The Motive for Massacre (The Kinless Trilogy Book 2) Page 20

  Mal sat down.

  "Smart move," Weston said, patting him on the shoulder.

  The next day, after a sleepless clammy night filled with dreams of self doubt, fear and self loathing, James headed to the Cathedral of Saint Kincaid to meet Alisanne. He steadied his nerves on the way with a quaff of potent brown rum from a small tavern he hadn't visited in years. It tasted like bull piss, but the liquid burn that slid down his throat did wonders when it hit his empty stomach, and he was able to simmer his nerves down quickly. He felt confident and under control as he strode through the massive grounds of the Cathedral of Kincaid. He headed towards the thick granite building that held Alisanne's office.

  Through a set of iron clad oaken doors and up several flights of wide white tiled stairs he went until he reached the floor she was on. As a Bishop, her chambers were on the third floor, and with her seniority amongst the Bishops, her spaces were at the end of the building where the setting sun illuminated her rooms with a golden glow. He wiped his white robes clean of the city dust, and knocked on the cherry door inlaid with silver letters that spelled out Alisanne's name.

  "Come in," James heard her say lightly. He opened the door and let himself into the office. Alisanne sat behind her sprawling desk. He'd never noticed the carvings of people on the front of it before just now, and the statuesque bodies with inhumanly long arms and legs reaching up to the sky had a sinister note to them. He knew they were meant to represent the Ancestors supporting the living, but all he could see in the moment was a writhing, maggoty legion reaching up to pull down the living. Perhaps that was just how he felt about the woman sitting behind the desk. He shut the door behind him with a heavy click.

  "Bishop," James said.

  She looked up from a sheaf of papers with a smile on her face. James thought she looked pale in the overcast light coming through the windows behind her. "James, I'm so glad you're back. Your journey was not too long or arduous then? Please, tell me everything." James nodded and approached her desk. He didn't sit. He hadn't been invited to. He fought hard to not look at the small wooden box on the shelf that was pivotal in the whole scheme of events at hand. Out of the corner of his eye though, he could see it. Its presence in his peripheral vision was like a thorn in his foot. He forced his eyes to drift down to the mosaic tile floor. The image of a single pillar of cleansing holy fire.

  "I'm glad to be back," he said. It was important to speak as many clear truths as possible. It made any strange comments seem less noticeable. That's what Weston suggested at least.

  "Tell me. Were the twins able to meet up with anyone when they visited the Protectorate? Did they go to House Kulare? You said you made friends. Did you mean you associated with the twins directly?" Alisanne pressed hungrily.

  "Indeed. As I said in my sending, our train was attacked in the middle of the night by a band of thieves on horseback. They attempted to ransack the cars and rob everyone, but several of us managed to fend them off. During the melee the twins came into my train car, and we battled together. Afterwards they insisted that I accompany them on their tour of Davisville. Chiefly, House Kulare."

  "Thieves yes. It's a shame what people are forced to do when they are poor and hungry."

  "I couldn't agree more," James said. I know she sent them. And now I can see how she bends the truth to elude the power of Saint Kincaid.

  "So they went to the college. And did they meet with anyone there?" Alisanne sounded wary, nearly scared of what James' response might be.

  James felt emboldened by her lies, but maybe it was the rum. "Indeed. They met with a man named Weston Fireborn. He was a member of the faculty there. I should also add he was the spitting image of the man, Malwynn."

  She scowled. "What was spoken of?"

  Here was the tricky part. "I wasn't there for all of their conversations." This was a truth.

  "Well what did you hear? Did he tell them of what happened many years ago in Duulan?"

  "They spoke of a tragedy at a mine, is that what you refer of?" James thought an honest question would help. You can't ask a lie. Perhaps her own paranoia would work against her.

  "Damn it all," she cursed. "I knew it." She turned to face the windows and sat stewing for several minutes. Secretly James rejoiced at her inner turmoil. He knew within the hour her stomach would be churning, causing her even more discomfort. He felt satisfaction.

