'When will you have something definite?' Drakken asked.
'Later this evening, perhaps…' the herbalist paused. 'Tomorrow morning to be sure.'
The half-dragon turned to go, a curse on absent-minded clerics already coming to his lips. When the herbalist asked him if he had uncovered anything in his own investigations, Drakken nearly didn't stop. Something in the cleric's voice, however, held him there.
Taking a deep breath, Drakken faced the inquisitive herbalist and relayed what he had discovered in Arranoth's room. He surprised himself, however, when he did not mention the mysterious note.
The half-dragon's surprise deepened when Phenotar asked to see the wool swatch. The herbalist studied it for a moment and grabbed the magnifying lens. With the fingers of one hand he spread out the wool fibers and peered intently at them through the instrument.
Drakken held his breath, for a moment all anger forgotten.
'Hmmm … hmmm…' said the herbalist after a moment. 'A very fine dye, but not local. It is difficult to get this depth of saturation and this color with the indigenous plants we have here. I seem to remember…' The cleric paused, drumming long, stained fingers against the table in obvious thought. 'Yes,' he said after another moment. 'There was a merchant- Valerix I think his name was. He came to the abbey several months ago seeking an ongoing agreement to supply us throughout the year. He had several bolts of wool exactly this color.'
Drakken sighed, cursing his luck. Whoever it was probably traded throughout the region. He'd never find him.
'Worst case of winter fever I'd ever seen,' continued Phenotar.
'What?' Drakken nearly shouted. 'You mean-'
'Yes,' the herbalist said with a smile. 'He's still here. Recuperating in the guest house until his caravan comes through here again.'
Drakken offered his thanks to the cleric, any earlier anger forgotten in his desire to follow up on his next lead. The half-dragon took his leave and went in search of the recuperating merchant.
It didn't take him long. Smaller than the chapter house, the abbey guest house stood to the west of the Ilmatari chapel that served as the spiritual heart of the monastery. Its two-story stone frame offered shelter to weary travelers, sick villagers, and any who called upon the brothers for aid. A quick word to the guest master and Drakken discovered that Valerix took his morning repast each day in one of the house's sitting rooms. The young cleric in charge of abbey hospitality led him through several short corridors, eventually stopping before an entryway covered by a thick blue curtain. Calling out a greeting, the guest master ushered Drakken through the curtain into an open, sunlit room before taking his leave.
There, among a stack of dishes heaped with quail and plover eggs, thick bread, cold chicken, and crocks of various jellies, sat the most corpulent human he had ever seen. Bloated, splotchy flesh sagged around a nearly hairless head, running down the sides of the merchant's face to end in thick jowls. Scrag-gly, graying hair-glistening with grease from the morning's meal-erupted in a riot around thin lips. Bright red silks, so at odds with the muted colors worn by most of the abbey, bulged and flowed with the great mass of flesh that shifted as the merchant stood in greeting.
Drakken caught the man's look of surprise, which was just as quickly replaced by a cold, calculating gaze. The half-dragon felt as if he were being appraised for sale, and the feeling did little to improve a mood that seemed consistently sour.
'Valerix the merchant?' Drakken asked simply when the man had finally caught his breath from the exertion of standing.
The fat man lifted a bloated hand in response.
'At your service,' he replied with an uncomfortable bow.
Sunlight reflected off a thick band of gold wedged tightly around one of the merchant's pudgy fingers. The ring glittered with nearly incandescent flame.
'It is a fine work of art, is it not?' Valerix asked, noticing the half-dragon's interest. 'You have seen it before?'
He held it up. Two lines of gold, beaten and fashioned into the likeness of serpentine tails twined around each other to form the ring's shape. Drakken shook his head.
'No?' came the merchant's haughty reply. 'Ah well, we are a large trading house. All of my associates wear such trinkets.'
… and you are obviously of no consequence.
Drakken heard the unspoken message clearly. He felt the familiar anger coil tightly within him. Something about that fat human cried out for a bloody throttling. The half-dragon fought the impulse down. He felt as if he walked precariously on a tightrope-one false move would send him tumbling into a sea of blood. He must be careful. If he had indeed killed Brother Arranoth, he wanted to make sure that no one else fell victim to his irredeemable evil. The merchant, however distasteful, may hold the secret to finding out exactly what happened. He was of no use to Drakken dead.
'I apologize for disrupting your meal,' the half-dragon said at last in a tone that bespoke of anything but apology. 'I need to ask you a question about Brother Arranoth.'
Valerix raised his eyebrows at the mention of the murdered sub-prior.
'The brother recently killed?' he said, covering his mouth with fat, sausagelike fingers. 'Whatever for?'
Drakken thought for a moment before answering, 'We are gathering the sub-prior's belongings in order to sell them for those in need, and we had a question about a few of the articles we found.'
The half-dragon gazed intently at the merchant, sure that the man had seen through that thin web of half- truth. If he had, however, the canny merchant gave no indication.
'I see,' Valerix said, stroking his beard with indolent grace. 'How can I help?'
Drakken ignored the man's tone, which clearly indicated that it would be a waste of time. He reached into his robe and pulled out the purple wool swatch.
'Have you seen this before?' the half-dragon asked.
Valerix furrowed his brow, causing deep folds in the skin, as he examined the wool.
'Why, yes,' he replied after a moment. 'This is part of a sample of product that I give out to prove the quality of my wares. The swatch belongs to me.'
'I see,' Drakken replied. 'Then can you tell me how it came to be in Brother Arranoth's room?'
The half-dragon couldn't quite keep the accusation out of his voice.
'That's easy,' came the reply, no less pointed. 'My negotiations with Brother Brontheld, the Cellarer, were… let's just say that they were bearing little fruit. So I appealed to Brother Arranoth and offered him samples of my wares. It's that simple,' the fat merchant nearly purred.
'Then you won't mind if I verify that with the Brother Cellarer himself?' Drakken asked.
'Of course not,' Valerix waved at the half-dragon dismissively as he returned to his meal. 'Now, if you don't mind….'
Drakken nearly took a step forward and grabbed the merchant by the collar so angry was he at being dismissed, but a disturbance in the courtyard distracted him. Even inside the guest house he could hear the buzz of many voices.
'Excuse me,' he said abruptly, and left the merchant without another word.
The courtyard was a riot of activity. Brothers and servants stood in huddled clumps, chattering excitedly, or else they were running from wall to wall carrying baskets full of supplies.
'What's happening?' he yelled to a passing servant.
The woman stopped and turned to the half-dragon, terror written clearly on her face.
'Have you not heard? They've sighted orcs, they have. In the hills not a day's ride from the abbey.'
The news sent Drakken's heart pumping. Perhaps there was still something he could do.
Clearly, it was time to speak with the abbot.
A knock at the door pulled Drakken from his nightmares. He groaned and tried to roll over, to ignore the pounding on the door. Despite his best efforts, it continued-each blow resounding in the room like the hammer that would, finally, bind him in chains for the rest of his life. There was no escaping it. He had killed Brother Arranoth.
The pounding continued.
Drakken groaned and stumbled to his feet. His small cell lay in ruins. Deep claw marks scarred the length of
