Assault in the Wizard Degree, page 12
“Are you saying that our blasphemer is a picky eater?” Jorvath asked skeptically.
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. The only question is ‘why’. There’s nothing different about the ingredients of one pastry from another here.”
“I’ve had enough of this nonsense!” Caltrop stated, turning to leave. He took maybe a step before Galen moved to block him.
“I’ve learned that little of what Dayna does is nonsense,” the Wizard said quietly. “If you wish to leave before her work is complete, then you will have to go through me to do so.”
“What frightens you so much that you wish to go?” Rikka added, from off to Angbor’s side. Caltrop scowled, but said nothing further.
In the meantime, my brain was chugging away like the unpredictable computer it resembled, asking and answering questions in rapid succession. The pastries were all made with wheat flour, cheese, honey, nuts, water, and probably eggs. All stuff that centaurs ate with relish. I’d been there and watched even the normally fastidious Galen wolf down portions that would make a human gag. No fussy eaters there.
Except one.
At breakfast, I’d seen Sir Caltrop do something so minor, so trivial, that it had almost escaped my notice. He’d picked the hazelnuts off his slice of cheese before consuming it.
My brain jumped on this question as if it had caught fire.
Let’s say that I’d thrown a party at my house in Los Angeles, one with an open buffet. If I noticed a guest at my home in Los Angeles doing something similar, I’d guess that they just didn’t like the taste. That wasn’t suspicious at all.
But take that a step further.
Say that Caltrop had somehow entered the tent with the intent to frame Rikka. He must have known that, with guards surrounding the tent, being discovered was a big risk. Why would he take even a few valuable seconds to select a pastry that hadn’t gotten a dusting of hazelnuts? Why risk being discovered over such a trivial point?
Answer? Because the hazelnuts weren’t trivial. Not if you were allergic to them.
And with a solid click in my head, I realized that Zenos had correctly predicted this.
Salvation shall spring from a kernel of the truth.
The ‘kernel’ in this case literally meant the protective outer covering of an embryonic seed. Which meant that the hazelnuts pointed directly at Sir Caltrop.
“Halvar,” I said casually, “Rikka identified you as a member of the House of Zakaris. Is that correct?”
The Senior Keeper swallowed hard as everyone turned to him. “Yes, I am. And proud of it.”
“That’s fine. So, are you familiar with Sir Caltrop’s habits?”
He flicked a glance towards his kinsman. “We have served together on long patrols. I know him as well as anyone.”
“Any idea what happens if he eats a hazelnut?”
Halvar paused, then let out an uneasy chuckle. “Nothing good, I can tell you that! One time some raw hazelnut slipped into the soup at Byredunn Holt, and his face swelled up like a ripe plum–”
“Another word, and I shall strike you down!” Caltrop hissed.
“Over such a trivial matter?” Angbor asked. His eyes did not leave Caltrop’s as he asked, “How does this bear on the matter at hand, Dayna?”
“Our culprit appears to be allergic to hazelnuts,” I said, as I opened my case and took out a pair of forceps and a small plastic sample bag. “That’s why they took the time to linger over two of the pastries before choosing a third one instead, one that hadn’t been dusted with something that would hurt them.”
“This is preposterous!” Caltrop shouted.
“Then why don’t you prove us wrong by eating one of these desserts?” Rikka asked venomously. “Or should I say, eat one more?”
I shook my head. “All that would do is send him into anaphylactic shock. I can prove this in two days’ time. Each of us has a unique set of ridges and whorls on the skin covering our fingers. I’ve got ink and pads in my crime scene kit to take Caltrop and Rikka’s prints. Then I’ll return home with one of these pastries and lift the prints I find on those. Whoever’s print matches, that’s our culprit.”
Angbor’s expression had gone from blustery to cool and calculating. For just an instant, I saw him trade glances with Galen. His son nodded ever so slightly.
“There is no need,” he rumbled. “As you promised, you have made the crime scene ‘speak’, Dayna.”
“But I still need to–”
He waved for silence with a massive hand. After giving Caltrop a final look, he turned to where Rikka stood off to one side. He tugged his plaits as he made his pronouncement.
