The Tome of Law Collection

Chapter 2-1

Keldron Vass worried a lot, and it showed on his face. He worried about his health, his distinct lack of a social life and what people thought of him. Most of all he worried about his work. The twenty-five seasons of stress showed plainly on his face. Worry lines creased it, accentuating the brilliant flashes of silver that were the prematurely greyed hairs on his temples. "Venerable" some might have called him. Venerable he was not. In his profession, his mere fifty-three seasons still marked him out as a youngster. Most of the gibbering old folk he surrounded himself with were closer to eighty, many over ninety. With their long yellowed beards, and mumbling gestures, these were the types who decided if, not even when, he would advance in his chosen profession. He quite often found that he was the lone voice of reason in a mob of insanity, but as a custodian in the Order of Law he either had to accept his place or leave. As an apprentice, he had learnt many skills in wizardry according to the laws of the land, and had a fair amount of power at his disposal. The problem was order politics.

The Guild of Law, as it had become known to the common man, was responsible for justice and everyday affairs in the land. It was here the problem lay. His solutions to everyday problems were in his mind better than the official guild line. But with his lack of authority, and the "set-in-their-ways" elders of the order refusing to acknowledge any rule newer than them, hardly anything was done about it. He handled his stress orb frequently; the subtle bell-tones resonating from within was usually a comfort, but not tonight. His concern was over an event that had happened twenty or so years ago that had made history. On midsummer night or the Night of Spears as it had been colourfully named, many people in the lakeside town of Eskenberg had been impaled. There seemed to be no pattern to it. In their homes, in the street, even on a flight of stairs in one case. There had been reports of this across the duchy, and from other duchies. There was no obvious pattern, but Keldron refused to believe in this theory, and for over two decades had been trying to fathom out the reason behind the mystery. There had been not one sighting of the people responsible for the murders. From Keldron"s best guess, the murders all happened at roughly the same time, late in the evening. So either these people were stealthy, unlike any person he had ever met, or magic was involved.

Night of SpearsA lot of the rumours pointed towards the Merdon traders, a group of tribesmen who came from Northern climes and set up a trading camp in the nearby great Forest of Merdon. The rumours had all been recent. During the last twenty or so years, there had been sparse reports of an impaling every summer; exactly on midsummer"s night. It was true that a few people had been found, but it was mostly hearsay coming from the Far Lands. This last midsummer though, there had been a whole batch of impalings. The Guild had decided that they would officially distance themselves from the Merdon traders as the rumours were pointed at them, but as was usually the case, Keldron was the lone voice. He looked at the reports he had gathered for at least the fourth time. These reports were taken from local dignitaries while the scenes were still fresh in their minds. The only thing in common with the murders of the past was the fact that spears had been used. The difference was this latest batch had been sloppily executed. With few exceptions, the original night of spears had used ritual spears engraved with runes and a crosspiece attached. It was the old rumours of a "dark people" mixed with the fresh rumours that had led his ancient colleagues to their pronouncement – that any traders mixing with Merdonese did so at their own risk, and that the Merdon traders were not allowed within Eskenberg. It was preposterous really; the traders had never wished to enter the city anyway, else they would have already been here. The fact that it was official made it worse though, and people were very cautious around the outskirts. Taverns were empty; food stalls were not selling food. The north-west sector was a ghost town. And all because some "over the hill" useless old men had not listened to his advice and added the most pointless point of law to date.

The half-dozen oil lamps flickered, causing wraith-like shadows to appear over his desk, and then vanish in the blink of an eye. The reports he had been given this morning caught his attention and he picked them up. As he read, it was again confirmed in his mind that this was an entirely different set of killings. The spears had not been set in the ground; they had been shoved in at every conceivable angle, causing hours of unending agony for the victims. Keldron felt for them. At least the victims of twenty years ago had died relatively quickly. Some of these appeared to have lasted all night. He felt safe in his small study. In the rafters of a three level building in the governing district, he was alone at least. The shelves were packed atop cupboards built from dark wood. His old, comfy chair was jammed against a frayed old desk beset by rot after it had been left in the courtyard during a move. Where there was space on the walls, charts covered the poor attempt at decoration. The charts showed far off islands and river estuaries that Keldron could only dream of visiting.

theseThe room suited his purpose though. In his tiny eyrie-like loft, he was even cosy. His warm room was in the middle of a great city in the middle of a continent. He felt like he was in the middle of nowhere, a thousand leagues from anywhere. The small window facing South gave an excellent view of Great Lake Eskebeth. Keldron dreamed of actually seeing the other side one day. He had travelled extensively while he was an apprentice, but upon reaching Eskenberg, had remained rooted firmly in the Law building. Still, in his safe, cosy room he could not suppress a shudder for what had happened. To calm nerves that had seemed beyond the extent of fraying for years unending, he poured himself a glass of spiced Orit. The bland liqueur came from Kimarul, to the South.

