Chapter 9

Losian woke from a nightmare of fire and mages and dead lilacs. Still half-asleep, he tried to get out of bed but collapsed onto his stomach; his back burned and his head pounded. He struggled to remember. Slowly he shook off the effects of sleep, piecing together what had happened. The fire and his fight with the mage was no dream. He didn’t remember being hurt but so much of what happened seemed fantastical. Losian lay there for a moment and then tried to move again, more slowly this time. He was successful in sitting up. His shirt had been removed and the cool morning air raised goosebumps along his arms and chest. He sat there on the side of the bed contemplating the floor. His mind was sluggish but he picked through what he remembered. His shield had been far more effective than previously. Maybe all that practice was finally paying off, although the price was still high. Was it practice or was it pushing his magic beyond that which he had thought he could do. He shivered as he remembered the feeling of that woman’s power sliding along underneath his own, like a deep river. It wasn’t that they had joined it was like she was carrying him, taking him by the hand, showing him what to do; the shield, the thorn plant and now moving objects. Could he do it again? He finally focused on a shoe. Could he move it?

There had been a time, long ago when using magic had been as effortless as breathing or maybe that had been a dream confused with his life before his mother died. He shook his head, everyone believed their childhood had somehow been magical. He stared at the shoe and then tentatively coaxed it to move. It slid along the floor towards the table. He waited his head still pounding, neither worse, and he grimaced, nor better. He lifted the shoe and it drifted along until it hit the chair near the table. He re-directed it and moved it around the room. Soon he started to feel exhausted, his head throbbing in beat with his heart, yet he felt a deep excitement. Had she done something. He realised abruptly that there had only been a little pain when he had cast the shield, before her voice had whispered to him, showing him how to move the dagger. Was that because she had done something earlier? Painful hope surged. He beat it down, crawling off the bed as he did. Ignoring the sharp searing in his back. Once he was standing he walked slowly to the large window that overlooked an alley. There was an iron balcony which were covered with plants, as was the window ledge. He carefully raised the window but couldn’t lean out because of his back. He contented himself with looking at each plant, touching them with his power to ensure they were healthy. The flowering grass needed water, but it always needed water. He could feel a hum from them that matched a consonance within himself. The headache receded, disappearing, mostly. It always did when he touched the plants. He smiled, which faded to a grimace as he reached up to shut the window ensuring that the climbing purple didn’t get caught. He shuffled over to the table, leaning against it as a wave of pain washed over his back.

There was a rap on his door and then it opened before he could say anything.

“You look better than I thought you would but you still look like crap,” Gruthwin said cheerfully, as he walked in carrying in a sack of something. “Scrivener said that the ointment would help the burns.” He put the sack down and pulled out a bottle. “I went to the infirmary at the mage’s college. That drink left for you reminded me of it. We use it if we’ve used more power than is safe.” He went over to the counter against one wall and inspected a mug there before bringing it back to the table and pouring the contents of the bottle into it. He shoved Losian into the seat and pushed the mug into his hands. “Here, drink this. I’ll put more ointment on your back.”

Losian, more tired than he realized slumped in the chair, being careful not to sit back, and stared into the mug.

“That’s one damn good apothecary. Your back looks way better than it did last night,” Gruthwin chatted away as he slathered the ointment over his back. Losian winced in anticipation but the ointment felt cool even through the tenderness of his skin. “Scrivener suggested you rest today. She said you’d best leave off your shirt until your back healed more.”

Losian turned his head slowly to look at Gruthwin. “Scrivener?”

“Yes, she and I brought you home yesterday. You don’t remember?”

“I remember. How is she?”

“She only had some mild burns. You were in bad shape though. What were you thinking going in there without backup?”

“I had the scrivener.”

Gruthwin snorted as he put the cover back on the jar. “Did you find out anything?”

Yes, Losian thought, I found out I could move things. “No. We’ll have to go to the morgue.”

“Jaraah is going to like that,” Gruthwin said sardonically. “But you’re not going anywhere today,” Gruthwin admonished.

Losian ignored him as he levered himself to his feet. The ointment was a marvel. His back felt better. He looked around for his shirt.

“I don’t know why I even bother. You’ll do what you want anyways,” Gruthwin grumbled. “What about the scrivener?”

“What about me?” Scrivener asked. She was standing in the doorway looking curiously around the room. She stared briefly at the plants. “Are you moving out?” Losian stared at her confused. “Your room looks sort of empty, like you’ve moved most of your stuff. Except the plants.” She nodded towards the window.