“As Dread Liege of the centaurs, it is up to me to render a verdict.” His finger swung to point at his daughter as he boomed, “The evidence is plain for all to see. Skallgrym Serikkaylen of the House of Friesain, I pronounce you guilty of the crime of sacrilege!”
Chapter Twenty
Angbor’s words rang in my ears: I pronounce you guilty of the crime of sacrilege!
The expression ‘my jaw hit the floor’ is a just a figure of speech, but my jaw did drop open in surprise when I heard that. Was I going crazy? Galen’s father just heard out my reasoning, seemed to approve of it…
…and then pronounced sentence on his own daughter.
Rikka’s eyes flashed. “You condemn me? When everything Dayna has shown you casts doubt on the accusation?”
King Angbor met her glare. “My judgement stands.”
“But…father…”
“Dread Liege,” I interjected, using the title to get Angbor’s attention. “You can’t–”
He held up his hand, silencing me, but he didn’t take his eyes off his daughter. He spoke slowly, intently, emphasizing each word.
“Do you disagree with my verdict?”
The centauress paused, then her nostrils flared. “Yes, I do!”
“Will you submit to it?”
“No! This is unfair!”
Then, Angbor pulled off a second jaw-dropping surprise.
“Good,” he said, with a grim smile. “You know what the alternative is.”
She paused, as if unsure of what her father meant. Then her eyes went wide, as if seeing something for the first time. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but in the pit of my stomach, I knew it was something big.
“Dread Liege,” she announced. “I, Skallgrym Serikkaylen, demand trial by combat!”
A tense moment of silence hung in the air. The king gestured grandly, and the centaurs around him took a couple of steps back. I took the hint. I tucked bag and tool in a side pocket and moved out of the way as well.
“So be it! Let the trial begin!” Angbor bellowed. He jerked his thumb in Caltrop’s direction. “Honor your father, Serikkaylen. Kill this worthless piece of four-hoofed garbage.”
At that moment, I wished that I had a camera to catch Sir Caltrop’s shocked expression.
Sir Halvar looked similarly surprised. Instead of backing off with the others, he hesitated. The Senior Keeper stood at his friend’s side, looking worriedly between Angbor and his kinsman.
Rikka reared, howling her high-pitched war whoop as she did so. In an eye blink, she grabbed one of her svelga from its strap and sent it whistling through the air.
Her accuracy was perfect. But, sadly, Caltrop’s reflexes were as quick as hers. He grabbed Halvar’s arm, yanking his kinsman into the line of fire.
Rikka’s knife sank into Halvar’s throat with a thunk. He let out a horrific gurgle as he slumped, clawing at his neck as scarlet frothed and bubbled out around the svelga’s black handle. Caltrop held him close as he drew his glittering sword in one smooth motion.
“Kinslayer!” Angbor breathed, yanking his own sword free of its scabbard. “Duels be dammed, cut the Bastard down!”
Caltrop ignored me as the two closest remaining centaurs, Yaegar and Jorvath, charged into the fight. Yaegar pulled out a crescent-shaped saber in mid-stride, while Jorvath had pulled a spear. Both centaurs leapt into battle with murderous looks.
I scrambled back as the clang of blade on blade echoed throughout the Holt. Caltrop blocked Yaegar’s overhand blow. Whip fast, the blond centaur drew his sword back and thrust it at the hunter’s chest. The weapon’s point passed through the rings of Yaegar’s mail shirt and plunged into the flesh beneath.
Before Yaegar could fall, Caltrop grunted as he heaved the hapless Sir Halvar towards the approaching Jorvath. The dying Keeper of Equilux smashed into Jorvath, tripping him. The two went down in a tangle of equine legs.
King Angbor bellowed his challenge as he came up next, slashing viciously at Caltrop and driving him back half a dozen steps. I pulled my gun as Galen came up next to me, but neither of us dared do anything with the two locked in combat. Caltrop parried each blow, slashing back wherever he found an opening. The two locked blades again, with Angbor trying to beat the younger centaur down.
