“That’s their butler,” Mygal said. “Stiff fellow and wasn’t all that prone to sharing. I couldn’t tell if it was me or he was still shaken up about the murders.”

  “You questioned the entire staff?”

  “As best I could,” Mygal replied. “The butler, cooks, and housekeepers, all of whom had been in their quarters in the attached dormitory behind the east wing on the opposite side of the manor. It’s well away from the family’s quarters but wasn’t necessarily out of earshot. They claim to have heard nothing, and I got no sense that wasn’t the case. If what they told me is true, then none of them knew anything until they heard the cottage in the back burning.”

  They stopped in front of the main doors and dismounted.

  “Stay here, Shaddeth,” Rellen said, not seeing any place to secure the reins. “Will your horse stay put?”

  “Usually,” Mygal replied. “Although Sheila sometimes has a mind of her own,” he added, patting her neck fondly.

  “Here,” Rellen said, holding out his hand. “Let me have her reins.”

  Mygal handed them over, and Rellen lashed them around Shaddeth’s saddle horn. “That’ll keep her here, and he’ll stomp anyone who messes with our gear.”

  “He’s that well trained?” Mygal said, sounding impressed.

  “And then some.” Rellen patted Shaddeth on the neck. “I’ve never ridden a finer steed.”

  Rellen led them up the front steps and knocked on the door.

  Moments later, the door swung open, revealing a thin, older gentleman with a naturally dour look.

  “May I help you?” he offered automatically, and then his eyes fixed on Mygal. “Oh, it’s you.” He clearly wasn’t happy to see Mygal, but there was no animosity in his features.

  “Good morning, Renton,” Mygal said. “My associate and I would like to continue our investigation. You’ve left everything just as it was, like I requested?”

  “Of course, sir,” the butler replied. “We would never do anything to impede your efforts. We are as eager to see the miscreants brought to justice as anyone.”

  “Has the entire staff remained here?” Rellen asked.

  “None of us have been dismissed yet, sir. The Belvenim extended family still grieves and has, as yet, not decided what to do with this property or the staff.”

  “I see,” Rellen said. “May we come in, then?”

  “Of course, sir,” Renton said, opening the door wide and motioning for them to enter. “Is there anything I can do to assist you?”

  “No, thank you,” Rellen said. “Please go about your business as if we’re not here.”

  “Certainly, sir,” Renton replied. Without another word, he turned and walked off, disappearing down a long hallway that cut through the middle of the house.

  The interior was just as Rellen had expected. There was a large foyer with a curved staircase going up on either side of a long hallway that probably led to a kitchen and dining area. A large sitting room with a fireplace lay off to the left, and a study lined with books was off to the right. An assortment of artwork, vases, and statues filled the interior, and everything was of the finest quality.

  “Walk me through it,” Rellen said, turning to Mygal. “From the outside in.”

  Mygal nodded and stepped into the foyer. “For starters, the place was—allegedly—warded. All windows and doors, from what the staff told me.”

  “Who cast them?”

  “The duke’s wife. An accomplished runecaster, like you. Apparently, she and the duke adventured together when they were younger. It was how they met. Renton said there were potent and long-lasting wards on all windows and doors that she refreshed regularly.”

  “Was the duke a kurios?” Rellen asked.

  “No, and neither were the children. Only the mother.”

  Rellen nodded.

  “Any sign that the murderers broke in somehow?”

  “None that I could tell,” Mygal replied. “Any kurioi good enough to put them all to sleep and kill them might have little difficulty negating the wards, though.”

  “They’d have to know they were there, and at least a hint of what sort of magic,” Rellen said. “To do it quickly, anyway.”

  “Really?” Mygal asked, a thoughtful look upon his face. “I don’t know much of anything about runecasting.”

  “I do,” Rellen said confidently. “If you assume I’m right, then what should we deduce from it?”

  “That they had inside information, or it was one or more of the staff.”

