Serava groaned as she opened her eyes, wishing the previous night’s wine bottles could have dulled her inner alarm clock. A tan, hairy arm still encircled her waist and she began to extricate herself from her companion’s grasp. Inching over to the edge of the bed, a few quiet steps around the room had her belongings gathered. She dropped a pair of silvers on the table to the right of the door to cover the night’s stay at the inn and gave the door a gentle rap. A few moments passed and then a knock answered her and she unlatched the door and slid into the hallway.
Winking at her, Vincellus led the pair down the hallway to a set of steps and to a clean oak table in the rear of the tavern’s dining hall. He raised his hand, holding two fingers aloft as he caught the barkeep’s eye, before lowering his hand and eyeing his charge.
“Do we make for the governor’s estate today?”
Serava scowled, “I suppose we must. Damn northerners and their superstitions. I’m sure I will find nothing just as the last three arcanists the academy has sent to investigate.”
“You aren’t the last three arcanists, Sera.”
“Oh, so we’re busting out the pet names to convince me this isn’t a waste of time, eh?
Vincellus leaned back in his chair and laughed at Serava’s fake scowl, thanking the barmaid as she delivered two steaming bowls of oats with sliced fruit on top. Digging in, the pair demolished the breakfast before strolling over to the bar to settle their bill. Vincellus spent a few moments checking his travelling armor and ensuring his double size satchel would remain secure before he grunted to himself and made for the door. Emerging into a dreary northern day, Serava sighed and squinted at the sky before trudging over to the stables adjacent to the inn. The beautiful pair of gray horses the academy had loaned the travelers whinnied as their riders entered the stable. She looked around at the variety of beasts eating their morning oats out of feed bags while Vincellus paid the stable boys and prepared their mounts.
Her horse received a few soft pats as Serava sprang on top of her steed and used its reins to nudge it after its compatriot. A half hour later, they had left the city behind and fell into a comfortable silence as they traversed northeast along the well trod path from the city of Norfarden to the expansive estate of the governor. The duo allowed a comfortable silence to stretch for a few hours before Vincellus guided his mount to the side of the road and slid off before offering Serava a hand she proceeded to ignore with a smirk.
“Little punk,” Vincellus chuckled as he fished around inside one of his saddlebags. “I figured we have a quick bite and rest the horses before we roll into the theatrics I’m sure we’ll encounter tonight.”
Serava nodded and munched on her travel rations as her partner kept a wary eye on the road. Inspecting Vincellus, she raised an eyebrow and questioned his opinion of the rumors, “Vin, do you think there’s anything to the rumors? You grew up around here, yeah?”
Sighing, Vincellus let his gaze fall to his biscuit and jerky, “That’s a tough question. Do I expect we’ll find something that the other investigations didn’t? No, not really. Do I hold some of the same beliefs I grew up around? Sure, some of them.”
“I can understand that.”
“I will say, though. I do think some of the reports did happen, and I wouldn’t be surprised if you discover things the other arcanists didn’t, Sera.”
Expression softening, Serava smiled and finished up her lunch, “I guess we’ll find out.”
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A semicircle of well maintained woods surrounded the northern governor’s manor, an ostentatious oak and stone building ringed by a thick cobbled wall. The riders approached the wrought iron gates and after handing the pair of guards their documentation, entered the immaculate garden in front of the house. Marvelling at the flowers and shrubbery while hopping off her mount to enjoy the beautiful grounds, Serava took a few minutes to collect herself after a day of riding. Vincellus gestured to the setting sun behind the manor staining the sky orange and pink. Smiling at the golden sky before meandering over to one of the rows of trimmed hedges, Serava admired the flowering bushes before taking a few deep breaths and rolling her shoulders. She nodded at her companion and took her horse’s reins, leading him over to the right side of the house where a pair of stable hands looked at the new arrivals with expectation. Her steed received a few firm pats from her hand before she handed the reins over and followed Vincellus to some stairs where a servant stood at attention.
He nodded at them and led the pair up the stairs to the massive wooden doorway framed by an intricate stone archway with a variety of symbols carved into each block of the arch. She eyed them as the butler led them into an entry hall decorated with a plethora of hunting trophies, paintings encased in ornate gilded frames, and marble busts of prominent ancestors of the governor. Two hallways ran into the distance to her left and right and Serava gave them a quick glance before looking at the spiraling staircase in front of them. Plush carpet ran up the stairs and assorted weaponry covered the walls. The butler gestured to the stairs and led the way up.
A portly and balding man with a pale complexion and well lit pipe greeted the two travellers as Serava and Vincellus stepped into the governor’s office. His fine linens attested to the wealth accrued by the long line of northern governors and their monopoly of the northern fur and mineral trade.
“I appreciate the pair of you coming out to my home. I know this is the fourth trip by the academy in nearly as many years, but the towns north of me keep sending their elders to beg for assistance and I can only deny them so many times before they start threatening that my taxes are going to disappear too”, the governor harrumphed, green eyes flitting between Serava and Vincellus.
