Morticai's Luck (14 page)

“I agree,” the High Priest replied, rising. Without another word, he left the room. Udall studied his clasped hands, and prayed that his nervousness was hidden from Luthekar by his hood and mask.

“Have you heard anything about the present condition of Morticai’s wound?” Luthekar continued.

“I have heard it said that he is healing very slowly. It is said that the priest brews a special potion each day and makes Morticai drink it. I talked with some of those who have taken it to him, and they say that the brew smells more of sorcery than of the Faith.”

“Good,” the High Priest interrupted as he re-entered the room. “That should help us, then.” The high priest produced several small jars, each containing a different colored powder. He pushed them across the desk to Udall.

“Udall,” he said, “when you have completed this new assignment, you shall return here and never again have to patrol with the Northmarch.”

Chapter Ten

The main hall was filled to capacity. To the displeasure of more than a few Northmarchers, the bar had been shut down. Kirwin McFerrin walked easily through the crowd. As he reached the far end of the hall he gestured to a table. Four men grabbed it and placed it before the main hearth.

He climbed onto the table and surveyed his men. As a hush quickly spread through the room, he noted that Brother Kinsey stood near the door. Kirwin had actually begun to look forward to the Inquisitor’s arrival. The quicker he showed up, the quicker Kirwin could get the Inquisition out of his fortress. He had enough worries without the Inquisition meddling in Northmarch affairs.

“May I have everyone’s attention,” he said … needlessly, for the sound of a dropped needle could have been heard in the large hall. “I have recently received important orders from Mid-Keep. All patrols are canceled until further notice.”

A loud rumble of exclamations swept through the crowd. Then, silence fell again. Kirwin smiled. Considering the magnitude of his announcement, his men were reacting with a good show of discipline.

“Those patrols which are still out will be informed of the situation as soon as they return. To answer some of your questions, let me state a few basic facts as they currently stand. We are not at war. We do not know if war will occur. The Northmarch does not and cannot side with either Dynolva or Watchaven. And no, I do not know what we will do if it comes to war—that is a decision for High Command. However, we
will
not bear arms against fellow Northmarchers under any circumstances.

“You are free to enter the city. The following rules are now in effect: anyone entering the city must have at least one companion; before leaving Northgate you must tell the gate guard where you are going and at what time you expect to return; we are on alert status—therefore, no one is allowed to stay out longer than four hours.

“I strongly suggest our corryn Northmarchers refrain from entering the city at all. I shall pass on information as I receive it from Mid-Keep. Some of you may be assigned to special courier squads to carry messages from here to Mid-Keep. Questions?”

A corryn close to the front waved a hand.

“Yes, Serlias?”

“Sir, my wife and son live in the city and … well, sir, I’ve become concerned for their safety. What should I have them do?”

“I wish I could tell you to bring them here, but as you realize, we just don’t have the room. I understand that the embassies of Dynolva and Menelcar, as well as Grandhaven Sanctorium, are taking in refugees. Phillip will set up escort units. Any of you who wish to have your families escorted to safety in any of those locations may let Phillip know, and we’ll assign them an escort unit. Yes, next?”

“Sir,” began a burly human, “I’ve heard that people in the city are starting to stockpile food—that the shelves are as bare as at the end of Fading Season. Will we have supply problems here?”

“I have also heard that people have begun hoarding. However, I anticipate no difficulties maintaining our supplies.”

The questions continued for several minutes. Finally, Kirwin climbed down from the table, allowing himself to be swallowed up by the crowd. A group was beginning to cluster around Phillip, while others wandered off, talking softly among themselves. Kirwin suspected there would be much more talk at Northgate this night.

* * *

It was time for Morticai’s mid-morning serving of broth. Having heard Grandhaven’s clock, Morticai was gingerly working his way back to his bed. Geradon would be furious if he discovered that he’d been getting up every day to throw knives. He had just made it onto the bed when the door latch began to turn.

“Mornin’,” the Northmarcher said when he saw that Morticai was awake.

“Hi, Udall. Don’t tell me, you’ve brought me this wonderful stuff that I’m just gonna’ love—right?”

Laughing, Udall set the broth down on the table beside the bed.

