Chapter 5: Luthedain

Chamberg, present. October. Four months after the Great Animal attack.

"Well, someone needs to state the obvious," Lord Rogers said. "This smells like a trap."

Rogers slid the letter with Odette's cryptic message back onto the small table where Derek had first revealed it. Derek had called Rogers, his mother and his best friend, Bromley, into his private parlor that evening. He'd hoped for their support. At the very least he'd expected a small display of excitement at the unlooked-for clue. But at the moment, all three of their faces showed varying degrees of skepticism or pity.

"For what purpose?" Derek argued. "Whoever placed this 'hear no evil' curse on our kingdom, they've already proven they can hit us at home. Why bother drawing me out?"

"Typical," Rogers returned dryly. "You young people always think your lives are as bad as they can get. Your problem is that you lack imagination."

"All right," Derek replied, thinking appeasing Rogers now might make him more amenable later. "What is your worst-case scenario?"

"Picture this," Rogers said. "You arrive in Luthedain, and the mayor greets you. He's been expecting you, but he acts surprised. He insists you stay in his mansion, of course. He wines and dines you that evening, and you show him your mysterious letter. His eyes light up, because he knows exactly what location that riddle points to."

"How would he know that?" Derek scoffed. "Just look at the message. 'There are no tomatoes in the fire markets of Luthedain,' and there are no fire markets there either!"

"I don't know. Maybe there's a forge in Luthedain owned by a blacksmith who's allergic to tomatoes. You're missing the point," Rogers continued. "The next morning the mayor has his servants take you to the riddle's source. Once you're deep in the forest, a band of mercenaries ambushes you. Or masked ninjas, if they lead you into the city. Some of his servants are badly injured, but they make it out alive. You are not so lucky. Whether the mayor was threatened or bribed, you'll never know. Meanwhile, Chamberg will have a new heir who might already be in the pockets of our enemies."

"Hey, Rogers, can I have a go?" Bromley asked. "Let's say these enemies don't kill Derek. Maybe they bewitch him, so he acts mostly like the crown dolt we all know and love, but he does their bidding whenever they need him to. Or they do kill him, and one of them steals his face and his memories, and a doppelganger comes back."

"That's bleak," Rogers said. "Our prince returns home, humbled and contrite but safe, and our enemy inherits the throne."

"Stop it! Stop it, both of you." Queen Uberta rose from her chair. Her right hand was shaking, but her voice was steady. "The life of our crown prince is not a subject for jokes."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, Your Majesty," Bromley said quickly.

"I wasn't joking, Your Majesty," Rogers said. But he lowered his eyes at another wordless glare from the queen. Having chastened her advisor, the queen turned her gaze to her son.

"Do not," she said slowly, "make the mistake of thinking our curse at home makes you immune to danger abroad. Why does a hunter set fire to a den of foxes?"

Derek didn't want to answer, but he knew his mother deserved one.

"To smoke them out," he replied tersely.

"Odette wrote letters to many people," his mother said gently. "It is not impossible that someone could have forged her handwriting."

"If we thought that about every letter we received, we couldn't trust anything. Our entire intelligence system would fall apart," Derek pointed out. "This postscript refers to a very specific memory. Even if a handful of people knew about our visit to the fire market, how would they know we talked about tomatoes?"

"Lucky guess," Rogers said. "How many people saw the two of you pelt each other with tomatoes at the royal harbor when you were teenagers?"

Derek threw up his hands. "I'm tired of waiting for Merduin's so-called experts to break our kingdom's curse. This is the first lead we've had in months. I'm taking it."

"If you're determined to do this, these are my conditions," Queen Uberta said rigidly. "First, you will send a message home at least once every day letting me know your current whereabouts and using your family code name."

"I don't know where this clue will lead," Derek protested. "How can I possibly guarantee that?"

"Horseman, pigeon, talking squirrel, I don't care," the queen said. "If I don't receive your first message four days from now, and another message every day thereafter, so help me, I will send the Order of the Rowan to ransack Luthedain until you or your body are found.

"Second, you will return home after a month if this…riddle…fails to yield any useful information. If you do find something useful, you will still return after one month so we can decide how to act on it. What you're doing impacts the entire kingdom, and I am still your queen. These are my terms. Do you accept them?"

