Death After Death-Chapter 368 - Off the Beaten Path

Things might never have changed if Sir Derinholt hadn’t run into Sir Makrenson a few weeks later at a chance encounter at an out-of-the-way crossroads inn. The Looted Lute wasn’t in any way special. It wasn’t on a major trade route, and it didn’t have any illustrious history or powerful patrons. It wasn’t even in a wealthy region. It was just a rural dive with reasonably good ale.

Despite the list of defects he noted in the place’s stables and roof thatching, Simon could respect that. He could even expect the cold shoulder they’d get from the locals. What he didn’t expect was to run into another member of the Unspoken in such a humble establishment.

Simon noticed him almost immediately because of the pattern on his cloak. Still, he played dumb since he decided it made more sense for Sir Derinholt to point it out to him, rather than vice-versa, still the knight didn’t seem to notice, and for the first minute or two, the new Unspoken didn’t either.

That didn’t last long. By the time the innkeeper brought them a meal, Simon and his knight had been spotted, but the man didn’t get up and approach them. Instead, he glared at Simon as if he’d done something wrong.

I wonder what he sees when he looks at me? Simon thought to himself, trying to ignore the man. It was a certainty that most members of the Unspoken had sight that was far superior to Sir Derinholt’s, and Simon wasn’t quite sure what would happen next.

Is my aura bright enough? He asked himself as he ate in silence. The vortexes have calmed down at least a little…

Ultimately, the uneasy stalemate might have continued all night if Simon hadn’t asked, “Do you know that man? He’s been staring at us for a while now.”

That was enough to make Sir Derinholt turn, and when he recognized the other man, he smiled and invited him to join them. The newcomer was quickly introduced as Sir Malkin. Simon was introduced as well, but only briefly.

“You? With a squire?” Sir Malkin asked. “I never thought I’d see the day.” Of the two, Sir Malkin was younger and more vital, but he also seemed more fervent. If Sir Derinholt was a jaded veteran, then Sir Malkin was a young zealot.

Things were all smiles at first, but the conversation quickly drifted away from him as the two caught up on their recent exploits. Sir Malkin told them both about a cult that he’d recently found and eliminated in a small mountain town. He even described something that sounded suspiciously like a Witchmark on their leader.

In Simon’s experience, that didn’t make sense, and hinted at a larger mystery; he wanted to ask about it, but of course, he couldn’t. He was supposed to be a simple young man learning about these things, not lecturing his betters.

So, he just listened as the conversation turned to what he and Sir Derinholt had been up to for the last few weeks and months. Their bandit slaying wasn’t much, but the knight still played it up as if it was; that told him something new about the man. He wasn’t just coasting off the goodwill of the people of the region, but he was engaging in behavior that the White Cloaks probably wouldn’t approve of in the process.

Not a veteran passed his prime then, Simon noted, correcting his mental model. A slacker just smart enough to be embarrassed of his own behavior.

On some level, he’d known that from the beginning. He’d certainly known that, Sir Derinholt wasn’t what he expected in an Unspoken knight, but it was interesting to see it confirmed by the contrast between the two men. One was burning for leads to seek out even more evil, and the other was just trying to get through the night without embarrassing himself.

Simon found himself wishing he’d found Sir Malkin as his way into the order instead of Sir Derinholt. Actually focusing on hunting down evil instead of making sure they were never more than a day or two from a hot meal would have made it a lot easier for him to prove himself.

At least, that’s what he thought until later that night. However, when the two men left Simon alone to speak in private, he crept out on the roof to listen to their conversation and changed his mind.

“So you see what I’m talking about, it just doesn’t trouble you?” Sir Malkin asked. Simon had apparently missed the first bit of what they were discussing, but thanks to their raised voices, it was clear, even from this distance, that they were talking about him.

“Are you accusing me of going blind?” Sir Derinholt asked, putting enough emphasis on the word that Simon was sure he was missing some context there. “The man has a queer aura, to be sure, but that can happen. There’s no darkness to him, and that’s what matters.”

“No darkness, sure,” the other knight agreed, “But half the witches we burn are able to hide their auras with their vile magic.”

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

You mean half the people you burn aren’t wicked at all, Simon thought, annoyed at how backwards these people were. They could have been a true force for good if they simply understood what it was they were really seeing, but their superstitions about what exactly magic was, and what it did to people, were getting in the way.

“Have you tested him at least?” Sir Malkin asked. “Does he have any gifts?”

“He’s a decent enough swordsman,” Sir Derinholt answered, “But then that’s not exactly what you mean, is it?”

