Death After Death

Chapter 394 - Closer Scrutiny

They didn’t return to a hero’s welcome, but then, Simon hadn’t expected one. He heard the distant sound of a horn as they approached to within a few miles, but when they rode past the main gate, no one tried to stop them. It was hard for Simon to believe he’d been gone from here for nearly a year, but then spending the winter in the desert had helped to complete the illusion.

Once they’d left their mounts at the stables, he and his squire went to bathe and put away their weapons and armor. Weapons weren’t needed inside the walls, and unless you were practicing or sparring, they might give other knights the wrong impression.

The whole time they did that, Varten asked questions, which was only natural for a boy his age, but Simon silenced him with a look as often as he actually answered them. At this point, Varten’s fate was largely out of his hands.

After that, they sought out Sir Kulthen. The man wasn’t hard to find, but he wouldn’t treat with them. “I’m glad you’re back, but you’re no longer my charge,” the man explained, nodding at a table behind him where another young man now studied fervently. A year ago, that had been Simon’s spot, and that, more than anything, made him feel like he’d taken a step forward.

Still, even if Sir. Kulthen was no longer responsible for Simon, he still took the time to introduce his squire to him before they went to the chapel to await their summons. Varten quickly tired of that. Though he’d grown a bit and complained less than ever, sitting quietly for hours in the dark and meditating on purity was too much for the poor boy.

Fortunately for both of them, he was taken away by an acolyte well before Simon was. Simon was left there until evening before someone finally came for him. He hoped that would be to take him to dinner, because he could smell the scents of slow-roasted pork and freshly baked bread from the dining hall. Cooking was hard to do on the trail, but reasonably good here. Still, as they walked by, he knew he’d be given no such luxury on his first day back. The Unspoken were a military order, and small sufferings like this were entirely intentional.

He endured the petty slight without complaint as he was led past the hall and deeper into the complex. In most places, the more important someone was, the higher in the building they’d be, but in a ruined castle, the reverse was true, and to meet with one of the masters, he was led down to the third floor.

One more and we’d be in the black library, he noted silently.

The torchlit hall they entered contained a dozen nearly identical doors, none of which were labeled. Simon could easily see someone getting lost here, which was almost certainly the point of the layout. He appreciated the sense of mystery and awe, but he really hoped they were more straightforward with the more senior knights, because being treated like a child for decades would wear on him.

The acolyte left them as soon as introductions were made, leaving him alone with Master Harrin. He was a grim man with short gray hair and enough scars on his face and hands that there was no doubt he’d seen plenty of action. Before he’d even sat down, Simon took the two books he’d been carrying and laid them on the table between them.

“What’s this?” the master asked.

“A recovered grimoire and an account… My account of everything I did in the last year,” Simon answered, sitting down.

“Everything?” the older man asked skeptically.

“Every case I adjudicated, every monster I slew, and every mystery I investigated,” Simon agreed.

“Excellent, but we’re a bit old-fashioned here,” the master continued. “We like to talk things through and make sure everyone is being honest. There’s no easier way to lie than through words on a page.”

“Of course,” Simon agreed, ignoring the not-so-veiled insult as well as the way his stomach growled. “We can start wherever you want, sir.”

“Where did you get this other book?” he asked, flipping through it only briefly before pushing it away.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“I… When I was in Crowvar, there was a warlock. He tried to kill the boy I’d just saved so—” he began.

The man interrupted almost immediately, “Excellent, then let’s start with the boy. He’s exactly where I wanted to begin. Tell me where you found him and why he’s special.”

This was a tricky topic for Simon, because he knew enough about the Raithwaites and their domain to fill volumes. So, he stuck to the facts and told the man that his plan had been to return the child to his home, at least until the warlock interfered. That was partially true and easy to defend.

The master quizzed him about the battle and the spells that had been wielded against him. Simon described the effects but made no attempt to repeat the word of ruination for obvious reasons. Once that was done, they moved smoothly on to other topics. The master practically glossed over Simon’s resolution of various disputes, and snorted when Simon told him about the case of the shephardess and the slime.

He was very interested in the Tithe Pools, though. While his reaction that Simon had followed up on someone else’s completed task irritated the man, he found everything else to be quite captivating. Simon showed him the scar the encounter had earned him and described his lengthy convalescence. What they spent most of their time discussing, though, was the lair of the Jinn, and the illustrations Simon had made of the foul place.

That was the only time he seemed impressed with Simon, and after briefly glossing over everything else, he released him. All in all, it was more painless than he’d expected the ordeal to be. Sir Harrin had barely even written any notes.

Even after the interview, a good meal, and a night of sleep, Simon felt like it wasn’t over, and that another shoe was waiting to drop. He didn't have to wait long. A day later, while he was telling a few other knights about the Jinn’s lair, another acolyte came for him. He’d been summoned.

This time was much the same as last time; he met Master Harrin in the room that was the fourth on the left, confirming Simon’s theory that the whole point of this floor was to be as labyrinthine as possible.

“There were some discrepancies between your story and the boy who would be your squire that I would have you explain,” he growled with annoyance as he gestured at the journal and amulet that were lying on his desk.

Simon flinched at that, but bowed low anyway, and said, “I am happy to clarify any stray remarks that might have been unclear in my travelogue."

“The book was excellent, exceptional even,” the older man answered. “I have no issue with it. It is exactly what you said. It tells the story of what you did and where you did it. Our archivists will enjoy it immensely, and I would encourage you to keep similar logs in the future. No, it is what your young charge shared with us that is concerning.”

Simon’s heart sank at that, but his expression didn’t change. He’d told the boy to be honest, but not to dwell too much on the details that weren’t important; apparently, he’d decided that the amulet was important enough to share, which could have led to any number of stories.

“I’m happy to answer all questions you might have, Master Harrin,” Simon answered, waiting until the man gestured toward one of the seats before he sat and they began.

Their second conversation was more adversarial. The master started at the Tithe Pools, asking again why Simon had second-guessed a senior brother before getting to the meat of his question, which was his injury and his recovery from it.

Simon repeated the same story he had the first time, making sure to include the point about how, when medicine failed him, he turned to prayer. He was aware that the man across from him was studying his aura for the most minute lie in that moment, so he forced himself to believe that what he was saying was the truth, even if it was only most of the truth. He even mentioned the amulet because he was sure that was why he was here.

“The same amulet?” Sir Harrin asked, boring intently into Simon’s skull with his gaze.

“It is,” Simon repeated, picking it up. “This is the silver amulet that I wore when I was fighting off whatever curse that creature placed on me.”

That part was even true. He’d reused the metal for his curing amulet when he made this for Varten, just in case this moment should arrive, and it paid off. That didn’t stop him from asking more difficult questions, of course. Did you carve anything else on it before you gave it to your squire? Did it look then as it does now? Did you use any words of power? Are you a warlock?

He said nothing, though. Instead, he merely studied Simon until Simon finally took the initiative and asked, “What is the problem here? Is it that I gave my squire a badge of honor he’d not yet earned?”

“He is not your squire until we say he is,” the man answered, finally looking away. “And while your first questing went better than average, I must say that I am still not entirely convinced you are a proper member of this order, Enis.”

But I did best a foe that a proper member of your order did not. The thought flickered through Simon’s mind before he set it aside. While true, such a statement would not be constructive. Instead, he said, “Then give me the chance to prove myself.”

“Aye,” the man agreed as he leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “You’ll get that much from us at least.”