“No,” Losian snapped as he pulled his shirt over his head. He winced slightly at the pull across his back. “Let’s go.”

Scrivener shook her head but got out of his way as he walked determinedly out the door. He felt a little light headed but the draught that Gruthwin brought had made him feel much better. Scrivener touched his arm and then offered him a nut pastry. He took it, realizing he was hungry. In two bites it was gone and she silently offered him another.

The visit to the morgue was uneventful, except that this mage also had a lightening bolt medallion and his throwing knife was returned. Weakened as he was, Losian didn’t want to chance reading the medallion. That was something at least, a small break. But they had no idea what the medallion was for or who the mages were or where they had gotten them. He also had no idea whether the mages were connected to what he considered his real case, the murdered girls. He asked Jaraah to keep the medallion separate and not to touch it. He’d read it later when he felt stronger.

They arrived back at the dutyhalme just as the tidsang bells rang. The ferwardens he passed wouldn’t meet his eyes. A bad sign. Fiftigsman must be looking for a whipping boy, his favourite whipping boy, himself.

“What have you found out about the missing Landgraf’s child?” the captain started in on him as soon as he stepped into the room. “You haven’t spoken to the parents! By Cenor’s sword, do you know anything? The first thing you do is talk to the parents, assure them you’re devoting your full attention, not running around burning half the second radial down.”

“Hardly half,” muttered Losian. “Civic duty to clear out obvious hazards to pedestrians.”

Fiftigsman normally pale face deepened to red as he caught Losian’s mumbled comment. “You’ll go, now, immediately, to talk to the Landgraf Westmoreland. You’ll take your team and you will tell them this case has your undivided attention.”

Losian, too tired to argue, too tired to explain what they had discovered, or thought they had discovered and that perhaps there was a connection between the murders and the missing girl, turned on his heel and left the room and the dutyhalme. He stalked down the street, pedestrians darting out of his way. Gruthwin and the scrivener following in his wake like scavenger fish after a shark. No one spoke as they made their way to the Westmoreland residence, even the dray driver didn’t make any comments. By the time they got to the residence, Losian had himself back under control. He couldn’t recall every seeing the Landgraf or Landgraven but he’d just have to be circumspect.

This time they approached the front gate. “Spregman Losian to see the Landgraf and Landgraven,” he announced to the gate keeper, a young boy sitting on a stool just inside the gate.

The child left them standing outside while he went in to see if they would be allowed entry. He was back shortly followed by Hleafweard, the steward.

“Landgraf Bartold and the Landgraven Wildmara will see you now. Follow me,” he said as the child struggled to open the gate. Once it was open they followed him along the short path, winding through an elaborate garden. Small as it was, it was stuffed full of plants. Losian frowned, he could feel that they were too crowded, not enough space and not enough light. He looked up at the sky, well some of them had enough, other’s had too little. There were a few, he grudgingly thought, who might have enough. That they all looked healthy was a tribute to the Landgraf’s magic, land magic the sole gift which differentiated landgrafs from peasants and mages. Without it, they were not landgrafs. That was the primary denotative of the heir, that and the birth mark.

They were ushered into a small parlour, sparsely furnished, suitable for tradesmen, petitioners, and sprigners. Scrivener immediately moved to a chair as far from the door as was possible. She sat and fussed with her scrivener’s pouch, pulling out paper, sharpening the pencil. Her head down, her hair screening her face. Losian watched as Gruthwin wandered around the room looking at its decorations. He took up his position opposite the door, his hands respectfully behind his back, a bland look pinned to his face. They were not left to wait long which surprised Losian. In his experience Landgrafs liked people to be reminded of their relative, and lowly position, with respect to the landgraf.

“You are the spregman in charge of the investigation of my daughter. Have you found her? Have you found anything?” Westmoreland asked before he was two steps into the room.

Losian blinked his eyes. He hadn’t expected concern from the Landgraf. Behind him stood his wife. She stayed by the door watching her husband, only glancing once at the ferwardens.

“Yes, sirwan. We have a few questions. Is there anyone who would want to hurt you through her? Alliances? Revenge?” Losian asked, he let the accent of his birthplace colour his words.

There was a slight motion from the Landgraven but she let her husband answer. “No. There are no active enemies, none that would revenge themselves by using my daughter. It would not gain them anything,” the Landgraf said, “except to pain me,” he added. “I suppose that would be the point. I have not done anything, not for years that would cause someone to strike at me in that way.” He pursed his lips as he thought about that. “No, she is of no use to gain advantage.” Cruel as the words were, Losian knew they were true; women among the landgrafs were game pieces, moved for advantage or discarded as required.

