Chapter 3
Theos was not an impatient man by nature, but it seemed to him that after hours of laboriously pouring over Master Karth's Lineage, he should be somewhat nearer the truth than he had been when he'd started. The tome was just as dry and dusty as he had feared; Karth, it seemed, had had a penchant for being painstakingly precise and thorough. Essentially, Theos had 300 years worth of reading on every noble house in Thornwood, and there was nothing in any of it. Yawning, he glanced out of the window, only just taking in that it had grown dark outside. He really must have been at it for some good few hours now.
Still, he valiantly persisted in trying to stay awake. Mortred had asked after this very book before disappearing and Mortred simply had not been that kind of man. There had to be something in it… Sighing, Theos rubbed at his eyes, thumbing through the pages in a disheartened fashion, wishing that something would leap out at him.
With another sigh, he shifted in his chair to relieve some of the aching tension in his back. His eyes were drooping and his mind was tired, but he was too mentally invigorated to let a little thing like exhaustion stand in the way of discovery. Only maybe there wasn't anything to discover…
No, that was nonsense on his part speaking. Nonsense and defeat born of natural weariness. For the first time in years, Theos resented his age. When he had been a young man he had been strong enough to work diligently into the dark night, but now he was so weary, so tired… As a young man, he would have been strong enough to prevent King Drake from being unduly influenced by Baron Vyrun's extremist policies… but in his prime, Vyrun had only been a child.
Even as he struggled to find some clue to Mortred's disappearance, however, it was truly Drake that he grieved for. By the gods, how had he, Theos, been so blind? Why hadn't he seen what would, and now had, happen to his dear old friend? Against all likelihood and against the backdrop of a lonely childhood of being second in everything, Drake had risen to being king and he had pursued his duties vigorously with strength, dignity, conviction… But he who had been too often denied as a boy, he who had rarely felt the warmth that he craved from his family, he who had borne his burdens so patiently and well only to see the world fall apart around him, he who had seen his only son die of disease, surrounded by the best of healers… Was it any wonder that King Drake had let himself go in weakness and despair, tragedy and sorrow? Was it any wonder that his inner strength had collapsed in on him with Felix's death?
And yet for all of this, Theos could not reconcile Drake's willingness to turn to sheer evil. Isolationism was a bad enough idea in and of itself, but isolationism driven by suspicion and grounded in aggressiveness would only lead to evil. Within the decade fratricide, civil war, incest, casual murder… any of these things could become accepted as normality. Drake was too strong to do that, too good! And even aside from that, Thornwood was a unique case. It couldn't withdraw into itself. While King Drake's complaint about the lack of kingdoms in the west had some degree of veracity to it, in all the important ways, Thornwood's reign did extend all the way out there. With a lack of real power in the region and the always disturbing possibility that the violence of Grans would spill over onto the mainland, Thornwood filled a very real vacuum. If the stability of Thornwood was undermined to the extent that it closed its borders, West Parmecia would drown in blood. King Drake could not let that happen!
And yet, Theos could still feel those eyes on him, heavy and dead. He could still hear the king's sharply worded commands, ineffectual for all that. He could still see Drake turning away and into his backroom. He could still see the insecurity, the determination to adhere to absolute justice that had characterized Drake's reign…
No, Theos thought, no, my poor lonely friend, I cannot let you do this. I will not let you do this.
It was this which spurred Theos on to keep trying. Even so, thoughts kept interrupting his attempts to scan the pages. His feeling that something had changed about Castle Thornwood, something that had become older, greyer… Well it had, hadn't it? And yet, these recent developments did not explain that melancholy feeling he'd had so much of. If only he could remember…
Baron Vyrun, he decided abruptly, could have nothing to do it. The Baron was a dangerous young man, but he had left that conversation in disgust before any particulars of the book had been gone into. And now Sir Tristain was gone when he had been in such a state of agitation… like Mortred was gone… couldn't be found… King Drake, understandable, but still… Vyrun was too curt… the birds… the birdsong was constant… children laughing… were there any children anymore… birds…
At that moment, Theos sat up in his chair in electrified alarm, a startled exclamation coming to his lips. It was such a simple little sign; he could hardly believe he hadn't seen it. But it had been at that curious stage where he had not been quite awake, as his eyelid had been drooping down, that he had suddenly noticed what was in his field of vision… A barely perceptible triangle of parchment protruding from the binding, about halfway between either ends of the spine.
