Rich Wulf: Rise of the Seventh Moon

“Tell me your plan, Arthen,” Eraina said.

The inquisitive looked at her blandly. He held his reins with one hand. His other hand held the straps of his sword belt, which he had slung over one shoulder. “I can’t,” he said with a sly grin. “Not if you want it to work.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You know better than to ask that,” he said.

She studied him warily. She had known Zed Arthen long before this business with the Legacy and Mourning Dawn began, mostly through reputation. He was said to be one of the most skilled inquisitives in Khorvaire. The last few weeks had offered her the opportunity to work directly beside him. She had learned that Zed was a man quite adept at offending every moral sensibility she possessed. He was also, to her endless astonishment, a good man. Though she could feel her judgment straining at its foundations, she trusted him. She tried to imagine the worst that could happen as they rode through the city gates. The Nathyrr city guards looked up with bored expressions until she presented her Sentinel Marshal’s seal, then returned to their posts.

“How much will I regret this?” Eraina said.

“Only a bit,” he said. “On a positive note, if it doesn’t work, you’ll have another reason to call me an idiot.”

Eraina chewed her lip. She gave Zed a long, cold look. He answered with a patient grin. The inquisitive’s clothes were rumpled and torn. His hair was unkempt. Had the man even bothered to groom himself this morning? It almost seemed as if he was inventing new ways to offend her.

“What do I need to do?” she asked with a sigh.

“Nothing,” he said. “Just follow me at a distance and try not to get involved.”

“Fine,” she said.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Even if I look like I’m in trouble.”

“I said fine.”

“Eraina, look at me,” he said firmly.

She turned to face him. His blue eyes were sharp, focused. There was no more laziness or carelessness about him.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Don’t get involved. Just let whatever happens to me happen and keep your eyes open.”

She was silent for a moment, wondering what the man planned. “Agreed,” she said at last.

“And hold this,” he said, offering her his sheathed sword.

She looked at him in mild surprise.

“I don’t want to be armed,” he said. “That’ll just cause more trouble than it’s worth, and I’d rather not lose that sword. It’s also pretty recognizable. I’d prefer to remain anonymous here if possible.”

“Fine,” she said, taking it from him.

Zed grinned and kicked his horse to a gentle gallop.

Eraina frowned and followed him at a safe distance. The streets of Nathyrr were busy this evening. Travelers and townspeople bustled in the streets. A trio of Thrane Knights noticed Eraina and gave a short salute. She returned the gesture with respect. They quickly moved on, not sparing her a second glance.

Eraina smiled. She had met the knights shortly after her arrival. They had been curious about the presence of a Sentinel Marshal in their city, but Eraina recognized their curiosity as the boredom of young men tired of their assignment in a remote city. She overwhelmed their curiosity with technical discussions of jurisdiction and international authority until their eyes glazed and they excused themselves with a politely insincere offer to help if needed. She had convinced them that, whatever she was doing in Nathyrr, it was clearly even more boring than their own duties.

It was strange. A few weeks ago she would not allowed herself even such a harmless half-truth. It was better that the knights mind their own business. Such inexperienced and overzealous allies would only interfere with her investigation and perhaps end up harming themselves. Nonetheless, it was obvious that her time with Arthen and the Mourning Dawn ’s crew was affecting her judgment.

They were good people. When things looked worst, the crew generally did the right thing. Even Dalan, as manipulative as he was, seemed to care for his crew. Perhaps there was a greater purpose to this adventure. Perhaps she had been following her vows too strictly. Perhaps Boldrei had intended for Eraina to learn from the Mourning Dawn ’s crew-and perhaps to teach them in turn? It seemed as if a few of them had adopted a stronger sense of honor since her arrival. Even Zed Arthen listened to her sometimes.

Her self-indulgent fantasies faded as she realized she had lost track of Arthen. She had been watching him the entire time. The man didn’t seem particularly stealthy, but he had somehow slipped away.

At the far side of the town square, the doors of a tavern burst open. Arthen staggered out into the street. He clutched a glass bottle in one hand as he leaned against the door frame unsteadily. A few passersby paused, wrinkling their noses in disgust before continuing on their way. Zed ignored them, scanning the crowd with a glassy stare till he found what he was looking for. He moved swiftly, pushing his way through the crowd and moving toward the three knights, staggering as he greeted them in a boisterous voice.

Eraina couldn’t hear the words from where she stood, but she guessed his intent. All three knights whirled to face Zed, their eyes wide with outrage. The largest knight’s hand moved to his sword. Zed broke his bottle over that one’s head, sending him sprawling in the street.

The crowd scattered quickly, though a handful stopped a safe distance away to watch the fight. Eraina sighed and began shoving her way through the chaotic mob. She hoped she could make it close enough to help Zed in case his reckless plan failed and he was hurt-though she couldn’t help feeling that the idiot deserved whatever happened to him.

“You call yourselves servants of the Flame?” Zed roared, his voice slurring. “My brothers died fighting your damned war. Where was the Flame when they died at Vathirond?”

One of the knights knelt to help his unconscious brother. The other glared at the broken bottle in Zed’s hand with extreme calm and spoke in a low voice. Eraina could not hear what the man said from this distance, but he was clearly trying to talk Zed down from his madness.

Eraina stopped, remembering her promise not to interfere. What did Arthen hope to accomplish by picking a public fight with the authorities in the center of town? To Eraina’s eyes, everything about Zed radiated falsehood. It was all an act, albeit a convincing one. She looked at the townspeople who had paused to watch the fight, studying their reactions. Most watched with detached, if morbid, curiosity. A few laughed at the spectacle, though not loudly enough to offend the knights. Two city watchmen shoved their way through the crowd with determined expressions, unseen by Zed.

There.

At the back of the crowd, two men watched the conflict with keen interest. They wore dark clothing and nondescript gray cloaks. One turned to whisper to his comrade, who quickly vanished into the crowd. Eraina followed the stranger as quickly as she could. The man jogged swiftly through the streets, glancing over his shoulder but taking no note of her. Though wary that he might be followed, he was unskilled at noticing a tail. The paladin pursued him at a safe distance, casually weaving through crowds to avoid drawing notice. She hoped that this random hunch didn’t amount to nothing.

The man ducked into a large building, closing the door behind him. Eraina quickly read the sign above the door.

KENRICKSON BROTHERS

UNDERTAKERS

There were few windows in the building. The ones she could see were tightly drawn and covered by black shades. A large wagon waited in a deserted alley beside the building, loaded with wooden coffins.