***
Ten long days after riding out of Vallo, Kauldur Night-heart sat in the nearly empty common room of Duuvinhal's Dancing Bear inn. The establishment had been commandeered by the Maker's party when they arrived the day before. Three of the accompanying domain guards sat near the front door, eating breakfast. Kauldur sat a table next to the inn's hearth, ignoring the crackling flames and the rumbling thunder outside as he mulled over recent information.
The front door of the inn swung open, interrupting his thoughts. Oradna walked in, pulling back the hood of her rain-soaked cloak. Stepping in behind her was one of their big domain guards, who had a rough grip on a haggard, middle-aged man.
"How did you fare with the villagers?" Kauldur asked as they approached his table.
Oradna unclasped her cloak and threw it aside before sitting next to him. "I tell you now," she said as she leaned back into her chair and smoothed her yellow robe, "I'd have no luck as an inquisitor. Most of the scum in this village ran when I came near. The rest cowered in silence or mumbled stupidly. However, I did find one resident of this pigsty," she gestured at the scared, unshaven man who was pulled near their table, "who might know a thing or two."
Kauldur glanced at the man's shabby appearance and held up a hand to stop the guard from forcing him any closer. With a jaded tone, the Maker asked, "Who are you?"
Averting his eyes from meeting either of the ones in front of him, the man replied, "A - a fair morn to you, g-good Maker. My name is -"
"Your name is meaningless," Kauldur interrupted. "I was inquiring of your vocation, if any. Do you have an aptitude worthy to secure subsistence?"
When the man looked at him with a baffled expression, Oradna let out an exasperated sigh. "He's asking what you do for a living, you oaf."
"Oh, eh... I'm a sheepherder."
"That would explain the stench that even a hard rain couldn't wash off," she commented.
Ignoring her, Kauldur spoke to the man. "There was supposedly an astounding occurrence in this village at the onset of winter, sheepherder. A young man was said to have slain a number of Den wolves that used to be a nuisance here. Were you present to witness and recollect the event?"
The sheepherder lowered his eyes again and nodded his head. "Yes sir, I was in the commons that morning."
Kauldur waited a moment, and then said with a hard tone, "Elaboration is required, my good peasant. Now, continue." The big guard gave the man a shake to emphasize the Maker's orders.
More nervous than before, the sheepherder said, "I'd come into the village early that morn to sell wool for spinning, and to buy a keg of ale. The fabric shop owner gives better prices early on market days, so I -"
"Enough!" Kauldur barked. "I did not ask you to ramble on like a buffoon!" He turned to Oradna and said, "I do not care to waste my energies on the likes of a lowly sheepherder. I confess to be currently suffering from a dark mood, and so he might not survive any impetus I might impose. A dead peasant does me no good. Would you be so kind as to give our guest some small incentive to provide the information I seek?"
Oradna nodded and smiled, then turned to the sheepherder. His face was drained of color, his eyes were wide with terror, and his body trembled in the guard's grasp. "Place your hand on the table," she softly demanded. When the frightened man hesitated, the guard roughly forced him to comply and kept a strong hand clamped on his wrist.
Drawing lazy symbols in the air, Oradna hissed a few words in Locan. She then touched her index finger onto the tip of the sheepherder's middle finger. There was a soft 'tick' - the sound of a small bone snapping. The man grunted and began to slump. The guard used his free hand to hold him upright.
"Let us begin anew, shall we?" Kauldur said over the sheepherder's whimpering. "There was a hunter here in early winter, yes?" The man quickly nodded. "And I'm told he brought back proof of many dead wolves from the surrounding forest, is that correct?" The man nodded again. "Very good, sheepherder; gentle persuasion leads to a succinct conversation, don't you agree? Now, how many wolves were killed? Remember, elucidation will serve you well."
"Fifteen or - or sixteen pelts and heads on the sled, Maker," the man answered through gritted teeth. "I didn't count. The nu-number varies with the telling. Wolves were big, all adults."