“You’re not tired of this, are you?”

“Well, it tasted pretty good the first few times. But six bowls a day has seemed to do something to the flavor.”

“Well, drink up. I don’t think you’ll find any of us willing to drink it for you!”

“Yeah, I’ll wager you’re right. Thanks.”

After Udall left, Morticai carefully maneuvered himself into a sitting position. He picked up the broth, stared at it a moment, and set it back down.

Yuuch
, he thought.
Not this morning—lunch will be here soon enough
!

Taking a deep breath, he slowly pulled himself up beside the bed. Picking up the broth, Morticai worked his way to the window using the furniture and the walls for extra support. The small window looked out onto the northern roof of Northgate’s eastern wing. He opened the window and nonchalantly poured the broth onto the roof. A dingy grey cat quickly ran across the roof toward the puddle.

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Morticai told the alley cat. “It’s not gonna’ last forever—I hope!”

He had made it back to the bed when the door latch began to turn again.
Must be Geradon
, he thought, closing his eyes. Silence. He lifted an eyelid enough to see Udall closing the door.
What the Levani is he doing back so soon
? Udall picked up the wooden bar and placed it across the door.

Morticai quickly moved his arm off the far edge of the bed, feeling for his dagger, but it wasn’t where he’d left it. He cursed silently, but then his fingertips brushed against a rounded shape.

Udall turned around and drew his sword. Morticai feigned sleep as Udall advanced. He was almost within sword reach when, with a yell, Morticai flung his chamber pot into Udall’s face and rolled off the opposite side of the bed. Udall howled in rage as the pot shattered against his forehead. Morticai gained his feet, but feared he’d be unable to keep standing—the room spun around him as searing pain shot up his side.

Clearing the bed, Udall rushed toward him. Morticai staggered back, colliding with a stack of chairs. He grabbed at them for support, and the unsteady stack toppled into Udall’s advancing sword strokes. The spinning room became a blur as he fought back the panic rising within him.

Morticai could hear Udall advancing. He careened into an empty wardrobe and tried to pull it over. He succeeded, but he crashed to the floor with it—and then heard Udall’s cry of anger from underneath the destroyed furniture.

For a moment, he lay frozen, listening for Udall’s movements. His vision cleared and he saw the human, who was pulling himself from the debris only a few feet away. He also saw his pile of practice knives, which lay only a few feet away. He scrambled toward them on his hands and knees as, again, the room began to spin.

Reaching the knives, he rolled into a sitting position. The spinning of the room reached full speed. Panting, he tried to focus, but he was unsuccessful. He closed his eyes against the spinning and threw two knives. He heard them as they struck … furniture.

Morticai regained his feet and reeled up against the room’s northern wall. Someone pounded on the door. Leaning against the wall, Morticai tried again to focus; he could see a vague blob moving toward him. The pounding on the door got louder. Udall let out a cry and charged. Morticai could no longer wait for his vision to clear, so he threw his last knife and prayed that his aim was true.

The blob coughed, gurgled, fell, and lay still. Gasping, Morticai closed his eyes and held his head. The dizziness subsided. Remaining in place, he opened his eyes. Udall lay kicking in a growing pool of blood about five feet away. Morticai’s knife sprouted from his throat.

He heard the door burst open and looked up, but that made his head spin again. He slid down the wall, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

* * *

The door gave with a loud crack as Richard threw his big body against it for the third time. Coryden charged past as Richard cleared the doorway. It took the captain a moment to spot Morticai, who sat slumped, head down, against the opposite wall of the large room. Broken furniture lay everywhere. It wasn’t until he was halfway to Morticai that he saw Udall’s body.

“Morticai! Are you all right?”

Morticai didn’t open his eyes “Coryden? Uh, yeah. I think so.”

A crowd of stunned Northmarchers filled the room. Everyone in the barracks beneath Morticai’s room had heard the noise.

“Udall!” someone cried.

Coryden reached Morticai first, but he decided against moving him back to the bed. Dualas appeared, and then Berret, and, as Coryden watched, his entire patrol quietly maneuvered themselves between Morticai and Udall’s angry patrol mates. Coryden noted that Richard had moved over to stand with his men. The crowd began yelling questions.