"I do, Mother," Derek said. If his mother was upset that he had not addressed her as Your Majesty in that moment, she did not show it. She stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. It was no longer shaking, he noticed.

"Then go with my blessing," she said. "And may the strength of the rowan and the cunning of the raven guide your way."

It was a two-day ride north to Luthedain by the most direct route, which Derek did not intend to take. When he and Bromley left the palace the following morning, they rode four and a half miles south along the main road out of the capital, before veering off into the woods and doubling back northwest. The queen had let slip a rumor to a few servants that they were traveling to Rebegend, one of Chamberg's southern provinces, to scout possible locations for next year's May Festival.

By the time he and Bromley began riding northwest, the sun had already passed noon. They made camp in the forest that evening, and the following one. They relied on dried venison, fruit and bread from the palace kitchens for meals. Derek supposed he could have tried hunting small animals for their supper. Squirrels and rabbits were much harder to bag, and it would have been good practice. But he didn't know what awaited them in Luthedain, or what could be waiting for them on the road they were trying so hard to avoid. At this point, he didn't want to waste arrows on anything that didn't matter.

By noon on the third day, they had reached the border of the kingdom of Lincolnshire. The terrain was getting steeper and more treacherous this close to the mountains, forcing them onto the road. But if luck held out, they would be in Luthedain before sunset.

As they broke the last of the stale bread, Bromley suggested that he ride into town first, and that Derek follow half an hour later. And by all means, they should avoid each other's company until at least the midnight bell. As crown prince of Chamberg, there was a decent chance someone would recognize Derek, which could generate plenty of false leads from opportunists or sycophants. Alone and anonymous, Bromley had a better chance of getting solid information.

"Won't they recognize you too? You're my best friend," Derek pointed out. Bromley touched his chest in a gesture of mock affection.

"And you're my best friend. But this is one of the things you're phenomenally stupid about," Bromley said. "Outside the palace, I'd guess maybe a few dozen people know who I am. At most. When we get beyond the capital, I could count them on one hand."

"But you've gone with me all across the kingdom!" Derek protested. "People have had plenty of chances to see you."

"And yet they don't," Bromley said. "I've seen it hundreds of times. Whenever we're together in public, people look right past me and straight at you." It was amazing to Derek the lack of bitterness in his friend's voice. If anything, Bromley seemed to relish his obscurity.

"Would it help me keep a low profile if I just wore a hooded cloak everywhere?" Derek asked, only half joking. Bromley looked horrified.

"Oh, hell no," he said. "When has that ever worked? Normal people don't walk the streets or drink beer in taverns with their hoods up, unless it's exceptionally cold. You'll just stand out even more. But don't worry too much," Bromley went on. "There's a chance no one will recognize you either. Most people only see their monarchs every few years, if they're lucky. And you aren't even Lincolnshire's crown prince."

"I'll try not to be too offended if they don't," Derek said.

The sun was at least an hour from setting when Luthedain came into view, a cluster of several dozen thatched roofs surrounded by mountains on either side. Bromley winked as he led his horse onto the road into town.

"I won't forget my promise, Your Highness," Bromley said. "I vow to be utterly useless in combat, but I will use my innocuous, forgettable face in the service of greater Chamberg intelligence. Meet up outside the Shrinking Violet between midnight and one?"

Derek nodded and watched his friend ride off. During the half-hour he'd promised to wait, he wracked his brains again for what could possibly pass for a fire market in this town. In the whole of their three-day journey, the best he'd come up with was the signature fire whiskey served at the Crimson Dragon. His mother had forbidden him to try it, even though the legal drinking age in Lincolnshire was sixteen, so Derek never let her know when he finally did. Had he ever mentioned that tavern to Odette? He honestly couldn't remember.

What have I got to lose? Derek thought thirty minutes later as he urged his horse onto the road. The Crimson Dragon was as good a place to start as any. And if he kept his head down, he might overhear something useful.

He hadn't been to the Crimson Dragon in nearly three years. The bartender tonight was unfamiliar, which Derek took to be a good sign. In as few words as possible, he requested a mug of dark lager. He could skip the fire whiskey; he had no intention of compromising his judgment tonight. After trading a few copper coins for his drink, Derek made for a small table against the far wall, near enough to the bar that he could hear the conversations of any new guests.