  “It’s possible,” Rellen said. His eyes flicked around the interior, taking in every detail. “And nothing was missing or moved when the staff woke up?”

  “Not down here,” Mygal replied. “A few items were stolen from upstairs where the murders took place, but all of this was untouched.”

  Rellen gave Mygal an expectant, questioning glance.

  “I thought it odd as well,” Mygal said. “There’s plenty down here worth stealing, and whomever did this left it all in place.”

  “So…”

  “So, it was more about the killing, and less about the stealing.”

  “That would seem to be the case.” Rellen looked up the stairs. “Show me where it happened.”

  Mygal nodded and then moved up the right-hand stairs with Rellen close behind.

  “I don’t know the order of the murders,” Mygal said, looking back over his shoulder. “There’s was no way for me to tell, based on what’s up there, but I’m not sure it’s all that important.”

  “You’re probably right, but I never assume anything is fact until I have proof.” Rellen looked down at the hardwood stairs and noted an occasional drop of dried blood along the way. Many had been scuffed and scraped by people walking up and down, but from the looks of those that were unmarred, they’d hit the polished wood as someone was coming down the stairs. It makes sense, he thought.

  Mygal nodded as they reached the top of the stairs and turned right. There was even more blood on the landing, and the traces he saw were also consistent with a killer or killers coming out of the bedrooms and down the stairs.

  “Hold up,” Rellen said, kneeling down. He leaned over and looked at the droplets that had fallen along both sides of the staircases.

  “What?” Mygal said, turning back.

  Rellen scanned the landing between the stairs. There were no blood droplets.

  “We definitely have more than one killer,” he said, looking up at Mygal.

  “I guessed that, but how can you be certain?”

  Rellen stood up. “Take a look,” he said, pointing at the landing. “Those droplets come out of that side and go down those stairs. These droplets come out of this side and go down these stairs. If it were one person, they would have had to cross here. I’m also thinking they wiped off the weapons and themselves, at least somewhat, after each murder, otherwise there would be a lot more blood around here.”

  “They did,” Mygal said, sounding impressed, “and I see what you mean about the landing.”

  “Whose bedroom is back there?” Rellen asked, nodding toward where Mygal was going.

  “The duke and his wife, Esselyn,” Mygal said. “I figured I’d show you that one first.”

  “Good.”

  Mygal turned and walked down a long hallway. There were closed doors on either side. At the end of the hall, a tall, wooden door stood open. From where Rellen was, he could already see blood streaks on the floor and furniture.

  They made their way into a large, well-appointed bedroom with a tall, four-poster bed surrounded by drapes that had been pulled back. Dried blood streaks and spatter were literally everywhere: bedclothes, drapes, walls, ceiling, and large pools of it on either side of the bed. The exposed down mattress had been completely soaked in blood. Rellen immediately understood why Corwyk and Mygal had gone pale at the memory of the scene.

  Mygal pointed to the right-hand side of the bed. “They found the duke there, and he’d been hacked to pieces. His arm and the lower part of his leg were on the floor. His head had been severed, and his chest was a gory patchwork of ax strikes. It looked to me like rage.”

  “That does sound a little like the Nissrans, but you said there were no sigils or symbols upon his body?”

  “Not that I could tell.” He pointed to the other side. “The wife was hacked upon with a longer weapon… a sword of some kind, although I couldn’t tell what. It might have been a straight blade rather than curved. I just don’t know.” He turned around and pointed to an open jewelry box on a nearby dresser. It was empty. “They cleaned that out, and the butler told me a small chest full of gold and jewels had been mostly emptied, but not completely.”

  “Not completely?” Rellen asked, astonished.

  “No. The bottom of it was covered with gold coins… old ones, apparently.”

  Rellen was thoughtful for a moment.

