The Starfall Knight (4 page)

“Did you see it?” Tayu asked.

“See what?”

“Are you trying to be funny?”

“All right, all right,” Devan said.  “We marched out today and brought it back.”

“It was at Tinuker’s, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”  As a Saruwan native, Tayu had an even closer association with the field than Devan.  “I can’t say much more.”

“Anything?”

“I can’t.”

“Secret ranger business, then.”  Tayu mimed vomiting.  “Well, I heard that it’s a body.  The starfall knight.  Moons above, that’s a long drop, wouldn’t it be?”

“If it’s even true in the first place,” Devan replied.

“But people saw the falling star in the sky.  Was the ground hot, like the falling star that hit Masteney a few years back?  It was only a small bit of rock but still lit up the sky with all that fire.”

“If it fell so far, there wouldn’t have been anything for us to recover,” Devan said.  “That’s why I don’t think it came from the sky.”

Tayu grunted.  “All right, then.  We’ll find out soon enough.”

“Aye, soon.”

Tayu nodded, seemingly satisfied.  Like Devan, he had never had a chance to study at the Centaran university but the faculty’s public lectures and presentations were still as fascinating.  They were bound to present the knight in the interests of public education.

“So,” Tayu said, “are you scheduled to check the armoury for storm damage?”

Devan glanced sidelong at his childhood friend.  “I am.”

“I’ll come with.”

“They’re not toys!”

Alessa shook out the bedsheet, savouring the quick moment when the scent of the freshly washed linen overpowered the stale virid smoke that permeated the shack.  The sheet fluttered to rest on the cot and Alessa folded it with practiced ease.

Sitting with his feet on the single rickety table, Leonus inhaled deeply from a ceramic pipe.  It was never too early in the morning for virid.

“You want some?”  Leonus puffed out another breathful of the acrid smoke.

“No, thanks,” Alessa said.  She reached for another sheet to fold.

“Suit yourself.”  Leonus took another hit from the pipe and tapped out the ashen remnants of virid.  As he exhaled, he left his seat and crouched over the crate of food that had been delivered the previous evening.  Leonus picked out a bunch of carrots that appeared more like crooked orange fingers.  “I’m off to trade for more virid.”  He gestured to the table, the ashes and the mud from his boots.  “And clean all of this shit, will you?”

“Of course.”  Alessa affected a timid curtsey and Leonus left, slamming the door behind him.

She continued folding the sheet and hung Leonus’ clothes near the fireplace.  Alessa glanced out of the window, finally satisfied that he wasn’t returning unexpectedly.

Alessa swept the table perfunctorily and hunkered next to the crate of food.  Leonus was an insufferable bastard most of the time but when he had items to trade for virid, he was tolerable.  Strange that such a little leaf could be such a help.

She rummaged through the crate, searching for items that Leonus would not trade for virid.  Yet, while he was intoxicated, he wouldn’t bother eating.  Alessa pulled out a half-loaf of bread, a handful of dried beef and a wedge of goat cheese.  She wrapped the items in one of Leonus’ clean shirts and shoved them into her hessian laundry bag – some dirty clothes and old rags on top for good measure.

Alessa spared a glance at Leonus’ knife collection – no, he would definitely miss one regardless of his condition – and scurried out of the cabin.

With her head bowed at the appropriate level, Alessa headed back to her own shack, little more than a box attached to her father’s.  She ignored the mud splattering her legs with every step.  The bounty in her laundry sack felt as if it would burn through and expose her theft.

The mood of the shanties had considerably lightened with the influx of food, drink and captives.  Alessa knew from experience that the elation would last for a few days, at least hunger returned and the Tarians rejoined the misery of the Ceres and Serpens gangs.  For now, the leering gazes that followed her path through the lanes of hovels remained nothing more than idle eyes.

A set of shadows crossed Alessa’s vision and she stopped.  Elina approached, flanked by Pelio and Brunos.

“Where’re you off to?” Elina said.  “Such a rush.”  Her ragged clothes barely covered her pudgy arms and thighs.  Alessa dared not think of what Elina did for the extra food.

“Washing.”

The three laughed at Alessa.  Brunos leaned against a dead tree, long since stripped of leaves and bark.  His thin stature did not seem as threatening as Pelio’s sneer or Elina’s unfriendly smile.