Theos was looking at the clumsily left behind remains of at least one page that had been removed from the book. Doubt left his mind. The fact that the vandalism had occurred proved that there was indeed some sort of conspiracy here. Something important enough to kill for…
Sir Mortred had been somewhat abstracted the last few days before his disappearance, and then he had asked for this book. Theos hadn't properly thought it through, before, but now he saw quite clearly that Mortred must have known something, or suspected, at any rate, and he had come to the book for some kind of corroboration. But what could he want with the lineage of ancient houses?
Peering excitedly at the text again, Theos realized that the perpetrator of the vandalism had been quite clever. There was no section on any noble house that was completely missing, and whatever pages had been removed hadn't only taken pertinent information, but had, apparently, taken trouble to make it seem as though there was nothing missing. The jump from the page that Theos was on to the next (the beginning of the section on house Wynderly) looked perfectly natural, marred only by the remaining scrap of the page.
And wasn't that odd, now that he chanced to think on it… Clearly a great deal of care had been taken in stealing the relevant pages. Perhaps the enemy had been in a hurry near the end.
The questions that truly interested Theos, however, were who and why. But he would have to work backwards from whatever Mortred had stumbled upon… With the relevant pages missing, what hope did Theos have of working his way backwards, to discover the truth that Mortred evidently had known and died for? He would have to rely on the little pieces of insight that he was receiving into this conspirator's mind. The careful removal of these pages and the toned back feel to the whole scheme was very clever, very subtle.
The old man sighed a bit disconsolately, snuggling up against the cushion in his chair. Well, one thing was settled. It was not Mephisto after all. There would have been nothing even remotely relating to that dangerous maniac in this book. No, this was an internal matter. Someone in the Castle…
It was the extremity of it that distressed Theos. Surely killing Mortred was too direct a method of handling him? Although, now that he chanced to think on it, even that part of the scheme was rather clever. There would be nothing to indicate that Mortred's disappearance was not a chance of misfortune within the Labyrinth were it not for this slight bit of paper that Theos had found.
But who could be behind it? Mortred must have known, or at least suspected, but Mortred was gone. Mayhaps he had murmured something of his suspicions to his son? Theos would have to make a point of following up on that possibility, discreetly of course. The conspirator had already proven that he held life very cheap. Tristain must know something of the truth too, for he had persisted investigating Mortred's disappearance, dissatisfied with the apparent explanation offered by the proximity of the Labyrinth. And now Sir Tristain could not be found…
A chill ran through Theos as an even worse possibility occurred to him. Sir Tristain had asked after Mortred, specifically brought Theos around to mentioning the book, could no longer be found… Was that all his way of making sure he had the leisure to remove the pertinent pages? No, it couldn't be. Not Tristain. Not in Thornwood. And then there was Baron Vyrun again.
Had Vyrun still been with them by the time Theos mentioned the book? He just could not recall. Baron Vyrun couldn't have anything to do with it… but the Baron did have a lot to gain. Yes, a lot to gain.
If only there was more time… the birds might know… Baron Vyrun and Sir Tristain… Mortred… the birds…
--
Theos came to his senses uncomfortably stiff and cold. He groaned slightly at the wet feel of his own drool, and glared at the blindingly bright light pouring in through his window. After a moment, the truth dawned on him. He must have drifted to sleep in his chair as his mind kept reviewing the possibilities. With another groan, Theos tried to rise to his feet, but he couldn't manage it.
Glaring around the room, he saw that Grak was busily working on what smelled like breakfast. The servant was dressed in disgusting frippery of a hideously orange color. "Grak," he complained peevishly, "that is the vilest color I've ever laid my eyes on."
"Yes, master," Grak said absently. "Would you like your breakfast now?"
"Don't patronize me, Grak!"
"Of course, master," he agreed in an inoffensive tone of voice. "Perhaps you'd prefer to take breakfast with the king?"
