Necrophobia (13 page)

“It’s possible he’s biding his time. You see those watchtowers in the city? They’ve got siege weaponry and ballistae.” Reiner folded up the map and drew a second one from the rucksack he kept on the floor.

“Reckon those siege weapons are enough to take down a dragon of Valdgeirr’s status?” Cynthia leaned forward trying to make out some of the other notes on Reiner’s desk but he moved to block her vision.

“They might give it pause for concern. If its own death didn’t stop it I don’t think a ballista would do much.”

“How are we supposed to take it down then?”

Reiner paused and ran his fingers through his hair. “We don’t. We can’t. The Knight-Commander told us to track it and then request back-up.”

“Anything else?” Cynthia asked in an even tone. Reiner watched her for several moments, she was quick-witted and he had no doubt she’d make it to Captain one day. With an eye for detail and sharp on the uptake it would be a natural fit. She’d probed the church hierarchs for information during their investigation earlier with remarkable subtlety. “What are our orders, Captain?”

“Your orders are to follow my orders.” Reiner replied folding his arms across his breastplate. “We track the dragon and the Inquisitor and figure out what they’re doing. Then, if we can’t stop them alone we wait for backup.”

“What about Falkner?” She pressed on.

“We don’t know for certain that it is Falkner we’re after.” He raised an eyebrow. “Commander Rhae insisted we not jump to conclusions.”

“If I’m honest Captain I think we’re past suspicion now. Everything we’ve managed to find despite the Night Guard’s interference suggests it was Falkner.” Cynthia’s mouth became a thin-lipped smile and she raised a single finger towards him. “You know that. I know you do.”

Reiner leaned forward with exaggerated care. “What did the commander tell you?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head and avoided his gaze. “Anya’s the gossip out of those two.”

Reiner nodded. Her younger sister — Anya was good friends with most of the Caelites especially Cynthia and tended to talk more than was wise.

“I see.”

“Don’t be angry with me, she told me when she heard we were heading to Kriegsfeld. It’s true though isn’t it. Falkner really is the traitor.”

“Do you believe it Cynthia?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to believe it at first — Falkner was always loyal, always caring. But when he lost his family he was a broken man.”

“I can only imagine what he went through. But that doesn’t excuse leaving us vulnerable to people like Haures and Morveil. Good people died because of him.”

“I don’t see who else it could be. Maybe it wasn’t his choice. Maybe he’s enthralled like those cultists.”

“I doubt it. We must not get our hopes up.” Reiner stroked his fresh-shaven chin and shrugged. “Those thralls aren’t the sharpest, you’d need your wits about you to do what he did. Falkner lost everything: His wife, his unborn child. He was never the same since. Haures must have made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“You don’t mean—”

“—Resurrection. In exchange for betraying us, betraying everything he stood for.”

“He wouldn’t…” Cynthia’s protests faded and she stared at the maps, folding her arms before her.

“Love makes people do strange things Cynthia. Haures got him when he was most vulnerable; made him consider the inconsiderable. You were right — I did find something earlier. Eyewitnesses have spotted him in the area disguising himself as a worker.”

“Why here though? What does Haures still need with him?”

“Who can say. Perhaps he’s the only one who can communicate with Valdgeirr. Razakel thinks Haures is after information from the dragon, I suspect he’s after power. But either way he’d need to be able to speak the dragon’s tongue and only a Captain knows that.”

The Caelite nodded her head in slow agreement. “It all adds up.”

“I would have told the both of you sooner, but I wanted to be sure first. Falkner’s an old friend and I’d hate to drag his name through the mud but I have no choice. Tomorrow we’ll set off for Lychgate.”

“Lychgate?”

“The cemetery, up by the church. That’s where Vara Falkner’s remains are. Soon as curfew lifts tomorrow we’re heading there. That’s when we’ll know for sure.”

