Chapter 15|Seeker
Aspin brought his horse to a halt at the Galsbur town green. It was a small place, and quaint in its own way. He looked across a central green to a sturdy, two-story log building. It had the look of an inn about it, albeit a small one. He took in the shops and the few small houses that surrounded the green. It should not be too difficult to find what, or should he say whom, he was looking for. To his right stood a large, white building toward the rear of which a wagon was being loaded. It had the look of a business. It was as good a place as any to start. Dismounting, he tied his horse to a post near the front door, brushed the dust from his plain, brown robe, and entered through the front door.
An attractive woman, just short of middle years, sat at a small table, polishing a ring with the hem of her dress. In doing so, she revealed a bit more calf than modesty permitted, but Aspin did not mind. She had long, pale blonde hair tied up in a bun. He could see just enough of her face to know that she was beautiful, or had been in her younger years.
“May I help you?” The woman did not look up from her jewelry.
“I certainly hope so, my good lady. I am seeking directions.”
“Directions to…” She raised her head and the words died in her throat. Her pale blue eyes widened, then seem to lose focus. The sai-kur’s robe often had that effect on people. The woman cleared her throat, and stood slowly. “Directions to where?”
“I am looking for the home of Lord Yurg Van Sarten.”
The woman’s face turned a ghastly white, and she slumped awkwardly back into her chair. “Did you say, Lord Yurg?”
Aspin chuckled. It was just like Yurg to pretend to be a commoner. What story had he told these people? “Yes, Lord Yurg, my lady. It is my understanding that he lives in this village. Do you know of him?”
“Yes.” Her voice was soft and her eyes had a distant look. “He is our swordmaster.”
Aspin waited, but no more information was forthcoming. “And do you know where his home is?”
“I’m sorry.” The woman stood slowly, and pointed with a shaking hand. “He lives that way. Between the sword yard and the smithy.”
“You have my most sincere thanks, my lady. If I may trouble you for another moment.” Aspen paused as the woman audibly sucked in her breath. “Was there a tournament here of late?”
The woman visibly relaxed. “Indeed there was. More than a week ago.”
Aspin bit back a curse. “And Prince Lerryn was here?” He hoped that his anger was not evident in his voice.
“He certainly was. He left two days ago.” The woman had regained some of her composure. “I had the good fortune of sitting next to him at the tournament.”
“I must say that the fortune was his, Mistress…”
“Oh! The name is Van Derin. Faun Van Derin.” She blushed at the compliment.
“Again, you have my thanks, Mistress Van Derin. May the Gods smile on you this day.” Aspin turned and left as quickly as dignity would permit. Outside, he made a right turn, and headed in the direction of Yurg’s house at a fast walk.
Burn it all! He had missed it by days. Balric just had to go and catch fever along the way. And then the boy had the audacity to die on him. Aspin spat in the dust of the road. The boy had never been much of a disciple. An indifferent student, he was much more interested in late nights sipping ale in a common room. Learning about the common folk he called it. Next time, Aspin would choose his own disciple.
He passed the empty sword yard, and focused his gaze on the small house that lay next to it. He hoped that Yurg would be able to tell him what he needed to know. He had not seen his old friend in...how many years had it been? He could not remember. How would Yurg look after all these years? Had he aged any better than Aspin had?
It was a peaceful day and few people were about. A gentle whisper of a breeze caressed the branches of the giant chanbor trees, the sound blending pleasantly with the gurgle of the nearby river. Only the steady ring of the blacksmith’s hammer interrupted the melody.
Arriving at Yurg’s home, Aspin rapped smartly on the front door. No response. Again he knocked. Still nothing. Nearby, the pace of the smith’s hammer slowed.
“Yurg,” he called out, “don’t think you can hide all the wine before you let me in.” He waited for a few moments and knocked again. The sounds of the smithy had died. “Yurg?” he called again. Still no answer. Turning to his right, he walked to the end of the small porch and peered around the side of the house. As he had noted earlier, the sword yard was empty. He hopped to the ground rather nimbly for a man of his years, if he did say so himself, and made his way around the house. Still he saw nothing.
As he completed his circuit, something on the ground caught his attention. He knelt down for a closer look, but was interrupted by a pair of dirty boots that interposed themselves into his line of sight. Aspin did not look up. He was not one to be intimidated. This country lout, whoever he was, had only succeeded in annoying him.