Theos groaned again, trying to think. His head felt hideously muddled. "No good comes out of sleeping in chairs," he muttered to himself. He'd have to try to remember that. But his duty to Thornwood superseded his comfort… Of course! Struggling to his feet, he gasped, "No time, no time. I need to speak to, ah, Sir Hiro. Find him."
"I'm sorry, master, but Sir Hiro left the Castle last night. I'm afraid there's no way I could bring him to you at the moment."
Theos's skin prickled uncomfortably. First Sir Mortred had disappeared and then Tristain… "Is there any word of Sir Tristain?"
"He has not returned since asking for you before, master." Grak pursed his lips disapprovingly. "I believe he said something about some business in the town. Now then, you really should eat something."
Theos threw his arms up in disgust and allowed Grak to mother him. It wasn't so much that Grak was a bad cook, he just wasn't a very good one and Theos had far too much on his mind this morning to be very interested in food. The porridge wasn't too disgusting, however, so Theos supposed he had that much to be grateful for.
By the time the breakfast was over, Theos was itching to be up and about, hunting about for whatever he could discover. He had far too much on his mind to realize that for the first time in days, he wasn't thinking of the past or of his frailties. Halfway out of the door, he paused, realizing something incongruous. "Grak," he asked, "why exactly are you wearing that hideous thing?"
The tall servant blinked. "There's the feast, this evening, master," he reminded Theos gently. "We must all of us be properly dressed."
"Oh. Yes. Quite." Hobbling out of the door, Theos muttered to himself, "Though if that color qualifies as 'properly dressed' then there's no fashion anymore."
In short order, Theos found himself accosted by one of Baron Vyrun's soldiers, Dai. That filled the old man with a vague sense of disquiet, which it took him a moment to properly identify. He hadn't truly realized it over the past several days, but the Castle was simply crawling with Baron Vyrun's swords…
Trying as best he could to quiet his suspicions, Theos reminded himself that the Baron had been ordered to investigate Mortred's disappearance. Of course he would bring in his men. The gelfling shouted, "Lord Theos! His Grace would like to see you."
"Oh, does he? Yes, I suppose that he does. Very well. We should probably be off, don't you think?" Dai blinked at him a few moments, and then turned, leading Theos off to the king's pavilion.
Theos sighed deeply. "The birdsong is so sad this morning, do you not think?"
"Ah… yes. Certainly." The slight quaver in Dai's voice spoke volumes, however.
He thinks me old and senile. Well, perhaps I am.
On a sudden impulse, Theos said, "You were friends with Prince Felix, weren't you?"
Dai looked startled. "I… yes. It was sad when he died. I miss him."
Theos lapsed into a worried, abstracted silence. For the first time since the Crown Prince's death, he was really remembering Felix as a person. He wouldn't have made a bad king necessarily, although he was, perhaps, a bit weak, a bit too eager to please. But it had been very strange, the way that he had died despite the healers that had surrounded him…
For the second time that morning, Theos felt his skin prickling. No, surely not, the thought alone was monstrous. And there would have been no reason to kill Felix, the business with Mortred had come nearly three years after… unless that had been what had originally woken Mortred's suspicions… and if near the end of his quest for knowledge, his guard had slipped a bit and he had been killed?
No! Shaking slightly, Theos reminded himself that he had to resist stooping to sheer fancifulness. He was an old man after all, it was only natural that he'd want to reminisce, but this was going too far… Still that did bring up an important point. There was still a negotiable way to stop Baron Vyrun's polices from influencing King Drake too much, whilst Theos quietly investigated this other affair. The key was Princess Jessa. As long as she was quickly married off to another country, Thornwood would have to keep diplomatic relations open; King Drake loved his daughter too well to do anything less. And it would also be safest for Jessa to be out of the country, just in case there was anything in Felix's death. Not that there was. There simply couldn't be.
The only problem was that when Theos had mentioned such a possibility the other day, King Drake had flown into an unreasoning rage over it. But then again, Drake had been half-drunk at the time. Surely that was all. It had to be all.
Absently thanking Dai, he hobbled into the open pavilion, and there he found his king. Drake's face was still ravaged by the consequences of self-indulgence, but he looked a little less sullen, if just as tired. Theos decided that it was a hopeful sign.