Cynthia shook her head and stood up. “No. Even if Haures could do what he says, that wouldn’t—”

“He’s lost everything Cynthia. He’s not thinking clearly. Have you never cared about anyone or anything enough, to be so desperate you’d do anything?”

She stared at the window watching the rain drizzle against the grubby glass. “What are our orders? To kill him?”

Reiner eased himself to his feet, and placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Not if we can help it. Our priority is to capture him alive, but we both know it may not be that easy.”

He released his hand and walked closer to the window watching the murky skyline, framed by storm clouds and the infrequent flash of lightning.

“Have you? Captain.”

He turned to see her staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and reluctance.

“Have you ever felt that desperate?”

He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck with the cool-metal touch of his gauntlets.

“I’m sorry Captain. We’re all entitled to our secrets. Forget I asked.” She looked away and waved her hands apologetically before excusing herself and leaving the room.

Left alone Reiner stood before the window again watching the rain for some time before he returned to his work.

Over the next three days Claire set out into the city of Kriegsfeld, her mother’s journal stashed within her hunting coat and tried to follow the leads the journal mentioned. It was tiring and almost fruitless with most contacts passed on or out of the city, the journal itself over twenty years out of date. They’d made the most of the dead ends and wasted afternoons seeing the sights of the city and exploring the surrounding area. Today she was tired, her sleep disturbed and restless. She claimed it was because of the curse upon the house Adrian mentioned despite his insistence otherwise, but in truth it was a mixture of frustration and disappointment eating away at her. The scruffy knight-errant trailing behind her seemed well-rested and cheerful at least; though his hand never strayed from his sheathed sword. With the storm passed Kriegsfeld wasn’t much prettier in the daylight, the buildings and streets still covered in years of ash and grime. The smoke billowing from the industrial district factories drifted lazily across the cityscape blocking out most of the sunlight. Between the patrolling Night Guard, the citizens going about their day and horse-drawn carts crossing through the mud-soaked streets there was little room to move. The city built from overlapping defensive walls, re-purposed strongholds and multiple watchtowers made for a series of winding and confusing streets criss-crossing each other. Kriegsfeld was designed for withstanding siege weaponry and assault first, comfort and ease of navigation second. The nobility and their estates were to be found at the highest points of the city, above some of the smog and filth, overlooking both the sprawling complex below and the ever-present threat to the north.

“We’re not far now.” Adrian said as eased himself past a carriage blocking most of a narrow street. The workers offloading sealed cardboard boxes of goods and food-products to the bakery. The warm pleasant smell of fresh bread a welcome reprieve from the peculiar mix of smoke, mud and fear that pervaded most of the city.

Claire nodded and followed without a word. Her mind was busy trying to make sense of the geography and memorising the route they had taken. The scale of everything was the hardest to adjust to, the sheer number of bodies pressed within each street, shop and building. Caelholm was a small town with a population of the low thousands, built from wood and stone in difficult and uneven terrain of the desolate island. She knew it like the back of her hand as well as many miles of surrounding forest and mountain. Though unfamiliar and confusing, the city of Kriegsfeld intrigued her and she relished the challenge of learning the layout, of exploring the surrounding area. Life in Caelholm was difficult especially in the winter months but it was predictable and lacked excitement.

“You seem to know your way around.” Sevaur said. “Figured you’d mostly be in the forests and all.”

The lumberjack shrugged and slowed his pace. “Sometimes. The lumber from that forest is special. Solid for construction but really comes into its own for magical artefacts. Sometimes I get the odd job that takes me deep into the forest for rare specimens. Pays well, given the risk and all.”

“The risk?”

Adrian laughed and shook his head. “It’s not like Altus forest y’know. Whole different beast. Faunus is overflowing with unstable magic, the trees grow and regrow in days. Reach heights and density unheard of anywhere else. Cut a tree down in a clearing and three more grow back within the week.”

“How? Growth like that would take years.” Claire asked. It wasn’t that she disbelieved him just that having planted trees of her own and watched them grow over the years it was absurd to her.