He tried to nurse his mug, sipping only every five or ten minutes to make it last as long as possible. Perhaps a couple dozen more guests meandered into the bar over the next hour or two. Derek did his best to catch their conversations while leaning back against the wall, occasionally closing his eyes. But most of what he heard was personal or mundane. Stable roof's leaking again. Too many feral cats on the streets. My son's named all the pigs on our farm, so now we can't have bacon for a year.

A sharp clunk on the table broke his concentration. When he glanced up, surprised, another mug of lager sat in front of him. The bartender smiled and nodded in the direction of a table by the fireplace. An elderly man with a shabby, wide-brimmed grey hat sat alone. Evidently, this drink was a gift from him. The old man tipped his hat and gestured to his table, which had an entire pitcher of whatever he was drinking.

Derek raised the new mug in thanks. But rather than accept the old man's invitation, he mirrored the gesture and invited the man to his own table. There was a real risk of causing offense. But Derek was in a cautious mood. The man shrugged, offered a friendly smile and rose, making his way toward the prince's table. He brought the pitcher with him.

"Permit me to be the first t'welcome you to Luthedain, Your Highness," the old man said. He folded his hands on the table as he sat and kept them there, to signal he had no ill intent. Derek did the same.

"What gave it away?" Derek asked.

"Nothing obvious you did tonight, if that's what you're worried about," his companion said. "I'm a regular. I was here when you came in…three years ago? Asked for a mug of fire whiskey, you did. Didn't realize it was usually served in two-ounce shots. But the bartender poured out a full mug anyway. He figured you was royalty, so you could afford to pay up."

Derek groaned. "Do you remember how much of it I drank?"

"Too much!" the old man said with a hearty laugh. "Based on your drink tonight, I'd say ye've learned a bit since then."

"You seem to know more about me than I know about you," Derek remarked.

"Of course! Forgive me, Your Highness. My name is Matthias Windham. Old Windbag, some of them call me around here."

"Honored to make your acquaintance, Master Windham," Derek said politely. "To what do I owe the free drink?"

"Old man's curiosity, I s'ppose," Matthias said. "The last we heard up here, you were still obsessed with huntin' the Great Animal. Luthedain seems a strange place to look."

"Nothing is what it seems these days," Derek said with a noncommittal shrug. King William's dying words were well known to most who had heard the story of the Great Animal; it was probably safe to repeat them here.

"True enough," Matthias said. "There are rumors of something unnatural at work here too. Livestock getting killed if they stray too far north. Strange marks—not like wolves, y'understand? The claw cuts are too wide and too deep."

"Go on," Derek said.

"A couple kids got lost a few weeks back too, up by the ruins of the Red Temple. They found 'em, but they was all dazed when they got back. Mumbling about a dark enchanter and a giant bat."

"I remember hearing about the Red Temple," Derek said. "Luthedain used to cremate its dead, didn't it?"

"You know your history," Matthias said approvingly. "That was centuries ago, a'course. Before we joined Lincolnshire. Cremation was free. But for a small donation, the Fire Priests would place a loved one's ashes in a small alcove in the walls."

A small donation, Derek thought. Morbid as it was, he supposed a crematorium with paid resting places for the deceased could be a different sort of fire market.

Matthias rubbed the back of his neck. "I could take you there tonight. Show you where the kids was found. They didn't move the livestock. The latest corpse is nearly a week old, but maybe ye'd see something there that would help your little quest."

"Why tonight?" Derek asked. "Wouldn't it be easier to see any signs left behind in the morning?"

"Not these kinds of signs, Your Highness," Matthias said with a dark chuckle. "I told you, these are unnatural forces. The footprints of magic are always clearest under moonlight."

Derek slowly pushed the new mug of lager away, which he still had not tasted.

"There is no moon tonight," Derek said. "And you're not what you seem either."

The old man who called himself Matthias Windham smiled grimly and leaned forward. He wasn't even going to try pretending anymore, Derek realized. And that made him dangerous. His gnarled right hand slid across the table. Derek withdrew his hands immediately, but instead of reaching for Derek, the old man seized Derek's mug. Derek heard sounds of cracking and snapping inside of it. Still smiling, the old man tipped the mug over. Nothing happened. The lager had frozen solid.