"Theos," Drake mumbled, waving his drinking horn around. "There's to be a tourney today, did you know that? They couldn't find Tristain though…" for a moment a cloud hung over the king's face, but it passed quickly. "And the feast tonight," he added, casually stuffing his mouth with eggs from his plate.
Drake wasn't really ready to listen, Theos surmised sadly. He wanted to talk. And talk Drake did, but Theos didn't really listen. He sat there, feeling somewhat sad and lost as Drake mumbled inanities and freely drank the dark ale in front of him. "Theos…" Drake suddenly complained, "I'm the king. You might as well do me the courtesy of listening to me, once in a while."
Theos looked up and met the king's gaze for a long moment. He opened his mouth, although he wasn't quite certain what he would say. Drake suddenly blurted out, "I am sorry, Theos. Truly. For you, I mean. I am sorry." And then King Drake groaned, passing a heavy hand over his face. "Gods, Theos… how did we come to this? Look at what the world has done to us… You've seen what it does to me."
Startled Theos stared at the change that had just come over him. Though sunk in a bout of depression for the moment, this was the friend he'd known and loved, this was the king he'd been looking for. If Theos could find proof of what had happened to Mortred, this man would listen.
"Your Grace," he said tentatively, "about the Princess…"
"She's too young to be interested in getting married," Drake objected, irrationally.
"She's nearly nineteen, Your Grace," Theos reminded him. "And the only surviving blood to the throne. She must needs wed… and also, with things so dangerous here, might it not be prudent for the Princess to be sent away for a while?"
He heaved a silent sigh of relief at the second point he had made. It was evidently the master-stroke he had required. As he had started his argument, Drake was already opening his mouth to interrupt, but when Theos had thrown in the issue of her safety, the king's expression had become one of consternation.
Sensing that Drake was not quite ready to give in, Theos pressed forcefully, "This will be the best chance you ever have of expanding our realms to the west, if you create a blood relationship with one of our allies."
"Perhaps," muttered Drake. "It might be worth the trying…"
Vyrun's voice suddenly sounded from the opening of the pavilion. "A true king does not kneel," he said acidly.
Drake bristled. "I kneel to no one! Keep a civil tongue in your head, Vyrun."
"I am overjoyed to hear it," the Baron replied expressionlessly. "Now is the time to show West Parmecia strength, rather than weakness. They forfeited the rights to alliance with us by means of that disgusting attack, yesterday."
"No, Your Grace," gasped Theos. "You must not do this, it is unthinkable. Evil!"
"And what would you advise him to do, Theos?" Baron Vyrun's look and tone were decidedly cool. "Tell him how he may hold half a kingdom by selling his daughter?"
"ENOUGH!" Drake lurched to his feet and flung his drinking horn at Vyrun. Though portly, the Baron dodged the oncoming missile well enough. "Enough," he repeated in a more moderate tone. "From both of you!"
I am losing him, Theos thought in despair. "Please, Y"
"Out," bellowed the king. "Out with both of you! I've had enough of this! Thornwood will continue with its plans and there will be no changes to them! Now out!"
Theos bowed his head and hobbled out of the pavilion, consumed with a fresh wave of despair. He had come so close to reaching his old friend, but he had failed and Drake would continue this ruinous course. As he tried to hobble away, Baron Vyrun caught him up.
"You're really exciting yourself over very little, my dear Theos. Perhaps we should have a little talk together. You might appreciate some of the finer points of what I'm attempting to do here, you know."
Theos stopped, feeling rigid with indignation. Vyrun had no right to speak to him this way. The arrogance of it was infuriating. Theos was just as much a counselor to King Drake as the Baron, after all. "You," he snapped angrily, "are a populist rabble rouser and a bootlicker to boot! You're a liar, a craven, a bully, just as your lord father always feared you would be! He would be so disappointed in you."
Vyrun stood there for what seemed an eternity, and then his face twitched. Theos was struck in that moment by the presence that Vyrun possessed. Strong, overweight, balding, badly dressed, and, most absurdly of all, truly intimidating. When he finally spoke, however, the Baron's voice was as tightly controlled as ever. "I will tell you this once. You will never speak of my father again, and," he shoved Theos roughly aside, "you will stay out of my way, old man."
