The Deer Prince's Murder: Book Two of 'Fantasy & Forensics' (Fantasy & Forensics 2) (24 page)

And it had begun to throw off scarlet sparks as Liam raised his voice another notch.

“Do you know who I am, spawn of dragons?” Liam challenged, “I am the Protector of the Forest, the keeper of the Fey Magic that sustains the realm upon which you tread!”

Sirrahon let out a sound like a ‘whuff’. A puff of black smoke billowed from his nostrils.

“Destry…” I said quietly, “what’s the dragon doing?”

The pooka’s brow furrowed.

“He is quite difficult to read. He is hesitant, that I can see. Ah, he has just checked his ability to breathe fire. He seems to be
sans carburant
now. Out of fuel to burn.”

“Liam!” I called. “You’ve got Sirrahon worried! Press him harder! Use the knowledge we have of the last war!”

My voice sounded confident, but my knees trembled. This was one hundred percent pure bluff. And as my poker-playing friends would have pointed out, I was betting Liam’s life on a pair of fives.

“I am the Protector of the Forest,” Liam stated firmly. “And the blood of all the Protectors before me runs in my veins! The same blood that ran in the veins of the Fayleene who stopped you all those centuries ago!”

Sirrahon froze, eyes riveted on Liam, on the sigil’s glow.

“He’s afraid!” Destry whispered, amazed. “The monster’s actually afraid!”

“I, Liam of the Fayleene, cast you out of the sacred woods! Flee back to the darkness, ancient wyrm!”

To my amazement, Sirrahon actually took a step back. Liam matched it with a step forward. The sigil blazed from the book’s page in a spangle of red. The dragon winced as the light danced in its eyes.

“
Flee!
” Liam bellowed.
“
Flee, lest you be returned to the stone from whence you came!
”

Slowly, like a fully loaded supertanker, Sirrahon turned away from Liam. Turned away from the burning remnants of the Fayleene woods. The world shook with each booming step. I held my breath until the shaking reduced itself to a mere tremor, and then finally receded into the distance.

Galen’s spell dissipated, returning Liam to his normal size. The sigil held above his head dimmed in intensity, and then finally went out.

A strange near-silence fell over the smoking ruins of the Sacred Grove. The crackle of the remaining fires smoldering in the trees. The splash of water. And finally, the clip-clop of cloven hooves. The Fayleene had emerged from the woods, many of them coated with ash or dripping cold stream water from their flanks and legs. The herd of fey deer surrounded us, focused solely on Liam. The Lead Doe named Orlaith stepped before him.

“You have saved us,” she pronounced, though with a new, humble tone in her voice. “O great Protector, you have saved us from the dread beast and come into your own. We are your people, and you are our fey lord to command as you see fit!”

As one, the assembled Fayleene bent their forelegs and went to one knee. A sea of bone-white antlers bowed before Liam, like a great wind bending back a gigantic stand of birch trees. And just when I didn’t think things could get any more epic, the sun broke through the clouds. A shaft of golden sunlight sliced through the gap as if it could wash away the broken, burning remnants of the forest, and lit Liam up in a bright golden spotlight.

Galen made a choked sound of awe. Then followed the example of the Fayleene by bending his equine forelegs and making a deep bow.

I felt a wetness upon my cheeks. Strangely, absently, I realized that they were tears.

Liam’s eyes met mine, and they were charged with wonder and disbelief.

I nodded to him.

Then I bent my knee and knelt before my friend as well.

Oh, yeah,
I thought to myself, as a fierce feeling of pride ran through me.
Not even Disney could top this.

Chapter Thirty-Two

The morning had come to an end before King Fitzwilliam and a dozen of his armored knights arrived at the Sacred Grove. Liam, flanked by a pair of the surviving Lead Does, stood along their path, waiting to greet them. We’d known of their coming for at least a quarter of an hour prior, as the jingle of steel and heavy tread of fully shod warhorses weren’t exactly hard to miss.

Galen and I had just sat down for a quick swig of water from his goatskin and to share out the very last of the apples from his saddlebags. Destry stood in the shadows nearby, quietly observing all that went on. My fingers ached from all the work they’d been put to. Liam had summoned a new pair of thunderbirds to call down enough rain to put out the forest fires for good, and the clouds had blown away with the freshening breeze. But now that the threat of imminent death had receded, many of the Fayleene had been left with cuts, scrapes, and burns.

I wasn’t a doctor by any stretch of the imagination. But I knew enough anatomy so that I could put limbs in a sling. Under Galen’s direction, Destry ranged out from the grove to locate deposits of healing mud and cooling moss that hadn’t been dried out or burned up by the fires. Once the pooka had done this, the wizard had led me through slathering on the mud and binding compresses made of the mosses.