"Do you see that, Your Highness?" Matthias asked quietly, all traces of a country accent gone. "I could just as easily freeze the blood in your veins."

"Then why bother with your charade?" Derek asked coldly. "Why not wait for me to leave and kill me in the street when no one's watching?"

"Oh, someone's always watching you, little prince. The enchanter's little birds have been watching you since you left your castle."

"So you're just the messenger. You work for someone else," Derek concluded, narrowing his eyes. "Who's this enchanter who sent you?"

"Wouldn't you love to know?" Matthias said with another grim smile. He took a swallow from his own mug. "But we don't have to be enemies, Highness. I know people who can lift your kingdom's curse, and people who can make it much, much worse. The same people, of course."

"Which would leave Chamberg entirely at your mercy. You think I'd allow that?" Derek said. At that, Matthias broke into a laugh mid-drink that abruptly turned into a sputtering cough. It was an oddly human display that was probably designed to unsettle him. Derek used the moment to slide his hand beneath the table, feeling his quiver of arrows to his left.

"You really are blind, aren't you?" Matthias said when he recovered, wiping a few tears of laughter from his eyes. "You're already at our mercy. Those mediocre snobs in Merduin can't break the spell on your kingdom, because they're too afraid of the power it took to cast it. Or were you too busy to notice, while you've been playing the noble, questing hero?"

Matthias almost certainly meant to strike a nerve with that remark. Derek was determined not to let him know he had succeeded. Matthias sat back, rotating the frozen mug in his hands.

"We're not interested in ruling Chamberg. All we want is an ally," he continued.

"A vassal, you mean," Derek said. "To pay you tribute and fight your battles. We'll take our chances on our own."

"Wait then, if you dare, little prince. Once the Cygnian Dynasty falls and Cymdros bows to its new Warlock King…once we skewer the heads of their self-righteous Council on seven spikes outside the city gates…then Chamberg will consider itself lucky to be our vassal, and not our enemy. If that door is still open to you."

Derek raised his rowan bow in his right hand. Matthias gaped at him, and then threw back his head and laughed.

"What do you plan to do with that in here?" he asked.

"Not much," Derek said. Sweeping the bow across the table, he knocked the frozen mug out of Matthias hands. Then he slammed the bow over Matthias' right arm, pinning it to the table. With his left hand, he drove an arrow point he'd snapped off during their conversation deep into Matthias' palm. As Matthias shrieked, Derek dumped the almost-full pitcher of lager onto the frost sorcerer's wrist.

It was a gamble, but the result was everything he'd hoped. In his shock and pain, Matthias' magic reflexively froze the liquid as soon as it touched his hand. His right hand was trapped under the ice.

"You can't melt it, can you? Your magic only works one way," Derek said. He leaned forward, deciding he could afford one more ten-second gamble. "What would have happened if I'd followed you to the Red Temple ruins?"

"You would have met a few of my friends," Matthias said through clenched teeth. "They'll be on their way soon. The enchanter has many, many birds. Some of them have talons."

"If they're really your friends, perhaps they'll help you before the ice melts," Derek said coldly. He turned to the rest of the tavern. "Get out while you can and alert the mayor! This man is a frost sorcerer," he shouted as he sprinted out the door. He had to find Bromley. Was it past midnight yet? Would Bromley be waiting for him outside the Shrinking Violet tavern, as they'd planned? Or had the birds Matthias Windham chillingly referenced followed Bromley as well? Would another agent have tried to lure him to the Red Temple ruins?

Derek paused in his sprint when he reached the town square. Temple or tavern? Where should he go first? He looked at the sky, trying to get a sense of time from the North Star, Boreus, and its familiar companion, the Turtle. Based on the Turtle's position, he guessed it was still at least half an hour shy of midnight. Should he wait for Bromley outside the Shrinking Violet, potentially wasting half an hour or more when his friend's life could be in danger? Or should he assume the worst and make a dash for the temple ruins?

His eyes fell on the bell tower, and he chose a third option.