“You’re the full package, ain’t ya?” Elina said.  She spat on the road.  “I used me holes when I was with Leonus.  Didn’t do his washing or none of that servant shit.  Ain’t you got pride?”

Alessa averted her gaze.  “I like to help him.”

“I bet you do.  I bet he gets a full helping himself.”

Pelio joined Brunos and stretched as he leaned against the tree.  Alessa swore under her breath.  If she didn’t know better, they were getting out of the way.

Elina said, “What’s in the bag?”

“Dirty clothes and such.”

“Are you serious?  You gonna waste water on that much laundry?”  Elina took a step forward.  “Show me.”

Alessa hesitated and said a silent prayer to the moon Vaere, the brown moon and patron of dirt, rock and hope.

With one hand ready to snatch at her knife, Alessa opened her bag.

Elina looked inside and gagged at the smell.  She stumbled back.  “He’s been smoking virid all night, ain’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Shit on that.  You gotta wash that stink.”

Pelio and Brunos guffawed and approached.  Pelio said, “We should join him.”

“He’s out looking for more virid.”

“All right,” Pelio said.  “We’ll find him.  Maybe save him from a bad trade.”

Elina stalked off without another word, Pelio and Brunos in tow.  Alessa tied the laces to the sack and continued on her way.

She reached her shack without incident and closed the door behind her.  Her father was not home, likely working for Tarius.  Alessa took a deep breath and settled her nerves, reminding herself that she had not been caught.

Alessa opened the bag and drew out the precious package of food.  Along with her father’s share of the spoils, they would have enough for a week, perhaps longer with smaller meals.  She hid the food in the usual spot – underneath the floor where a metal chest was embedded into the dirt – and sat back.  Her father’s shelf of books beckoned to her but there was no time to waste.

Water was already scarce but thanks to Elina’s inevitable blabbering mouth, Alessa had more laundry to do.

“Welcome, Captain.  And you to, Ranger.”

Devan followed Benton into the laboratory.  Usually in the service of educating the students of anatomy and natural studies, the laboratory had been closed off for the time being.  Rows of wide metal tables filled the laboratory, each large enough to accommodate not only a human body but also livestock or wild animals.  The remnants of continuing studies stood on the shelves in glass jars.  The morning sun streamed through the windows, warming the chill air.

A gaggle of professors gathered around one of the examination tables while a Councillor stood to one side with Romaine and Jarrell, the Marshal of Arms.  While Romaine was the Marshal of Rangers and wore only leather armour and a shortsword, Jarrell was equipped for battle.  He wore a chainmail hauberk with a red tabard of the Centaran army, the sigil of the Tree and Lake prominent on the front and back.  Steel boots adorned his feet while his gauntlets, helm and sheathed broadsword lay on a table nearby.  A tight necklace, almost a collar, hugged his neck with a large andonite chip encased in glass – the necklace denoting the Protector of Verovel.  Devan wondered how much it would be worth had it been set into a coin.

As Devan and Benton approached, Professor Orval waved them over.

“Ah, Benton and Devan,” Orval said, “our model Verovians.”

Marshal Jarrell cleared his throat and crossed his arms in mock indignation.

“Oh,” Orval added, “present company notwithstanding, of course.”  Orval chuckled.  He was spry despite his advancing years evident in his wispy, white hair and wrinkles.  He tapped his colleagues on the shoulders.  “Make way, make way.”

Devan nodded to Romaine, Jarrell and the Councillor, whom he now recognised as Marwin, a former merchant.  As the professors parted, the body of the knight met Devan’s view.

Resting face up, the knight’s armour had not been removed.  His meager belongings – the journal, fire-kit and food – lay on a metal tray next to his helmeted head.

Devan met the eyes of the professors.  He did not know them, only feeling a vague inadequacy with the fact that he hadn’t attended the university.

“What can you tell us about how you found him?” Orval asked.

Benton nodded.  “We found the site on Saruwa, as reported.  The body was in a heap.”

“A heap?”

“Yes,” Benton said, “as if fallen from a height.”

“Most interesting,” Orval said.  “The common account is that the body fell as a meteor, a falling star.”

“If so, we wouldn’t have found much more than a mess of flesh and metal,” Benton said.

“Perhaps,” another professor said.  She was younger than Orval but still old enough to be Devan’s mother.

“Ah,” Orval said.  “Professor Amara.  Natural studies.”

