Turgeon broke his promise to Dael and Ted. He had no intention of going back to the castle immediately. He needed time to stew in his misery and be alone before he had to face Melora or the Swordmaster.

  As he wandered the festival grounds, straying away from the more upscale feast tents and merchants that were servicing the nobles in the crowd, people stared at his battered visage. He must have looked quite the horror with his smashed nose and one eye swollen completely shut, but he didn’t care what these people thought of him and was happy to lose himself in anonymity amongst the commoners of the kingdom.

  After hours of aimlessly meandering about he found himself sitting down on a bench to rest and watch an acting troupe perform Nerigord’s Fall. Set in the time of King Harbin of Falkaria, shortly after magic was banned in the Kingdom, The Fall, as it was commonly known, is a sad but all too common tale of star-crossed lovers who attempt to use magic to escape their families and elope together. Instead, they were caught and punished harshly as early examples for their defiance of the new ban on magic. Both Nerigord and his lover Astara were hung in the main market square of Falkaria City, an event that attracted multitudes of common citizens and nobles alike, and cemented their historical role as martyr’s to what was perceived to be an unjust law.

  Turgeon was surprised the troupe was performing this particular play, which while popular in the Kingdom was not a favorite of King Maebric’s. The King was a staunch supporter of the ban on magic, and subversive works like The Fall reminded the citizens of Falkaria of a time before the ban on magic that many still to this day thought to be unwarranted and unjust. Perhaps he had actually wandered far enough away from the main festival grounds and was in an area where the performers did not fear raising a noble or the King’s ire.

  That thought made him take pause and consider his surroundings, and he realized that he had made his way into a much rougher part of the festival. While part of him was comfortable here, and felt at home even among the common folk like those he had lived most of his life with, another part of him knew that he could be in danger here if anyone did recognize him from his very prominent role in the contests earlier.

  What’s more, night was beginning to fall as the sun dipped behind the castle to the west and the festival grounds were shrouded in shadow. Turgeon decided that perhaps it was time he made good on his promise to his friends and went to the infirmary to submit to Melora’s ministrations.

  In making his way as directly as he could manage to the exit from the festival grounds and towards the castle, he was cutting through a narrow alley space between two rows of merchant’s tents when he heard raised voices coming from up ahead. His curiosity got the best of him, and he made his way slowly forward to where he could overhear conversation and perhaps get a glimpse of who was arguing despite the waning daylight.

  “I can’t risk another attempt, m’lord. Too many are already suspicious,” the first voice was softer and feminine. While both of them were wearing dark cloaks with the hoods up that obscured most of their bodies, Turgeon deduced from the voice that the smaller person was a woman, or possibly even a girl.

  “Are they generally suspicious, or are they suspicious of you in particular?” The other person responded in a deep voice that was also a bit hoarse as if it’s owner had been doing a lot of yelling recently. The man had his back turned to Turgeon, but was obviously a large person with a broad chest and back that his cloak couldn’t fully disguise.

  “Generally suspicious, m’lord, but I do think some have begun to suspect me personally.”

  “You think or you know? Look girl, what we are doing here is too important to back out of now. Unless you are certain someone knows what you’ve already done and intend to do we must proceed.”

  “It’s simply too dangerous! What good will it all be if I’m gone and you aren’t able to influence the princess?” Now her voice had become downright whiny, she was begging to be let out of whatever mission she had been sent on.

  The man seized her with both hands on the front of her cloak and lifted her up so he was looking directly into her face, which Turegon could now clearly see for himself in the waning light as she was lifted above the shadows cast by the row of tents. Her cheeks were tracked with tears and sobbing, and it was Brigitta, Suzette’s handmaid.

  “Listen to me carefully, brat,” the man snarled at Brigitta as she sobbed quietly, “You’ll do what I say, or I’ll pay your parents a visit.”

  When Brigitta, still sobbing openly, nodded her understanding, the man threw her to the ground and turned to leave. Turgeon panicked briefly as he realized the man would be walking directly past his hiding place. Then he realized his back was against a tent wall, and he could just duck under the side wall and into what he would have to hope was the empty interior. He did just that, but not before he caught a glimpse of the man’s face.

  Turgeon recognized the man immediately. It was the commander who had led and attempted to rally the attackers in the Falkwood earlier that week, and he was here, at the festival. On top of all of that, he had clearly been working with Brigitta and possibly other agents inside the castle for quite some time. He knew it was dangerous, but resolved to follow the man, likely a Summorian agent, and see what else he could learn.

