Chapter 19 The Blackwood Tomb #4
Elias paused just outside the gates to the Blackwood tomb.
He gathered his thoughts. “I’m not sure.
It wasn’t registered with the Department of Deviant Artifacts, which could look bad in the eyes of King Valienthe.
Our families are not on easy terms right now.
” He hesitated, thinking of the secret his enemy had taunted him with.
Did the Valienthe family truly know how to kill the Daemon King?
It sounded like a bald-faced lie or a groundless rumor at best. But if it were true, how did he go about proving it?
Putting an end to the Daemon King once and for all took precedence before anything else. What if such knowledge existed?
“Let’s not speak of this to anyone for now, until I decide what to do,” Elias said. “That’s an order, Kiran.”
“Yes, High Commander,” his officer bowed.
“Now, for our next order of business, come with me.” Elias entered the courtyard around the tomb and began searching the grass. He drew Blacklight for the extra illumination as he searched the ground around each of the fallen corpses.
“What are you looking for?” Kiran asked.
Elias’s hand slipped into the pocket of his jacket, where his fingers found the cool, hard edge of the metal tag he had plucked from the grass earlier that evening.
He had found the tag in the grass just after rescuing Celise near the lake shrine.
The square of metal was similar in size and shape to a cattle tag, though heavier, made of a strip of hammered iron.
He knew what it was, but how had it come to be at Gravenmere Castle?
Elias took the metal tag out of his pocket and tossed it to his brother-in-arms. “What do you think this looks like?” he asked.
He didn’t need to see Kiran’s face pale over his shoulder to know his officer’s reaction. He could hear the quiver in Kiran’s voice as he gasped, “This is from Firehelm’s secret stock.”
“Indeed.” Elias found what he was looking for amidst the ashes of the violet crawler. He fished out another metal tag from between the scorched bones. He pocketed it. Then he continued toward the corpse of the green worm, looking for the next tag.
“We keep a handful of daemons in underground containment units for demonstrations for our recruits,” Elias mused as he circled around the tomb. “I started the program last year. It’s better that Luminous soldiers encounter a live daemon before heading into the trench.”
“Yes, I know. I supported it, remember? I recall the trouble you had getting it approved by Admiral Voch.”
“Well, it would seem our enemy didn’t have far to transport the daemons if he got them from Firehelm Fortress.
But only a few individuals know about our secret underground menagerie.
Therefore, this enemy must be someone well-trusted and knowledgeable about our military base and operations to access the underground vaults. ”
“I could speak to the zookeeper, if you wish,” Kiran offered.
“Unfortunately, Kiran, I don’t think I’ll be able to trust you with this investigation.” Elias turned to look his officer in the eye. “Arrest him.”
“What?” Kiran looked shocked.
Without warning, Ravenna and Fenrick emerged from the shadowy woods that surrounded the tomb.
Kiran didn’t struggle as each soldier took hold of one of his arms. Using shined cuffs, they locked his wrists behind his back, activating the special qualities of the metal so Kiran couldn’t break free.
The cuffs glowed with a soft blue light.
“What are you doing?” Kiran demanded. “Elias! This is absurd!”
Elias calmly approached his adopted brother.
He reached into Kiran’s white jacket and withdrew the Starcaster Cannon from his breast pocket.
He transferred the gun to his own coat. Then he looked Kiran in the eye, searching his face, trying to discern if he could trust his oldest friend or if the man had turned against him.
His heart told him it couldn’t be true—but his intellect argued otherwise.
“I know of six Luminous soldiers who have access to the underground vaults. Only one of them would know about the Blackwood tomb or my frequenting the area. As for my missing artifact, it was last in your hands. Unfortunately, Kiran, I must detain you for questioning.”
His adopted brother stared at Elias with a shocked expression. “But the maniac in the tower—it couldn’t be me! I was with Ravenna and Fenrick this whole time! Why would I plot against you, Elias? I am your brother and your biggest supporter. I gave you my hand.”
Elias didn’t flinch, despite the sincerity of Kiran’s words and the pleading look in his amber eyes. The Mad Dog wore the face of a military commander: stoic, emotionless, authoritative. Ravenna and Fenrick looked less certain, but neither one balked at their duty.
“Lock him up,” Elias repeated. “I will question him in due time. Perhaps you are innocent, Kiran, but I must know for certain before I let you go.”
“This is absurd!” Kiran repeated, a skittish laugh ripping from his throat. “Balderdash! Nonsense! Ridiculous!” He continued to laugh in a strained fashion as Ravenna and Fenrick escorted him about-face. Side by side, the three soldiers started the long walk back to Gravenmere Castle.
Elias turned to face his last two soldiers: Cherry and Riordan. The two stood side-by-side, polar opposites of each other. Cherry, short and fierce, barely kept her lips pressed closed; Riordan, tall, pale and somber, looked begrudgingly reproachful.
“Sir, with all due respect, I don’t think Officer Kindale—” Cherry started to say, but Riordan shifted, touching his arm against hers, which was enough to silence her.
Elias pretended not to notice the lapse in protocol. Instead, he bent down and picked up another metal tag off the ground. Three tags. One more to go.
A soft clatter echoed through the shadows, interrupting the quiet night. Elias glanced up. It sounded like boots slipping over loose stones, followed by a loud splashing, sloshing sound.
Was there a pond or a lake nearby? He didn’t think so.
Elias shared a look with the two remaining soldiers. Then he nodded.
Cherry took off at a sprint, eager to work out some of her frustration over Kiran’s arrest. Riordan followed at a slower, more methodical pace, drawing his daggers from his belt.
Elias took up the rear, his eyes roving over the ground in search of the last of the metal tags.
