Chapter 29
There will be times when your quarry seems out of reach, where the trail has gone totally cold, where the evidence vanishes, and your investigation seems useless. Then more than ever, cling to our slogan. “We never stop investigating.” Even if everything eludes you, we do not give up. It might not be you who discovers the answer, but justice will prevail, because we never do stop. Have faith in that!
DIC Investigators’ Manual
The day dawned both with anxiety, as the leaders of the mission sat and talked and drank too much tea, and killed time in various other ways while waiting for news about the movement of their suspects. Birch’s team seldom worked with the White Circle directly, and DIC seldom worked with either. That added a bit to the tension – nobody wanted to sabotage the outcome.
By midmorning all the leaders had drifted into the leadership tent, to review their plans once again, when a man ran in to hand Ruell a message.
“My men are prepositioned right now at these two points,” Havron was saying, “laying low and out of sight in troop carriers until we get word of their movements. First partial deployment will take place once we get word of Target Number One reaching his destination.”
Ruell stood up. “Well friends, I’ve just received word from my people in the field that our man has reached his cabin. The game has begun.”
Byrony took a deep breath, and was about to say something when another runner entered the tent to hand the Birch a message as well. Bedwyr read it and looked up. “And my people in the field also confirm that.”
Ruell raised an eyebrow at Bedwyr.
Bedwyr shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t trust the White Circle. Old habits die hard. And I like redundancy.”
Ruell chuckled a little. “I’m glad we’re both on the same side.”
“Well men, if the target is in the coop, then I have things to do,” Havron said. “Excuse me while I get things in motion.” Motioning to his orderly, he left the tent.
One by one, the leadership group moved out of the headquarters tent until only Byrony and Umber and a few other orderlies were left. The room grew very quiet, the silence growing heavy until one of the orderlies, cleaning up the refreshments table managed to drop a metal tray. All eyes turned to the young man.
“Sorry,” he said, as he picked up the tray and mopped up some spilled liquid.
Byrony took a deep sigh, then pushed himself out of his chair. “I think...I think after all of that I need a fresh cup of tea. Or maybe to stretch my legs. Or something. My busy time won’t happen until near the end.” He looked at Umber. “Rather different than checking shipping receipts, heh?”
“So different,” Umber said, nodding.
“Let’s head to my tent,” the older Dragonkin said.
The two of them left the leadership tent. The grounds around them were filled with people preparing for what the next step of the mission would bring, with some people bringing their weapons to weapons keepers, although most of the people who would be in the field were already at their own forward bases. Still, the leaders knew enough not to strip the area of guards. A few people worked on their training with sword and spear. Elsewhere, a group of people had gathered around the Birch’s tent, waiting for someone.
“Is this what it’s like working on a big DIC operation?” Umber asked, looking around the base.
“Not exactly,” Byrony said, shaking his head. “This is...different. The DIC isn’t actually in charge of what’s going on. We are joined hand in hand with the Ynys Afel people, which does make this unusual.” A young orderly dashed by with a wrapped bundle and almost bumped into Umber.
“Sorry, sir,” he said, then dashed off to one of the tents. “Master Ruell’s going to have my hide.”
“Well, maybe it’s not totally different that DIC encampments,” Byrony said, watching the boy run across the field. “Same thing almost happened to me at the last one I was on.”
“Do things like this happen often?” Umber asked. “I don’t remember anything like this in my history of the DIC.”
“No,” Byrony said, as they reached his tent. His two ceremonial guards stationed in front of the tent came to attention as he neared, and one of them opened the flap to let them in. It was fairly spartan, with a table, a couple of chairs, a small fire stove. The one luxury he had brought with him was a sand bed with touch stone heater. Umber looked at the bed with some envy.
Byrony fired up the stove and and put a kettle of water on to heat.
“So this encampment is not your usual big DIC venture,” he said, pulling out his tea making things, a lovely pot in a dark glowing reddish brown color, and two matching mugs. “First, they’d never let me have guards like this. And they definitely wouldn’t have sent a sand bed. I can’t say I don’t like it, but it’s a better bed than I have at home. I guess someone, possibly the President, was trying to make an impression on the Aos Si people. This is the rarest type of event, where we work together to snag a criminal. But the Master Investigator told me it might be the start of a new approach. There’s a lot going on right now. So much.”