“Udall’s dead!”

“How?”

“Who? Morticai?”

“Udall!”

“What happened?” Udall’s captain demanded.

“He, uh … he attacked me,” Morticai said.

The noise level increased as more questions were shouted. Morticai didn’t respond.

“Bastard corryn!” someone shouted.

“This is crazy,” one of the humans responded to the insult. “What’re we talkin’ about here anyway? We’re all Northmarchers—this has nothin’ to do with Morticai bein’ corryn.”

The room itself seemed to growl as the patrollers argued amongst themselves.

“Why would he attack you?” Udall’s captain demanded, but before Morticai could answer, another voice commanded everyone’s immediate attention.

“Silence in the ranks!” Kirwin shouted. “What’s all this noise, Northmarchers? What’s going on here?”

The men fell silent. The crowd parted as Kirwin walked through. He paused when he saw Udall.

“Morticai murdered Udall,” someone said.

As if it were one entity, Coryden’s men tensed and moved a step closer to Morticai and their captain.

“It was self-defense,” Evadrel said.

Most of Coryden’s patrol stared at Evadrel—their scout rarely spoke if more than two or three people were present.

“Udall had no reason to attack him,” someone else yelled back. “He didn’t hate corryn. Morticai must’ve provoked it.”

Kirwin spun toward the speaker, his face set in stone. Coryden expected him to order the room cleared, but before he could give that order, Geradon’s voice rose above the murmuring crowd.

“The Droken have eyes and ears everywhere. And more than a few reasons to send an assassin against Morticai.”

“Droken …” the dread name whispered through the crowd as Geradon came forward.

Kirwin raised his voice again. “Right—I want everyone out of this room except Captain Coryden, Captain Williams, Sergeant Heimrik, and … Brother Geradon.”

Reluctantly, the crowd dispersed. The last to leave the room, Richard extracted the wooden bar from the iron lantern bracket he’d ripped from the wall and pulled the half-broken door closed after him.

“All right, Morticai,” Kirwin demanded, “what happened?”

“Udall brought me my broth and —“

“Where is it?” Geradon interrupted. “Did you drink any of it?” he demanded.

Kirwin glared at Geradon, who ignored him.

“I, uh, I poured it outside the window,” Morticai admitted.

“What?” Geradon asked.

Coryden went to the window, opened it, and then paused before looking back at Morticai. “Did you drink any of that broth, Morticai?”

“No, why?”

Coryden reached out the window, then turned around with the lifeless alley cat in his hands. Kirwin’s jaw dropped.

Captain Williams made a gesture against evil. “Blessed Levani!”

Geradon nodded. “As I said, the Droken have eyes and ears everywhere. I suggest we check this man’s belongings carefully and quickly.”

“Captain Williams,” Kirwin ordered, “secure Udall’s belongings before anyone tampers with them.”

“Y-yes, sir,” Williams replied.

“You expected this?” Kirwin demanded of Geradon when Williams had left.

“I expected some sort of an attempt, though I had not considered poison since I have been preparing the broth myself. It was foolish of me to allow anyone else to bring it to him. I am sorry, Morticai. This was a grave error on my part. Thank the Levani, your patron Glawres watches over you.”

“Are you all right, Morticai?” Kirwin asked.

“I, uh, think so, sir.”

“I had better check his wound,” Geradon told Kirwin.

Kirwin nodded. “Captain Coryden,” he instructed, “remove Udall’s body to the sanctum and get this room cleaned up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Carry on,” Kirwin said with a sigh.

As Kirwin exited, Morticai slumped against Berret.

“Glawres,” he mumbled, “my side hurts.”

“Well,” Geradon said, “let’s take a look at it.”

* * *

Morticai awoke the next morning to find Sir Dualas sitting beside the bed.

“Good morrow!” Dualas greeted him cheerfully.

“Ugh … if you say so,” Morticai replied. “Gods, I’m stiff. How long before I can move like a real person again, Dualas?”

“Brother Geradon has said that a few more weeks should have you feeling normal again.”

“A few more weeks!” Morticai sighed, “I’ve never had a wound like this.”