The Druid Queen - Douglas Niles [7]
"What happened?" asked one of the young fellows trailing to the rear of the group.
"The patriarch came up here for his evening meditation, just like always," said the first and apparently boldest of the apprentices, pressing onto the hilltop as his companions hesitated. "Patriarch?" he called again, more loudly this time.
"He's gone!" said another in an awestruck whisper.
"But that commotion! Something was wrong up here!" suggested an apprentice.
"Very much," said the first one, walking carefully around the hilltop. He came very near to Keane, but the invisible wizard remained completely silent, and the fellow, continuing his inspection, moved past
"Our master has met with some kind of disaster," the acolyte finally concluded, his voice nearly breaking in despair. "There's no sign of him anywhere!"
"Perhaps we should go back to the shrine," suggested one, to the murmured assent of his fellows. "We can pray for enlightenment, and perhaps the patriarch will return in his own good time."
"No!" insisted the leader. "Spread out and comb the ground. See if you can find something, anything, to tell us what happened here!"
Keane remained silent and observant as the acolytes searched. Finally, fearful and unsuccessful, they started back down the hill, declaring their intention to return when the sun had risen and they could fully inspect the grounds. Keane, in the meantime, had formed his own conclusion: To wit, Bakar Dalsoritan had been murdered.
Turning away in anger, the mage tried to collect his thoughts. What was the reason for the killing? Of course, rival factions exist in any hierarchy, and churches were no exception. Such brutality was an excessive tactic, yet it had happened before and would doubtless happen again: A wary official desires the offices and power of a rival and destroys him to open the path. Or perhaps, he considered, an entrenched ruler might have feared the devout followers and steady advance of a younger rival. Bakar could have fit into either of these categories so far as Keane knew.
But was either role enough to cause him to be killed?
Too agitated to be aware of his fatigue, Keane made his way down to the highway and started walking toward Baldur's Gate. Like any other spell, his teleportation enchantment had been used up when he traveled to the shrine. He wouldn't be able to employ it again until he had studied his spellbook. Still, he uttered no complaints about the mundane travel. If anything, it gave him time to think about the confusing questions whirling through his mind.
He slept in a ditch for a few hours, and then in the morning was fortunate enough to catch a ride from a carter hauling a load of fabric to the markets in Baldur's Gate.
Keane tipped the driver well, for his silence as much as the ride. The mage climbed into the back and rested on the rolls of silk and cotton while he pondered the mystery-who had killed the cleric, and why?
Indeed, the murder of a powerful patriarch was no easy task to accomplish. Whoever would attempt such a thing must have considerable resources at his own disposal, be willing to take great risks in the accomplishment of his evil deed.
Keane's speculations didn't answer why the murder had been committed, but they helped him to accept its truth and its implications to his own mission. By the time the carter reached Baldur's Gate, it was nearing sunset. Thanking the man for the ride, he returned to the Eagle's Nest Inn, finally having decided on a course of action.
For once, the mage didn't feel like hiding out in his room. Instead, he entered the common room and sat down at the bar. Confusion and questions gnawed at him, but he found it pointless-and deeply frustrating-to worry about issues he couldn't address with any accuracy. Instead, he focused on practicality. Namely, what should he do now? The notion of returning to his king with a report of complete failure had absolutely no appeal. Instead, he'd have to think of something else.
The innkeeper, Miles, waddled up to him on