He plopped down in one of the chairs and sagged for a moment. “I don’t know how much I should load you down with all of this,” he said to the younger Dragonkin. “You’ve got the rest of your first year in a small backwater Dragon Web station, and you won’t get to see much policing at all, if any. And to drag you into the middle of high level policy...”
“Thank you for bringing me along, sir,” Umber said. “I’m trying to do my best, but my posting at Goblin Market has been, well…”
“Not what you expected, eh?” Byrony scratched under his chin. “Let me guess. You’re from an old inspector family, and your head was filled every since you can remember with stories about how the investigators used their wits and skills to chase down people who broke the rules ever since you can remember.”
Umber dropped his eyes but nodded. “Yes sir.”
“You didn’t care about the other things Dragonkin are supposed to care about, like making profit and the ins and outs of trade and selling and accumulation.”
Head still bowed, Umber nodded.
“And you spent time reading about forensics and detection and maybe even novels about DIC adventures.”
Umber lifted his head. “How...how did you know, sir?”
Byrony clamped him on the shoulder. “Heh. That was me at your age. That’s most good investigators, if truth be known. That’s why we’re different.” The tea pot began to steam, and Byrony turned his attention back to his tea making. “I’ll tell you a secret. The students we have the most hope for, the ones we think will make the best investigators, they’re the ones that get the cruddiest first year assignments.”
Umber sucked on his bottom lip at this revelation, then looked up at Byrony. “You mean it’s a test?”
“It is. A hard test. That way, we weed out the people who are in it for the prestige of being inspectors, who do it for the glory or who think they’re just special. The ones who remain have the determination to do the work, no matter how hard it is. Who can live up to the slogan.”
“We never stop investigating,” Umber said.
“Even when it hurts.” Byrony poured boiling water over his tea. “And let me tell you, as you come up through the ranks, there will be times it really hurts. You have what it takes?”
“I believe so, sir.” Umber said.
“Good man.” He poured tea into both of their cups. “Here’s to a successful conclusion to our current mission, and may we always get our man.”
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
----------------------------------------
Far away from where Byrony was drinking tea, the Oldest stepped off of the King’s Highway and into the shadow of a great maple tree. There was a path here, perhaps not made by Daoine or Bauchan folk, maybe perhaps originally by deer, but worn into the undergrowth enough that she could follow it.
It had been a long time since the last time she had walked it, and if the people she left behind at the White Circle chapter house knew she was walking it now, they would be shocked, perhaps aghast that she actually was here.
“Sometimes, even people like me have to escape their keepers,” she murmured.
She stepped nimbly over branch and rock, for once having shed her white robes of office, and instead wore garments she favored in a younger era: leather breeches suitable to save her legs from scratches and tears and the effects of small life hungry for a quick blood meal, comfortable boots to challenge the uneven land, and a long sleeved shirt that blended into the landscape. Only her long white hair, secured in a single braid and the circlet of office she wore upon her head gave her away as something other than another forest dweller. In her hand was a strong staff and draped cross body was a bag of necessities. For a moment she could lose herself in the memories of the first time she wandered in this forest – dressed just like this in a time long gone and past.
Finally she reached the place she was aiming for - a small glade with a deep spring of sweet water, that eventually went underground. It was wild, making an unruly pond of water the first time she found it. It was not so now. Some careful stonework surrounded the spring now, making it almost a well. There were a couple of benches under the nearby trees and a single seat against another. It still glinted with magic potential, like it had the first time she tasted the waters.
She sat down on one of the benches, and pulled a cup out of her bag, and dipped it into the waters. Lifting it up, she swirled the waters in her cup. It glowed lightly as she reached out with her magic awareness. As she lifted the cup to take a sip, there was a rustle behind her, and a shadow touched her silver hair.
“It took you long enough to find me,” the Oldest said. She drank from her cup.
