Welcome back to #SIlvanusAndEmpire, my original serialized novel made available exclusively on Steemit! In our last chapter, we saw the aftermath of Caddoc and Lyrinn's abduction. How will Old Oren cope with the bloody business?
Silvanus and Empire
Chapter Ten
public domain image from Wikimedia Commons
Oren sighed and rubbed wearily at his eyes. He was sitting at his desk, inkpen in hand, trying to make sense of the situation. The awful scene this morning coupled with the argument he’d had with his apprentice the night before had him completely unable to think straight.
The morning had been promising until a cool, wet wind had blown in from the north, bringing with it a thick line of heavy clouds and a damp, chilly mist. Oren had lit a fire in Caddoc’s makeshift hearth to keep the cold from his bones after coming back from the gruesome abattoir that had once been the baker’s house. He would have rather avoided the whole grisly business, but with Caddoc missing the only Imperial representative in the area was Oren; it was his responsibility to document the incident carefully and accurately.
Oren finished penning his report and was carefully blotting the ink when he heard a call from the doorway. Regaining his feet, he walked over and opened the door. Outside was a large group of townsfolk, among them Bryn and Dafydd.
“Beggin’ yer pardon, Scribe Oren, but ye said ye’d have yer findings by this afternoon?” Bryn snatched his knit cap off his head and hugged it to his chest. “On account of… of the baker, and all.”
Oren nodded gravely. “Yes, Master Farmer, I did say so, did I not? Very well. I have examined the scene carefully and I believe I have reconstructed how the terrible event took place.” The crowd tittered nervously. “I trust that if I share my insights with all of you, you can take this information home to your families and neighbors and share it in turn with them, putting an end to idle speculation and rumormongering?”
The crowd murmured assent; Oren took a deep breath. “Then let me begin. It is my belief that the Wildgirl Lyrinn, ward of Master Baker, conspired to kill both him and her wife with the aid of one or more as-yet-unknown parties. As Apprentice Bell has disappeared as well, it can only be inferred that somehow he is involved.”
The crowd erupted into noise. Several people began muttering and cursing. One spoke Lyrinn’s name and spat on the ground roughly. Dafydd called out, “Not Caddoc! Surely not him, Scribe Oren?”
“Yes, yes,” Oren called over the voices of the crowd. Discussion trailed off as Oren began to speak again. “Yes, Master Smith, I am afraid young Caddoc Bell is very much involved. I very much suspect however that it is against his will.”
He turned to face the crowd as a whole. “My friends!” he cried. “Who among you is unaware of the foul heretic powers of the pagan Bloodhairs? How many have had accidents befall them shortly after encountering the Silvani witch that lived among us for so long? Is it any surprise that she could possess the power to bend a man’s will to her own? Or summon her kinsfolk from across the shores of the river? The girl was a viper in our midst, and she has repaid our mercy by biting us upon the heel.
“From his first day in Annex, my apprentice has been accosted by the Bloodhair witch. I cautioned him time and again on the dangers of speaking with her, but I fear it was simply too late; she had cast a geas upon him, and last night, when she summoned him, he came.”
“What proof do ye have that he was involved?” cried Dafydd. “What if he happened upon the real murderers and was slain by them himself?”
“His dustcloak was found at the scene, soaked with blood, so we know he was there last evening. Also, I was the last to see him before his disappearance,” Oren went on, “and our parting words were… not kind. It was then that I realized the witch had him under her thrall; no right-thinking servant of His Holiness would ever speak in such a manner. He spoke heresy! No, I feel Apprentice Bell is in grave danger. Doubtless the Silvani will discard him when he is no longer useful. We can only pray she or her companions do not kill him.”
“Companions?” someone in the back asked. “There were more of them?”
“Yes,” he replied. “At least two more. There were several sets of tracks in the house, all in dried blood: one of a well-made leather boot of Imperial design, such as the boots my apprentice wore, another of coarse wooden clogs favored by the good townsfolk of Annex, and an unknown number of prints made from some crude procedure, most likely tanned or cured hide.”
“Wildfolk!” Bryn was wringing his cap in his hands worriedly.
“Yes, Wildfolk. I know as well as you do, my friends, that any pious follower of His Holiness would sooner go barefoot than don footwear favored by heretics and nonbelievers, much less Bloodhair savages. I find it highly unlikely that even the witch herself could bring herself to stain her hands with the blood of the good people who raised her; she undoubtedly directed her Bloodhair allies – and perhaps even compelled my poor apprentice – to slit their throats and remove their hearts before departing. Yes,” he said, as the crowd began murmuring again. “Yes, I doubt not that she has the power to force Apprentice Bell to ruthlessly slaughter a helpless human being. In fact, I believe that he was in the bedroom as Master Baker’s wife was butchered; someone had been sick in the washbasin next to the bed. Who else, but my poor apprentice?”
Bryn spoke over the crowd again. “So what are we to do, Scribe Oren?”
“We are in for dark, evil times ahead, Master Farmer.” The crowd hushed. “You all must take care with you and your own, for the moment; lock your doors and shutter your windows at night. Try not to go anywhere alone. And for the love of His Holiness, stay out of sight of the river if you can. This is but a taste of what is to come. Leaving behind the heartless corpses of their enemies may be the first thing they do, but it will not be the last.”
Dafydd wiped nervous sweat from his broad forehead. “But is there nothin’ that can be done? Scribe Oren, can’t we call fer help from Imperial City?”
“Yes!” some of the crowd shouted. “Send for help! Send for an army!”
“Yes, we could ask for help,” Oren countered, “I have written my report and it is ready to be carried to Imperial City starting as early as tomorrow morning. But who among us would go?”
The crowd fell silent.
“Yes, who would risk the long trek over the Cliffway, alone, over countless leagues, with no company but the dark, evil river upon their right?” Oren crossed his arms and surveyed the crowd. “But then, if the Bloodhairs come in force, who will protect us?” None in the crowd would meet his gaze. “Very well,” he said, and turned to retreat back into the deep recesses of the Depository. “Sad is it that the fate of us all would be sealed but for one brave soul. If any of you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
The crowd stood quietly outside the door of the old barn for a few moments, shuffling their feet and murmuring to themselves. Finally, they began to disperse and walk off in twos and threes. The gathering mists swallowed them all. Soon only Bryn and Dafydd were left. They shared a long silent moment.
“Yer not thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, are ye?” Bryn finally said, jamming his cap back down on his head and pulling it tight.
Dafydd laughed. “Are ye thinking, ‘my wife’s gonna kill me?’ Because if y’are, then yer thinkin’ exactly what I’m thinkin’.”
Bryn nodded. “Two brave souls are better’n one, hain’t they?”
“That they be.” Dafydd strode through the open doorway, shouting, “Scribe Oren! Wait!” Bryn scuttled after him.