The Fayleene were quiet for the most part when I treated them, even borderline shocky, which was to be expected. And even though I’d had some rough treatment at their hooves, I was glad to help. I hadn’t forgotten their medical assistance on my part when I’d suffered a concussion or even a cracked skull in their woods.

Fitzwilliam’s knights glinted silver, red, and black in the sunlight. The king rode at the head of the column, clad in gold-washed chain mail to the neck. His head was bare, save for the golden circlet of the crown, and his long gray cloak flowed out behind him, covering his saddle. He dismounted with a clink of his mail and then inclined his head towards Liam.

“Most honored Protector,” he began. “Forgive my intrusion into your demesnes. I received word from two quarters that your realm had been set upon by a dragon and immediately set out to assist you. The treaty between the castle and the wood stands firm and binding between us.”

“My thanks to you, King Fitzwilliam,” Liam replied. “It is good the bond is firm, though as you can see, little enough of the wood remains. The dragon was driven off, though not without loss and suffering.”

Fitzwilliam’s kind face grimaced. “What are your losses, Lord of the Fayleene?”

“Seven dead. Many more burned, bruised, or battered. The nights ahead promise to be cold, bare, and short of food as well.”

“It appears that I have arrived too late for battle,” Fitzwilliam said, as his eyes took in the ruined trees and the soot-covered Fayleene. “And I have no way to shelter your people. But perhaps I can help with the remaining problem. I have wagons of grain and greenery already rolling towards these woods. None shall go hungry, at least.”

At that, I handed Galen his goat-skin of water and got to my feet. I approached the two monarchs as Liam made his own little bow to Fitzwilliam.

“Thank you, your Majesty,” he said. “Whatever aid you can render us is sorely needed and quite welcome.”

I cleared my throat softly. I still wasn’t sure what the polite protocol was to break into an all-royal conversation. But I was so badly smudged with ash, mud, moss, and Fayleene blood that I probably violated every rule in the court etiquette book just by standing upwind of the king.

“Ah, Lady Chrissie,” Fitzwilliam said smoothly. “I am most pleased that you and the court wizard survived. Your griffin friend shall be pleased as well.”

“That makes two of us, your Majesty,” I agreed wholeheartedly, before my brain caught up with his words. For his part, Liam’s ears perked up immediately. “That is…I mean, is Grimshaw alive?”

“Indeed he is. I did say that I’d received news from
two
quarters, did I not? Master Seer Zenos came in the gray dawn with the news that Sirrahon had invaded the Fayleene. Then, as my men were collecting their gear to join my expedition, your griffin appeared in the courtyard, complete with a trio of broken ribs. He confirmed what Zenos told us and despite his wounds offered to lead us back to you.”

Liam snorted. “That sounds rather like our bone-headed griffin.”

“I declined the offer and instead put him under the care of the Royal Air Cavalry’s surgeon. The man’s treated plenty of griffins before, so your friend is in good hands.”

This time I bowed my head. “Your compassion is as deep as your wisdom,” I said thankfully. “And on that note, I thought that I might put forth an idea for you to judge.”

Liam gave me a curious glance. Fitzwilliam nodded curtly for me to go on.

“Much of the Fayleene wood has been destroyed, particularly the old-growth trees that made up this grove. In short, this forest isn’t much of a place to live anymore. Might I suggest a place on the border of your kingdom for the Fayleene to dwell that hasn’t been touched by conflict and loss?”

“I am all ears, Lady Chrissie.”

“The forest where the centaurs and the humans meet would suit everyone’s purpose. As a bonus, those woods contain the Grove of the Willows. To my mind, it couldn’t hurt to have a people who are admired by both human and centaur there to guard the Grove and help it flourish.”

Liam nodded appreciatively. “Indeed, it would be a fine place for my people to get back on all four feet. Are you willing to let us settle there, King Fitzwilliam?”

“I like the idea…” Fitzwilliam hedged. “But those lands lie athwart those of Lord and Lady Behnaz. If you can convince them to lay aside any objection, than I will give the move my blessing.”

I smiled at that. “I can guarantee that Lady Behnaz will help us out. And what she does with her land, her Lord will follow.”

Fitzwilliam spread his hands. “Then it appears that you and the Fayleene have everything in hand. We were not needed after all.”

“No, not quite, your Majesty. I know who murdered Captain Vazura. And right now, I could really use a column of armed and armored knights to take him out. That is, if you’re interested.”

Fitzwilliam’s eyes took on an eager, chilly look.

*              *              *

The afternoon was well advanced by the time the column of knights reached the first of the trio of streams that crossed the northern road into the mountains. Fitzwilliam had given me one of his knights’ spare mounts, a spirited charger that shifted under my saddle like a restless racehorse. But any misgivings I had were muted by the presence of the king himself on one side and the centaur wizard on the other. Liam had stayed back to care for his people, but Destry ranged ahead of the group, scouting for any dangers we might encounter.

