Pael looked at Duke Fairchild as if he were studying the inside of his skull. Pael’s gaze was unnerving, but Vincent Fairchild didn’t blanch under the scrutiny. He had committed horrors that were unspeakable. It would take more than the stare of a man, so white that he could’ve been carved out of marble, to unsettle him.
“The King is dead,” Lord Brach said finally. “Poisoned, or magicked; we’re not sure which, but that is not your concern. We’re keeping it quiet for now. I only tell you so that you might see the magnitude of the duty we’re placing upon you.”
“Bring the stableman!” Pael commanded.
The strange wizard had a sinister, giddy quality about him that touched a nerve in the Duke.
Two of the men standing against the back wall stepped forward into the light. Fairchild instantly recognized one of Lord Brach’s personal guards. He acknowledged the man with a nod.
The other was dressed in what were once probably quality working clothes, but were now stained filthy with sweat, vomit, and more than a little blood. The stableman’s face was swollen on one side, as if he held an apple in his cheek. Fairchild saw that there was another man still concealed in the shadows. He silently congratulated himself for counting correctly.
“Last night, while the King lay dying, the King’s Squire, a boy called Mikahl Thayne, made ready for a sizable journey, and then fled the castle,” Lord Brach explained.
Thayne, Fairchild knew, was the name given to bastard born children. Thayne was the god of the needy, the protector of the lost and alone. The Duke filed that bit of information away and continued listening.
“He left sometime in the night after assaulting this man.” Lord Brach indicated the stableman with a look of extreme distaste. “We assume he left through the Northroad Gate. It was the only one open throughout the night.”
Duke Fairchild, at that point, knew what his duty was. He was, after all, a hunter and interrogator. He was glad he had brought Tully and Garth with him on this most fortunate of errands. They were both experienced and loyal men, men who understood how to track and kill the sort of prey they would be after. A look of eagerness and longing crept over Duke Fairchild’s face. The expression was lustful and predatory, like a hungry beast with the scent of blood finding its nostrils. Pael, who had been silently studying the Duke, read the intent in the man’s countenance, and found that he was pleasantly surprised.
“Learn what you can from the stableman, and then dismiss him properly.”
Fairchild hadn’t needed the emphasis on the word “dismiss” to understand his Lord’s meaning, but he nodded for the benefit of the wizard, and the hidden spectator. Lord Brach continued:
“We want this squire alive, if at all possible. His manner of departure, and the timing, suggests that he was involved, and is possibly carrying a message to an unknown party. We would like to know who that someone is, no matter what the cost.”
“Bring him alive!” Pael commanded then, his eyes conveying an intensity that Fairchild understood completely. “No matter what his condition is, if he is alive and can speak, I will be able to leech his mind of the knowledge we seek!”
“I understand,” Fairchild told them, with more than a little eagerness showing in his voice. “If it pleases milord, can your man escort the stableman back to the stable? I would do so myself, but it seems that time is of the essence here. I have other preparations to make, and men to round up and outfit before I get to him.”
With a nod, Lord Brach granted the request. Duke Fairchild was turning toward the door to leave, when a voice he recognized right away, caught him short.
“Your diligence in this matter will be well remembered,” Prince Glendar said from the shadows. Duke Fairchild smiled to himself. King Glendar, he corrected his thought, and continued on with his duty with that much more fervor.
After he had exacted what information he could from the stableman, and cleaned the blood and skin from his dagger, Duke Fairchild met his men at the Northroad Gate. The trio of night watchmen his men had cornered seemed annoyed at being rousted this early in the day. They grew quite cooperative, and obedient, however, after the Duke threw all ten of the stableman’s bloody fingers in the dirt at their feet.
No one had left through the gate after dark, they all agreed. And only a single wagon, and later a lone post rider had entered. Duke Fairchild knew from experience that the watchmen were telling the truth, so he left them and moved on.