--
"It was outrageous," Hiro muttered sulkily.
Lupo arched a very thin brow at that pronouncement. "Oh really? Baron Vyrun was well within his rights, it seemed to me…"
"You weren't there," Hiro snapped.
"Only because Dai said that only one of us could go through, for security reasons. Given the fact that he had a sword, I was not inclined to argue the point."
Hiro ignored that, pressing his point with bitter urgency. "Vyrun had no right to speak to Lord Theos that way. That old man has done more for Thornwood than that idiot could ever hope to do. It was disgraceful the way he just brushed Theos off. I tell you, Lupo, things have changed."
At that moment, Milo came jogging over and collapsed next to the two knights, heaving great gasps of air. "Gods," he puffed, "I find myself impressed with you, Hiro. For all the seedy pursuits you've taken up… you're remarkably… fit."
Hiro eyed his friend askance. "Of course I am; you seem to forget that I am a knight. And 'seedy?'" He stopped off at that as another thought occurred to him. Though Milo appeared as finicky as ever, he was remarkably well-built and strong. "You're not really exhausted at all, are you?"
Milo chuckled, but his expression was pained. He sat up and stopped gasping for breath immediately. "No," he admitted candidly. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention the fact, however. It proves useful, from time to time."
Lupo murmured, "And imagine, from a priest no less. I thought that deceit was not to be practiced."
"Lupo," complained Hiro, "do you have to make a clever comment out of everything?"
The beastman shrugged, suddenly grinning. "Call it a character flaw, if you like."
Milo said with lively interest, "You know, I don't think that that last one really qualifies. As I recall, I once read the exact same thing in some book or other. The effort's not bad though."
Hiro silently groaned to himself as the two immediately engaged on a conversation that grew increasingly obscure, and all over whether or not Lupo had legitimately made a clever remark! It was ridiculous to large degrees of the word.
He looked up, idly, and there was Pyra, the last one to finish her laps, as per usual. Training wasn't always the most interesting way to spend time, but at least it was constant and could be used fairly often. Pyra dropped to the ground, gasping loudly. Hiro turned his gaze to the grass, intensely aware that this was probably the moment he could best utilize, but he shied away from the prospect. Besides the distinct difficulty of being rather inept at such things, he would prefer not to have Lupo and Milo as an audience.
"Milo," he said abruptly, cutting straight through some blather that Lupo was arguing, "whatever did you learn about Gila's body?"
The priest in-training's face immediately became serious. "He definitely put up a fight against whatever killed him. And there was… well, a sort of sense of darkness in the wounds. The Priest thinks he must have been killed by a sorcerer's spells." Milo was frowning though.
"But," suggested Hiro, "you don't agree with that assessment?"
"I'm sure that it's right… after a fashion at least. However, that doesn't explain the nature of the wounds. And those were definitely made before Gila was killed. I think he was killed by a sword imbued with darkness, if you want my honest opinion."
"Those things haven't been seen for centuries!"
"That was the Priest's objection as well, but it's consistent with the nature of the wounds, the manner of the death, and the magical residue in the body."
Hiro stood then, feeling all of his vague doubts resurfacing. His thoughts had turned completely away from the matters in the court; this had to do with Father. He was certain. "I think we'd better investigate this further ourselves."
Lupo looked at him questioningly. "Against the Baron's orders?"
Hiro shrugged. "He didn't say that we weren't authorized either. I never happened to bring it up."
"That's thin. Very thin."
"Hey," Pyra interjected, "I really, really hate to interrupt you boys when you've finally learned the rudiments of thinking, but, really, I'm feeling just slightly left out here. I don't think anyone of you has actually, like, acknowledged my presence here. That's kind of crushing to a girl's ego, you know?"