  “They took what they could easily carry and went for gems and jewelry before coins.” He looked around the room. There were silver-handled brushes on a vanity in the corner, a pair of crossed swords on the far wall, and an unopened, gold-embossed gentleman’s box on the other dresser. Rellen walked over, opened the box, and peered inside. Within was an assortment of silver cravat pins, two gold cloak pins, and a few rings of precious metal. They’d left the duke’s lesser jewelry behind. “This was an execution,” he said almost to himself.

  “That was my assessment.”

  Rellen stepped up to where the duke had been killed and kneeled down over the dried pool of blood. He pulled a small glass vial from a pouch at his waist and drew a short dagger from within his right bracer. It was a spell dagger used in conjunction with his majea. The blade was simple, with a wide, drop point; the pommel was a quartz sphere. There were runes inscribed into the silver hilt. He scraped up some of the dried blood and placed it in the vial before jamming a small cork in the end. He then closed his eyes and focused his majea. He whispered an incantation and then used the tip of the dagger to etch a “V” into the glass.

  “What are you doing?” Mygal asked.

  “Collecting a bit of their essence,” Rellen replied.

  “What for?”

  “I’ll show you later.” He moved around the bed and did the same thing with the wife’s blood, carving an “E” into the glass vial. Rellen turned around. “Show me the rest.”

  Mygal nodded and strode out of the room. They crossed the landing and went down the hall. There was another study lined with bookshelves at the far end. A wide desk sat in the middle, with a quill and ink on top, but nothing else. Mygal stopped at the first door on the left, which also stood open.

  Rellen followed him in and found a scene similar to the last one. It was a young man’s room, by the look of it. There was a large oak bed in the center, with a dresser in one corner and a fencing dummy in the other. The dummy had a suit of leather armor over it, and a well-crafted longsword leaned against the wall beside it. Blood streaks and spatter lined the walls and ceiling above and around the bed. There was also a large pool of dried blood on the floor on one side of the bed. The mattress and bedclothes had a large stain of blood, from almost the top to about where the victim’s knees would have been.

  “The son was killed here?” he asked.

  Mygal nodded. “Stabbed repeatedly in the chest. I counted at least seventeen wounds from a fairly wide and double-edged dagger.”

  “And nothing was taken? I see they left the sword, and it looks to be of good quality.”

  “Nothing at all.”

  Rellen kneeled down beside the bed and collected some of the son’s blood. “What was his name?” he asked.

  “Stolan.”

  Rellen etched an “S” into the glass vial and rose to his feet. He nodded toward the door.

  Mygal strode out, walked down the hall to the last door on the right, and stepped in.

  Rellen followed to find a young woman’s room. A dresser and vanity in light-colored wood stood off to the right, and the bed, made from the same thing, was on the left. The bedclothes were a pale green and trimmed with lace. However, there was almost no blood to be found. He could only see two lines of it on the mattress, outlining what would have been the daughter’s torso. He looked at Mygal with a questioning look.

  “Why didn’t you mention this room was different from the others?”

  “What do you mean?” Mygal looked around. “Granted, there’s not as much blood in here, but that’s easy to explain. The daughter had only been stabbed once—a single thrust into her heart.”

  Rellen cocked his head to the side. You still have much to learn, he thought. “Whoever killed her, knew her,” he said, like a teacher to a pupil.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because she was killed but not butchered.” He looked at the bed. “Think about it. With all the rage we found in the other rooms, this one is virtually untouched. The murderer ended her life with a single stroke, and I’m pretty sure that life had been important to him or her… although I’m leaning toward him now.”

  Mygal looked around the room and stared at the bed for several moments. Finally, he nodded slowly.

  “I see what you’re saying, although it’s possible the killer’s arm just got tired.” Mygal gave him a weak but humorous smile.

  “Maybe,” Rellen said. “Something to always keep in mind is observing what isn’t there as much as what is.”

  “You’re really good at this,” Mygal said, clearly meaning it.

