Freelance Heroics (45 page)

“That . . . is a good point.” Mazik winced at admitting that out loud again.
I really need to work on my interrogation skills.
He thought about what Knapp had said for several seconds. “Aha! Why is it that you had that answer prepared? It sounds like you’ve thought about this before.”

Knapp glanced from his wife, to his subordinates, then at Hyra. “You didn’t tell them?”

“I thought Caspian would have,” said Hyra.

Mazik looked between them. “Huh? What are we missing?”

“We were questioned immediately after the attack,” said Knapp. “Rhea’s a breeder. She shouldn’t have known how to get to the village. If she converted to the Noble Hunt’s religion, they could have found the way here through the link with their god, but since no one knows if she converted, we were questioned. Extensively.”

Knapp smiled sadly. “It’s a common situation, to be honest. We’re told becoming an Adāst is a great honor, but it’s also isolating. The others are often suspicious of us, because of how much time we spend in the outside world. That’s why we congregate here,” he gestured at the games and couches around them—there were several decks of cards alone, “even when we’re in town. It was even
suggested
that we do so lately, rather strenuously I might add, since we’re all under suspicion. Honestly, the only people who treat us normally, much less visit us here, are former . . . Adāst . . .”

Mazik’s brow furrowed. “What is it?”

Knapp looked up, his expression grave. “Former Adāst like Chief Boern.”

The hairs on Gavi’s neck rose. “How often did Chief Boern come by? Did he ever talk to Trafaul?”

“He came by regularly, once every few days,” said Knapp. “Often just to relax. And he talked to everyone, Trafaul included.”

“How likely do you think it is that he was the one sleeping with Rhea?” asked Mazik. This time he wasn’t just looking at Knapp, but at Hyra and the other Nijāst too.

Knapp’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “As likely as anyone, and more likely than most.”

“They got along well,” added Knapp’s wife. “In fact, the chief was one of the few people who could calm her down when she got in a mood.”

Mazik looked to Hyra for confirmation. She nodded. “Plus, she was the head breeder. We both had to meet with him regularly. Only she met with him more often, since they were old friends.”

Gavi considered what Chief Boern being in cahoots with the Noble Hunt would mean. She quickly realized it meant nothing good. “He can open the kennel. In fact, he’s the one who set up the locks. But if he was working with Rhea, why didn’t he just set it up so one of the riders could open it?”

“High level Volokaus locks are noisy when they’re cast,” said Mazik. “Specifically to prevent the locksmith—er, lockcaster from changing them on the sly. Lots of light and sound. And doesn’t everyone you’re keying have to be there for a three-factor lock?”

Knapp nodded. Mazik and Gavi turned to Raedren. He tugged at his beard and said, “I think so. I’d have to check, but that sounds right.”

Gavi thought of what she had seen of Chief Boern. Not a lot. He had always seemed in over his head, like he was barely keeping the village from melting down. Mostly he just seemed to greet adventurers and—

Oh, no.

She recalled the first day they woke up in this village. Chief Boern had known that other guild’s, Alter of Tower’s, guild leader. It had sounded like they were old friends. She had seen him talking fondly to other arrivals since then. New arrivals that hadn’t slowed since Gavi and her friends had arrived.

“Has Chief Boern been suggesting adventurers for you to hire?” asked Gavi.

Knapp ran a hand through his hair. It looked like he had come to the same realization. He nodded. “Aye. He was an Adāst for many years before he became the chief. He helped by contacting people he knew. In fact, you three are some of the few he didn’t suggest.”

There was a pause, and then Mazik spoke for everyone. He began to swear.

Mazik collided with the kennel door and yanked, forgetting about the locks. When it wouldn’t budge, he began banging on the doorframe. “Caspian! Saddle up, you slacker! We’ve got work to do.”

The others caught up while he was still yelling. First was Gavi, then Raedren with Hyra in his arms. She had one hand to her ear, and her face was flushed. Hyra had been calling Captain Sie to tell her what they suspected, and Mazik, having decided that the telephonathy spell would take precious seconds he didn’t want to waste, had suggested that Raedren carry her. It was his way of helping and/or teasing his friend. Probably he would have enjoyed Raedren’s expression more if he weren’t so busy working himself up into a frenzy.