"Did you see the hunter in question?"
The man nodded, holding back his pain. "He passed by me. Younger man, shorter than me, long b-black hair, trim beard." He paused to draw a breath, trying not to moan. "Fresh wounds on his face, one hand wrapped, slight limp, c-carried a g-good bow."
"If that is all you can recall," Kauldur said indifferently, "then the Order of Makers thanks you for your service. Oradna, pay the man."
Smirking, she leaned forward while hissing more Locan and broke another of his finger bones with a touch. The sheepherder cried out and fell to his knees.
"I meant a coin, dearest," Kauldur casually chided. He looked at the guard and said, "Escort the sheepherder out, and then bring a meal to Maker Shade-smith. If the whore he brought in last evening is still present, she can keep her legs open for you and the other men. If she demands payment, tell her to request it from me... if she dares."
The guard grinned, nodded his thanks, and then dragged the sheepherder away. After he left, Oradna leaned forward on the table and asked, "What has you vexed, Kauldur?"
He frowned. "I ponder two points. First, I spoke with this village's elder early this morning. The information he gave has stirred an elusive memory in my mind, and I cannot capture it."
"A memory... Of dead wolves, do you mean?" Oradna ventured.
"No," Kauldur answered irritably. "I am referring to what the elder said of the hunter. Not in terms of depiction; the sheepherder confirmed elder Berik's telling of the man's looks, and of the amount of wolves slain. The elder explained that the young man was not from Duuvinhal, and that he left the village the on the same day he returned from his successful hunt. Innards used as rope was pure fabrication, but the majority of the story is sworn to. Evidently, elder Berik thinks of this hunter as a hero with skills that no group of woodmen could match."
"The weak-minded are easily impressed," Oradna scoffed.
"Agreed," Kauldur said, and then frowned. "Nonetheless, facts and nearly identical testimony from independent sources cannot be ignored. Besides my currently faulting memory, this troubles me. How did this man accomplish such a task? That I am aware of, no other Maker's art would explain it."
"You mean besides your own, of course," she purred, edging closer to him.
"Obviously," he agreed arrogantly. "My art is unmatched. I certainly would not deign to use my prowess slaughtering wolves, especially for peasants who are too pathetic to handle their own affairs." Kauldur then leaned his face closer to hers and spoke in lower tones. "I have gone to great lengths to ensure that there is no other Maker of blood besides myself."
Oradna raised her eyebrows at the new piece of information, but said nothing. She understood the implication. Her mentor was proud; his ego would not allow an equal.
"So," Kauldur continued in the same guarded manner, "if this hunter has some other art that nearly parallels mine, what could it be?" He clenched a fist with the question. He thought of the modest hero of Duuvinhal as an unknown quantity, a possible obstruction or challenge of his plans of ascendancy. He also thought of him as a water well to be drained, and then closed off.
Oradna paused, unused to seeing Kauldur at a loss. She forced a smile and said, "We will ask this hunter once he is in our grasp. This young man... He is just another dirty peasant, like the fools and cowards he won over here. His only difference was luck. He cannot escape you, Kauldur. We will have to search for him, but I believe he will soon be within reach."
"Yes, he will be... although I am uncertain about how soon that might be. The target is nearly a season ahead of us and - leaving his allegedly wondrous skills aside - he is an outdoorsman as well, a hearty type of peasant. He could be anywhere in Kaldevarr by now, and without
need of civilized provisions. We may have a long road ahead of us, Oradna."
She leaned closer and rested a hand on his forearm. "Fate has always favored you. The truth has never escaped the greatest Inquisitor of the Order of Makers, and this time will be no different."
"Of course it won't," Kauldur retorted with an indignant tone. "I am merely stating that pursuing this young hunter may prove to be an arduous task. There is no need to affirm my conviction."
"I meant no offense." Oradna pulled back and quickly changed the subject. "Now, about what the village elder told you of the hunter... Was a name given?"