“Liar! Betrayer!” Angbor spat, dripping blood from a graze across one cheek. “You blacken the name of Zakaris!”
“Zakaris was never my house’s name,” Caltrop hissed back. “Your bones shall bleach in the sun, centaur!”
With a mighty heave, Caltrop shoved Angbor back. His blue eyes flashed, his blond hair tossing as if caught in a high wind as he shouted a guttural phrase.
“Mynd chi yn drakal!”
Angbor dropped his sword. His arms drew tightly against his torso as if bound by rope. The centaur king fell to his knees. I felt a chill strike right down my spine as I watched his eyes turn filmy gray. He let out a helpless groan.
“How…” Galen gasped. He held a shaking hand up, trying to piece together a magical phrase. His tongue tripped over the words.
Sir Caltrop raised his sword for the killing stroke. I brought my weapon up, knew that at best my shot was going to be wild. There was no time to aim–
–and Rikka’s twin sword blades sliced through the air, blocking the blow inches from her father’s skull.
“Leave. Father. Alone!” she gritted, as she viciously pressed her attack.
Rikka’s blades were a whirling gray blur that nearly bowled Caltrop over. He neatly side-stepped as she bore in again. She pulled back in the nick of time, before Caltrop’s sword took off the crown of her skull.
By now I had leveled my gun at Caltrop’s head. He spotted me as Rikka dodged a second blow by slipping to his left. His free hand came up as he spat a second phrase.
“Gollwng y gwn!”
My gun flew backwards out of my hand. So did both of Rikka’s swords. Caltrop’s eyes lit up with a homicidal grin.
A grin which lasted no more than a second.
Galen’s arm came up as he shouted his own phrase.
“Hóski, seydir!”
Blue lightning blasted down Galen’s arm. Like a high voltage spark, the bolt leaped from the tip of his finger to Caltrop’s armored torso. With a bang, the centaur’s chest plate exploded in a rain of hot shrapnel. The gust of hot air staggered me, and knocked Rikka to her knees.
Caltrop howled as I smelled the awful scent of burnt hair, burnt flesh. The Bastard stumbled back, almost sitting down on his rear hooves. His armor was a rent and broken mess, his bare chest a mass of cuts and black-smeared burns. The centaur’s handsome face beetled into a snarling mask as he raised his hand again, this time in Galen’s direction.
Rikka didn’t get up. Instead, she rolled to her side. As she did so, her arm moved in a sweeping, sideways throw.
A thunk, and the black-ice point of a svelga sank into Caltrop’s arm between wrist and elbow. He let out a hoarse scream. Breathing hard, he looked around wildly as centaur guards approached from all directions at a pounding gallop.
He turned and fled.
I scooped up my gun from where it had fallen, then turned to Galen and shouted, “Let’s go! We can’t let him escape!”
He shook his head as he pointed at where his father knelt on the ground, immobile. “My father needs magical help!”
“Come with me, Dayna!” Rikka galloped up, grabbing me by one arm, pausing only a second to swing me up onto her back as she gave chase.
Caltrop had a head start, but he’d been fighting longer, and he was wounded. Drops of blood flecked the ground as we gave chase. The Bastard wove his way among the wooden buildings and fabric tents that made up the inside of the Holt.
“Make way!” he shouted hoarsely. “Make way!”
The other centaurs, not know what was going on, let him by. Caltrop always made sure to gallop towards the densest congregations, frustrating my aim and Rikka’s. She slowed for a moment to bellow at one of the guards watching from a nearby tower’s second-story landing.
“Borhild! ‘Ware the Holt!”
The centauress saluted and reared, striking her forehooves against a bronze bell hanging next to her post. The large bell let out a gong gong gong that throbbed in my ears.
“Let’s see the Bastard escape now!” Rikka said fiercely.
Up ahead, I saw the centaurs at the gates to Bloodwine Holt unsheathe their weapons. With a pair of chops, the ropes holding a metal portcullis in place above the entry came crashing into place. Caltrop didn’t slow, instead pivoting to the right, galloping through a section of the Holt filled with rows of tents.