By the time Hyra got the door open, Caspian was already on the other side. His injured knee bulged with bandages beneath the pants, and he was standing on the leg with only a little stiffness.

“You good to go?” asked Mazik.

Caspian nodded. “What did you learn?”

“. . .
iyr jeut dernan—Dull Pain.
”

“I’ll tell you while we’re on the way. We need to get to Chief Boern’s house
now
,” said Mazik.

“House or office?” asked Caspian.

“House, for preference.”

“Is he likely to be there right now?” asked Gavi. “Actually, are they even different places?”

“They are.” Caspian moved his quiver to his belt, where he could draw more quickly. “I doubt he’ll be at home right now. Not with everything that’s happening.”

Mazik was inclined to agree. The village was still in an uproar thanks to Trafaul and the infiltrators, and from the sounds of it, there was fighting going on at the southeastern approach. “House it is. Lead on.”

By the time the five of them arrived at Chief Boern’s house, Mazik had filled Caspian in, and Caspian was spitting mad.

“That son of a—” Caspian’s cursing was cut off as Mazik and Gavi circled the building, checking for anything suspicious. They found nothing. Chief Boern’s house was one of the few one-story buildings in the village, and was on the same row as General Ordwinn’s, with its back to the western cliff face. They saw no one as they returned to the front.

“I can’t believe I turned on my superior officer because of this slimeball!” Caspian was saying. He was staring down at his hands like they were covered in blood. “Though, wait a minute. The general still could have been in on it. We don’t know that the chief was yet . . .” He scratched his chin.

Mazik rested a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Perhaps we should find some proof before you rip anyone’s head off.” His grip tightened, and he smiled viciously. “Then I’ll help you do the ripping.”

Gavi tried the door. “It’s locked.”

“Chief Boern keeps Volokaus locks on his doors,” said Hyra. “Nothing heavy-duty. He just does it so he doesn’t have to use a key.”

Mazik slammed his heel into the door handle. The doorframe cracked, but held. He snarled, mana gathering as he raised his leg to try again, and again, and again.

When Mazik was done, Gavi examined the remains. The door was hanging crookedly, holding on by a lonely, tortured hinge. “I thought you were going to wait for proof before ripping anyone’s head off.”

Mazik nudged the door out of the way with his boot. He drew a pair of daggers. “Heads, yes. I never said anything about doors.”

They passed down the entry hallway and moved into the living area. It was empty. Empty of people, as well as most everything else. Chief Boern’s furnishings were decidedly sparse—two loveseats, a low coffee table, a chest of drawers, and a long hardwood banquet table that looked out of place amid the scant furnishings. Coupled with the large footprint of his house, the room looked vacant.

Mazik didn’t hear anyone, but he didn’t relax. He examined the room further. The walls hung with old paintings, all of them clearly done by amateurs, albeit enthusiastic ones. They depicted landscapes, and several had dust on their frames. Old dishes sat crusting in the sink. The banquet table held more dishes, as well as books and papers and folders, all piled together in disorganized heaps that threatened to flow onto the floor. In one corner of the room was a drying rack for clean clothing. It was empty. The corner behind it, though, was full of dirty clothing. To the left of the entry hallway was a food dish for a dog, as well as a singed target dummy with a metal splash shield behind it for spellcasting practice.

“Boern isn’t married, right?” Mazik tiptoed to his left, nudging open a door. It was a closet, filled with cold weather clothing and not much else.

“Not anymore.” Hyra picked up a book on the arm of a sofa and inspected it. She set it back down. “He’s a widow. His wife died . . . how many years ago?”

Caspian shrugged. “Search me. Ten? I wasn’t that old when it happened.”

“She was nice. Older than him.” Hyra pointed at the paintings. “Those were her idea. I’m told they painted them together. They’d been together since long before he became the chief, before he was even with the Adāst. They were happy, supposedly.”

There was a note of sadness in Hyra’s voice. It sounded like she felt bad for the chief. If his wife was dead, and he had truly loved her, Mazik could understand that.

Raedren stepped up beside her, his voice calm. “We’ll apologize if he didn’t do anything. For now, we need to be sure.”