"Yes," he answered after a deep breath. "The hunter's name was Stenhelt, originally from a village somewhere in the south called Bruvaal. Both the name and village sound familiar, but my memory fails me beyond that."
"Stenhelt, you said? And Bruvaal... I recall that place name in one of the reports you had me check before I sent it off to the scribes."
"Bruvaal village, in a report... Yes, you're right!" Kauldur exclaimed. "One of the more recent scrolls, almost surely from Maker Winter-hand, yes?"
"Yes," Oradna replied with a smile, happy to prove her value, "given by an estate servant."
"A girl... She made accusations against someone named Stenhelt?"
"Outlandish accusations, if I remember correctly."
"But of what nature?" he asked heatedly. "Can you recall any details of those accusations?"
Oradna thought for a moment. "Physical abilities, I believe..." She shrugged apologetically. "Forgive me, Kauldur. I looked over the report, but didn't study it."
"Not to worry, my dear," he replied with a brighter tone. "We'll review it once we've returned home. And it would be prudent of me to question Frimgar for any other information that his old mind may have mistakenly omitted."
The stomp of heavy feet coming down the inn's stairs drew Kauldur and Oradna's attention. A sleepy Rhone Shade-smith came into their view, wearing nothing but trousers and riding boots. He wandered over to them, flopped into a chair, and immediately rested his head on the table. "Why did you have smelly mutton brought to me?" he grumbled. "I need more wine, not the burnt flesh of some foul little creature. It nearly made me ill."
"And a good morning to you as well," Kauldur said, finding himself in a much better mood than only moments before.
Rhone lifted his head and looked at both of them with heavy-lidded eyes. "Ah, yes - manners," he said groggily. "Good morning to you both. Now please have someone bring me wine." His head then dropped back to the table.
Kauldur gestured to a guard for a cask of wine and three goblets. "Good news, my friend," he said to Rhone. "My inquiry has concluded."
"It has?" Rhone mumbled. "I thought you'd have the entire village lined up for questioning."
"I've gathered what I needed from them. Now I have questions for you. As a former entertainer of the King's court, you have become acquainted with many lords of estates, have you not?"
Rhone slowly lifted his head. "Mostly by name only," he replied, "not that there are many estate holders to begin with. Where are you going with this?"
While a guard set down the wine and goblets, Kauldur said, "I received a report from a girl who works on an estate in the south. Knowledge of that estate owner would assist in my choices of how to proceed. Both of the estate lords I know have small militias at their disposal, so it would be rash of me to interrogate one of their personnel without permission or bribe. The same may be true of this situation..."
"Yes, I see your meaning," Rhone said while he sloppily poured wine for each of them.
"So, are you familiar with any lords in the southern region?
After a long sip, Rhone said, "I can think of only a few, but they live in remote areas and do not visit Vallo often. One may be dead by now, and I wouldn't be surprised if another - a lord Lohja, if I recall correctly - will be sooner or later knifed by his own workers. A tyrant, he is."
"Does either of those lords live near a village called Bruvaal?" Oradna asked.
Rhone ran his hand over his face and smoothed his long chin beard. "Bruvaal, down near the Skean Peaks? No, I don't think so," he answered. "I know for a fact that the Lohja estate is near Breskallin. The other may be outside of Troven."
"Surely there are more estates in the south," Kauldur said, his voice bordering on surly.
"Of course there are, but I'm not aware of every rich merchant in Kaldevarr," Rhone replied in kind. He sighed and took another drink. "The last I can vaguely recall," he continued, wiping his mouth, "is one of the traitorous ones who shunned the Order of Makers and instead took the mantle of an estate holder."
"Rhone, there are only two former Makers alive; Fog-caller and Dark-foot. Which one is it?"
"Dark-foot, I believe. A pity; Oma-Krin makes very good wine."
Kauldur sat back with a smile. "Ah, Tovira Dark-foot... That insolent, perfidious woman might face justice after all."