Milo chuckled and Lupo drawled out some witticism, but Hiro didn't really hear either one of them. He turned to look at Pyra, suddenly faced with the difficulty of having this before him. It wasn't really the right time to indulge in sentimentality, but Hiro didn't know quite how to avoid bringing it out into the open here. It was something that he needed to do…
"Pyra," he began, carefully, "this is, ah… well I think that I…" he floundered helplessly for a few moments before deciding to just take the simplest approach. "Well it seems to me that, I have, ah… well that is I've come to the regrettable conclusion that I'm hopelessly in love with you!" Having picked up speed with the second part of his declaration, he moved with a bit more confidence, now that the subject was inevitably embarked on. Stuttering slightly, he continued, "Now, I… ah, I assure you that, had it been my choice, I would have… ah, gladly… foregone this regrettable necessity. That is, I would have chosen not to be in this… ah… distasteful position. However, resolved as I am to the fact that I am, indeed, irrationally attached, it seems best to me that I ah…" He gave up at that point. "So maybe we could achieve some equitable arrangement?"
There was a long silence which Pyra finally broke. "Wow," she said in a fairly nondescript tone.
"Not bad," Milo said, conversationally. "Not bad at all, Hiro. It certainly had a sort of rhythm to it that was very good. Awkwardly charming of course, but if you want to use that as a tactic, then I might suggest that you need some practice with it." He broke off for a moment, and then added in a gravely thoughtful tone of voice, "Pretty dreadful timing, though."
"Milo," snapped Pyra, "stuff a sock in it. That was absolutely adorable, and you're analyzing it!"
Lupo yawned. "Well, I suppose it had to happen to him eventually, though I can't say much for his taste." The beastman paused abruptly, as if suddenly aware that he might have gone too far. "No offense intended, of course."
"None taken." Pyra smiled sweetly at him. "I don't overly concern myself with the aesthetic judgments of flea-ridden dogs."
Lupo winced. "I suppose that I deserved that one."
"Yes," she agreed with him. "You really did. Now then," she turned back to Hiro, a smug little smile touching her lips. "You make it really hard to say 'no,'" she informed him, "so why don't we say that I'll think about it?"
Hiro shrugged, attempting to regain his previous calmness of manner. "Well, I find that perfectly equitable. Splendid. With that little matter attended to, perhaps we should go and look into this matter of Gila's death. You agree?" He spread his hands out, looked to see any objections, saw none, and strode off at once.
Pyra's voice sounded behind him, "I hope he keeps that up. It actually is, really, really cute."
"You're cruel, Pyra," Milo accused her. "Can't you understand that that was the desperate act of a rational man attempting to resolve the fact that he has emotions? And now you're treating him as some sort of pet."
Hiro couldn't stop himself from snorting at that. Pyra's manner wasn't really that offensive, and Milo was just being pompous. He did have something of a point though. Hiro didn't really like the fact that he had this irrational attraction to Pyra, but there was no way to resolve that other than to go forward. For the rest of the walk, he managed to ignore the lot of them.
--
Hiro stopped short, abruptly, staring at a little alley that ran parallel to Old Vyk's. Lupo said slyly, "And I thought we were stopping at the bar after getting a few questions answered."
Milo answered before Hiro had a chance. "No, Lupo, I saw it too. This is serious. There was a… cloaked, hooded man slipping down that alley."
"What? Nobody has covert business in this little village."
Hiro advanced towards the alley, his face set. "Exactly."
As he cautiously stepped into the shaded, narrow area, he caught another glimpse of the cloak, disappearing through a window. "Come on," he muttered, and he ran along quickly to the window. "Dammit," he muttered. "I'll need a boost to see what's going on."
Milo and Lupo silently came over, each taking one leg of his. As Hiro got his first glimpse of the room that the man had disappeared into, he reported, "It's Vyk's alright. His taproom."
He fell silent, as the figure reached a hand up inside his robe, jerking the hand slightly. Hiro frowned in puzzlement, but then the figure turned to Old Vyk who had come rushing through the door, and pushed his hood back.
Hiro fell backwards in shock, a startled curse coming to his lips. He crashed into the hard cobblestones with a muffled cry of pain. Milo strained to get up to the window himself, while Lupo grabbed Hiro by the shoulder. "What is it," demanded the beastman. "What in Rune is going on, here?"
Still slightly numbed by shock, Hiro said, "I think it's… I saw… it's Sir Tristain."