  After a few moments of careful listening, he heard soft footsteps pass by the tent he was hiding in. After waiting ten heartbeats he slid back out under the tent’s back wall and into the temporary alley. In the gathering darkness he could just barely make out the cloaked form of the agent turning a corner away from the festival gate that led to the castle.

  Doing his best to stay hidden, Turgeon kept a discreet distance from his target as he followed him through the festival grounds. Fortunately the combination of the sparse crowds at this hour and man’s size made him fairly easy to track. It appeared as though he was headed towards the other entrance to the festival grounds, closer to the city itself, but taking an indirect route to get there and constantly looking back over his shoulder. Turgeon didn’t have much experience with this type of shadowcraft, but even he could tell the Summorian agent was attempting to ensure he wasn’t being followed and was careful to ensure he wasn’t spotted.

  After winding through the festival until it was fully dark out, they finally reached the gate and exited the festival grounds. The area immediately outside the city gate was an open field set aside for mounts and wagons to be cared for while their riders and owners enjoyed the festival during the day. At this time of night the field was fairly empty, most of the festival goers had already collected their mounts and headed home for the night.

  This terrain made it even harder for Turgeon to follow the agent discreetly, but he managed to do so by acting as though he was just walking down the main thoroughfare towards the city himself. Just another festival goer headed home for the night.

  Not too far down the path, the agent turned into the field and made his way towards a small cluster of horses and men about twenty paces from the main path. With an effort to not seem too curious, Turgeon did his best to observe the group as he walked past them from. At this distance and in the darkness it was hard to make out any details, so as soon as he had passed out of sight beyond a parked wagon he ducked behind it and waited for the men to pass.

  He didn’t have to wait long before the agent and his small troupe rode at a slow trot down the path. They wouldn’t want to ride too fast away from the festival or they would draw too much attention to himself, so he was able to get a good look at them as they rode past his hiding place. In the quiet of the settling night he was also able to catch snippets of their conversation as they approached.

  “… she listen, Heg?”

  “How many ‘rupting times do I need to tell you not to use that name in public, you fall stricken dimwit?”

  “Sorry, boss. But did it work?”

  “We’re not going to talk about it here, it can wait til…”

  As they passed Turgeon’s hiding place he caught a glimpse of the men that had joined the agent, and one detail stood out above all. Turgeon recognized the hilts of the swords they carried at their belts. Their blades were the same standard issue weapons that the assault force in the Falkwood had used in the ambush on the hunting party.

  Threads were coming together slowly as the wheels turned in Turgeon’s mind, but this was all far above his head and he knew he needed to tell someone else soon. He briefly considered finding Dael and Ted, but he knew they would be angry at him for staying at the festival instead of visiting the infirmary and he wasn’t ready to deal with that just yet. He had more important concerns at this point. Specifically, how soon would Brigitta act on her orders from the Summorian agent? Was the King’s life in imminent danger, and if so, what could he possibly do about it?

  *****

  It took longer than Turgeon would’ve hoped to make his way back to the castle. He’d decided that going back through the festival grounds was too risky so he had circled around the vast enclosure instead. That way he was able to avoid encountering Dael, Ted or anyone else who might interfere with his urgent mission to return to the castle.

  When he got to the castle he made a last minute decision to visit his room in the tower before he went to see Melora in the infirmary. All he had for a weapon was the tournament blade and he suspected he might be in need of a real sword on this night. If he was lucky, the Swordmaster would still be at the festival and he could get in and out with what he needed quickly.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  In the light of his room Turgeon saw for the first time what a mess he was after his fight with Y’gurth. In his small mirror he saw his face for the first time, and understood why his friends had been so concerned. His nose was crooked and bloody, and it looked as though his left cheekbone was probably also broken. That would be the cause of the swelling that had blinded him in his left eye. His hands and arms were also covered in dried blood he had wiped from his face after the fight.

  After taking in the frightful sight that he was, Turgeon grabbed his two handed sword and buckled it onto his back with an over the shoulder baldric. Then, considering the close quarters environments he might have to fight in inside the castle, he added his one handed sword to his belt. Finally, remembering his brother’s advice about knives, he opened his desk drawer to grab a rondel dagger and another small knife he had stashed there.

  As he reached for the knives, his bloodied hand brushed against the mysterious box he also kept hidden away in the drawer, and, with a soft click, the box slid open in the drawer. Inside was a small velvet lined cavity that held a simple gold band.

  When his shock at accidentally accomplishing so easily what he’d struggled so hard to solve for months now wore off, Turgeon picked up and examined the ring.

