The Hekamon Read online

  For it was a Fennrean necklace, Tregarron knew that for certain. One of the symbols on the pendant was very familiar to him. The last time he had seen a symbol like that, it was tattooed on the back of a burning Fennrean woman. Not something a person forgets easily, even someone like him, who had seen a lot of things.

  Tregarron reached the Briddlesford Bridge, the point where the Demedelei road passed over the moat. Or at least, what should be a moat. Jephson had foolishly had it drained, weakening the forts natural defenses for the sake of some cheap coal. The bridge gave a good view of the open expanse of what was now a dried out lake bed.

  He briefly stopped to look across but could see no sign of Croneygee and Tansley. He wasn't surprised and didn't tarry long. He knew where both men were. The merchant would be on his way to his favorite tavern, while the armorer would have gone through the east gate already.

  Tregarron would make his way through the fort and meet the armorer there, but first he would meet with Lord Jephson. He had found something the man would be very interested in.

  Tregarron felt the necklace in his pocket, and thought again about how it might have come to be in the possession of the young serfacre apprentice. He didn't know, but he would let this one play out. In his experience, the answers to some question were easier to trap than chase. He closed his hand around the necklace and decided to play the long game.

  36

  Within seconds, Decarius had dragged the body off the path and into the bushes nearby. He'd thrown the empty bag into a patch of nettles and, after gathering up the tools, he'd placed them in a pile and out of sight, too.

  His anxiety was palpable and the temptation to just up and leave the mess he'd created was overwhelming. He imagined the gate would open at any moment, with armed guards streaming out to arrest him.

  To be caught here, in this predicament, was unthinkable, and he'd wanted to leave at the fist opportunity, but having concealed the body of his victim, he knew he'd done the right thing. The few seconds he'd spent clearing the area of signs of a struggle, had bought him minutes, or more likely hours, should he need it.

  Without further delay, he started northwards, and away from the Briddlesford Bridge which overlooked the dry moat. He kept close to the wall of the fort and ran alongside it for about a hundred paces, staying among the bushes and trees, before heading down the bank.

  Thinking that his mask might draw attention to himself, he considered removing it, but decided against it. While his identity was concealed he could be anyone, even Hayden.

  This thought caused him to stop dead in his tracks, as Decarius realized this is exactly what he must do. If Hayden could be blamed for the theft of the Eagle Standard, then he could be blamed for everything else that happened here as well.

  In Coralai, nobody would question that Hayden was to blame. This violence was entirely in keeping with the man's reputation. He was dangerous, reckless and a traitor. Once blame was apportioned to him, nobody would argue against it or take Hayden's side. If anything, a trail of destruction might be a good thing, it would only add to his crimes and make his actions even less defensible. Not only that, Saceress Volusia would be guilty by association, even more than she was already.

  Decarius felt a weight lift from him, more than that, he felt emboldened. Since Hayden would be getting the blame, he could act with impunity. If his actions violated the Aquassent Treaty, all the better. Volusia's position would become even more vulnerable and it would serve her right. It wasn't as though she didn't know the man had a treacherous past, she knew better than anybody, she'd been there and seen it at first hand.

  His anxiety diminishing, Decarius began moving again. Crouching and staying low among the grass, he started making his way back across the Old Moat Road before stopping near a tree.

  Now that he'd started thinking about Hayden, he found it difficult to shake him from his mind. The man had the ability to enrage him like no other.

  Considering his crimes, the traitor had been lucky to escape with just exile, yet he was allowed to return, and was immediately next to the seat of power.

  The Saceress had known of his reputation, yet within a few weeks of him arriving in Coralai he was ensconce at the temple. The man had a knack for creating trouble, and uncanny ability to get everyone he met killed, wounded or weakened in some way. Volusia had been warned, yet she had persisted. Why?

  For a long time he didn't know, until one day, he found out. After too much wine, Volusia had told him, or at least, hinted enough, that he could work it out for himself. It was something even Aegis and Hayden didn't know, a fact that would question Aegis's legitimacy to become kentarch, along with Volusia's judgment and authority.

  If handled correctly the information presented an opportunity for an injustice to be righted. It just needed the people of Coralai to start asking the right questions. The questions that he had been asking himself, who was Hayden, what was his game, why had he returned and why was Volusia prepared to forgive his crimes so readily?

  Once he had provided people with the answers, there would be changes. It just needed a spark, something to set things in motion. An event to shake the scales from their eyes and reveal the treachery of the man in question. Such as the audacious theft of an important relic.

  Decarius caught his breath and turned his attention to the fort behind him. He mustn't allow himself to get distracted. He was leaving behind a corpse and had blood on his hands. He looked around and evaluated his situation.

  From this position on the Old Moat Road, he was able to see if the guard on the wall was still there. He wasn't. Perhaps the man had decided the noise he'd heard wasn't anything to trouble himself about. Alternatively, he was descending the east tower to investigate further. Decarius sized up the tower and estimated how long it would take for a guard to walk down the staircase inside. It would not take him long, five minutes at the most.

  For now, there was nobody on the wall, and the gate was still closed. With luck it would stay that way for two more minutes. Looking ahead, Decarius could see he would need only a minute.