One of Keldron"s hobbies was to purchase cheap Orit, and refine it, adding a spice mix to the drink. The process not only flavoured it pleasantly, but also had the added effect of distilling the brew. The first time he had tried it, he remembered nothing until he woke up in an alleyway with two of his colleagues. These two, Raoul Za and Belyn Stroddick, had formed the group "The League of Orit" with him, and dispensed the liqueur for a tidy profit.

It was a coincidence that as he was thinking of his two closest companions, as well as sipping a glass of Orit, that the oil lamps again flickered, this time in response to the movement of his study door on silent hinges. Keldron could not abide unnecessary noise, and made sure that he was disturbed as little as physically possible. Raoul Za poked his head in.

“And with not a sound, nay, not even a whisper, the mighty Raoul Za explodes into existence within this lonely treetop.” Raoul always had a sense of drama that nobody could ever understand. Keldron grinned.

“Come in you rake, before your ego breaks the door frame.” Rake was a description Keldron often used, for as Raoul entered, only one word could describe him – skinny. He wore clothes that emphasised his long shanks. Narrow and dark, with a long, black cloak; he claimed it was a look that intimidated the "stiffs", as he liked to call them. Keldron just assumed it was another facet of his over dramatised ego, as it never seemed to have any effect. He looked like a collection of bones in rags most of the time, as there seemed to be next to no flesh on this person. But Raoul was a good person to have around. He had joined about the same time as Keldron, and was the only member of the order younger than him. Their views were similar, though Raoul was a little sheepish, which often lead to those "stand alone" moments that Keldron experienced in assembly meetings.

Keldron passed a small glass of the spiced liquid to his companion then raised a toast. “Aey-ar Aey-ar Bossaek Wounk Filake,” they intoned, adapting a drinking chant of the Uporan tribesmen for drinking the Orit. Upon finishing the drink, which both men were used to by now, Raoul looked up as if hit by a revelation.

“That was what I came here for! There is a meeting of the assembly, and we are all asked to attend!”

“Wow, they are actually gathering everybody in one place? It must be real important if they need us as well,” replied Keldron, with more than a subtle hint of sarcasm in his voice.

“When was the summons sent out?”

“About two chimes of the bell,” replied Raoul, indicating, a period not long after luncheon.

“Ah, we will still have plenty of time to get good seats near the front then, as most of the stiffs will still be waking up.” Raoul looked less than happy at this prospect. He would have preferred an alcove at the back, but would be led along by the enthusiasm Keldron showed. Still, no emotion was betrayed on his face. The reason for the scowl that he wore subconsciously underneath the hair cut too short, was that he didn"t like people to know what he was thinking. He claimed it gave him an edge.

The pair made their way down rickety flights of oak stairs that had been robbed of any polish seasons ago, and along old corridors that had also seen better days. If numbers counted for votes in the order, then spiders would dictate the Law without question. A long time ago, the order had moved its headquarters from a distant island to this central position, and had taken over an old palace, abandoned by some nameless monarch. This had been when Eskenberg was a mere dream of the thriving city it was today. It was easy for the order to claim the building, but not easy to renovate it. As a result of this, most of the building was unused, with the several hundred members of the order crammed into a few large rooms. One room was reserved for the meetings; this room, Keldron surmised, must have been the throne room, as it was the largest. A few other rooms had been converted for the elder members to smoke their clay pipes and doze off in, but Keldron and his associates preferred the privacy. Thus began their exploration of the building, eventually resulting in a basement office-c*m-brewery for Raoul, and a mid-level suite for the more "regal" tastes of Belyn.

As it was they knew they would beat most of the members to the audience chamber, so the pair stopped off to pick up Belyn. Entrenched in a chair the size of most good thrones, sat a fiery red-haired man with a beard to match. The man was concentrating on a piece of parchment spread across the desk in front of him. The joke between the trio was that his "desk" was bigger than most people"s living space, but he still managed to find enough rubbish to clutter it with. As the pair approached him, he glanced up from the map and greeted them with