“What are those, Lae? What does all this mean?”
“I don’t know.” Laedron returned the stones to the bag and put it in his pocket. “I’m going to hold on to them until we know for sure.”
“What do we do now?”
Laedron retrieved the man’s wand and tucked it into his other boot. “Back to the dead guard. I need to see what I can discover about the body. It may lend a clue.”
Marac led the way back to the militiaman’s body, and Laedron searched the area for any sign of onyx stones.
“Nothing here. Nothing more than we already know, which isn’t much.”
Laedron reached for his wand, but Marac grabbed his hand before he could draw it.
“If we’re to do this, we’d better try the old-fashioned way-find witnesses and look around. If you’re discovered, we’d be in deep water.”
Laedron stood with a sigh, then turned when he heard a door close behind him. “Where was that?”
“Couldn’t tell,” Marac said.
Believing the source of the sound to be close, Laedron knocked on the door opposite the dead guard, then listened intently. He heard the shuffling of feet against a wooden floor on the other side, but no one answered. He knocked again.
A muffled, “Go away!” came from beyond the door.
“I won’t go away. Open, in the name of the militia,” Laedron said, trying to sound serious and authoritative.
The door creaked open only an inch or two. “What ye want?” The voice was that of an elderly male, probably crotchety and set in his ways, but little else.
“Did you see what passed here not long ago?” Laedron asked, pointing over his shoulder.
“No, and we don’t want any trouble. Go away.”
Before the man could slam the door, Laedron forced it open just enough to lodge his boot in the crack. “We’re not done here. If you’ve seen anything, you need to tell us.”
“What are you doing there?” a voice shouted from up the alley. The jingle of metal armor matched pace with footsteps, and Laedron recognized the newcomer as one of the younger militia guards.
“Investigating a crime,” Laedron replied. “Go get more guards. The killer is up this street. Take the next right, then turn right again. There you shall find him in a puddle of his own blood. Go!”
“You caught the one who did this?” the elderly man behind the door whispered, opening the door. “Is it true?”
The man wore a long, white beard identical to his hair, both unkempt and dirty. He gave off a horrible odor reminiscent of sweat and spoiled milk, and his clothes were those of a beggar.
“Yes,” Laedron said, trying to hide a grimace. “Now, will you tell me what you saw? Or do you insist on playing this game even still?”
“Lower your voice, young man. There are ears that might overhear us. Come in, and I shall tell you what I saw.”
Entering the cramped domicile, Laedron was thankful he hadn’t eaten anything recently because the smell and conditions within the pitiful house would have surely made him lose his stomach on the floor.
“What in the hells is that smell?” Laedron asked, unable to contain his disgust. “Are you harboring the dead beneath your floors?”
“My soup, young man. Sounds like you wouldn’t care for any.”
“If it’s putting off a scent like that, I think I’ll pass,” Laedron said, and Marac waved his hand in agreement.
“Well, have a seat, then.” The man gestured at a pair of rickety wooden chairs set around a matching table, then took a seat across from them. “Name’s Clarence.”
Laedron sat and folded his arms. “Laedron, and this is Marac. What did you see?”
“That young fellow there, the dead one, he was walking along and tapped another fellow on the back when he reached the barrels. They exchanged words too quiet for me to hear, then I saw a glimmer of light.”
“A glimmer of light?” Laedron asked, his interest piqued. “What did it look like?”
“Swirling, vibrant, and red. It wrapped around the guard, and only a few moments later, the militia man collapsed.”
“The man who did this, he had symbols along the back of his garb? Red embroideries?”
“Yes, and a scarf across his face.” Clarence paused. “Am I safe here?”
“Worry not. That one will trouble you no more.” Laedron stood. “Anything else?”
“That’s the best I can remember. What do you think this means, if you don’t mind me poking my nose around in it?”
“We know not,” Marac said, “but we shall find out. Keep your doors secure and report anything else you remember to Master Greathis.”
With a nod, the old man stood and let Laedron and Marac out. Laedron heard the slide of metal locking the door behind them once they reached the alley.
Seeing more militia approaching, Laedron pointed at the dead guard. “Take this one back to the headquarters, and you’ll find his murderer on the next street. Bring that one’s body to Greathis, too. We’ll keep up the patrol in case there are more.”
Once they had gotten farther up the alley and clear of the militia, Marac asked, “Do you mean to tell them about the stones?”
“No, not yet.” Laedron patted the pocket containing the black pouch. “I mean to do a little investigating before I reveal that piece of information.”
“What if Greathis could tell us more?”
“At worst, he might know exactly what they mean and not tell us anything because he works for the same people. He is Falacoran, after all. At best, he would know and tell us, but the risk far outweighs the good that might come of it.”
“You’re right. So, you think it’s not an isolated incident? A lone murderer on the prowl?”
“No, not from what we saw. A name tattooed on his neck written in Zyvdredi, these stones, and magic-no, he’s working for someone else, but I don’t know the purpose. We’ve come upon the identity of the killer and the reason guards have come up missing, but it creates even more questions.”
“Let’s keep searching. Perhaps there are more clues around here that we’re not seeing.”
Laedron shrugged. “Maybe. It’s worth a shot. If we don’t find anything, we should go see Greathis to feel him out and see what he can tell us.”
They continued patrolling for over an hour. Nothing seemed unusual or out of the ordinary, as best he could tell. He decided they should go visit Master Greathis, and Marac agreed.
* * *
When they arrived at the militia headquarters, Laedron took in the spectacle in front of the building. A squad of guards, with Greathis among them, were gathered around the dead body Laedron had found and the one he had caused. Several dozen regular citizens crowded the streets, craning their necks to see.
“Shouldn’t we take this inside?” Laedron asked. “It would appear a crowd is gathering.”
“Sergeant Wilkans just informed me of what happened, as I only just arrived myself,” Greathis replied. “Yes, bring the bodies inside and bar the doors. The rest of you, get on with your duties. Half of the city remains unwatched with you all here.”
Once inside, Laedron recounted everything that had happened, being careful to leave out the parts about the stones and the magical occurrences.
“No wounds. Not even bruising from strangulation,” Greathis said, searching the dead guard’s body. “He was too young to die of anything natural. How did he die?”
“I wish I knew.” Laedron shrugged. “We found him like this in the alley, and we searched for weapons or a cause of death. None could be found.”
Greathis turned to the other body. “Looks as if you are skilled with a dagger after all, young man. These symbols on his cloak, do they mean anything to you?”
Laedron swallowed deeply. “No, Master Greathis. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”
“I fear we may have mages afoot,” Greathis said, tracing the embroidery with a fingertip. “I haven’t seen runes like these in a long time.”
“You’ve seen them before?”
“Not exactly like these, no, but the style reminds me of mage writing.” Greathis rubbed his scruffy chin. “The Sorbian army is in Balfan, and we now have what seems to be a dead mage before us. Infiltration?”