  Without further delay, he was moving again. Keeping low in the grass and using the trees and bushes for added concealment. He was not following one of the worn trails, but making a new one of his own, and when he reached the stream, he waded knee deep through it. He kept low and timed his movements, staying observant to ensure he remained unseen.

  Looking back, he could see there was still no activity at the gate or on the wall. It didn't matter so much now, since he was well across the road and nearing the mine.

  As the possibility of being discovered by the guards receded, his mind turned to the elusive Eagle Standard. So where was it? Tansley entered workshop with one package, then he and the old man leave with another. It must still be at the workshop. It had to be. And the boy he had seen sitting at the workbench, either had it, or knew where it was. The boy would talk, he would make sure of it.

  Decarius checked that his mask was in place. His disguise would remain until he was clear of Demedelei. For the time being he was Hayden, and everything he did would be in that man's name.

  The birdsong had ceased and he could taste blood. Reaching up to his still bleeding head, he stemmed the flow as best he could. The die had been cast, there could be no going back now.

  Killing the armorer had raised the stakes, and if he was going to pin the blame on Hayden, he would need to conceal his true identity. He would go back to the armory, he would recover the Eagle Standard and he would leave no witnesses.

  37

  Galvyn remained seated, head in hands. With the trouble he would be in with Tansley and Tregarron, he thought it best not to get on the wrong side of his boss, too. Pulling one of the bracers over to him, he began repairing the worn thread.

  No sooner had he resumed his work, than a shadow appeared in the doorway. A man stepped into the shop and stood there, silhouetted against the south facing window.

  For a moment, Galvyn thought Tregarron had
returned. The man was a similar height and build, but just as quickly he realized it wasn't Tregarron. The visitor looked a few years younger than the captain, maybe in his mid thirties, clean shaven and with shoulder length black hair. The tunic, belt and scabbard, suggested someone from the south but he wore a heavy coat and boots.

  "Can I help you?" Galvyn asked.

  "I take it you're a weaponsmith, is this everything you have?" The man said, looking around the shop, signaling to the shelves merchandise and the various items on display.

  "I'm an apprentice weaponsmith and armorer, and we have more stock in the next room. Are you looking for anything in particular?" Galvyn asked, standing and following the customer as he moved around the workshop.

  "The man tapped the empty scabbard on his belt, "I'm looking for a knife or dagger, do you sell anything like that?"

  "Yes, we have some daggers, but we specialize in armor. Chainmail, that kind of thing, could I interest you in some chainmail?"

  "No, a solid but inexpensive short blade will be fine."

  Galvyn showed the customer to a shelf with a few daggers, and beneath it, boxes containing blades, pugios, shivs and spare hilts. The man picked through the selection but murmured his disapproval at the choice.

  Sensing the customer's air of disappointment, Galvyn tried to put a more positive light on it. "If you want the blade from one, and the hilt from another, that can be arranged, in some cases anyway."

  "Thank you, I'll keep that in mind."

  "And if you're looking for chainmail…"

  "I'm not."

  "…we have quite a good selection."

  "I have a long way to go and don't need the extra weight." The customer said, continuing to look through the box of blades.

  "Ours is light, very finely made, I've made some of it myself. A traveler needs protection, it provides warmth, too and…"

  "You don't give up do you?" The man said standing up, seemingly not too impressed with their selection of daggers. "I hadn't intended on buying any armor, but you got me with warmth. It's a lot colder this side of the mountains." The man indicated to his heavy coat which was not in the same style of the rest of his clothing. The coat looked old and worn and the man didn't look very comfortable in it.

  "Are you from Coralai?"

  "I'm from that way, yes."

  "A chainmail vest under your tunic may be a good idea then."

  "Maybe. You say you made them yourself, are you any good?"

  "Well, I'm just an apprentice but…"

  "So that's a no."

  "Perhaps you could try some on," Galvyn suggested. Making a sale might mitigate the trouble he was going to be in with his boss.

  The man looked around impatiently, "Where are they?"

  "We keep some of the higher quality items in the back," he said, leading the customer into the next room.

  "And does that include daggers?"

  "Er, no. Those are all we have."

  The armory room was less well lit. It was much more secure and there were no large windows here. It contained numerous shields hanging on the walls. On the higher shelves were helmets and pauldrons, and beneath them, racks of chest plates, some studded leather, some plate armor. While on the lowest shelves were the chainmail vests.

  Spaced around the perimeter were several mannequins in full military garb. Some holding swords, halberds and maces for effect.

  The customer was impressed but curious, "Who buys this stuff?"

  "The heavier weaponry is mostly for show, we don't make that anymore. Now we make leather helmets, bracers and light chainmail vests. Just personal protection for the well prepared traveler. Mr. Croneygee tells me business isn't anything like what it was during the war," Galvyn said, looking at the prospective customer, "Did you…were you, in any of the battles?"

  The man stopped looking at the shelves and turned to face him, "I'm guessing you're from the west of Demedelei."

  "A little way to the west yes, how did you know?" Galvyn replied.