The first three clinked softly in his pocket.
The splashing continued in the distance. The three soldiers traveled through the dense grove of manawood trees, thrusting aside large ferns and stepping around moss-covered boulders.
Then a frightened voice reached them through the shadows: “Help! Hello? Hello? Help me!”
Elias felt a chill run down his neck. He moved faster through the woods.
Before long, he joined Cherry and Riordan at the edge of a deep pit.
The large, square hole was hidden between several crumbling cabins.
It must have been a cellar or basement at one time, perhaps a servants’ quarters or undercroft.
All four sides of the cellar were walled in with heavy stone blocks.
Whether the floor was paved or not was irrelevant, as the bottom of the ancient cellar was submerged in a deep puddle.
The muddy water had yet to drain out from the recent rainstorm.
A man stood in the pit, submerged up to his calves in the fresh rainwater.
“Hello! Oh, thank the Goddess you found me! I thought I would die here! Please, get me out of this place!”
Elias came to stand at the edge of the hole.
He drew his ghost sword from his hip and held Blacklight high, casting a violet glow throughout the cellar below him.
There, a squat man with a round, sunburned face in muddy overalls stared up at them.
The fellow was middle-aged with a white handlebar mustache and a tweed cap that had seen better days.
He looked at once drenched by rain and scorched by the sun—his meaty forearms and nose were blistered red.
Elias could take a guess at the man’s identity. Leaning over his knee at the edge of the pit, he called down, “You wouldn’t happen to be a pig farmer by any chance?”
“I am, Your Grace!” the farmer called back.
Elias recognized his rolling, lilting accent; it was common to the northern villages of his father’s estate.
“I was delivering a wagon of pork to the banquet for Elias Blackwood’s birthday!
Alas, I never made it. Bandits attacked me on the road.
They took me here and fed my stock to . .
. to . . . Well, you rightly won’t believe me, but they fed my pigs to a pack of monsters! ”
“We believe you!” Cherry called down into the pit. “Not to worry—the monsters are gone now. We’ve dealt with them.”
“Righto! I thought my luck had changed when I heard the explosions,” the farmer agreed.
Despite his ordeal, he seemed to be in high spirits.
“I’ve been hiding down here for days! I was scared to make a peep before now, in case the monsters came after me.
I think the bandits assumed I would be eaten.
Luckily, those creatures didn’t find me.
Oh, but the Goddess answered my prayers! Thank you all for saving me!”
Riordan left the side of the hole and returned with a couple of long branches.
With Cherry’s help, in a brief amount of time, the two soldiers fashioned a ladder to help the farmer out of the pit.
Elias leapt down into the hole to help the farmer up the first half of the ladder.
Despite his cheerful attitude, shallow cuts and bruises ran along the man’s arms and neck.
With a lot of help, the farmer was able to climb out of the muddy hole.
Riordan’s strong hands assisted him the final few feet to solid ground. Elias followed him up.
Once safely above ground, Cherry offered the farmer her flask of water while the old man leaned up against the side of a manawood tree.
“Do you remember any names or details about the men who kidnapped you?” Elias asked. “Do you think you would be able to recognize them?”
“They didn’t use normal names, just nicknames like ‘Kitty,’ ‘Hawk,’ and ‘Bucket.’ I got a good look at one or two of them when they first attacked my wagon, but they kept a bag over my head the rest of the time,” the farmer admitted.
“I think I would be able to recognize their voices before I saw their faces.”
“Well, that’s something,” Elias murmured. “Even if they used nicknames, we should gather as much information as possible.”
“I do remember one name,” the farmer suddenly said, his bloodshot eyes growing wide. “It was ‘Dead Jackal’ . . . or maybe ‘Dread Jackal?’ They mentioned that name several times.”
Dread Jackal? Elias was reminded of the thieves who had stolen from his treasury.
He had yet to find the time to interrogate them, but he remembered the name falling from their lips several times in the forest. Was their ringleader, the “Dread Jackal," also responsible for the daemons at the Blackwood tomb?
Or perhaps this jackal was working with a wide network of other criminals?
Perhaps he was the man behind the shined mask in the tower?
“Very good,” Elias said, clasping his hands behind his back.
He would remember the name—it gave him a place to start investigating.
“That’s very helpful. Once we get back to the castle, I will make sure the staff assigns you a comfortable room with a bath and a hot meal.
On the morrow, once you are rested, I’ll have you meet with Riordan to draw a portrait of the men who attacked you.
He is a skilled artist—handy with charcoals.
Try to remember every small detail you can.
You’ll be well compensated, I can assure you. ”
“Of course, my lord!” the farmer said eagerly. “I will help you in any way I can. Though I must admit, a hot meal sounds lovely. I haven’t eaten in days.”
Elias left Cherry and Riordan to assist the farmer while he started back to the castle at a faster pace.
As he passed through the Blackwood tomb, Elias’s eye caught on a square shape in the grass, and he collected the last of the metal tags from the daemon corpses.
He slipped the metal square into his pocket.
Then he continued on his way through the ruins of the old castle, his thoughts burning up his head in a feverish frenzy.
Much had happened in the last few hours—he would have to write it all down, or else risk forgetting the smaller details.
Who was the man in the shined mask? Were the daemons transported from Firehelm Fortress?
Was the mysterious riddle written by the Dread Jackal? How was it all connected?
Was Officer Kiran Kindale—his adopted brother, closest friend and confidante—in league with his enemies?
As Elias walked, he ruminated on the events of the evening, turning each small detail over and over again in his mind. Someone had delivered a pack of daemons to his castle. Someone had threatened his guests, endangered his family, and stolen from his office. Someone had attacked his betrothed.
He would find the culprit—by whatever means necessary.