite interested to hear what I’ve learned about your Droken nobility.”

“You mean … you believe me?”

“Of course. We never actually doubted you—well, not once we read your decoded notes. And it is obvious that something is wrong between Dynolva and Watchaven. What we must do now is determine what their next move will be so we can use that information to provide proof to the king. By the way, you might be interested to know that when we stormed Burnaby Manor it was empty. Of course, we expected it would be.”

Morticai looked at him in surprise, but before he could say anything the coach door opened. A human woman climbed in. She appeared ancient, so much so that Morticai was surprised at how easily she moved as she entered the coach. She wore the full robes of a Matriarch. She immediately fixed her attention on him.

“You dear child,” she said. She stroked his hair as one would stroke a cat. Morticai tried not to smile. As old as she was, he knew he’d probably been stealing apples on Watchaven streets before she’d been born.

“And they have made you ride in this coach with such a wound,” she said. “Look at me.” She caught his face with her hand, forcing him to look into her eyes. Looking into her eyes was like looking into the hidden depths of the ocean. Morticai found himself wanting to look away, and yet he was unable to do so.

“You have seen too many woes, little one,” the aged Matriarch concluded after a moment’s examination. She let him go. “Perhaps we will be able to offer you some rest from them here.” With that, she left the coach as quickly as she had entered.

“That was Mother Edana,” Rylan informed him, “but I suppose you gathered that.”

“Yeah. She’s gonna’ take care of me?”

Rylan laughed softly. “Don’t worry. She’s not usually that intense. She will, however, have you on your feet much faster than you would expect.”

“Does she talk to everyone like that?”

“Not everyone. She is, shall I say … very perceptive. She is a living Levani in the fullest definition of the term.”

“Huh?”

Further explanation was not forthcoming, however, and Morticai soon found himself installed in a small, cozy room in one of the Sanctorium’s quieter wings. On his way to the room, Morticai had been astonished to see a large number of corryn refugees crowded into the long halls. Although he had been told of the recent unrest that had troubled his city, until now, he had seen none of its result.

He was also surprised at how comfortable the bed proved. Although he’d intended to stay awake, sleep quickly claimed him. The quiet security of the Sanctorium settled about him.

* * *

Morticai woke suddenly, every muscle tensed, every instinct fully engaged—and he was unable to act. A strong hand was clamped over his mouth, while others held his wrists. The knife he expected to feel at his throat was absent, however. He looked up into the light blue eyes of a middle-aged corryn who wore the hood of a monk. The corryn smiled as Morticai relaxed.

Keeping his hand in place, the monk whispered, “Sorry to wake you so rudely, Dyluth, but we don’t break into Grandhaven Sanctorium every day, y’know.”

Morticai nodded. The hands holding him down released him. Morticai could see that two others, a man and maiden dressed in the robes of the Faith, stood in the room as well.

“Nelerek,” Morticai said, “what the Darkness are you doing here?”

“Trying to find out if you’re all right, ya vagabond. First I hear you’ve nearly died at Burnaby Manor, and then I hear you’re locked up at Northgate. And
then
I learn the Inquisition’s after you, and that they’re bringing you here. What the Dark One are
you
doing! And never mind that you don’t call on your Advocate for help.”

“I couldn’t involve you, Nelerek,” Morticai said. “Coryden and Sir Dualas were involved from the start. I wasn’t about to put you or the Arluthian Society at risk.”

Morticai’s gaze kept drifting over to Nelerek’s companions. Suddenly, he recognized one of them, burst out laughing, and then promptly moaned and held his side.

“Dammit, Dyluth!” Nelerek scolded. “With most men I’d have to worry about them yelling—with you, it’s laughing!”

“I’m, I’m sorry, Nelerek,” Morticai said as he tried not to laugh again. “It’s just that I recognized that cute ‘Maiden of the Faith’ you’ve got with you. I never realized you looked so good in a dress, Scatla!” Morticai said, pointing to the ‘maiden.’

Scatla put his hands on his hips. “Try to help a brother,” he said, “and what do you get? He flirts with ya.”

The ‘monk’, who was watching the door, started laughing as well. Nelerek shook his head in exasperation.

“And I thought you’d retired, Paxton,” Morticai teased, recognizing the innkeeper’s easy laugh.

“Well,” the ‘monk’ replied, “you’re not going to stop by this brother’s house wounded so and not have him worry a bit. And Calsen told me a little about that fight you and he were in.”

“Dyluth,” Nelerek interjected, “we don’t have much time. Come now, I need some answers and quickly.”

“Sure.”

“Do you want us to get you out of here? I’ve got a dozen more Arluthians in position to break you out.”

“What?”

“You heard me—we’re here to break you out.”

“But,” Morticai said, shaking his head, “I don’t need to be broken out.”

“They’re not holding you against your will?”

“No. They moved me here to protect me from Droken assassins—though I can see how good their security is. I might as well be at Northgate.”

Nelerek exchanged glances with Paxton and Scatla. “The Droken are truly trying to kill you?”

Morticai sighed. “It’s beginnin’ to look like it.”

“And why,” Nelerek asked evenly, “are the Droken trying to kill my ward? Aside from their usual meanness, that is.”

Morticai shrugged and winced. “I discovered that some of our nobility are Droken. They’re involved in this Dynolva-Watchaven thing … and I fought some Prince of the Droken and now they’re upset.”

“What!” Nelerek and Paxton cried out simultaneously.

“Shhh,” Morticai admonished them. “And you were worried about
me
making too much noise.”

“What do you mean you fought ‘some Prince of the Droken’?” Nelerek whispered sharply.