The tents here were rectangular, and even larger than the one set out for the ceremonies of Equilux. Centaurs poked their heads or torsos out of the entryways as they heard the commotion, so I guessed that this was the barracks area. Caltrop leaped over a set of taut support ropes before diving through the opening of a red-and-white striped tent.
“Be ready!” Rikka warned, as she pulled her third and last svelga from its strap.
She slowed, and I slid off her back holding my gun at the ready. Caltrop hadn’t emerged from the tent, and there was no bulge or rip in the fabric anywhere to indicate he was slashing his way out.
“Me on the left, you on the right?” I whispered.
Rikka nodded. “On two. One-two!”
Galen’s sister lunged forward into the tent, stabbing to the right with her knife. I poked my head in to the left, along with my gun hand, searching desperately for a target even as my scalp crawled, expecting Caltrop’s next swing to take my head off at the neck.
Chapter Twenty-One
It turned out that my worries were misplaced.
I swung my head and gun hand over to the left, my eyes scanning the dusty interior of the tent, anxiously searching for any sign of the wounded centaur. This shouldn’t have been a difficult task. Even the smallest centaurs were large creatures, and I wouldn’t call Caltrop pint-sized by any stretch of the imagination.
But he was gone.
The tent showed signs of recent habitation, complete with a centaur sleep line, wooden chests, and another of the small washstands tucked away in the corner. The dried grass making up the floor had been torn up by Caltrop’s hooves in a set of four sharp, distinct lines. They marked where he had skidded to a stop before one of the chests, but there were no other hoof marks leading away.
Caltrop had disappeared, quite literally into thin air.
I tucked my gun back in its holster then let out a frustrated sigh. This day just kept getting better and better all the time.
“So, Caltrop has vanished,” Rikka said, lowering her sword. “Magic. This reeks of magic.”
“A transportation spell, most likely,” I agreed. “I’m betting that this is his personal tent.”
“You would win that bet. This is the section of the Holt given over to warriors of the House of Zakaris.”
“I don’t think he was able to transport himself away on his own. He’d have cast that spell when he realized that you’d fought him to a draw, and that reinforcements were on the way.”
She gave an unladylike snort. “To a draw, fie! I’d have beaten him fairly without his damned sorcerer’s tricks!”
“Regardless, I think that’s why he led us on that chase. He wasn’t trying to get out of the Holt by the front gate – rather, he was trying to get back here. If I had to guess, he had an enchanted medallion similar to the one that your brother gave me. One that had the spell he needed to escape ready to go.”
“Your reasoning is sound. Yet only Magnus and my brother alone, among all the centaurs, have displayed more than glimmers of magical talent. That Sir Caltrop now has this gift…it cannot pretend well.”
I gave her a look, but before I could say anything, she blushed for the second time that morning.
“The early mug of mead trips me up again,” she said, with a shake of the head. “It cannot ‘portend’ well. I meant that Caltrop’s magic might be a sign of bad things to come.”
“I understood what you meant to say,” I reassured her. I knelt, squinting at the torn-up grass making up the tent’s floor. Without looking up, I added, “Rikka, would you please step back from the entrance so I can get more light in here?”
“Of course.”
Her hooves made a couple of soft thuds on the earth as she backed up a couple of steps. Though her head still shadowed the entryway, enough sunlight filtered through so I could make out what I thought I’d seen on the ground. I dug around in my side pocket and found the forceps and bag I’d tucked in there when Rikka and Caltrop had started their ‘trial by combat’. I was still more than a little pissed off about that, but it would wait for now.
Galen’s sister watched me, perplexed. “What are you looking for, Dayna?”
“Clues. As to what, I’m not sure yet.”
I reached out with the forceps, managing to grab what I’d seen curled up on the edge of the scuffed, dry turf. It was a yellowish shaving of something, and I popped it into the plastic bag. It flaked to pieces as I closed the bag. I carefully got back to my feet, tucked the forceps away, and held the bag up to the light.
“It’s a crust of dirt,” Rikka said, without hesitation. “We centaurs can pick these up on our hooves if we’ve trodden through mud.”