Losian moved his attention to the Landgraven and something twinged. “Landgraven?” Wildmara was not a usual name for one from Landgraf lineage.

“My husband has spoken truly,” she replied coolly. Losian nodded unsatisfied. “Do you know of anyone who want to strike at your family?” he pressed.

“My husband has explained that there is nobody at this point.”

“But there may have been, or might be in the future?”

“How can we see the future Spregman. Power is seized when the moment is right.”

Losian could feel there was something there. but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“We found the man who we think stole your daughter,” Gruthwin said. “He was a w..”

“Wild mage, as far as we can tell. Not registered with the mages’ guild,” Losian said, interrupting Gruthwin. “Unfortunately, he died in a fire when we were trying to locate him for questioning.”

Although the Landgraven face did not change, Losian could tell that she was disturbed. “I am sorry, we were not able to question him and find your daughter,” Losian said quietly.

“Step-daughter, ferwarden. She was my step-daughter and a sweet child.”

Losian kept his face neutral. She had sounded upset but not as if she truly cared about the child.

“Wildmara and I have been married several months. Ronja was my last child by my late wife,” the Landgraf’s voice was heavy with grief. “She was much like her mother, a sweet woman, a sweet child.”

Realizing  there was nothing further to ask, Losian bowed. “Thank you for your time sirwans. We are doing everything in our power to find your daughter and return her safely to your house,” Losian said.

The landgraf nodded and taking his wife’s arm left the room. Hleafweard who had been hovering in the background moved forward and escorted them out of the residence. The three were silent all the way back to the second radial. It wasn’t until Losian was sitting in the small cafe around the corner from the dutyhalme that he realized that he hadn’t heard Scrivener’s charms.

“Let me see the recordings,” Losian asked abruptly dismissing that for the moment. The scrivener, almost reluctantly, opened up the satchel and pulled out several sheets, mostly covered with writing. Losian, with Gruthwin looking over his shoulder examined the report. Scrivener had transcribed the interview verbatim. He nodded as he read through, except that unlike most scriveners, she had drawn pictures in the margin. They were excellent caricatures of the Landgraf and Landgraven. He frowned at them until he realised that she had caught his feelings about the two. The sketches of the Landgraf were mostly of a worried father. The ones of the Landgraven were more interesting. She seemed to loom behind her husband, a dark presence, nothing mother-like about her.

Chapter 10

Losian had no idea what to do next. Everything seemed to end in a blank wall. With nothing further to go on he decided that he would see why the Landgraven had disturbed both him and the scrivener. The first stop was Landgraf house where all the Landgrafs, their children and spouses’ information was kept. Lineage was supremely important to the Landgrafs. In the jockeying for political power, it was a potent weapon against an enemy or even more a friend. It did not take him long to find the book which detailed Landgraf Westmoreland’s family. What surprised him was that his second wife, Wildmara, was not from a Landgraf family but from a merchant family, a wealthy one at that. The merchant Hesbold was well known, owning half of Agen or so it seemed. Landgrafs were not known for being interested in trade which bothered Losian. They went next to the merchant guild.

The merchant’s guild was much more difficult, both get into and get information from. Unlike Landgraf house, which wanted others to know it’s place in the power structure, and, Losian thought sourly, be impressed by it, the merchants had no interest in letting others know about themselves. They knew knowledge was power and you never knew when some trivial piece of information could be turned into golds. Things did not go smoothly here. The clerk, an officious little man, kept them standing while he fussed over some papers and bowed and scraped to several merchants who were registering some complaint with the guild. They might have been there longer except Scrivener took matters into her own hands. She walked past the clerk and down a hall way. The clerk was after her like a shot with Losian and Gruthwin following him. She ignored his repeated calls, becoming more and more strident as she walked past several doors and stopped at the last but one. She rapped twice and then walked in. The clerk was almost apoplectic by this point and bounded in after her.

“Submaster Trivena, I apologize for the intrusion. I will call the guards immediately,” he said in horrified accents. He turned to grab Scriveners arms except the woman behind the desk was on her feet, her face split in a large smile.

“Elissa. May the gods smile on me even more. When did you arrive in Agen?” She turned towards the clerk and shooed him from the room. “Don’t worry. She is welcome. If I had known she was here I would have told you to show her in.” She closed the door behind him. “Really Elissa, it’s going to take me days to sooth the poor man.” She hugged the scrivener and then glanced at Losian and Gruthwin. “Friends?”