“Exactly. Nobody really knows.” Adrian said with a grin. “Impossible to build anything in that forest. The plant growth rips it apart within hours.”

They turned a corner passed an old tavern, a sign saying
The Silver Blade
swinging in the wind. She could hear the people inside drinking, talking and shouting to each other even over the noise in the street.

“So what’s the danger?” Sevaur cocked an eyebrow. “Tripping over some roots?”

“Try getting strangled by them mate. They’ll come out of the ground after you sometimes. Thorns whip at you from the undergrowth if the forest thinks you’re a threat.” He patted the axe at his belt. “Which it usually does. It’ll block off paths and send man-eating walking plants at you.”

“Alright, alright.” Sevaur held up his hands in surrender. “Just curious.”

“Did I mention they spit acid too?” He stopped and pointed towards the dents and stains on his chest plate. “How’d you think I get all these marks?”

“Well…” A wide grin crossed his face. “You always were careless.”

Adrian shook his head and continued walking. “Says you. You should see my scars. I’ve got—”

“Let’s not and say we did, shall we?” Claire said. “We’re close right?”

“Yep. Just up this road. Assuming that address you found is correct.”

She nodded her thanks and followed him up the cobbled street towards a series of imposing houses, each tiled and smoke-blackened. The windows bolted and shuttered just like Adrian’s house had been. She ignored the stares from the locals fixing up their shutters and repairing storm damage, watching the trio with a distrusting eye. It wasn’t a personal thing, she knew but a constant vigilance, anyone and everyone could be a vampire or one of their cults or thralls. They saw monsters everywhere and never let their guard down.

“You sure this is a good idea?” Sevaur asked. She saw he was nervous even beneath the grin he flashed.

“It’s the last lead I could find.” She rubbed her hands together, even despite the leather clothes there was a chill in the air. “If this is a bad idea at least I’ll have back-up this time.”

Sevaur nodded in agreement. “Listen if this doesn’t pan out, don’t sweat it. It was worth trying. All of them were.” Claire walked up the steps towards the house listed within her mother’s journal and paused. She knew it was a stretch, a tenuous connection at best but what other options did she have left. It wasn’t that she expected instant success but even the smallest of trails would have suited her, instead they’d found almost nothing. She rapped her knuckles across the bolted-wooden door and waited. Silence. After a moment of discomfort and embarrassment Claire heard movement from behind the door and heavy footsteps coupled with a repeated thud. She heard someone rattling the chains locking the door from the inside and felt a small sigh of relief. Claire tried smartening up her hunting jacket and catching strands of hair dislodged by the wind and feeling foolish. The wooden door creaked open and a woman’s face appeared from the dimly lit hall.

“Yes?” The woman asked. She was an ageing white-haired woman with a deep yellow-brown umber complexion and lined with determination. Her brown and bloodshot eyes narrowed in suspicion as she stared at the girl before her.

“Isobel Caldwell?” Claire asked, watching the ageing woman before her with interest. “I’m Claire Acestes and—”

“I remember. You’ve grown.” Isobel’s eyes flickered to the awkward men standing behind her. “They with you?” Isobel adjusted her glasses and her stare intensified for several seconds before disappearing behind the door but did not close it. Once more she removed the chains and opened the door wider. “You’d better come in then.”

The pair behind her introduced themselves, Sevaur tried deflecting tension with a nervous laugh and a smile whereas Adrian merely stated his name and a terse nod. She waved them inside and checked each of them with a careful eye as they passed before glaring to the street at large. Claire caught a flash of steel as Isobel surreptitiously tucked a knife back into her sheathe as they passed and closed the door. Isobel pointed them towards a living room with chairs with a long stick. Claire realised it was a walking-cane and noticed the limp as Isobel hobbled down the hall. She’d lost her left leg and replaced it with an intricate prosthesis made from metal that clanged across the floor.