  As far as he could tell it was a solid gold band, but he noticed with closer inspection that there were also three small red gemstones inset around the outside of the band. Holding it up to the weak lamplight he could also barely make out an engraving on the inside opposite the stones with the initials GF and MF separated by an embellished heart design.

  The first set of initials, GF, pulled a string in his memory and when he checked the box itself he confirmed those were the letters hidden in the carved design of the box itself.

  One mystery solved only to open another. That seemed to be the way of things for him lately. Wishing he had more time to consider this new development, Turgeon tucked the ring onto the first finger it fit, the middle finger of his left hand, and headed out of his room for the infirmary.

  *****

  Fortune favored him again that day and he did not encounter a soul on his way to the infirmary. Hopefully everyone was still enjoying the festival, but at this late hour he expected the castle residents to begin trickling back for the night any moment.

  The lights were dim in the infirmary and Ed slept peacefully in the bed, the only occupant of the room. He began to despair that Melora had already turned in for the night and he had missed his chance for both treatment and consultation, but she appeared out of a back room at the sound of the main door closing.

  “Shhh,” she was whispering, unaware of who had entered but not wanting her sleeping patient to awaken.

  Turgeon put his hands up in acknowledgement and to indicate he had no intent of disturbing his friend, but she made more noise than he had with the hiss that escaped her lips when she saw the damage to his face.

  Melora took Turgeon by the arm and led him carefully into the room she had just emerged from, which turned out to be a sort of office with a bookshelf and cupboards along one wall, a small desk and three chairs. Closing the door softly behind them she indicated that Turgeon should take a seat in one of the chairs while she began rummaging through the cupboards and removing supplies.

  As she gathered what she deemed necessary to treat Turgeon’s injury, her expected questioning began.

  “Who did this to you, Turgeon?”

  “It’s not what you think, it happened during the tournament contests–,” he tried to explain, but she cut him off.

  “The tournament contests?! You were competing in the tournament?”

  “Just in the two handed sword…”

  “‘Just’ the two handed sword, you say. ‘Just’ the one contest that leaves you most defenseless, with no shields allowed. Whose brilliant idea was that, may I ask?”

  By this point she had gathered her materials and began dabbing at the dried blood on Turgeon’s face. It hurt a lot, but he did his best not to pull away from the pain and let her continue her work.

  “It was my master’s idea, ma’am,” Turgeon slid back into the speech patterns of his youth, becoming deferential in the face of this usually steady woman’s anger.

  From her reaction, including the glare she shared with him at that information, Turgeon suspected his master was in for a tongue lashing of his own at a later date. But she said no more of that to him.

  “Brace yourself,” she instructed as she grabbed his crooked nose between her thumb and forefinger, “Setting this is going to hurt.”

  Turgeon tried to keep it in but was unable to avoid a small scream at the pain that shot through him when she popped his nose back into place. He was pretty sure that procedure hurt worse than it had when the Duke had broken it in the ring.

  “My original question still stands,” she persisted as she moved on to examining his swollen eye and broken cheek bone, “Who did this to you?”

  “It was Duke Y’gurth, ma’am, in the championship bout.”

  Melora rolled her eyes at his unsubtle boasting that he’d fought in the championship bout.

  “May I ask you a question, Melora?”

  With an eyebrow raised at his forwardness she gave him a curt nod and continued to poke at his injury.

  “I’ve begun to suspect that your role here might be something more than just that of the castle healer,” he began, but was interrupted again.

  “There is no ‘just’ to the role of healer, Turgeon,” she scolded his diminishment of her practice, “What makes you think I am more than ‘just’ a healer here?”

  “Your words in the war council, for one. Also some comments from Master Jesphat earlier this week when…” he trailed off, realizing he didn’t want to confess that Jesphat had caught them in the act of burglary. Fortunately she was too distracted by her work and the implications of his realization to notice his lapse.

  “That doddering old coot,” Melora complained, and Turgeon had to make an effort not to laugh at what an inaccurate description of the Librarian it was. “Well, what of it?”

  For Turgeon, that was as good as confirming she was the King’s Spymaster. He suspected that was a truth she would never voice aloud anyway.

  “I… heard something after the tournament,” he began, and then explained everything he had seen and heard, and as she prodded he gave up everything he knew and had learned of all of the previous attacks. Melora put things together much faster than he would’ve been able to on his own.