The scrivener laughed and shook her head. “Companions for the moment. I’m sorry to barge in on you like this but I need some information.”

Trivena smiled and raised an eyebrow. “It will cost you.”

“But of course. The western tribes have found a some more fire gems. I’ll send word that they should talk to your factor first.”

Trivena shook her head. “Child, child, you should bargain harder.”

Scrivener grinned. “What do you know about Hesbold and his daughter the Landgraven Wildmara.”

Trivena pursed her lips as her eyes flicked towards the ferwardens. Then back towards the scrivener. “It will not go further than this room?”

“You know my discretion,” Scrivener said.

“Yes but do I know theirs?”

“None will know that you told us,” Losian said.

“But some may question why the ferwardens and Spregman Losian himself came to see me.”

“You may complain about wedgren predation and they had brought a wedgren for you to question. Particularly as you lost that cargo a month ago,” Scrivener said.

Trivena laughed and nodded. “That was indeed a grievous blow.”

Losian wasn’t sure what that meant but it was obvious that the wedgren and the Submaster were content that the cargo should have been lost but that wasn’t why they were there.

Trivena sat down behind her desk and motioned for the other’s to seat themselves. Losian noticed that Scrivener did not take out paper.

“Hesbold is a canny merchant, and wealthy. He is know to deal in things which are of dubious legality but rare, very rare.” Trivena looked sharply at Losian and Gruthwin. ‘You understand I am not accusing him of actually smuggling. That the goods are special and thus fall outside of the traditional tariff schedule.”

Losian nodded and Trivena continued. “Wildmara is his only daughter. It was thought that she would marry into another merchant family, House of Grantir was most talked of so it was a surprise when she married Bartold Westmoreland.” Trivena paused, tapping her fingers on the desk top. “Bartold owed money to several merchants. He has not been the most astute investor and several of his projects went awry. One of them surprised me,” she continued frowning. “I believe that Wildmara brought a healthy influx of gold into the Landgraf’s house.” She looked at Losian, but he didn’t think she was actually seeing him and then shook herself, bringing her bright eyes to rest on him and then on the scrivener. “That is all I know.”

The scrivener nodded thoughtfully. Does house Hesbold trade any in the wilds?”

“I have heard that he has made some forays into the north and west, but that has not been his primary focus.” She looked quizzically at the scrivener. “Is there a problem there?”

Scrivener shrugged. “I have no idea, not yet at any rate. Thank you Submaster Trivena.”

“Any time, Elissa. Can you come for dinner while you are in Agen?”

The scrivener shook her head. “Not this visit.”

“Another time then.” Trivena ushered therm to the door and escorted them to the entrance hall way and watched them leave.

“You have some important friends,” Losian commented as they left. Scrivener shrugged. “She was a close friend of my father’s.”

Gruthwin’s stomach growled so they the three went to a cafe not fare form the merchant guild home. They sat down and scrivener pulled out some papers and added notes from their interview with the Submaster and then tucked them back. She looked around the cafe and Losian wondered idly how often she had actually eaten in one not withstanding she seemed to be well acquainted with a Submaster. Perhaps her father had been a lover? Wedgren men were reputed to be good in that area, if lax in most other’s including looking after their family.

“The baked ham and creamed potatoes are good,” he said abruptly. “My bill,” he added, all of sudden wondering if she had any money. Although her clothes were clean, they had been mended in a number of places. He supposed that all that jewelry could have been pawned for money and she certainly didn’t have the pinched look of someone worried about her next meal. “You’ll be paid at then end of second and fourth listesdag.”

She nodded and watched as the server came over to take their orders. Embarrassed because he could see the surprise, quickly hidden by Gruthwin, he ordered ham and potatoes for all three and ale. He had never eaten with Gruthwin, much less paid for a meal. He had avoided even the hint of socialization. The only time he had been to Gruthwin’s home was when he woke up after the fight in the alley, although Gruthwin had invited him to his home, and been declined every time. Losian, paused in mid-sip, how did Gruthwin know where he lived? He had never invited him and he avoided any discussion of even the area where his room was located. He swallowed quickly trying to decide whether he needed to find out how Gruthwin had known where to take him.

“Why do you think the child was taken?” Scrivener asked breaking the silence which was becoming more uncomfortable for Losian by the minute. “If the Landgraf is correct that he has no enemies what purpose could the mage have to snatch her?” She pushed the mug around the table, watching the moisture rings it made on the table. “If the new wife wanted her children to succeed then the boys would have to be removed first.”