  "I wish I had different news to give you," James said, feigning a desire to comfort her. He wished he could tell her the twins were coming up the stairs to give her a piece of their mind. And a swift kick in the ass.

  "I wish you'd brought different news. Are they together now? When they left Davisville? Do you know what their plans are?"

  James saw one of her eyelids twitching. A sure sign she was losing patience. "I was on the same train as them returning back here to Daris. Weston was with them. I know their plan now was to get on a second train and head north to the standoff with The Empire. I don't know when they are leaving Daris, but I know they were planning on getting on a train."

  "To Ockham's Fringe eh?" Alisanne looked so pleased James felt a sudden jolt of fear. "It is so true that the Ancestors favor the just. Such good news that could prove to be. That could solve all my problems in one fell swoop…" her voice trailed off.

  James was chilled by her half finished comment. "What do you mean solve all your problems?"

  Alisanne looked to choose her words carefully. "I said before that the twins were responsible for, or involved with a potential great evil I believe. This much is true. Weston, the man they met, was there two decades ago in the mine they spoke of. He was part and parcel with the heresy that occurred there. If they are able to find a way to regurgitate the evil that was found so long ago James… all of Elmoryn would be at risk for far more than a war between Varrland and the Empire. If they all march to the front, and were to be killed there, it would be a boon to all of our civilization."

  "You say that with such conviction." And it was true. She spoke from the heart, and believed her words to be true. James felt sick.

  "I do. Because I know what's at stake James, and it's more than just another war. The soul of Elmoryn hangs in the balance, and you and I have been trusted to ensure that they are unable to ruin the world so many have spent so long to build. Elmoryn is just now returning to a faded image of its former glory James. We can't allow a group of misled, lost insurgents ruin it all."

  "I couldn't agree more," James said honestly. Of course, he wasn't thinking about Weston, Malwynn or Umaryn.

  - Chapter Sixteen -

  A DERELICT'S TALE

  "What was our father like when he was young? When you guys were out and about doing the whole adventuring thing?" Malwynn asked Weston. The twins and the uncle were on foot, heading to a strange area of the city. They had separated from Chelsea for the day to cover more ground. The Sergeant was on her own searching for information about New Falun by asking around the barracks on the other side of the city.

  The whole group was in the second day of a lengthy search for information on the village. They had stopped at innumerable taverns and inns and no one knew anything about the village. They'd gone up and down every aisle in the open air market on the other side of the city and not one merchant knew anything about the village in the hills of Duulan. It was as if the mining hamlet no longer existed.

  Weston perked up at the mention of his brother. "Full of life. Vigor. Sass. Ellioth was smart as a whip, and tougher than railroad spikes. I was the better sorcerer, but he was a more rounded young man. And boy was he bad with women…"

  Mal and Umaryn laughed at their uncle's jabs toward their father as they headed deeper into the industrial section of the sprawling city. They were well past the Artificer rail yard, and heading towards the warehouses that belonged to the shipping consortiums, merchant guilds, and the larger crafting businesses. This was the mercantile guts of the capital of Varrland. No other city, except for the agricultural city of Farmington could compare. />
  "Your brother and I were for many years scoundrels here in Daris. We frequented nearly every drinking establishment there was and did our best to drink them into fame and riches. We had more than one bar fight. Far more than one," Weston said, musing happily.

  "How'd you land at House Kulare? I mean, you were with dad for a bit, then separated?" Umaryn asked.

  "Ha, it was a job we'd been hired for. Of a sort. A wealthy merchant from the NP needed a pair of bodyguards, and he fancied men, and took a liking to us. I guess he liked having two handsome young men around. He was a good man, despite his incessant advances. He was good natured about our rejections, which spoke a good bit about him as a person. But that doesn't matter. We escorted him to a very suspect business meeting with a former jaded employee about five minutes from where we stand today. We hid off to the side, and when the former employee threw a temper tantrum, we stepped in and pulled our client out of the fire. I used The Way to subdue the culprit, and your father beat the man's guards senseless."

