Dragon Precinct by Keith R. A. DeCandido Read Free Book Online Page A

semi-isolated city-state of Myverin to seek his fortune as a soldier. When Osric lost an eye in battle, he came to Cliff’s End and gladly took on an administrative post overseeing the Castle Guard. When Torin heard this, he too came to Cliff’s End, grateful for the opportunity to work with his old friend again, and finding satisfaction as a detective. He’d left Myverin because his family’s near-utopian existence as philosophers there bored him to tears; he’d lost interest in soldiering because the lack of intellectual stimulation did likewise. Serving as one of Osric’s lieutenants, he was able to combine both into a satisfying whole.
    As Torin and Danthres each took a seat in the guest chairs opposite Osric, the captain’s usual scowl was deep enough to virtually etch a crater into his perpetually unshaven face. Both lieutenants knew that he deliberately kept his beard at a length that looked like a day’s growth—Danthres’s sensitive nose picked up the shaving lotion he used—but that didn’t change the visual effect it had, combined with the black silk patch over his left eye.
    “I’ve spent most of the afternoon talking with Lord Albin. He is very upset, as you might imagine.”
    “We know what you’re going to say, Captain,” Torin said quickly. “Gan Brightblade is a hero renowned throughout Flingaria, he is a dear friend of Lord Albin and Lady Meerka, and we need to close this case with all due speed and dispatch.”
    Osric continued to sharpen his dagger. “Very perceptive. I just got back, so I haven’t had the chance to talk to Boneen. What did the peel-back say?”
    “Nothing,” Danthres said.
    “What do you mean, ‘nothing’?”
    Torin shrugged. “Just what she said. According to Boneen, Brightblade’s neck broke, then he fell to the floor. And no magic was involved whatsoever.”
    “How is that possible?”
    “You tell me,” Danthres said, blowing out a breath. “We’ve been talking about it all day, but we’ve got nothing.”
    “I don’t want to hear that.” Osric scraped his dagger against the sharpening stone so hard it made Torin’s teeth rattle. He shuddered to think what effect it was having on Danthres. “This is the biggest murder we’ve ever seen. People are going to wonder what the point is of a castle guard if we can’t even keep a hero like Gan Brightblade safe. They may start to think we’re better off with a formal militia or a standing army to keep things safe. They’ll also think that the captain and lieutenants should be replaced. So kindly don’t tell me you have nothing.”
    Torin was thinking that Osric’s dagger had never been sharper even as he spoke. “The only thing we do have is the rest of his group.”
    “What group?”
    Quickly, Torin filled the captain in on Genero and the rest of the party. “They obviously came here for some other reason than a pleasure cruise.”
    “Genero knows who killed Brightblade,” Danthres added, “or at least he thinks he does.”
    “They all do.”
    Osric finally put the sharpening stone down. “I remember Ubàrlig. You sure he’s lying?”
    “Through what few teeth he has left,” Torin said. “He brought a Fjorm axe with him.”
    Now Osric started tapping his desk with the dagger. “You’re right, if he brought the Fjorm, he’s going into combat. Dammit.”
    “Genero said they’d been through a great deal together,” Danthres said. “They’ve fought wizards, warlords, what-have-you. One of them might’ve picked something up, something Boneen couldn’t detect, and used it on Brightblade.”
    “What about the patrons?”
    Torin shrugged. “The usual you find at the Dog and Duck. Transients, people on their way out to sea, people on their way back home from the sea. Most were only staying the one night. Only long-termer was a young man who said he was waiting to meet some members of his family here on the way to a wedding in Iaron next spring. None of them seemed to have the wherewithal