“It is our pleasure, governor. I grew up a few days outside of Norfarden and I know just how demanding the frontier folk can be,” Vincellus chuckled.
Serava cocked her head and inspected the soft spoken man before asking, “Governor Winthrop, it sounds like you aren’t convinced there’s any truth to your provincial reports of men and women disappearing.”
A groan spilled out of Governor Winthrop’s mouth and he rolled his eyes at Serava. He pulled a stained ledger out of the right side of his desk, flipped through a handful of pages, and turned the book to face the investigators.
“Do I think the demons of myth are stealing away my citizens in the night? Assuredly not, Arcanist Serava. Do I know that some of the men and women that run trapping, mining, and alchemical operations in a variety of townships and villages no longer send in their taxes?”
He fixed Serava with a firmer glare than she expected out of the gentle seeming bureaucrat. Tapping with a meaty index finger on the ledger, he continued.
“I’ve sent numerous officers out to the folks not delivering their taxes. They all come back reporting that the offenders haven’t been seen for a few months. A few trappers missing on excursions, sure, that happens. Miners have accidents in the tunnels. Alchemists die all the time. This is an awful lot of experienced folk to go missing in four years.”
Serava inspected the governor’s studious documentation for a while before handing Vincellus the ledger and considering the confusion splayed across Governor Winthrop’s face.
“So if it’s not demons in the night, what’s your take on the disappeared, Governor?”
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Hours later, Serava set down her journal and regarded Vincellus’ full glass of wine. He looked up from squinting at a thick leather tome and gave her a bleary eyed smirk from across the candlelight. She flashed him a smile as she stole his glass and propped her legs on the sturdy oak table in the room provided by the governor.
Rubbing her eyes, she leaned back and swirled the wine, watching the legs trickle down the side of the glass. Vincellus chewed his lip and marked his page with a string of twine before closing the book and resting his elbows on the table.
“Find anything about disappearing villagers in that chronicle?”
The bodyguard turned academic assistant groaned and shook his head. Serava tsked and pinched the bridge of her nose, “I tend not to believe in simple coincidence, but the northern frontier is so wide, it’s hard to imagine some connection between dozens of missing villagers.”
Her protector stood up, nodding in agreement, and opened the door before returning to offer Serava a hand up.
Pouting, she accepted the hand and sulked to the door, making it a few steps down the hall before tossing a goodnight over her shoulder, “You didn’t always kick me out of your room after a long day of travel.”
Vincellus bit down a flirty remark in return, closing his eyes and shaking his head. A few long strides carried him to his bed and he laid down to sneak in a few hours of sleep before their travels resumed in the morning.
A bitter wind dug into Serava’s thick fur overcoat as she stepped into the gardens at the rear of the mansion. Unlike the tall, imposing hedges and their flowery companions at the front of the estate, the rear garden featured numerous flowerbeds and carved shrubs as well as a handful of beautiful stone statues. Well trod paths stretched to each corner of the verdant patio and Serava ambled along, hugging herself tight to ward off the chill. Not long into her wandering, she turned a corner and caught sight of a larger statue depicting a woman holding a bouquet of flowers in one hand and an open book in the other.
Larger rows of flowering hedges sectioned off the statue from the rest of the garden and faded runes covered the pedestal beneath the statue. As Serava deciphered some of the text, she caught sight of the governor, sitting on a bench adjacent to the statue with his eyes closed and hands clenched around a vibrant orange flower plucked from a nearby bush. She watched in silence as he plucked the petals one by one and placed them on the pedestal with a level of care Serava did not expect. After a few moments, she slid away and strolled back through the garden and into her room a few doors down from Vincellus, ruminating on the governor’s delicate ritual in the moonlit gardens.
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Dawn offered respite from the chilling winds Serava felt in the gardens and warmed their backs as Serava and Vincellus left the governor’s estate and followed an overgrown path toward Ravenhill, a proper township in the north most region of the province. Three days of riding brought the pair to the villages ringing the town and they pushed their horses on the final day to make it into the town and into a comfortable bed for the night. Crawling into the final room left available, Vincellus ignored Serava’s smirk and minimal sleepwear and kept his eyes focused on the ceiling beams for a few moments before his dreams claimed him.
Blissful morning stretches revealed that Vin had already left for breakfast and Serava tamped down her disappointment before taking a few moments to enjoy sleeping in a bed again. She creaked out of the sheets and changed into her travel clothes and wrestled with her hair and swung open the door to head downstairs to meet Vin. Bumping into her bodyguard, she stumbled back and watched two bowls of oatmeal fall to the floor. Staring at the spilled breakfast, she slid past Vin and headed back to the tavern bar to track down food. Serava returned to the bedroom with a pair of bowls full of fresh oatmeal and piled with thimbleberries.
