“To be honest, I’m too tired to think of anything but the bed waiting for me.” He popped another piece of jerky in his mouth. “We’ll cross that bridge when I can think straight.”

  Three shadowy figures brandishing swords dashed out from an alley and halted a few yards in front of Shaddeth.

  “Hold!” the one in the middle shouted, holding up his hand. He was a big man, with grizzled salt-and-pepper hair and a thick beard. He wore brown leathers and a black cloak with the hood pulled back. His companions, both black-haired lads in their late teens, were shorter, skinny, and their clothing bordered on tattered.

  Shaddeth reared back, snorting angrily as he beat the air with his hooves.

  “Easy, Shaddeth!” Rellen shouted, pulling back on the reins. The big horse calmed, his massive front hooves slamming onto the cobblestones with a double crack!

  “Gallantyr’s bones!” Mygal barked. “Are you out of your minds?”

  “Not at all,” the big man said, eyeing Shaddeth warily. “I’m afraid there’s a toll to be paid tonight on this particular stretch of cobblestones.” He eyed Mygal and then Rellen. “We’ll take whatever money and weapons you have…” his eyes shifted to the wagon… “or that fine horse and the wagon it’s pulling. Your choice.”

  “You really don’t want to do this,” Mygal said. “You have no idea what you’re getting into.”

  “Oh, I think we do,” the big man said. “I like our odds with three on two—” His eyes drifted towards the rear of the wagon. “But five on two puts you in a very bad place.”

  The wagon shifted slightly, and Rellen turned to find two more men climbing up into the bed of the wagon with battered longswords held at the ready. One had dark hair and skin, with a burly frame wrapped in tattered, grimy clothing. The other was pale, with blond hair falling out from the hood of a dark green cloak. His garments weren’t tattered, but they weren’t clean by any means.

  “Behind us!” Rellen shouted, drawing a falchion. A shock of pain flared across his shoulder, and he realized he was in no shape to fight one, let alone two men, but he couldn’t let them take the reins. Xilly’s head jerked up from the driver’s bench. Xilly, stay down! Rellen urged.

  Mygal leapt from his saddle and hit the ground with his weapons in his hands as Rellen jerked an explosive vial from his bandoleer. Rellen tapped into his majea to utter the brief incantation and discovered he couldn’t summon enough. Panic filled him as the two brigands stood up on the back of the wagon, swords held at the ready.

  “No need for you to die too,” the burly one said as Mygal engaged the brigands at the front with a ring of steel on steel. “Hand over that sword, and you might just live through this night.” He stepped forward onto the tarp covering the bodies, and his weight shifted sideways. “Hey—!” He toppled sideways over the side as one of the men at the front screamed in fear. Mygal had put the fear of gods into someone.

  “What the—” another brigand said, looking down at the bed of the wagon. “What do you have—?”

  Drawing deeply on his reserves, Rellen surged up from the bench, pulled his other falchion, and leapt straight at him, pushing off from the wagon bench and sailing over the bodies. The brigand lifted his eyes just as Rellen’s boots caught him in the chest. The man whoofed and sailed backward over the rear of the wagon.

  Movement to the right caught Rellen’s eye. He turned, leading with a falchion, and barely managed to block a slash from the brigand who’d gone over the side. Rellen’s bruised body screamed in protest.

  The brigand came around to the back of the wagon and swung again. Rellen countered, their swords clashing together, and the vibration sent a shock all the way up into Rellen’s shoulder. He thrust with his other blade, aiming for the brigand’s head, but the brigand stepped back out of reach just as the burly one rose to his feet from the cobblestones a few yards behind the wagon.

  Jump down! Xilly’s urgent call filled Rellen’s mind as she flashed by him. She sailed straight into the face of the blond, slashing with her claws. The man screamed and flailed as she passed by his head.

  Without thinking, Rellen dropped to the ground, going down into a crouch as the blond continued to scream in pain. As Rellen came up, he saw that Xilly had managed to rake her claws across one of his eyes, destroying it.