  "Your accent and fair complexion are a dead give away," the man replied, smiling, before his expression turned more serious. "Battles? A few skirmishes out east, but I seemed to avoid the worst of it," he added cagily.

  "I see, that's good to hear, that you avoided the worst of it that is. I'm Galvyn, by the way."

  The man looked at him for a few seconds before holding out a hand.

  "Hayden. Good to meet you."

  Galvyn looked at the outstretched hand, a little uncertain of what to do, before reaching out, too. Hayden took his hand and shook it.

  "Strength be to he—" Hayden said.

  "Er—"

  "You're meant to say, 'Who is born from the rock.' "

  "Am I? I'm sorry, I didn't realize—" he began, but Hayden waved away his apology, suggesting he was joking.

  "It's something we say, well, some of us anyway. Now show me your warmest chainmail."

  "Warmest? Well, these are linen lined, under-armor vests," Galvyn said, taking one of the finer examples of his work and handing it to Hayden. He was going to talk more about the garment but was distracted by a noise from the other room. Did he have another customer? "Maybe you would like to try it on?"

  "I think I'll do that."

  "I'll be back in a moment, I have to check on something."

  Galvyn returned to the shop front and looked around. There didn't seem to be anybody there and it didn't look like anything had fallen, nothing that would make the noise he'd heard anyway. He walked around his workbench and towards the hearth, where everything seemed to be normal.

  He opened the door to the coal bunker and looked inside. Perhaps the coal tub or pulley chain had moved. Or perhaps not, nothing seemed out of place. He must have imagined it. Or might his boss have returned that way? It was a possibility.

  Galvyn stepped into the bunker, reached down and began to open the door to the mine.

  38

  When out walking, Tansley was normally lost in his thoughts, but not today. He was paying a lot more attention to his surroundings this time.

  From the moment he'd handed Croneygee his bag, he hadn't stopped looking around. He'd climbed the bank of the old moat and skirted the edge of Serfacre, glancing several times in the direction of the workshops there. Then, having hurried across the Briddlesford Bridge, he'd taken the first turning into Demedelei Town.

  As he'd entered the town, his alertness had not dimmed, with the people he could see there being of particular interest. Whether they were browsing the shops, or just going about their business, he scanned the faces of everybody.

  He saw a few men who bore a resemblance to the two that he had seen on the highway, but they were not same ones. He relaxed a little, but not completely. The man who'd walked by Croneygee's workshop occupied his mind.

  He'd only caught a brief glimpse of him, a tall man, with black hair and wearing a white tunic, was about all he'd had a chance to see. Perhaps the similarity was just a coincidence. Serfacre was a busy place, it attracted craftsmen and customers from miles around.

  Yet there had been something about the man, something about the way he moved, less of a walk and more of a prowl. He'd only seen the man take two steps before disappearing from view again, but it was enough and it worried him.

  What if he had been followed? What could it mean?

  Tansley continued up Market Street and made his way towards the tavern. He wanted to speak with the proprietor there, he had something for him. Something he wanted to sell quickly. It would also give him an opportunity to rest his legs and think of what he should do next.

  The thought of the tavern lifted Tansley's spirits. He could have a drink while he was there, he was feeling in need of some sustenance. The half-eaten bacon cob he'd left on the counter came to mind, no wonder he was feeling listless. He reached the tavern and went inside.

  "Tansley," the barman said by way of hello.

  "Duncan, a pint of your finest, if you would be so kind," Tansley said, sitting on a
barstool and looking around the tavern. Watching the other patrons and making sure that none were too close.

  He waited for the right moment, before reaching into his coat pocket, taking out a clay vial and placing it on the bar, just as Duncan served him a jug of ale. In a well practiced move, the vial was swiftly hidden under the bar, while and a leather bound ledger moved in the other direction.

  Tansley watched as Duncan opened the ledger and jotted down a few numbers.

  "One-fifty, plus forty," the barman said, looking at his jug, "minus one, that's one-eight-nine." The man took a nod of confirmation from him and replaced the ledger.

  Tansley knew that the empessence he'd just sold Duncan, was special ingredient in one of barman's more popular and potent beverages. It would double the value of every barrel it was put in. Tansley took a few sips of his own drink. It was refreshing and tasty. Not one of the special brews. With the transaction complete, the barman moved to serve another customer, while Tansley remained seated, contemplating matters.

  He could spend the afternoon in the tavern. The idea was not an unappealing one but the Coralainians were still on his mind. Why hadn't he seen them when he left his trading post? That thought nagged at him now. Could he have been followed? Or, thinking the hut empty, might they have broken in? If so, what did they want with him? He thought he knew the answer to the last question but he needed to be sure, either to put his mind at rest or reaffirm his need to be vigilant.

  After weighing up his options, Tansley decided on what he thought to be the best course of action. He would head up through the High Gate, turn onto the highway and stop by a neighboring hut. He could then ask a fellow merchant about the visitors who had stopped by, and see what he could find out about them.

  If the two men were still around, he could take the opportunity put them off the scent. Better to meet with them in daylight, and in full view of the other merchants, than alone and at night. Tansley took a few more sips of ale and contemplated some more.