Dishonour by Dee Carteri (simple e reader TXT) 📕

"Most men quite enjoy boasting of their actions."

Sir Aloce said, "Then boast away," his voice flat and stoic.

"Well, I, uh, suppose so. I’ve slain six Shadow knights, well reputed to be equal in skill to the Knights of the Monastery, six enemy men-at-arms, nine archers, three warlocks, one Oghre, and, I’m sorry to say, eight slave soldiers."

Sir Penag asked, "No dragons? I hear there are black dragons at the front."

"No," said Daken. "No single man could claim to have slain one of Shadow’s drakes. Fifty men would not prove one’s match. They are fully three times the size of the largest cauldron dragon, and more clever by half than their human commanders. Their breath has the force of a gale and the power of a thunderclap. I’ve seen men blasted to pieces by a black dragons’ gasps."

"He’s as dramatic as Aloce, eh Rodul?"

Rodul replied to Penag, "At least he’s honest. Believe me, those drakes could scare Gaia himself."

Three knocks came on the door, and they all fell silent. Daken walked across the large common room and answered it. On his doorstep stood a man about half a head taller than the Lieutenant. He had sandy blond hair and was wearing a long green leather tunic over leather breeches. The leather was overly tanned to the point of stiffness, providing a sort of light armor for the man. Around his neck, heart and rib cage was an added disc of hardened leather, died black and painted with a geometric design. On the right side of the man’s belt was a shortsword, on the other a thin wooden club. A shortbow and a quiver of arrows hung on his back. He bowed slightly and introduced himself, "I am Dell, Deputy to the Sheriff of Whiterift." He gestured behind him to five warriors wearing similar leather armor. All carried shortbows and clubs, but none had swords. Two bore thick staves. Dell said, "These are my men."

"Welcome to my house, gentlemen. Take a seat in the common room, and we’ll outline the plan for tonight."

Once all the deputies were seated, Rodul laid out a piece of parchment on the table. Rodul began, "My name is Sir Rodul, Marshall of the Flaming Cavalry and the leader of this investigation. This is my assistant Sir Daken, the esteemed Lieutenant of the Fist of Octania. These three fine knights you see before you are the noble Sirs Aloce, Bakine and, of course, Sir Penag, the Lieutenant of the White Lions."

He sat down. "I suppose everyone is wondering exactly who we are arresting and why. Now, some of you may have heard that the noble Baron Franir died in an unfortunate accident yesterday. However, we have solid evidence to prove that the Baron was, in fact, knifed in the throat long before he wandered off the road." The faces of the deputies registered little shock.

Daken supposed that in their line of work, any briefing that started with talk of an "accident" was invariably related to a murder. Rodul continued, "The murder weapon had to have been less than an inch wide and strong enough to punch through Lecoise chainmail. Unless this blade was shipped up from Tandar or down from New Castlen, which we very much doubt as the Baron’s trip was not planned long beforehand, the knife had to be made of the Great Mill’s steel. We suspect that a blacksmith, one Coste Lakeson, forged the dagger for the murderers. This afternoon, Sir Daken and myself followed Coste from his forge to his home in the eastern outer city. His house is directly across from the Duke’s Court Inn, and he has a back door to an alleyway."

As Rodul spoke, Daken drew several squares on the parchment with a piece of charcoal, labeling two buildings as "Coste" and "Inn." He made two circles to indicate the doorways to the house. Rodul motioned towards Daken, who explained, "The innkeeper of the Duke’s Court has agreed to let us use his upper balcony. We will position three archers on the balcony." Daken drew three X’s on the inn. "These men will shoot anyone who leaves Coste’s house without us. Remember at all times that we need live captives. In all likelihood, Coste is not the murderer, and we need him to find out who is. I want all men to shoot to cripple, not to kill. Now," he said as he eyed the deputies, "Who wants to lead the archer party?"

Sir Aloce answered, "I’ll do it."

"What?" asked Daken. Archery was a profession usually taken up by serfs and freemen, not nobles.

Bakine explained, "Aloce once put an arrow through a wyvern’s eye at forty paces. I doubt any man here could duplicate that feat."

"Aloce will lead, then," stated Daken. "Someone give him a bow." Dell looked at the soldier on the very right, who grumbled, then complied.

Dell ordered, "Frol and Giale, accompany Sir Aloce."

"Now, I want the gentlemen with the quarterstaves at either end of the street, in case the archers miss someone. You," he said, pointing to the remaining deputy, "you and sir Bakine will stand at either side of the back door and club the sense out of anyone who tries to flee. Dell, Penag, Rodul and myself will enter through the front door. We do not draw steel unless they do it first. Agreed?"