  With a heave, Rellen drove a falchion up into the brigand’s belly and twisted, impaling him clean through. Fiery pain lanced across Rellen’s shoulders, and he cried out as the brigand grunted and dropped his weapon, his eyes going wide. Pushing through the pain, Rellen shoved the brigand’s body between him and the burly one charging forward.

  Rellen stepped back as the brigand stepped around the falling body of his comrade and took a swing at Rellen’s head. Rellen parried the blade, sending a painful shock up his arm and stepped back again. Another of Mygal’s opponents screamed—this time in pain—as the brigand came on with a flurry of blows. Rellen parried each one, wincing with each impact as he backed his way along the wagon. He had an idea, and it might just get him out of this mess.

  Another pained scream echoed down the streets.

  Rellen struggled to block every blow as he backed up along Shaddeth’s dark body. The burly brigand followed, hacking down with one brutally powerful swing after another. They passed Shaddeth by a few feet. Rellen heard swordplay behind him, a dozen yards off, but it seemed that Mygal was engaged with only one brigand.

  Perfect, Rellen thought, and turned in front of Shaddeth, drawing the brigand towards him.

  Rellen parried again and then sent a quick feint at the brigand’s head.

  The brigand halted in his tracks, blocking a swing that never came.

  “Shaddeth, attack!” Rellen shouted.

  The fully trained warhorse reared up on his hind legs with a fearsome whinny and swiped through the air with his front hooves, striking the brigand not once, but twice, in the head with a dull, wet, cracking sound.

  The brigand staggered and fell sideways, his skull split open.

  Another scream echoed down the streets. Rellen turned to see Mygal pulling his sword out of the throat of the last brigand. The others lay all around, stains of blood on their clothing and across the cobblestones.

  Mygal turned towards Rellen then glanced at the burly brigand lying in the street.

  “That horse of yours really is well trained, and you look like you’re dead on your feet.”

  Rellen could only nod. He sheathed his falchions and then let out a long, exhausted breath.

  “Come on,” he said wearily, “let’s throw these bastards up in the wagon too.”

  “Corwyk’s going to lose his mind when he sees what we’ve brought him.”

  “Any sane person would,” Rellen replied, and then another, mighty yawn took him.

  * * *

  “Sorry about the mess,” Rellen said, looking a bit sheepish as he pulled the tarp out of the back of the wagon.

  “Kalistar have mercy!” Corwyk blurted, his eyes going wide. He stood there a few moments in a deep purple robe and slippers, staring at the blood-covered bodies piled up in the back of the wagon. He looked horrified, disgusted, and dismayed all at once. Finally, he turned to Rellen, his face filled with disbelief. “Is it always like this for you?”

  “Not always,” Rellen replied a bit defensively.

  In the courtyard of the ducal keep, Rellen, Mygal, and Corwyk had gathered around the back of the wagon while a half dozen guards held torches aloft along the sideboards. Xilly, of course, lay curled up again on the driver’s bench, snoring softly, as if nothing had happened.

  “How many are in there?” Corwyk started counting feet.

  “Seven assassins from the cemetery, including a zokurios—I’m hoping you can figure out who they are—and five brigands from near the wharf district. I can tell you those first seven are Nissrans. They all bore the ring, and the caster used it to kill himself rather than be captured.”

  “Selestina help us,” Corwyk said.

  “The others…” Rellen shrugged. “I think they’re just local riffraff stupid enough to pick the wrong fight. Mygal here proved himself most capable, I must say.”

  “You’re unbelievable,” Corwyk groaned.

  “Any luck finding Miranda?” Rellen asked, wanting to change the subject.

  “Not yet.” Corwyk pulled his eyes away from the bodies. “But that may take a day or three, assuming your bounty hunter is here at all.”

  “Fair enough.” Rellen got a thoughtful look on his face. “I need you to do me another favor.”

  “You don’t ask much, do you?”

  “Not at all.” Rellen gave him a patronizing smile. “This one may be easy, though.”

  “What is it?”

  “Can you find out if Jacinda had a boyfriend?”

  “Boyfriend?” Mygal asked. “Why would—?”