“Lady Sulis,” Cullin said, walking around the bench. “It’s been a long time since you’ve walked these woods.” He sat down. “I felt you the moment you stepped off of the highway and passed under the maple. But at first, I believed it was just my...hope? Imagination?” He tugged on the edge of his broad hat. “But then, you found the old track. I knew where you were headed to. I finished what I was working on, making peace between a cantankerous old satyr who should have known better and a young dryad who didn’t care for his attention. Satyr is lucky he has any beard left. But I think peace was achieved, for the moment. Then I came here.”
“The forest feels good, my boy. You have cared for it well,” the Oldest said.
“You gave me the duty,” he said, simply. “Everyone who belongs here, every tree, every pixie or stag or moss person, bear or butterfly. Each tree or shrub or flower - I care for them all.”
“It was not an easy task I gave you,” she said, resting a hand on his.
He shrugged. “It was the task I was born to do. I have no regrets.”
The Oldest nodded, and moved onto the thing that brought her to the forest. “And what of your new neighbor? The woman who moved into Pixie Hollow?”
Cullin pondered for a moment. “She is free from my watching. She is kindhearted, and the pixies sing her praises. She knew me when she was a child. Her mother was much like her, big-hearted, and able to charm me to her house more than once. Leila read her heart and found her good, but with a sadness she tries to hide. I think she will be a good neighbor. She bakes good cake.”
That last comment made the Oldest chuckle, but then she grew serious again.
“Something is going on in the world outside of your forest. I’m not exactly sure what is happening yet, but it has the potential to be very bad, and I am only getting glimpses of it.”
“I have not felt anything yet,” Cullin replied. He closed his eyes, drifted his attention over his domain. “All here is as it should be.”
“May it stay so!” The Oldest nodded. “Keep your peace close to your heart. But not everybody will be so lucky. Whatever is out there is wrapping its threads around Gan Thistleberry somehow. She has been caught up in a prophecy she doesn’t even know about.” She looked deep into her cup. “At the Well of Fate, last winter solstice, the seer called her a scholar with no school who will be given a key that could make things right or unleash a disaster.”
“It’s not a good thing to be caught up in a prophecy,” Cullin said. He rubbed his chin, thinking about the woman who had invited him in when he didn’t come over friendly, and even defended his right to protect his lands. He knew Leila had made instant friends with her, and had been back to visit more than once. “You’re not asking me to defend myself from her, are you?”
“No,” the Oldest said. “I would like you to keep an eye on her. Maybe nobody will try to bother her, and her role will happen with no trouble. But I would rest better if I knew you added her to your list of people to care for.”
“I will do it,” the Tree Shepherd said, nodding, in a solemn voice.
She rummaged in her bag, and pulled out a stone. “This is a sending stone. Use it if something happens. Let me know.”
He nodded, and put it away in his coat.
“I will try to come back here more often. I had forgotten what a lovely place this is. Remember, I always think of you as my son.” She stood up, and touched his cheek.
He looked up at her, and smiled, resting his hand over hers. Stepping back, the Oldest slid the knob on the jump stone around her neck, and was gone.
----------------------------------------
Gweir walked around the troop transport. Currently it rested in a flat rocky plateau out of the line of sight of the road through the canyon below. His team had already camouflaged the roof, in case any of the people they were hunting had air transport. To anybody flying overhead, even if they were gifted with the sight, it would look like a big hunk of rock.
“That should do it,” he said, standing before the entryway. “Let’s go tell the squad the good news.”
The door to the troop carrier opened up, and Gweir and his second, Dylan walked into the room.
The men sat on benches that went around the carriage in a u-shape. In the front to the right of the doors was a cabinet where supplies were stored, and more were piled in front of it. Dragonfire lamps kept the room lit, and blowers kept the air fresh, but even with that air he could smell the tinge of anxiety and excitement percolating through the men gathered there. He looked at each of their faces. Some were bored, some were excited, some were busy doing last minute checks of the gear. All were armed and wrapped in the battle cloaks the Birch supplied them, designed to make them hard to see against the dry and rocky landscape they would be working in.
