Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

His guilt and grief all proven lies ,

A coward-now a hero-dies.”

It was, he thought, a fitting epitaph. And then the darkness closed in. Warm, welcoming, and permanent.

Zor, Therendor 26, 998 YK

Irulan felt her pulse pounding in her throat as they galloped through the shifter camp toward the gates of Aruldusk. Shifters, awakened by the early morning bells, scattered out of their way as they thundered past, and she didn’t blame them. Flame-burned horses , she thought as she gripped the saddle horn with both hands. If she wanted to be astride something that moved this swiftly, she’d take her chances on the roof of a lightning rail cart. At least elementals didn’t step into snake holes at breakneck speeds and kill themselves, along with their hapless riders.

As they neared the East Gate, she realized that the guards were not going to see Andri riding behind her in the saddle. Since Andri had chivalrously insisted that she ride in front of him, the guards were going to think some crazy shifter was barreling toward them on a warhorse for the Flame only knew what reason. They would feather her full of arrows first and check papers later.

“Andri! Slow down!”

She ducked as she yelled, pressing herself against the horse’s neck and trying to make Andri as visible as possible. As she felt the steed’s muscles surge beneath her-gaining speed, if anything-she realized she was also making him a perfect target.

Well, she thought, wrinkling her nose at the heavy scent of equine sweat, at least he’s wearing armor.

“Hold!”

Andri pulled the horse up just short of the gate, stopping so abruptly that she might have flown over the stallion’s neck if Andri hadn’t reached out and grabbed a handful of her tunic.

“What’s your business?”

Andri pulled out Riathan’s letter and passed it to the guard, the horse prancing in response to his impatience.

“I’m on the Cardinal’s urgent business, and you are delaying me.”

The guard read the letter over quickly, but stood his ground.

“What about her?” he said, gesturing to Irulan.

Andri, his fingers still bunched in her tunic, hauled her up unceremoniously into a sitting position. “She’s with me.”

“The letter doesn’t say anything about a shifter.”

Though Irulan couldn’t see the paladin’s face, she felt him go still.

“The letter,” he said, enunciating each word with painstaking clarity, “says that you are to render whatever aid I require. And I require that you stop acting like a fool and let us through -now.”

He spoke as if to a small child or a simpleton, though Irulan couldn’t imagine him ever using such a furious voice with anyone so innocent. And while a simpleton might have known enough to obey the tone, if not the words, this guard didn’t appear to be quite that smart.

“What’s going on here?”

Another guard in Thrane livery walked up-a captain, by the looks of him.

The gate guard showed him Andri’s letter.

“He wants to bring the shifter in.”

The captain perused the letter, his eyes widening slightly as he read. He stood up straighter.

“And you’re going to let him.”

“But-”

“Your pardon, my lord,” the captain said, raising his voice and glaring the other soldier into silence. “Hal is new to the guard and apparently has never seen the Diet crest before. Please forgive us for delaying you.”

“Of course,” Andri said, with icy politeness. “There’s been another murder?”

The captain nodded, handing the letter back to Andri.

“Yes, my Lord. In the Garden District, I believe, though I don’t know anything more than that. We’ve just been alerted to watch for shifters trying to leave the city.” He glanced at Irulan. At least he had the grace to look uncomfortable.

“Which explains perfectly why your man is trying to prevent one from entering,” Andri said, obviously still angry. He slapped the horse lightly with the reins to get it moving and maneuvered around the guards and through the gates without another word.

Behind them, Irulan heard the captain say, in a low voice, “Send a runner to the Bishop. Now.”

“Andri.”

“I heard. We can’t worry about that now. What’s the quickest way to the Garden District?”

Finding the way to the murder scene wasn’t difficult. They simply had to follow the crowd. For a city that had seen more murders in the past year than it usually saw in five, its people never seemed to tire of the spectacle-everyone wanted to gawk at a fate that could have been theirs but wasn’t, thank the Flame.

They had to dismount because the press of people was simply too great to navigate on horseback. Leading the warhorse by the reins, Andri pushed his way through the crowd, with Irulan trailing behind, dodging angry looks and occasional globs of spit.

Andri finally had to draw his sword and let the magical silver flames clear a path for them. When they got closer to the scene of the murder, the way was blocked by guardsmen who took one look at Andri’s blade and let them pass.

Irulan had never been in the Garden District and so was somewhat surprised at the overgrowth, the rundown nature of the homes, and the general aura of neglect. If memory served, most of Aruldusk’s old noble families lived in this area, the ones who still held out hope that one day the ir’Wynarn family would regain control of Thrane. Seeing how they lived, Irulan could understand why-if Queen Diani returned to the throne, the fading fortunes of her supporters would bloom again. It was a feeble hope, of course-Thrane had been a theocracy for nearly a hundred years now, and the people seemed content to let it remain so for another hundred. These nobles were stubbornly holding onto a way of life that was doomed to disappear. In that, Irulan mused, they were not so different from the camp shifters.

A group of people clustered around the body, which was stretched out in the middle of the street and covered with a scarlet cloak. More guards, a House Jorasco healer, and a dwarf who was barking orders. No priests yet, though that was bound to change.

As they neared, Andri extinguished his sword and sheathed it, but not before making sure the guards saw it. He walked up and handed the horse’s reins off to one of the flustered soldiers, telling the young woman to tend to the mount, as if he had every reason to expect his orders to be followed. And perhaps he did, for the guard obeyed without question.

“Who is in charge here?”

Another of the guards, this one considerably more seasoned, stepped forward.

“I am, sir. I’ve secured the scene and am waiting for the watch captain and His Excellency, Bishop Maellas, to arrive.”

“And who is he?” Andri asked, cocking his head toward the dwarf, who was busy examining the ground around the body and taking notes in a thin book.

The dwarf looked up. Irulan noted that his brown eyes were rimmed with red, as though he’d been drinking. Or holding back tears.

“I’m Greddark d’Kundarak,” he answered, not bothering to rise from where he knelt. “I’m an inquisitive in the employ of Zoden ir’Marktaros, here to investigate the murders.”

Irulan exchanged a quick look with Andri.

Ir’Marktaros. The brother of the man her own brother was accused of killing, and the only surviving witness to one of the murders.

“He’s back in town?” she asked. “Where is he?”

The dwarf pulled the cloak away, revealing the slack face and staring eyes of the blonde man they had rescued on the lightning rail to Sigilstar.

“Right here,” he replied bitterly, before reaching over to close the dead man’s eyes with surprising gentleness.