  "Dad beat someone senseless?" Umaryn asked.

  Weston looked over at her. "He beat four or five men senseless that day. Your father had a gift for it when he became angry or motivated to do so. He channeled what could've been a curse into a gift. Does that surprise you?"

  "Yeah, that's a little difficult to hear. Dad was never like that at home with us. He read books. Ran town hall meetings. Held us when we were scared little kids with scraped knees. He told us stories about Heap Daemons and Shadow Wolves and Mountain Spirits. He never seemed mean or aggressive at all. He wasn't even that big of a man." Umaryn said.

  "That’s cute. How many men have you beaten senseless, niece? I should think you know that you don't need to be a big man to be able to handle yourself in a scrap. But, it would seem your father must've changed since we were young. I wouldn’t go so far and say he was mean as a youth, but if someone crossed him, or threatened your mother or I…"

  The twins waited but Weston never finished his sentence. Mal had to press. "What would happen?"

  "You ever see your father's knuckles?" Weston asked.

  The brother and sister had to think about it, but Umaryn's memory responded to her first. "Yeah. He had a lot of scars from chopping wood and getting splinters."

  "You don't get scars on your knuckles from splitting logs with an axe young lady. You get scars like that from knocking people's teeth in," Weston said with a smile. "And heading into the Eastern Wilds, amongst other dangerous places. He wouldn't stand for anyone threatening someone he loved. Or someone who was paying him. He was a good man. Loyal. A good brother too."

  "Sounds a lot scarier than I remember him," Mal said.

  "That is very fair to say, and I'd wager, a good thing. Memories of your father shouldn't be frightening."

  "So what happened with the gay businessman?"

  "Ah, yes. He was so impressed by our protection of him he insisted that he obtain me a berth at the college to compensate us for a job exceedingly well done. Remember, your father hadn't used The Way, so he didn't know Ellioth could cast spells. After we talked on it, we agreed me getting training would be good for us all. While I was away, he kept doing jobs for the Church with your mother and aunt, and eventually they came out to join me for a series of courses themselves. I finished my training, and we began what turned into many wonderful years of doing dangerous things for too little money, all for the greater good of the Church of Souls and the people of Elmoryn."

  "Until Alisanne fucked you all over," Mal said.

  "Until Alisanne fucked us over, yes. Ah, we're here."

  "You say that a lot," Mal said teasingly.

  "Ah, I do. I'm very consistent Malwynn. Reliable. Welcome to the BSA kids," Weston said with a flourish as they approached a simple and blunt stone building. Hanging over the thick front door was a tapestry depicting a company coat of arms. It was a crossed sword and arrow over a field of black and white checkers. Aside from that and some crenellations along the roof, the building was ordinary.

  "BSA?" Umaryn asked.

  "The Brethren of the Sword and Arrow. One of Elmoryn's longest standing mercenary companies, and one of the finest. Its reputation is on par with some of the finer Knightly orders. If you've ever heard of the stand at Valley Park, you might know that these men and women were the ones who arrived and tipped the scales, killing a hundred undead that had surrounded the town. For no pay I should add. Your father and I did some work for them when we were starting out. Nothing as legendary or important as the battle of Valley Park, but good deeds. We weren’t good enough to last sadly, not at our age at the time, but if anyone in Daris knows of any stories about New Falun, a member of the BSA might."

  Inside the keep's door was a low ceilinged post and beam room with thick plush carpet, and leather couches. A smell of pipe smoke and oil hung in the air, and Umaryn loved it. It smelled like martial prowess, and understated wealth.

  A short redheaded woman wearing a pretty sun dress appeared from an alcove in the rear of the room. She had fair skin like the twins, but gentle green eyes. She didn't appear in the least like a mercenary. She welcomed them with a warm, comforting smile. "Welcome to the Brethren of the Sword and Arrow. My name is Chantelle Arbenoir. Would you care to have a seat while I get us some fresh tea?"

  "That would be fine, thank you," Weston said. The redhead with the long braid excused herself and left the room. Weston led the brother and sister over to a sitting area and took a seat. Mal and Umaryn followed his head and sat down as well.