“Your boots could use some polishing, friend.”
“Who are you?” The voice was firm, but Aspin detected no menace in it.
“My name is Aspin.” With a sigh, he rose to his full height, and looked the man in the eye. “And you have just destroyed some tracks I was hoping to examine.” He looked the fellow over. He was tall, of a height with Aspin. His leather apron, scarred forearms, and the hammer he clutched in one meaty fist named him the blacksmith. The man’s gray eyes widened as he took in the brown robe and cloak.
“What do you want here?” The man’s grip tightened around the hammer. Muscles bulged in powerful forearms.
“You have my name, friend. It is customary to return the courtesy.” He was amused at how much simple courtesies could throw a person off-guard.
“Ham Lurel,” the man said, “I’m the blacksmith.”
“Yes,” Aspin said, “I noticed your hammer.”
The man scratched his head. If he blushed, Aspin could not tell. Working at the forge had flushed the smith’s face an angry scarlet. “We look out for one another here. You have some business with Master Yurg?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. We are old friends.”
“He never mentioned you,” Lurel said.
Aspin was disappointed in the man. He gave him a condescending smile. Having a sai-kur for a friend was not something one mentioned in casual conversation. The man looked away for a moment. When he turned back, his expression was resolute. “We look out for one another around here.”
“Glad to hear it. It happens that I am a bit concerned about your Master Yurg. When did you last see him?”
Lurel’s eyes narrowed. Obviously, he was debating whether or not he should help this stranger… this sai-kur.
“Yesterday, Seeker,” he said, using the title that commoners often attached to those of Aspin’s order. “Sometime early yesterday if I am remembering correct.”
“You have not seen him at all today?” Aspin was puzzled by Yurg’s absence, and more than a bit concerned.
“No.” Lurel shook his head. “Of course, I’ve been focused on my work. But I haven’t seen him come outside or anything.”
“Is that unusual for him?” An icy ball formed in the pit of Aspin’s stomach.
“It is.” The smith paused. Cupping his chin in his hand, he gazed at the ground for a long moment. “Understand, now, things have not been usual around here for some time. Everything’s been a mess since the prince announced that snow-blighted tournament. The whole town has just been…” His lips pursed in a frown as his words trailed away.
“I can imagine,” Aspin replied. He could indeed imagine. A tiny little hamlet like this one would be turned on its ear by such an event. What was Lerryn up to? He hoped Yurg could tell him.
“You’re worried about Master Yurg, aren’t you?” The blacksmith calmly looked him in the eye.
“I am,” Aspin confessed. He had not gotten a close look at the tracks around Yurg’s house, but the first gl
ance had chilled him to the marrow. “I think we should look inside.”
Lurel nodded resolutely, and led the way to the porch.
“Master Yurg?” The blacksmith rapped on the door as he shouted. “Master Yurg, Mistress Anna,” the pitch of his voice elevated, and a deep frown marred his face, “are you there?”
“I think we should go in,” Aspin said. He tried not to think about the tracks he had glimpsed, nor what it would mean if he was right about what they meant.
Lurel tried the door. It was open. A foul odor assailed Aspin’s nose almost instantly. He heard the blacksmith groan. Aspin pushed past the larger man, and was greeted by a horrendous sight.
Blood was spattered on the walls, and pooled in the floor around Yurg’s lifeless body. He wore the tattered remains of a nightshirt. His body was shredded, rent open from throat to midriff in long, narrow slices, like the raking of claws. His sword lay a few paces away. Its shining, clean blade told Aspin that Yurg had not had the chance to put up a fight.
“They must have surprised you, my old friend,” he whispered. “You probably thought you were safe in this sleepy town.”
A door on the far side of the room led into the bedroom, where he found the remains of Yurg’s wife Anna in a similar condition. She lay atop a blood-soaked bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms shielding her face.
Aspin’s eyes misted as he turned back toward the front of the house. Lurel slumped heavily against the door facing, still clutching his hammer in a trembling fist. Unshed tears clouded his vision as he stared at his dead friend.
“Do you know Colin Malan?” Aspin asked sharply. Lurel’s head snapped up, and he nodded. “Bring him here right away. I need him.”