  “It’s a knack… and I’ve had some very good teachers over the years.” He let out a long breath. “Now for the tricky one.” He stepped up to the bed, drew out another vial, and tried scraping blood off the bedclothes. He struggled with it at first but finally found a patch thick enough for him to collect what he needed. “What was her name?”

  “Jacinda.”

  Rellen uttered the incantation and etched a “J” into the glass.

  He looked around the room, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I haven’t seen anything that suggests the Nissrans, at least not conclusively. If the daughter had been killed like the others… maybe it would make sense. Nissrans love blood as sacrifice. But without hers, the scene is incomplete. I also don’t see anything here that suggests sedition. In that case, either just the duke would have been killed, or all of them would have been dispatched simply and cleanly.”

  “You’re reaching a little there,” Mygal said. “If the duke was involved and they wanted to get rid of him, there’s nothing saying they couldn’t butcher him and the others in the process.”

  Rellen nodded. “You’re not wrong. It just doesn’t feel right. If it is sedition, then we’re missing a big piece of the puzzle. Having come here, I have to wonder if it’s more along the lines of the duke being made an example of. Corwyk mentioned the Black Wyrm Clan, and their reach extends from Corsia all the way south to the coast, in one form or another.” He looked around the room again. “The more I think about it, the more this feels like a madman who didn’t like this family in particular.” He shook his head. “Meh… it could still be any one of those.”

  He looked at Mygal. “Show me the burned cottage,” he said.

  Mygal nodded and walked out of the room. They made their way down the stairs, through the hallway to the back of the house, and passed a large kitchen where a sturdy, older woman of considerable girth pounded out a slab of pork. She paid them no heed, and they continued out through a conservatory full of mostly blooming plants.

  Once they were outside, the property opened up onto a large, manicured lawn and garden. The servant’s quarters were off to the left, stretching away from the house. Thirty yards away lay the remains of what had been a small cottage or guest quarters of some kind. The stone foundation was mostly intact, but there was nothing left of the walls or roof, save for a few charred timbers.

  Rellen and Mygal circled around the remains of the ruined building as Rellen inspected the ground closely—both the ash and the area surrounding it. He spotted the remains of a few trinkets in the ash, as well as a few pieces of mostly burned furniture, but there was nothing that caught his eye. Whatever had been inside was gone with the rest of the building.

  “Do you want to dig through it?” Mygal asked.

  “No, or at least not yet.” Rellen looked out at the lake a dozen yards away and then faced Mygal. “I have a better idea of what to do with this, but we’ll have to tackle it tomorrow. It will take all day and most of my majea.” He turned back toward the manor house. “Let’s get to the inn. I want to stow my things before we head back out.”

  “Out?” Mygal looked perplexed, looking up at the evening sky. “It’ll be dark soon. Where are we going tonight?”

  “You’ll see. Everything in its time.”

  “You know, for someone who didn’t want to be a mentor, you do seem to be getting into the role.”

  Rellen gave him a wicked smile.

  Chapter Seven

  The Drunken Unger

  The streets of Svennival bustled, with throngs of citizens moving along the main thoroughfares a testament to the success of the river port city. Afternoon rainfall, common throughout much of Pelinon in late summer and early fall, came down in a mist rather than a downpour, but even a cloudburst wouldn’t keep most Pelinese indoors.

  Rellen shrugged into his cloak, careful not to dislodge Xilly from her normal spot when things got wet. She was tucked in beneath his cloak, curled up on the back of Shaddeth’s saddle. They passed the dock area, rife with shoremen, laborers, and a few more unseemly types who gathered near the entrances of alleys for the most part.

  “Down that way is where they got me,” Mygal called over his shoulder, pointing down an alley that went off toward the wharf area.

  Rellen glanced in that direction, and a question slammed into him. He gave Shaddeth a bump and caught up with Mygal. “There’s something that’s bothering me, and it didn’t occur to me until you mentioned the alley.”