  "They're giving us tea? For free?" Mal asked.

  "It's an old but common practice before doing business in Darisian culture. It indicates that the relationship between them and the customer is more important than the business itself. They seek to please us for nothing with the tea, separate of our status or wealth. Imagine what they'll do when they're paid?"

  A few minutes later she returned with an etched silver tray and complete tea service. Small porcelain cups were sat on a low walnut table at the center of the couches, and she poured a succulent, sweet tea from a teapot into them. The steam wafted up, and mingled with the rich scents of the room, and made all feel at home. Chantelle handed a cup on a saucer to each person, and then served herself. She sat down in a thick leather seat next to Weston and picked up her own cup of tea. She delicately blew on it to cool it.

  "Thank you for the tea Chantelle," Mal said, taking a sip. It was delicious and exotic. He'd never tasted anything like it in Varrland before.

  "You are very welcome. It's nice to have visitors. The BSA office here gets so few new clients these days."

  "Why is that?" Weston asked, taking a sip from his drink.

  "Oh, most of our contracts are in Ebonvale, or Eden Valley the past few years. Our office in the Shires has had a few new customers. Here in Varrland things are relatively quiet, other than the few small odd jobs that come through. We focus on maintaining relationships with our existing clients as they pass through. We offer them room and board in our secure keep here."

  "Well, we're sure to disappoint you then. For that I apologize," Weston said. "We haven't come to hire the BSA, we've come to ask a few questions, if you can spare us a moment."

  If Chantelle was dismayed, her face didn’t show it. "What kind of questions?"

  "If you'll permit us to skip some of the tea conversation?" Weston asked her, observing the Darisian decorum.

  "Of course."

  "Have you ever heard of a southern Duulani village named New Falun? It is on the rail line heading to Farmington."

  Chantelle thought for a bit then shook her head. "No, I cannot say I've heard of it."

  "Do you know if any of your local Brethren frequent the area on the southern rail lines in Duulan? Perhaps they take an odd job here or there, something the BSA turned away? Might they know of areas in that vicinity? An old mining village. Copper? Anyone at all?" Weston pressed inquisitively. He drained his tea and sat it down on the silver platter.

  "Wel
l, as I said we've precious few calls for business of late, so there are no serving members in the city. I can recommend you to a man who used to serve with us. He's a bit of a drunkard now in retirement but he could know of the town you speak of. You’d need to brave his stink and poor social graces of course."

  "We'll take anything at this point," Umaryn said.

  Chantelle took a sip from her tea and sat the cup down on the highly polished table in the center of the group. "You should write some things down. It'll help you if you find him. He's… eccentric."

  Weston produced a small piece of paper from his coat. "Do you have something I can write with?"

  Several hours and six tired feet later the trio sat at the fifth bar they'd visited in their search. Their will to refuse a cold mug of frosty ale or glass of warm, smoky wine had finally failed them, so they took a seat to rest and get a drink. They were arranged in a neat row at the center of the tavern along the counter where a pair of overweight barmaids fussed over the mess two inebriated slobs were making in the back. They were the only clean people in the building.

  "I'd bet that's his last Mark Tatiana, and if he spills that mug—" she was interrupted by the shattering of a large ceramic cup of beer from the table where she'd just left one. Mal watched as her eyes grew in size until they were the size of a red hot coal, and twice as angry. "I'll murder him. By my grandmother's spirit I'll murder him with a piece of the damned broken cup," she muttered as she scooped up another rag and headed back to the bowels of the dirty tavern.

  The twins shared a laugh as Weston shook his head. "I think our drunk prey is going to elude us today. At least we managed to capture a drink in a dirty glass today. Let us hope we didn't capture dysentery as well. Perhaps after this we should head back to Chelsea's home and try again tomorrow," Weston offered. He swirled his clear glass goblet, letting the red wine cling thickly to sides. He held it up high against a lit lantern that hung from a ceiling beam.