The street was completely deserted. All the buildings were dark, save for a dim light shining from a private parlor near the east end of the Duke’s Court Inn. The troop of deputies marched with only a single torch, so as not to attract attention from anyone at Coste’s house. Lakeson’s home was a neat little brick square between other neat little brick squares, exactly the height of every surrounding structure. It had a nondescript well-kept thatch roof. A ghostly trickle of smoke oozed out from his chimney-flap, probably from the embers of a fire for their evening meal.

Daken ordered, "Snuff the torch."

As their torch went out and the elongated shadows of the knights faded into the moonlit semi-dark of the summer evening, Daken could see a slight glow from one of the windows, a candle for reading, perhaps. Someone at least was still awake in the house. He nodded to Bakine, who left with the deputy to circle around the street to the back alley. Frol, Giale, and Sir Aloce were already knocking at the side door of the inn. A small, old man let them in without saying a word, being careful to not make eye contact with the knight.

One of the staff-wielding deputies hunched over, clutching his weapon for support, and hobbled past Coste’s house to the end of the street, his face turned towards the inn. Hopefully, whoever was still awake in the house would think of him as nothing more than a lost and crippled beggar.

Dell whispered to Rodul, "Bakine and my lad are ready."

"How do you know?"

"Secret Deputy signal. Can’t be more specific, I’m afraid."

Rodul thought back to all the sounds he had heard in the last minute. Some sort of bird call. A wagon wheel turning. Pebbles dropping. A child’s yell. It was in the middle of the city; a hundred quiet noises happened every second. On the balcony, three dark shapes stood casually. The tallest, presumably Sir Aloce, waved. Rodul waved back, then motioned the group forward. They crawled beneath the lighted window and lined up in single file in front of the door. Rodul knocked twice.

A voice from inside asked, "Who is it?"

"My name is Sir Rodul. I wish to do business." It was not really a lie.

The man inside said, "My father is dealing with other clients at the moment. Go home, and come to the forge tomorrow."

Rodul exchanged looks with the other knights, then kicked the door hard. The wood bent inwards, but the lock held firm. The voice of an older man, likely Coste, screamed, "You have not the right!"

Dell yelled back, "We are representatives of the Sheriff of Whiterift, and the Royal Law! Open this door and come out unarmed, and we shall commend you to the courts!"

Rodul kicked again, and the door gave way. He drew his club and rushed in.

At the table of the common room sat Coste, five older men and one younger man who was likely his son. A woman in an adjacent room screeched as the door came down with a crash. The seven men stood and ran into different rooms. Daken and Dell ran after some.

One of the sons yelled, "You can’t take my father!" and rushed at Rodul, brandishing an iron bar. He swung high, and Rodul dodged underneath. He jumped into the boy, grabbing his stomach in a tackle, slamming the youngster into the wall. The son raised the iron rod again, but a swung club smashed into his hand. The iron bar fell onto Rodul and rolled to the ground as the young man clutched his broken knuckles, screaming in pain. Rodul heard another crack and the brick wall was sprayed with blood. The lad went limp, although his stomach still moved in soft breathing. Rodul dropped him and saw a shallow gash across his forehead.

He looked back and thanked Penag, who stood triumphant with a bloodstained club. Daken burst back into the room, wrestling one of the older men. Daken still clutched a club, but he could not free his hand from the man’s grip. Penag and Rodul ran up to the pair. The man, oblivious, sat upright, trying to choke Daken with his knee. He went down with a grunt as Rodul’s club slammed into the middle of his back. He rolled onto his side, releasing Daken. Daken promptly swung a club into the man’s stomach, as Penag hit struck his upper shoulder. The man crawled into a fetal position, moaning softly.

One man took advantage of the distraction and dashed out the front door. He immediately collapsed, screaming, with an arrow in his foreleg. Rodul ran through the house, until he found the remaining four, standing in a bedroom with Dell silently watching, a club in one hand and a shortsword in the other. Dell let Rodul and Daken through.

Rodul looked directly at Coste and asked, "We believe a dagger used in the murder of a noble was forged in your smithy. Do you deny it? Keep in mind that for each time you deny a statement that is later proven to be true, you give yourself two more years in the dungeon."

Coste responded, "I deny it."

"Do you deny that your ‘clients’ chose to run from the Royal Law, or that your own son fought us, believing that you were guilty of a crime?"

Coste whispered, "My son fought you?"

"He is alive, and did no harm to us. I may even be able to convince the courts to overlook his…transgression, providing you cooperate with us."

"You are gracious, sir."

"Quite. Now answer the question."

"I do not deny it," stated Coste.

"Do you deny that you are guilty of knowingly conspiring with murderers?"

"I do not."

Daken leaned forward and directly asked, "Here is the question that will determine whether or not we report your son’s crime. Whoever forged that dagger used steel that you and you alone, among freemen, have access to. If you did not forge that knife, who did?"

Coste glanced at the other men in the room. "If I tell you, all my sons will die. I am sorry, sirs."

"We shall arrest all who could harm