He paced the floor, inspecting every inch. Much of the surface was covered in blood, but in several places he observed the same footprints he had seen outside. He shook his head. It was all happening so much faster than he had anticipated. How had he let himself be caught unaware?
He retrieved two thick woolen blankets from the back room, laying across the remains of his old friend, the other over Anna. Someone else would have to take care of the burial. He would be leaving again soon.
It was not long before the door burst open. Colin Malan’s hulking figure blotted out the sunlight as he passed through the doorway. He had changed little since Aspin had seen him last. His unkempt black beard and curly raven locks were sprinkled with a touch of silver, but he otherwise retained his youthful appearance. Aspin flinched as Malan slammed the door behind him.
“You let on that I know you? A Seeker?” Thick forearm muscles rippled as he pointed an accusing finger at Aspin. “What would possess you to do such a thing?”
“It’s too late for you to concern yourself with that. Look!” Aspin gestured at the lifeless bodies.
“Lurel told me,” Colin said, shaking his head as he surveyed the scene. “What happened?”
“Ice cats.” Aspin could not believe it. “A pack of them from what I can tell.”
Colin shook his head. He squatted down next to Yurg’s body, drawing back the blanket to peer underneath. He dropped the blanket with a sharp intake of breath.
“They gave Mistress Anna the same treatment,” Aspin said. “She did not deserve to go like that.”
“Freeze me!” Malan cursed, pounding his fist into a thigh as thick as a tree trunk.” I had no idea. It’s all too soon!”
A sudden thought struck Aspin.
“Why didn’t they come after you, Colin?” He tensed as he waited for the answer. His palm itched, and he forced himself not to reach for his sword. Colin Malan was a dangerous man, and the wrong answer would force a confrontation that Aspin did not want. “Or, more to the point, why didn’t they go after the girl?”
“She’s gone.” Colin looked up at him with defiance in his dark brown eyes. “Been gone for a while.”
“Did she go with Lerryn?”
“No.” The man rose up to his full height, and stared down his nose at Aspin, but the Seeker was too angry to be intimidated.
“The cold take you and your reticence!” Aspin snapped. “Tell what happened.”
“I don’t know.” Colin turned away, his voice catching slightly. “When Lerryn allowed her to compete in the tournament, I knew the time had come and I knew better than to try and stand in her way, but I couldn’t bear the thought of what she will have to do. I left town on a job for Van Derin.” His voice grew husky. “I’ve had her since she was a baby.”
“I know you love her,” Aspin said. “You raised her, after all. But I need to know why she isn’t with Lerryn.”
“When I came home, they told me that she had disappeared before her final match. Her and some of her friends.”
“How many friends?”
“Three.”
Aspin cursed and shook his head. Too few!
“They found one of the White Fang dead. Another guard saw Shanis running away from the body. Rumor is, the guard was a drunkard and a womanizer. If he tried to have his way with my girl, he got what he deserved.” Malan’s mouth curled into a wicked grin, white teeth shining beneath his thick, black moustache.
“Did you try and track them?” Aspin was almost embarrassed at the look Malan gave him. “Allow me to re-phrase my question. Did you find any indications of where they might have gone?” Thoughts whirled rapidly through his mind. If the girl was with Lerryn, there would be reason to believe that things were happening as they should. But vanishing without a trace? Had the prophecy truly gone askew? Or had Aspin made a serious miscalculation?
“I didn’t find anything at all. The families of the others were no help either. I had hoped she was hiding in the forest, waiting for Lerryn to leave, but she hasn’t been back.”
“Did Lerryn go back to Archstone?” Aspin asked.
“Strangest thing,” Malan replied. “He sent the White Fang back to the city with most of the new recruits. But he and another man took a few of the boys and left on their own.” Malan scratched his head. “I truly think she’ll come back here. The girl who went with her wouldn’t last very long in the woods. Who knows about the boys?”
“We have to find her. You can remain here and keep up the search. I’ll head out after them.”
A few minutes later, Aspin was back in the saddle. His hopes for a hot bath and soft bed would have to wait. Colin’s descriptions of Shanis and her three companions were firmly etched in his mind. He had to find them.
As he left Galdora behind, a nagging thought played in the back of his mind. What if they had been wrong all along?