That spurred Mazik back into action. “All right, tracker boy, time to earn your keep. Or, I guess this is your job in the first place, so time to prove your stuff. Or something.” Mazik waved at the room. “Magick up and see what you get. Gavs, let’s check the other rooms.”

Gavi grabbed Mazik’s arm before he took two steps. “Let him use his magick first, so you don’t get your tracks all over the place.”

Mazik grumbled, but let himself be pulled back toward the entry hallway. He watched as Caspian swept the room with his glowing patch. Caspian frowned.

“What is it?” asked Gavi.

“There are colors all over this place. Mostly him and what I assume is his hound.” He looked at his arm, and then swept the room. “Yup. Even mine. How often do you come here Effami?”

“Once in a while.” She was in the back of the group, with only Raedren between her and the door. “If he’s not at his office when I need to give a report, sometimes I meet him here.”

Caspian glanced at her through the patch. “Thought so. Looks like there’s even a few of your hairs over there.” He pointed to a ball of dusty hair that had collected in the corner. He wrinkled his nose. “He needs to clean more often.”

Mazik was inspecting the target dummy. Most of the marks were on the target’s waist or stomach—from the chief’s spellhound, he assumed. But several were on its shoulders and chest. “How good of a caster is the chief?”

“Not very good.” Caspian glanced over his shoulder. “Oh, that? He’s had that for years. He’s not very good, but he keeps up his practice. He can do a little evocation at least.”

“Good to know.” Mazik straightened. “Might I suggest you check the bedroom? That potentially-sleeping-with-the-traitor angle and all that.”

“Right.”

While Caspian inspected the bed, the others clustered around the bedroom door. “Ah. Two colors. We might have a winner.” Caspian kneeled and squinted at the rumpled quilts. He waved at them like he was urging them closer. “Somebody give me some light here.”

“Right-o.” Mazik extended a finger, and a blue-white orb flashed to life above it. He leaned close so Caspian could see better.

“Ahh, here we go.” He plucked a long, fuzzy brown hair off the floor. It was almost as long as Mazik’s belt. Caspian held it up for Hyra to see. “What do you think. Hers?”

Hyra nodded. “It looks like it.”

“I realize now that we probably should have asked this before, but I just realized we don’t know what Rhea looks like.” Mazik nodded at the hair. “I take it she has long hair?”

“Oh, yes.” Hyra held out her arms like she was holding a bag of raked leaves. “She has really big hair. It’s curly and . . . poufy? She ties it back, so it looks like there’s a balloon following her.”

Caspian held the hair to his patch and chanted a spell. The patch tugged at his hands, and he turned until it stopped. He was facing the wall.

Mazik pictured the village’s layout, and traced where the patch’s arrow was pointing. “South. That could be pointing outside of town.”

“Could be,” agreed Caspian. “There are still buildings between here and there. We need to check before we know for sure.”

That’s when the front door fell off its hinges, and Mazik nearly jumped out of his skin. As Gavi, Raedren, and Hyra spun and stiffened, Mazik and Caspian pushed their way out of the bedroom.

Chief Boern stood in his shattered doorway. One hand was on the doorframe as he carefully stepped over the debris from their entry. His personal spellhound, a big white-blond male, was already at the end of the entry hall, growling at the intruders.

The leader of the Nijāst clasped his hands behind his back and did his best to look stern. “I’m going to need someone to explain what’s going on.”

Mazik’s heart sped up, and it didn’t stop pounding. With excitement, he realized, not fear. This was like the moment before a sale happens, when all your hard work comes down to win or lose, either the customer signs on the line or you go home hungry.

Here, though, maybe it was more like gambling, because the stakes were higher and their team was playing with a weak hand.
We’ve got a rough theory and maybe one piece of evidence, a hair which he’s going to try to discredit no matter the truth. We’re playing with like two pair, and I have no clue what’s in this guy’s hand.

Mazik was loving this.

He pitched his voice low, so it boomed when he spoke. “Chief Boern, you’re accused of cooperating with the enemy. We have proof that you had an affair with Rhea Enc’Ordwinn, and have been plotting with the mercenaries you’ve brought into town to finish what she started. Give up now peacefully and we’ll take you into custody.”

There was a split-second pause—and then Chief Boern pulled back, as if he had been struck, and reacted with surprise, and disbelief, and a palpable note of betrayal. Their betrayal of him.