Dylan announced his presence, and the men snapped to attention. Gweir walked over to his seat in the carrier, but didn’t sit down.
“Time to get ready, men. This is our first operation since they pulled us into the Birch’s service. Let’s do this right, and let’s show him what type of people he brought in. Everyone check their gauntlets,” he said.
“Be sure your sending stone is set for OniBlack. That’s the channel we’re going to use to talk in case we get separated, and if I need to change orders. Only our people will be able to understand what we say to each other. The stone scrambles it if anybody else overhears it.” He held a small grey wand of crystal. “I have the tuning wand if anybody needs it.”
Someone in the back held up his hand, and Gweir passed it back.
“I’ll never understand how this thing works,” said one of the soldiers, a redheaded Bauchan man name Jerrath who had served with Gweir for about six years. He had a lack of education but strong ability to fight and follow orders, which had served him well during the training period.
“Don’t you remember what they told you?” Thibbet, sitting next to the speaker said. He punched him in the ribs with his elbow. “I explained it to you before. The gauntlet sets up a magic field. It sends the speech out as gibberish, but if you have one of these babies,” he said, holding up his own gauntlet, “You’re in a magic field that lets you hear it right. It puts a spell on your ears or your mind or something.”
“Remember the drill,” Gweir said, ignoring the two men. “White stone is talk. Blue stone is Truesight. Some of these people we’re going after are Shadowlanders. They may try to cast Darkness or something else. Third stone, the red one, is Barrier. Fourth stone, the green one, is Pass Unseen. If they have good senses, it might not work, but in battlefield, the chaos can be useful. Fifth stone, the purple one, is Camouflage.”
“Hard to believe something like this isn’t Dragonkin made. They’re usually the ones with the fancy magical tools,” Gabon, Gweir’s Third said.
“All Aos Si make. Havron told me they made the first ones at the Fireburners’ labs on the White Isle. Dragonkin aren’t the only smart people around.”
“Everybody have their jump stones on?” Gweir asked. He pulled a small tag hanging around his neck up. “This is your guaranteed tool to get back here. Don’t get killed. If there’s an attack you can’t dodge, and you aren’t grappled, use it. Pop back here, resupply, grab another weapon, bandage, whatever, and you can pop back into position by sliding the knob back the other way. But if you’re grappled, even if he’s just grabbing your sleeve, you’ll bring him back here with you. If you do, and I find out about it,” he continued, giving the men in the container a rather threatening look, “I will be very unhappy about it.”
The men began to double check their neck tags among a bit of muttering and a little banter.
“Don’t get killed,” one in the back of the room said, shoving lightly the man he sat next to.
“Don’t get me killed, tripping over your own big feet, Tims,” he said shoving back.
Their voices were light and both were known to be best friends, and a bit of laughter scattered in the room. Gweir let the laughter go for a little while then he held up a box.
“Don’t get your tags mixed up with what’s in this box. These are jump stones that lead straight to where we’re going to hold our charges. I suggest you make sure they are subdued before you use them. At least have their hands bound. Pop them over into the containment carriage. There are people there who will be stationed to do what’s next, but we don’t want to kill our friends on the line. Everybody take five, then pass the box around.”
He passed the box to his second, who took out five, and secured them in a special pocket, then passed the box on.
“How many people are we facing?” one of the men asked.
“We don’t expect more than ten or fifteen,” Gweir replied.
“Then why so many jump stones?”
“You want to wait for someone to toss you a jump stone when you have your man down?” Gabon said.
“Uh, no. I see,” said the soldier, nodding.
The box made it around the room and got back to Gweir. There were a number of stones left. “We’ll leave the box with the other supplies, just in case some hero needs to replenish.”
There was a snicker or two from the back of the room.
“Now comes the real stuff. Dylan, you’ll put your men on the left side of the canyon. Gabon, you’ll man the right. Marlhaut, you’ll close off the pincher once all their people are in the trap.” He gave a wicked grin. “The rest of you – let’s get ready to give them a warm welcome in front.”
With a hoorah that was too loud for the walls of the troop carrier, everybody leapt up. Dylan opened the doors, and they all poured out.