“Vin, I miss our breakfasts in bed too, but you don’t have to get so nervous you spill your oats everywhere.”
He scowled at her before his greedy hands accepted the breakfast and they sat down in silence to eat. Serava pulled out her journal and looked for the name of the woman who reported the first disappearance four years ago. They prepared to leave and Serava pulled a tiny container out of her cloak filled with a chalky powder. Dipping her fingers into the flask and pinching some of the reagents out, she daubed it on the door handle of their room and muttered a short incantation before flicking two fingers out and tapping the dust. It glowed a dull purple for a moment and then fell to the floor inert.
Vin raised an eye at the arcanist and she replied, “It’s a lot easier to ward off a lockpick than it is to replace our gear. Now let’s find this Marjerie Stonehide.”
Descending into the common room of the inn, Serava wrapped herself in her fur cloak and stepped into the crisp northern morning. Stone buildings older than the provincial capital of Norfarden occupied the center of Ravenhill, turning to wood as they reached the outskirts of the town. Most of the professional shops and districts lay to the north of the stone district claimed by the nobility and wealthier merchants. Their inn squatted on the south side and the walk across the city took just over an hour. Marvelling at the unique carvings decorating the buildings, Serava listened to Vincellus recant how many of the northerners still clung to the rituals and beliefs of the tribes who once claimed the lands.
Arriving at the opposite end of the city in a breezy district home to various leather workers and huntsmen, Vincellus flagged down a local boy to request directions to the Stonehide Leathers store front. Tossing the boy a copper, Serava followed Vin to a deserted shop nestled next to a reeking tannery. Candles lit the half stocked lobby of the business and a gray haired woman behind the counter in the back of the room stared at them as they entered.
“You lot dress too nice to need anything I’ve got in here.”
Serava leaned onto the counter and smiled at the proprietor, dropping a clinking bag onto the wood, “We came to ask questions more than to shop.”
A frown wrinkled the woman’s face and she ignored the coin purse to continue staring at the pair. Vincellus stepped forward and nudged Serava aside before she could continue.
“Madam, we’re here on behalf of the governor. We want to know what really happened to your husband.”
She scoffed and pinched the bridge of her nose. She looked down, lips pressed together, reading the twirled striations of the countertop.
“Coulda sworn I already talked to a number of your ilk. None of ‘em give a damn what we say up here anyway.”
Opening her mouth, Serava started to answer before Vincellus cut her off, “My colleague here isn’t like the rest of the arcanists the Academy has sent. They all care about how they look, how much gold their field of study can reap; she cares about knowing. I’ll be honest, she doesn’t believe the same things you and I do. I’m from a village not far from here. I’ve seen things. She thinks I’m full of shit, but she’s going to find out for herself rather than just believe I’m crazy.”
Marjerie looked up from her countertop. She glanced between the two investigators before settling her gray eyes on Serava. The corners of Marjerie’s mouth turned down and her eyes moistened. Inching her hand across the counter, Serava clasped Marjerie’s in her own.
“I can’t say I believe in the same spirits as the north, but I promise I’m too curious for my own good. I want to know why people keep disappearing.”
A tear spilled out of Marjerie’s eye and she rustled beneath the countertop for a minute before handing Vincellus a key and leading Serava to a small room to the side of the lobby. Vincellus turned and strode over to the door, locked it, and followed the women into the sitting room.
“Years ‘fore he vanished, Gil was haunted at night. Thrashing and whining in his sleep, and when he woke in the morning, he’d brush me off. Eventually he tells me he’s seeing things in the woods, but don’t want me to worry. Shapes at night, glimpses of figures in the trees during the day, but he don’t want me to worry. I told him he’s just lonely, and begged him to quit, sell the store, and we could move back home.”
Marjerie shivered, reaching for a shawl draped around the back of the chair she had curled up in. She grabbed a tea cup sitting on the buffet table in the sideroom and took a sip before furling her lip at the lukewarm drink. Serava rested a hand on Marjerie’s knee and requested the cup. The shopkeeper’s eyes widened after a few moments as the tea began steaming again and Serava handed the cup back.
“Gil refused, of course, he always wanted one more big haul, or big trade, or some prize beast. I hated him for leaving so much, but his drive is why I loved him dearly. Eventually though, he’s different. He stopped having nightmares, but he was quiet. He quit drinking. He stopped praying at the shrines. I started thinking something did happen out in the woods.”
She sipped her tea, passing a grateful glance to Serava and wrapping both hands around the hot mug.
“I begged him again to quit. We had enough to retire to a quiet life and I’d a loved him even without a fancy house. I wore him down after a year and he decided to retire after one more trip. He told all of our workers, helped ‘em find new jobs, and he went out for one last trip. Said he’d heard of an ancient mountain cat out there that would fetch enough fer a nice ‘stead all its own.”