the stone wall, while a tangle of splintered furniture and torn clothing littered the floor.
Memory rushed in on him like a tidal wave. Despite three attempts to see the abbot, he had been unable to speak with Meremont. Each rebuffed attempt stoked the embers of his anger. Frustrated by his inability to participate in the abbey's defense, he had retired to his cell, falling at last into a fitful slumber from which he could not seem to wake.
Images plagued his every moment. The visions were immediate and terrible in their detail. It was as if Drakken wasn't merely reliving the horrifying event, but rather found himself trapped within the moment, tearing out the sub-prior's throat again and again.
Sometime near dawn, he had struggled free of his nightmarish prison, overcome with guilt arid anger.
Rage over his obvious complicity in Arranoth's murder met with a deeper, burning hatred fueled in his heart. The beast within had slipped its bonds and he had lashed out at anything near him, until exhaustion drew him once more into sleep.
The knocking grew more insistent, penetrating the undertow of guilt brought by the evening's nightmares.
'What?' the half-dragon yelled as he pulled open the door, expecting the abbot and a host of his accusers.
Instead, he found a young novice in a simple white robe. The boy took a step back, eyes widening at Drakken's wild appearance.
'Brother Phenotar wants … he wants to see you urgently,' the novice's voice quavered.
When he arrived at the herbalist's workshop, Drakken followed the novice to a back room. The half-dragon was sure that everyone in the abbey knew of his guilt. He had felt their eyes upon him as they walked across the abbey close. Steeling himself, he entered the room, prepared for the worst.
Brother Phenotar barely acknowledged his entrance. The herbalist leaned intently over a figure lying on a broad table, running his fingers over something that looked suspiciously like a human arm. Drakken was about to shout his confession to the studious cleric when he realized that the arm belonged to Brother Arranoth.
The half-dragon began to shake, and was surprised when a voice somewhere within him began to curse him for his cowardice.
The herbalist, apparently, took no notice of his condition, but rather continued his examination.
'Take a look at this,' Brother Phenotar said without preamble, indicating the sallow track of skin upon the corpse's arm. 'Interesting, is it not?'
Drakken drew closer carefully, sure in his heart that the corpse would leap up and point damningly at its murderer.
'I don't… I don't see anything,' he replied.
'Hmmm…' came the reply. 'Yesterday I mentioned that I needed to study something further. The wounds to our departed brother's throat have bothered me from the beginning.'
'Why?' Drakken asked, bending closer to the corpse despite himself.
'There did not seem to be enough bleeding for the severity of the wound.' The herbalist tilted back the corpse's head, exposing the ruined wreck of its throat. 'So, I did some further examination and I found this.'
He indicated a small wound on the inside of the corpse's arm.
'What is it?' Drakken inquired.
'At first,' Phenotar replied, 'I thought it was a simple insect bite. But I ran some more tests. That's when I discovered that someone had poisoned Brother Arranoth.
'Adder's root,' the herbalist added. 'Very deadly.'
'Then Arranoth was-' Drakken began.
'He was already dead when the wounds to the throat were made,' Brother Phenotar finished. 'I examined the throat wounds further and I discovered tiny slivers of metal. Whatever made the wounds wasn't natural.'
Drakken felt his knees begin to buckle as relief flooded through him. He wasn't the one who'd killed the sub- prior! All of the hours of self-recrimination and hatred seemed like a dream. The Brother Herbalist's discoveries put a part of his mind at rest, while another part began to whirl with dark possibilities.
He stammered his thanks to Brother Phenotar and took his leave. If he hadn't killed the sub-prior, then
Brother Arranoth's murderer was still at large-and had gone to quite some length to incriminate him. Looking at the darkening spring sky, Drakken headed back to his cell. He had only a few hours to prepare for his meeting with whoever left that note.
Drakken stood quietly in the Upper Cellar, one hand resting lightly on a stack of wooden crates, the other fingering a small set of prayer beads hanging from a belt loop sewn into his simple robe. Despite a bitter chill permeating the dank cellar, the half dragon's spirits were higher than they had been in months. Brother Phenotar's discovery had lifted a dark weight hanging upon his shoulders ever since he'd known of the sub-prior's death. Sure of his own innocence, Drakken could barely contain his relief. He only hoped that whoever had dropped him the mysterious note could shed some more light on Brother Arranoth's murder.
The half dragon was so wrapped up in speculation that he only had a moment's warning before the attack. His keen sense of smell caught a faint musky scent an instant before two figures shimmered into existence before him. Sharpened steel arced toward him in the darkness, but the half-dragon had already begun to move, ducking beneath the whistling edge of one blade. As he turned, a second blade caught in the folds of his robe, slowing him down. He lashed out with a heavily muscled foot, catching one of his attackers in the gut. The assailant let out an explosive grunt and doubled over. Without hesitation, Drakken dived past the assassin and rolled to his feet.
Even in the tomblike darkness of the cellar, his dragon's vision caught sight of his attackers. Both were human. One, a beefy warrior who, by the look of him had once been an extraordinarily muscled man since gone to fat, wielded a wicked looking curved axe. His companion, a whipcord slim human with a well-groomed goatee, twirled a simple short sword in one hand and a hooked dagger in the other.
Despite the half-dragon's disadvantage, Drakken found his blood beginning to warm at the nearness of death. The beast slumbering deep within him began to awaken, and this time, he didn't fight it. In an instant, he knew what he would have to do. A low grumble escaped his lips as he launched himself at the smaller of the two assassins.
The man struck quick, a viperlike attack with the point of his short blade. Drakken didn't attempt to dodge, but almost seemed to leap onto the weapon. As the sword met thick scales, it bent slightly and slid to the side. Still moving forward, the half-dragon stepped slightly to the left of his assailant, grabbed the assassin's neck with a single clawed hand, and pulled the man to him as if in an embrace. In desperation, the screaming attacker sliced wildly with his dagger. Drakken let out a bellow of pain and rage as the blade cut through hardened scales as if they were silk.
Before he could finish his maneuver, however, the half-dragon sensed the second assassin moving in for a solid strike. He spun, holding his captive before him like a shield. As the man's axe fell, it bit deep into the chest of the first assassin, shattering the hapless man's ribs as it ended its fateful arc.
The fat warrior took a step back, releasing the axe as his eyes widened in obvious horror. At that moment, Drakken pounced. Dropping the gurgling remains of his captive, he leaped forward. Batting away his opponent's feeble attempts at stopping him, the half-dragon wrapped two clawed hands around the man's neck and squeezed with frightful force. The assassin's eyes bulged wildly moments before his windpipe collapsed between Drakken's scaled hands. Blood erupted from the warrior's mouth as he fell to the floor.
The half-dragon raised gore-encrusted hands before him and nearly roared with delight. The beast, he knew, was nearly free. He could feel it straining and pounding against the doors of its captivity. Drakken cast one last contemptuous look at the piles of meat before him-and froze as he caught sight of a familiar shape around the finger of the sword-wielding assassin.
He knew at once who was behind the murder of Brother Arranoth, and the knowledge quelled the wild anger within him. Not caring if anyone stumbled upon the two corpses, Drakken bounded up the stairs in search of the murderer.
Somewhere deep within him, the beast raged!
He emerged into chaos.
Despite the late hour, gray-cowled brothers scuttled to and fro, muttering prayers to Illmater as they carried buckets of water, heavy bags filled with grain and flour, and sundry other items. Drakken even caught the glint of steel, illuminated by the soft moonlight, among several of the abbey servants.