The ride had taken on a strangely quiet air. Galen had gone into a light meditative state, trying to build up some of his sorely depleted magic. The king and his men were terse, eyes uneasily tracking movements along their flanks or on the road ahead. Hands stayed close to sword hilts as we rode, and as far as I could see, the entire column was armed to the teeth. They’d set out this morning to possibly fight a dragon, and now they were drawing closer to a brand new foe.

As for me? I was quiet so that I could let the gears in that eight-ball of a brain of mine clatter away. The last piece – the way that foe had slaughtered Vazura and would likely defend itself – finally became clear to me. And it happened as soon as we’d begun to cross the wide banks of thumbnail-sized gravel washed down from the mountains.

“Mine tailings…” I mused, and Fitzwilliam gave me a curious look. “All these gravel banks are from mining operations. Your Majesty, would these be from the kingdom’s
gold
mines?”

“Indeed,” he answered. “Upriver are the veins from which have supplied most of the kingdom’s gold or silver coinage over the years.”

The last piece of the puzzle fell into my mind with a solid
click
.

“So that’s how he kills,” I breathed. “With cyanide from the kingdom’s own mines.”

The edge of Fitzwilliam’s mouth curled up in his odd form of a smile. “Truly, how your intellect works is dizzying to witness. And yet my men and I are in need of your insights. You have told us how you suspect this ‘Old Man of the Mountains’. Yet even I am puzzled as to how an ethereal demon could have killed so quickly. It seems that you have finally discovered the method.”

I nodded. “The ‘Old Man’ is one of the demons mentioned in the Codex. One of the ‘Creatures of the Dark’ that were sealed by the victors inside the ‘stones that lay among the mountains’ at the end of the last ‘Great War’. It’s why Destry sensed that this particular spirit had visited your palace many times before. Over the eons, the account of that war was lost. That spirit could do no more than watch as King Julian raised your palace, as each of your forebears ruled and died in turn. And since no human knew the spirit’s true identity, it became a folk legend.”

“A being that knew things no material creature could,” Fitzwilliam added, catching on. “I recall stories from my childhood. This ‘Old Man’ was someone who provided useful – and somewhat malicious advice.”

“I learned from Destry that ethereals can, with practice, manipulate small objects.” I looked upslope, where the dark woods stretched up the slope into the fog. “A weapon as light as a blowgun dart made of pine needles would be ideal. But a fragile weapon would need a potent poison to be effective. As it happens, up here in the mountains, it could access a pretty good supply of it.”

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow. “Gold from my mines?”

“Not the gold. The solvent used to extract it.” I rubbed my forehead absently as I went on, dredging up old memories from chemistry class. “There’s not much gold in each ton of ore. In order to pull the metal from the rock, small-scale miners use mercury. Or cyanide salts. Tipping a dart with concentrated fluid from, say, the mine’s tailing ponds would give you a weapon that could kill almost instantly.”

“That does add up, Lady Chrissie. But I still need ask: why kill one of my Captains? Why kill the Fayleene Protector? What could a rock-demon desire so strongly that it would be driven to the act of murder?”

Before I could answer, my mount suddenly shied away from something just ahead of it. I cried out in surprise, fighting the reins and probably doing just as much to discomfort the horse. Galen exhaled deeply and rubbed his eyes as he shook off his light trance. He quickly stepped to the charger’s side, laid a hand on its mane, and spoke a quartet of magical words, calming it.

But the other horses in the column began to act similarly. Several knights had to fight to calm their mounts, and a couple swore under their breaths. A stiff breeze howled through the trees on either side of the stream. Destry appeared from his place at the head of the column, his eyes wide and nostrils flared.

Rocky’s grandfatherly voice emerged from the swirls of wind. Only this time, the warmth of his ethereal speech was long gone. In its place lay a harsh, brittle undertone. One that made me think of the angry hum of bees when someone had poked their hive with a stick.

“What would drive a being like me to kill a human and a Fayleene?” Rocky asked, in a sing-song manner. “Could it be that three thousand years of imprisonment inside a stone cell has driven me insane?”

“Dayna!” Destry’s voice sounded in my head. “This spirit moves fast, faster than I!”

King Fitzwilliam’s sword rang as he drew it from the sheath. His men followed suit.

“Where is he, then?” Fitzwilliam demanded. That startled me; Destry had evidently broadcast his speech to everyone in the party, and not just me. “Speak now, pooka!”

Destry’s voice was full of alarm “I’m not sure…it feels like he is…all around us!”

And with that, the Old Man of the Mountain let out a phantom cackle that danced in the air around us, setting my nerves jangling like I’d stuck a finger in an electric socket.