“Well, that’s, uh, what Inquisitor Glaedwin said. He said that the corryn we fought outside Burnaby Manor was some type of Droken prince.”

Nelerek looked at Paxton and said, “Luthekar—if he was corryn.”

Morticai frowned. “What is this? Everyone knows about this guy but me? But yeah, that’s what the Inquisitor said his name was. I didn’t even know the Droken had nobility.”

Paxton abandoned the door to come and sink down beside the bed. “Dyluth,” he said, “you don’t seem to understand what this means.”

“Never mind now, Paxton,” Nelerek interrupted. “Grandhaven Sanctorium is the best place for him—at the moment, anyway. Unlike us, the Droken won’t enter these halls. Dyluth, you are recovering from this wound?”

“I seem to be.”

“A time may come when we shall have to free you from here and take you someplace safer. You do not fear the Inquisition?”

“You know I’ve always feared the Faith, Nelerek. I was very uncomfortable about this at the beginning … but they seem to mean me no harm.”

Nelerek thought for a moment, then nodded his head once. “Very well—for now.” He walked over to the small window, and studying it, worked the catch to see if it opened. It swung out smoothly on its hinges to reveal a small, private courtyard. “Scatla, you know the layout here. What does this courtyard attach to?”

Scatla moved to the window and briefly studied the flowered garden. “The private sitting room for the Maidens is to your left. The Matriarch’s rooms are straight ahead, and the Grand Patriarch’s are to your right.”

Nelerek tapped on the stained glass. “Hmm … I don’t think a crossbow bolt will penetrate this. Unless it is at very close range.”

“Maidens’ sitting room?” Morticai asked.

“You can’t get out this window, Dyluth,” Nelerek said slyly, “and you’re in no shape to be chasing maidens of any kind.”

Paxton looked heavenward. “Grandhaven Sanctorium may not be ready for Dyluth, Nelerek.”

Nelerek smiled crookedly. “For any protégé of mine, it had better not be—else I or the Faith have failed.” Closing the window, he returned to the bed and began to examine its wooden frame. “Paxton, do you think a sliver of this bed would suffice for Webspinner’s work?”

Paxton tilted his head. “What type of work?”

“I’d like to send Dyluth a bird each day. Webspinner will have to cast a spell to teach the bird to home on this room.”

“Ah, I see,” Paxton said with a nod. “Well, I think a sliver from the window sill would work better, if we can find a spot that’s unpainted. The bed can be moved, you know.”

“You’re right,” Nelerek agreed as he returned to the window. “Ah, I think this should do.” He carved a small piece of wood from the sill’s outer edge. “Hm, I probably should get him a lock of hair, as well.”

“You’re gonna’ cut my hair?” Morticai complained.

Nelerek sighed. “You’ve got enough hair for two people, Dyluth! I’m not going to cut it where anyone will see.” Nelerek cuffed him lightly in jest, and then quickly drew his knife and sniped a lock from the nape of Morticai’s neck. “Each day, between the hour of noon and one, open your window for my bird. Should you need us to come, all you need do is attach a note to it.”

Morticai smiled. “It’s nice to have friends.”

“It’s nice to have
Brothers
,” Paxton corrected.

“I fear that you shall need all the help your Arluthian Brothers can provide,” Nelerek cautioned as he raised his cowl. “Now, ‘Sister Scatla’, if you would be so kind as to lead us out of here.”

* * *

Morticai soon discovered that Mother Edana was all that Inquisitor Glaedwin claimed she was. She fussed over him and
at
him, made him walk up and down the hall thrice daily—and soon had him able to move on his own again. Although he still had to rest frequently, he was amazed at the progress he made.

As Morticai lay in his bed, he wondered how he might gain more freedom to roam about the large Sanctorium. So far, he had only been allowed to walk down the hallway outside his room.

A light knock sounded on the door.

“Enter.”

Inquisitor Glaedwin swung open the door. “Good day, Morticai,” he said.

“Hello, Inquisitor.”

Glaedwin sat down in the chair beside the bed and smiled.

“I do wish you would call me Rylan.”

The corryn shrugged. “Whatever you wish.”

“I understand that you are doing well.”

“Yes—you were right about the Matriarch. It wasn’t easy the first day, but I must admit I feel much better now. How long am I going to have to stay here?”

“Well, that is part of why I’ve come to speak with you. I’ve spent a good deal of time talking with Sir Dualas and Captain Coryden, as well as doing some research of my own. I have developed a theory as to why Udall was sent to kill you.”

Energized by the prospect of information, Morticai sat up in bed. “Yes?”

Rylan paced to the open window and gazed into the courtyard beyond.

“I am operating on the assumption that the Droken were unaware of your activities until the night you fought Luthekar. On that night, Luthekar could have heard two names, yours and that of Sir Dualas. This is according to Sir Dualas’s recollection. Luthekar would have recognized Dualas as a Knight of the Faith from the insignia he wore. And although you were not wearing insignia, your captain was wearing his Northmarch cloak brooch. Now, if you had been Luthekar, what would you have thought?”

Rylan turned to gaze at Morticai.

“I don’t know,” Morticai began. “I guess that he’d been found out.”

Rylan nodded. “Indeed. Perhaps he would have thought that you were working for the Faith; after all, a Knight of the Faith was there. Or, more likely, he would have thought that the Northmarch was working with the Faith.”

As Morticai considered the strange concept, a mourning dove flew to the window and landed on the sill.

Rylan turned to stare at it a moment before remarking, “They don’t do that very often.”

Damn!
Morticai thought as the Sanctorium’s bells began chiming the noon hour.

Rylan walked to the window, obviously expecting the bird to fly away. The bird simply cooed as it strutted back and forth along the sill.