  “It’s a hunch,” Rellen said. “The flowers on her grave have been bothering me.”

  “She did,” Corwyk said. “And I can get you his name.” Corwyk scratched the back of his neck thoughtfully. “My uncle often spoke of the young man—and not favorably.”

  “We’ll check with the butler tomorrow,” Rellen offered.

  “I know he was from the Sylvemar family.” Corwyk looked more certain. “The patron is a minor noble—a merchant I believe—but with considerable means. I’ve never met him, though. My uncle used to say the Sylvemar boy was going to be the death of him. The family is involved in the shipping business, handling goods over both land and water but not air. I got the sense Lord Sylvemar avoided politics for the nightmare they are. They pay their taxes and, as far as I know, have stayed completely off the ducal shit list. I’ll have Veraiya’s agents do some asking around about the son though.” He eyed Rellen. “You want me to have him arrested?”

  Rellen looked to Mygal. “What do you think?” His estimation of the young Guardian had gone up considerably after the day’s events.

  “I could argue it either way,” Mygal replied thoughtfully. “Assuming they could even find him. It might be better if we got to him first. We could then follow him and see who he leads us to.”

  “I suspect we could interrogate him in custody,” Rellen said, “but there are no guarantees we’d ask the right question, and if he’s involved in Nissra cult, he might just suicide on us. Observe only for now?”

  Mygal nodded his head.

  Rellen turned to Corwyk. “Have your people find him, if they can, but don’t make contact. Just let us know who and where he is. We’ll take it from there, assuming we don’t find him first.”

  “Oh,” Mygal said, “and if your people see us following him, tell them to hold off.”

  Rellen gave Mygal an appreciative eye.

  Corwyk nodded. “I’ll see what we can do, and I’ll send a runner to the Drunken Unger if we learn anything.”

  Rellen stretched his still sore muscles and yawned. “Then let’s go get some sleep. I’m absolutely exhausted, and tomorrow will be a long, tiring day… for me, anyway. You,” he said, glancing at Mygal with a smile, “get a bit of rest and relaxation tomorrow. Bring a book.”

  Chapter Ten

  From the Ashes

  Rellen knocked three times on the manor door, his muscles still stiff and sore. His wounds had turned into long, dark bruises, and his muscles ached down to the bone. After sleeping the sleep of the dead for nine hours and gorging himself on a massive breakfast that had the innkeeper shaking his head, Rellen felt almost like his old self. He’d need it for the day ahead of him.

  The sun was shining, for a change, casting long, early morning shadows through the canopy of trees. Birdsongs filled the air, and something furry chittered at Rellen and Mygal from high branches, hidden as it threw small nuts at them. One of them bounced across the front steps and rebounded off Rellen’s boot.

  He leaned out and looked up, but he couldn’t see anything.

  “Cheeky little bugger,” he said, prompting a chuckle from Mygal.

  Moments later, the door swung open, revealing the thin, gray-haired butler.

  “Good morning, Renton,” Rellen said easily.

  Renton raised an eyebrow, his features remaining stoic. “Good morning, gentlemen. How may I help you today?”

  “We had a few more questions for you or someone else on the staff who might know a little about the relationships the family had with outsiders,” Mygal said.

  “After that,” Rellen cut in, “I’d like to spend a good portion of the day out back to work with the remains of the cottage. Would that be alright with you?”

  “Gentlemen,” Renton said, speaking as if he were explaining something very simple, “Lord Corwyk commanded me to afford you both every courtesy and assist you in whatever manner you required. I am at your service and, truthfully, hope you will be able to capture or kill the perpetrators of this horrific tragedy.” A spark of anger flickered in his aged eyes. “Furthermore, although you may not have deduced it, I was a willing and very happy servant of the duke and his family for decades. They treated me like a member of their noble house when protocol didn’t require it of them. It was the same for the rest of those who served them. It is my sincerest desire that the murderers are executed in the most painful manner possible.” Renton’s features filled with rage as he said the last, and then he regained his composure. “And soon.”

  Rellen and Mygal both raised their eyes at that. They hadn’t expected such an answer from the stoic old man.