Amara bowed at the neck.  “Previous experiments into fall injuries amongst common animals have provided some fascinating results.  Then, there was that incident of the toddler who fell from the city walls and survived with barely a scratch.  Who’s to say that this knight was just as fortunate, if lucky?”

“I thought that we did not deal in ‘luck’,” said another professor.

“Ah, Conrick, when will you learn the difference between formal and colloquial language.”

“Pfft.  An amusing, if unoriginal jab,” Conrick replied.

“We can continue this line of conversation another time, professors,” Orval said.

“Apologies,” Amara said.

“Indeed,” Conrick added.  “Apologies.”

Orval turned to Devan.  “Ranger Devan – can you tell us more?  What was the state of the body when you found it?”

“The body was dried out,” Devan said.  “Why?  Has it changed?”

Orval tipped back the visor on the knight’s helm and gasped.  “No,” he said with a grin.  “Just being humorous.  The body is still in a state of dessication.  Very much dead.”

“Did you transport the body under cover?” Conrick asked.

“No,” Devan said.

“No?”  Conrick peered at Devan.  “Ranger Devan.  Now I remember you.”

“I’m sure we haven’t met before.”

“No, but your reputation precedes you.  Folly of Verovel.  Blind Devan.”

Devan took a deep breath.  From the corner of his eye, Romaine and Jarrell shuffled but said nothing.

Benton stepped forward.  “That is quite enough, professor.”

“Is it?” Conrick said.  “You two brought this specimen in a storm.  Did it not occur to you that it should’ve been covered?”

“We were in haste,” Benton added.  “I am captain of the squad.  If you have anything to say, direct your comments to me.”

“Pah.  Who knows how much it has degraded?”

“What’s done is done,” Orval said.  “With the existing composition of the body, I’d not be worried with a few splashes of water.”

Conrick tapped his chin and paced around the table.  He leaned over the body.  “What about the site?  We’re trying to piece together what happened but from Captain Benton’s report, the details just seem conflicting.”

“It’s as it says,” Benton replied.

“The ground around the hole was hot?  Smoldering?”

“Yes.”

Amara asked, “And there was glass?”

“Yes,” Devan said.

Amara shook her head.  “It could not have possibly fallen from another aerock.”

“How do you know that?” Devan asked.  “Who knows how many aerocks float above Centara?”

“I’ll grant you that,” Amara said.  “Yet, if it had fallen from the stars – which would generate the force and heat to melt the dirt into a glass – how did the body survive intact?”

“Dare I say,” Conrick said, “that more experiments are in the future of the natural studies department?”

“I’d suggest your assistants but they’re far too busy studying the Rose of Andon.”

“At least my assistants look the part of the upper tier.”

“Shallow worries, shallow minds.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Oh, step off an edge,” Amara snapped.

Conrick snorted.  He said, “There was mention of a family of longwings.”

“It was a good omen,” Benton said.

“Indeed,” Conrick replied.  “You did bring back the knight safely.”

Devan crossed his arms at the tone of Conrick’s reply, as well as the shared glances between the professors.  There was nothing wrong with believing in the good fortune that longwings brought – no more than believing in the power of the three moons.

“Well,” Conrick said, “I’m unable to identify the armour’s period or if it’s even related to any aerock that Centara has previous encountered.  I’ll have to get some students to take rubbings of the designs.  Perhaps some of the art students could reproduce the armour itself?”

“A good idea,” Orval said.

Jarrell, Romaine and Councillor Marwin approached the table.  “What of the weapons?  The journal?” Jarrell said.

“Our metallurgy department could examine the sword,” Amara said.  “It would be destroyed in the process.”

“Linguistics can look at the journal,” Conrick added.  “I think it will be the key to discovering the identity of this knight.”

Marwin smoothed his silk robe.  “What of a public examination?”

Orval and the professors met each other’s gazes.  The elder professor said, “I don’t see why not.  It would do much to assuage the gossip on the street.”  He turned to Devan and Benton.  “Thank you, rangers, for enlightening us.  It is much appreciated.”

“Thank you, professors,” Benton said with a sharp nod.

Devan followed his lead as Romaine gestured for them to follow her out of the laboratory.  The chatter of the professors, Jarrell and Councillor Marwin dulled as the doors closed.  Outside, a tall elm rustled in the wind, casting a broad shadow over the small courtyard in the middle of the physicker department.  Above, the moon Dwer loomed almost invisibly as its own azure depths melded into the shade of the sky.