Grabbing a few pebbles from the pavement, he lashed them onto his broken arrow. He nocked the arrow, drew the string back as far as he could and aimed at the iron bell. His shot was true. The bell let out a resounding gong. It wasn't nearly as loud as the bell would be when rung properly, but it did the trick. Derek did the same thing with a second arrow, and a third, waiting for someone to notice the commotion he was causing. Finally, a man he hoped was the town crier dashed towards him. Derek didn't wait for him to ask what he was doing.

"There's a frost sorcerer in the Crimson Dragon. Someone needs to alert the mayor and sound the town's bell," Derek said quickly. The man paused for the space of two seconds, and then dashed up the bell tower. In the time it took Derek to retrieve his arrows, the bell was clanging loudly enough to wake all Luthedain.

Derek sprinted towards the Shrinking Violet. If Bromley was still in town, he'd likely drop whatever he was doing and head towards their rendezvous point. If he didn't show up in ten minutes, Derek would head for the Red Temple. But Bromley was there when he arrived, with his arms folded and looking cross.

"Yeesh, Derek. Please tell me you didn't cause this scene. I was actually getting somewhere! With a really nice girl, too!"

"Rogers was right," Derek said. "We've been set up. This entire outing was a trap."

"What are you talking about?" Bromley asked. "The clue was real. There is something linked to the fire markets here, but it's not what we thought."

"Nothing's what we thought! The sorcerer they're tolling the bell for? He works for the people who cursed our kingdom. They've been following us since we left." Derek banged his fist against the tavern wall in frustration. "I'm really sorry, Brom, but this girl you met, did she try to lead you to the ruins of the Red Temple?"

"What? No."

"But the sorcerer knew about the fire market clue! They used to cremate people at the Red Temple and pay the priests to make shrines for their ashes! That was the bait!"

"Derek, we've been thinking about it all wrong," Bromley said patiently. "We've been trying to find something like a fire market in Luthedain, but we should have been thinking about the fire markets in Cymdros. Do you remember when you told me about the different colored flames when Odette took you there, and the powders they used to make them?"

Derek nodded. He wasn't sure where this was going, but it was enough to temporarily quiet the ranting voices in his head.

"Those powders are mined here. The minerals only come from Luthedain. And they make the soil so toxic, nothing can grow near them," Bromley said.

"There are no tomatoes in the fire markets of Luthedain," Derek repeated.

"It gets better," Bromley continued. "The people I was sitting with said a dark-skinned woman from Cymdros came through a few weeks ago. She tried to plant a tomato garden near one of the mines. Everyone laughed, but she said she didn't expect to grow anything. She was just 'doing a little horticultural experiment.'"

"Who was she?" Derek asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"The man who mentioned it didn't seem certain of her name. That's one reason I think the story's genuine," Bromley said. "He said it was something like Lady Anita."

"Lady Anisha Langley," Derek said immediately.

"You know her?" Bromley asked.

"She's the wife of King William's captain. Widow," Derek corrected, with a momentary pang of regret. "I met her when I visited Cymdros a couple years ago. She and Odette were close. She tried to talk to me at her husband's funeral, but her words just seemed like…"

"Nonsense," Bromley said with a nod. "Which means she probably knew something and couldn't tell you."

Derek leaned his arm against the wall, trying to process the new information.

"Think about it, Derek," Bromley said. "Maybe our enemies did find out we were coming to Luthedain. Maybe they even overheard us talking about the fire market clue, and they tried to lead you astray. But the original clue was still real. Odette is trying to reach you."

"I don't know how long before the sorcerer breaks loose," Derek said. "Did they tell you where Lady Anisha planted her tomatoes?"

Bromley favored him with a patronizing look. "Would I have left without that intel? Even after your head-splitting diversion?"

"Then we have to get there now. We can't afford for things to get messed up even more," Derek hadn't meant for his words to sound hurtful. But a split second later, he heard the bitterness in his voice and realized Bromley could have taken his remark personally—when in fact Bromley was the only reason this wasn't a complete mess. He offered his friend an apologetic look. "Thanks, Brom. I'd be lost without you."

Bromley shrugged off the compliment with a half-smile. "Just keep your bow close, Your Highness. I'd defend you with my life, but that probably won't last very long if we get into real danger."