  Renton opened the door wide and motioned for them to enter. “Please come in.”

  They stepped into the foyer as Renton closed the door behind them.

  “Renton,” Mygal said, “you said you felt like a member of the family. Does that mean you were privy to at least some of their more private affairs?”

  “Indeed, sir,” Renton replied. “While the duke and his family did not include me in all things, I certainly knew more than most. The duke even confided in me from time to time when wrestling with the turmoil that can come from both marriage and fatherhood.”

  Rellen didn’t show it, but he’d been hoping that was the case. It was rare for Pelinese nobility to be that familiar and forthcoming with the staff.

  “What can you tell me about the relationships the duke’s children had?” Mygal asked. “Was there anything unusual?”

  “Stolan,” Renton replied with a thin veil over his sadness, “may he rest forever in the loving embrace of Selestina, from whom all life flows—” He bowed his head for a moment and then looked up at Rellen “—he was involved with a lovely young woman of good breeding. I believe there was even some discussion of marriage, although it had not gone past that point.”

  Renton got an uncomfortable, almost distasteful look upon his face. “Jacinda, on the other hand, possessed extremely poor taste and judgment. She chose to consort with a dreadful young cretin and continued, despite the protests of her father, in a rather embarrassing association of the worst kind. The young man she involved herself with, although born of a noble house, was little more than a common criminal.” Renton seemed to be working himself up into a bit of a rage. “That bastard, figuratively speaking, had even been disowned by his father, Baron Dukatt Sylvemar. How he earned his keep after that, I’m sure I don’t wish to even fathom a guess. I do know the young lady did things with him she ought not. The duke said the young guttersnipe had taken the young lady to a number of rather unseemly taverns and other establishments along the wharf, and with some regularity.”

  “Does the wretch have a name?” Rellen asked.

  “I believe his given name was Ulient, but under this roof, the only name he used was—” he sneered “—Dancer.” Mygal and Rellen stared at each other as Renton regained his composure and straightened his coat with a frustrated jerk. “I’m afraid that’s all I know. The duke was much more involved with the cur, and I did my best to avoid the subject at all costs. If you ask me, he had to be involved in their ghastly murders.”

  “What did he look like?” Mygal asked.

  Renton drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I only saw him on a handful of occasions, and that was some time ago. As I recall, he was around twenty, with long black hair he always wore in a braid. He was slightly shorter than I, and rather muscular. I also remember seeing him in black and red more often than not. That, and he was generally armed like a criminal—” He glanced at Rellen’s and Mygal’s weapons “—no offense.”

  “None taken,” Rellen said with a half-smile.

  “Dancer gave no appearance of a young nobleman and possessed all the dignity and poise of a common thug.”

  “Thank you, Renton,” Rellen said. “That was a missing piece of the puzzle.”

  “Do you believe the swine was involved in the murders?” Renton asked, and fire burned in his eyes.

  “At least peripherally,” Rellen said carefully, “although it is quite possible he was here that night.” He wanted to be careful. He didn’t want the old codger going after Dancer, whether he was wrong or right. At Renton’s age, he’d mean well, but he’d likely get himself killed. Rellen placed his hand on Renton’s shoulder, and he stared into his eyes with as much iron as he could muster. “Trust me when I say, should we become certain of his involvement, we’ll do something about it.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Renton replied. “May Selestina watch over you and keep you safe.”

  Rellen nodded. “I did have a couple more questions.”

  “Proceed, sir.”

  “The cottage in the back, what was it for? Who used it?”

  “That structure was the duke’s private study. He kept mementos of his youth—and that of the lady. It was also the only place milady permitted him to smoke his pipe. As I mentioned to Mygal, they were rather ardent adventurers when they were younger. The duke had been a rather capable swordsman and his wife an exceptionally competent runecaster. The two of them traveled with a group who had been involved with clearing out a nearby nuraghi. The duke at the time gave them all medals for their heroism. Apparently, a den of murderous beasts had taken up in the ruins and had been raiding nearby villages, farms, and fishing camps. That was some distance to the east, on the other side of the lake, along the river.”