Losian leaned back so the server could put his plate before him. “You’re right it doesn’t make sense. We need to go back to that house and see if there is anything left that can tell us who the mage was.”

Gruthwin grunted as he ate quickly. “Not sure if there is anything left. The fire was pretty intense.”

Losian picked at his food uncomfortably. “Maybe but we don’t have anything else.” He noticed that the scrivener ate quickly, but neatly. “Why would the mage in the alley attack us. It was before we were assigned to the missing girl. The only case we were working on was the murders. There must be a connection.”

“What kind of connection could there be between a Landgraf’s daughter and those poor girls?” Gruthwin said. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“I think we should stop by the dutyhalme and let the captain know that we’ve seen the parents,” Gruthwin suggested.

“And that our best suspect is dead?” Losian asked.

Gruthwin shrugged. “The captain will be expecting a report on our meeting with the Landgraf.”

Scrivener nodded her head slowly and Losian had no answer to that. “And you need to have some more salve but on your back,” she pointed out.

“Later,” he snapped but once Scrivener and Gruthwin were done, Losian threw some coppers on the table and surged to his feet. “Let’s go.”

Losian marched up the dutyhalme steps. He knew that Gruthwin and the scrivener were right. It made eminent sense, political sense, to let the captain know that they had obeyed his directive, even if it galled Losian to do anything the captain wanted.

The spregman’s room was busy. Four out of the six spregman were working on reports or talking to other teams. The Captain, as usual sat behind his pristine desk, marred only by the ubiquitous three pieces of paper.

“Losian, Gruthwin and scrivener,” Fiftigsman said standing up, with a piece of paper in his hand and walking slowly around his desk.

“We’ve just got back from talking to the Landgraf,” Gruthwin said quickly.

Losian didn’t like the look on the captains face.

“Yes, I heard that you were throwing all sorts of accusations around. Insulting the Landgraf and Landgraven,” the captain said with a nasty smile, descending from the dais and strolling towards the three. “You’ve pushed a little too hard this time Losian. Insulting a Landgraf and using an unauthorized scrivener,” he purred. “I think this case is too much for you, too important.” Fiftigsman looked at Losian and then Gruthwin. “A case less complicated might be called for.” He smiled as he held out the paper. “A series of smash and grabs has the merchants up in arms. Deal with it.”

Gruthwin stepped forward and took the paper looking at it with a slightly stunned look. “Smash and grab?”

Losian glared at the captain who smiled back, just barely containing his glee. “You’re off this case and those murders.” There was distinct distaste in his voice as he mentioned the murders. “And get rid of the wedgren.”

Gruthwin grabbed Losian by the arm and hustled him out of the building. “I didn’t think our interview had gone that badly. We haven’t done a smash and grab for years,” Gruthwin said nervously as he towed Losian out of the dutyhalme.

“Smash and grab?” Scrivener asked, trailing behind.

“Robbery, usually by a gang. They hit an area all at once and by the time the ferwardens are called they’ve moved on, “ Gruthwin babbled. “These cases are usually given to raw patrollers. This must be a difficult one.”

Losian pulled his arm away from Gruthwin and stalked down the street toward the shopkeeper’s ring. Gruthwin kept looking at Losian as they went, obviously worried by his silence.

“Hmm, the captain must think so highly of you two that he gives you the most difficult cases,” Scrivener murmured. “Particularly since Losian is such a favourite of the captains.”

“Shhh,” Gruthwin said.

Scrivener just grinned at him and skipped a little to catch up to Losian. “So what do we do first?”

Losian glared at her and then slowed down a pensive look on his face.

“What?” Gruthwin said. “I don’t trust that look,” he told the scrivener.

“Do you have a picture of the medallion?” he asked the scrivener. At her nod he smiled. “We can kill two birds with one stone.” He walked a few more paces. “Did you get a chance to talk to anyone about the bracelet?” he asked Gruthwin.

“I visited a few silversmiths but no one had made one like that, nor do they know of any one else who might have.”

“Made someplace else?” Losian mused. “There aren’t that many silversmiths.”

“The bracelet is not that different. Would they remember?” Scrivener asked.

Losian nodded. “You’re right. It could be a stock bracelet. But the medallion is not stock. Someone must have made it or sold it.”

“Losian,” Gruthwin protested.

Losian rounded on him. “Do you think anyone else can find the child? Or find justice for those women? Do you?” he snarled.

Gruthwin sighed but shook his head. “I guess it won’t hurt to ask the questions while we’re investigating the robberies.”

Losian nodded and walked ahead of them with more purpose in his step.