  “So, if what you are telling me is true, Brigitta is a Summorian agent, possibly her brother, Geoffry, as well. Her handler, whom we will call ‘Heg,’ is threatening to harm her parents to blackmail her into assassinating our King so he can install Suzette on the throne and Brigitta can manipulate her to do Summor’s will. She’s using skag magic to create necromantic monsters to carry out the assassination attempts, and you’ve managed to get in the way of both of the attempts we are aware of.

  “Also, ‘Heg’ commands a force of unknown size that is currently located in the vicinity of the city and the Falkwood that attempted to assassinate the King during the festival hunt when Brigitta’s earlier attempts had failed. Now that he has failed in that attempt, he is pressuring Brigitta to try again herself, and soon.

  “Have I got that all right, Turgeon?”

  He was dumbstruck by how succinctly she had managed to summarize the plot he had been trying to unravel and piece back together in his own mind for months. All he could do was nod in response.

  “Well then. It would seem you may be in need of your full faculties tonight if you’re going to thwart this plot and save our King.”

  “Me?! Thwart a Summorian assassination attempt and save the King? Alone?”

  “You’ve already done it twice by yourself and once more with others, so why not? Is there anyone you would trust to help you?”

  Turgeon considered that for a moment. He trusted Dael, Ted and Ed, but didn’t want to put their lives at risk any more than he already had. Besides, the more he considered it, Hegbert wasn’t in the castle. Turgeon had watched him ride back to the city for the night, so he’d only have to deal with Brigitta. If he could get to her before she managed to complete a casting, he wouldn’t even have to face another one of her necromantic monsters.

  “No, you’re right, Melora. I need to do this on my own. What would you suggest?”

  “First we need to take care of this injury. Common healing won’t do for you tonight, you’re going to need two good eyes I think. What happens next stays between me and you though, you understand?”

  “Yes, Melora. Of course, I promise not to tell anyone, but… what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to use skag magic to heal you.”

  If it wasn’t for how quickly he had recovered from his previous injury Turgeon might have been surprised by that. As it was, he had long suspected the healer had employed skag magic to heal his wounds from the last attack and possibly to save his life. When he merely nodded his acceptance, she questioned the nonchalance with which he had accepted her confession.

  “It seems I have no secrets from you anymore. How long have you known?”

  “Known? Since just now. Suspected? Since the last time you cared for me. My wounds were severe, and healed with an unnatural quickness.”

  “‘Rupting fall,” she swore, “I knew I was being careless when I did that, but I didn’t have a choice, you’d have died otherwise and I promised Markus I’d watch out for you.”

  “Markus? You know Markus, the innkeeper?”

  “Ack, for fall’s sake! Now I’ve really said too much. We can talk another time, but for now I need to get on with this healing so you can do what you need to do.”

  Once again, Turgeon suppressed his curiosity and acquiesced. She was right after all, he needed to get to Brigitta before she succeeded in summoning her monster or his work tonight would be that much more difficult.

  Using a key from a chain around her neck, the healer unlocked a small drawer on the side of her desk and removed an ornate box. She opened the box to reveal it contained a pile of grayish powder. Despite never having seen it before, Turgeon knew from Master Jesphat’s lessons that this was the skag powder, the fuel for skag magic.

  Turgeon knew how skag magic worked, he knew how skag magic users ingested their fuel. But despite this knowledge, and despite having read about magic use and having had multiple discussions with Jesphat about it, he was still shocked when Melora snorted a small pile of the skag fuel up her nostril. Her eyes rolled back into her head immediately afterwards and he thought she might pass out on him before she took a deep breath and refocused on him.

  She held her hands out before Turgeon’s injured face, whispering words he didn't understand softly under her breath. Turgeon felt and also saw the healing energy flowing into his wounds, blue and yellow strands of light reaching from her hands into his nose and cheek and knitting the bones back together and into their proper places. The swelling went down almost immediately, and his vision was returned to his left eye.

  “I need rest now,” Melora informed him, “Go, and do what must be done. Save our King.”

  Turgeon thanked her and headed out of her office into the infirmary. As he passed Ed’s bedside, he glanced at his friend and noticed he had moved about in the bed a bit while he had been in there with Melora. He hoped they hadn’t disturbed him too much, he needed his rest to heal that broken leg naturally.

  When he opened the door to the main corridor, he heard what he immediately recognized as Dael and Ted’s voices as they boisterously caroused down through the castle on their way back from the festival, likely on their way to visit Ed and fill him in on Turgeon’s loss in the tournament. Hoping they wouldn’t see him and stop him to ask questions, Turgeon quickly darted the other way down the corridor and took the first turn into a side hallway towards Suzette’s chambers.