The two men argued at length, then about whether Simon should be tested, without offering any specifics on how that testing would occur. Simon knew what would have to be tested, of course, at least he thought he did. They would test to see if he had the sight. They might test morality in some way, too, he supposed.

Will they try to see if I can use magic again? He asked himself. That would ruin everything. They’d done that once before, of course, but until now, he’d never considered it very likely that they might do it again. Now he worried, but as he worried, he retreated back to the room so he could feign ignorance; getting caught would make everything worse.

There were no questions about tests that night. Simon just lay there pretending to be asleep and Sir Derinholt came back to the room and lay down on the room’s sole bed.

In the morning, they departed as planned, but strangely, Sir Malkin didn’t join them. When Simon asked about that, Sir Derinholt said, “He’s off in search of gremlins or some such. It’s a waste of resources for experienced brothers to travel together. You can cover more ground if you split up.”

“But if he knows of a monster, then surely we should—” Simon pressed, but the old knight shrugged it off.

“A call? For gremlins? Bah,” the man interrupted. “If there was a ghoul or a necromancer or even a troll, a call would go out and we’d handle something like that in force, but you don’t need two or three Un… you don’t need that many warriors to deal with goblins or hedge witches, you hear?”

Do you need more to test me? Simon thought, even though he said nothing. That wasn’t a question he could ask because he wasn’t supposed to know about it. It just continued to exist in the back of his mind as he walked along beside the knight’s horse as they made their way down the trail.

It wasn’t until hours later, after they’d stopped for a simple lunch and watered the horse, that Sir Derinholt brought up anything promising when he said, “You should know that my brother was concerned about you” after taking a long drink from his wine skin.

“What?” Simon asked, feigning surprise. “Why? What did I do?”

“You? Nothing as far as I can tell,” the older knight said with a shrug. “You have a strange aura about you. That’s all.”

“Aura?” Simon asked, before hastily adding, “I uhmmm, don’t know what you mean by that.”

It was a lie, but one that he made as obvious as possible. This was the conversation he wanted, but it wasn’t as if he could just embrace it.

“I think you do,” the knight corrected him. “At least a little. You… see things sometimes, don’t you? Things that aren’t really there.”

Simon stayed quiet then, both to put on an act and also to consider a point. How deeply can Sir Derinholt see? He asked himself. He doesn’t kill very often, but he also doesn’t seem to peer too deeply into the outside world. Could he catch me in a lie?

The answer to that question changed his answer a little, and yet he still erred on the side of caution. “Sometimes, but uhmm… It’s easier when I see bad people.” He wanted to add something like I’m not sure if I’m just imagining it when I do, but that would have clearly been a lie, so he refrained.

Sir Derinholt sat quietly in his saddle again just long enough for it to be concerning, so Simon added, “Is that a bad thing? Does that mean I might become a warlock or a—”

“It’s just the opposite, mostly,” the knight said. “To speak the words of power is to taint your soul and blind yourself to the colors of the world,” he said, quoting a proverb that Simon was very familiar with, even though he shouldn’t be.

And yet you have the sisters of the order do that very thing, Simon accused him silently. While it wasn’t the worst thing the Unspoken did, it was certainly up there.

“Being able to see more than most just proves your soul is clearer than other people’s,” the knight continued, “But then, you haven’t exactly proved it yet.”

“Prove? How?” Simon asked. Now he was genuinely curious, and there was no need to fake it.

“If we were at… Well, there are relics for these things, but I don’t have them on me,” the knight answered listlessly. “So we’ll just have to improvise. Tell me what you see in the merchant caravan coming the other direction.”

“In the wagon or—” Simon started to ask, but the knight interrupted him.

“Why would I give a shite what he’s selling?” Sir Derinholt cursed. “Tell me about the people. Tell me what colors you see.”

It was Simon’s turn to stay quiet then. Even though he could see the grays and whites of the men from here, he knew that he hadn’t been able to when he’d first practiced with his sight. Distance and acuity both came from clarity, and Simon didn’t want to tip his hand too much. Instead, he waited until they were less than a hundred yards away.

By then, he could see everything, but he only gave away a few crumbs. “The Merchant seems… dishonest, but his guard is a good man. The drover, though…” Simon trailed off. “He has blood on his hands.”

“Lots of people have blood on their hands,” Sir Derinholt answered quietly, obviously not wanting to be overheard. “Can you be more specific?”

“I mean… he’s murdered people,” Simon said, treating the word like a curse. “Two? Three? I can’t say, but I think he enjoyed it.”

“Five actually,” the knight said, moving his horse to bar the way of the other group, “And you're right, he did enjoy it.”