Falnight 13 (of 14)

[mother_herbivore]

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Sergeant Nuressa Porthill was a hill elf with a scar across her forehead and a sharply raised eyebrow. She eyed me impassively when I opened the door, glanced past me into the house, then asked, “Goodwife Heiric?”

 

“Sergeant Porthill,” I replied, and ushered her party inside. She had brought another hill elf with her, and four Greater mages with the emblem of their lodge embroidered on the high, stiff collars of their mantles. They each nodded at Harlan, who barely inclined his head.

 

“Now,” said Porthill, “I will try to make this as quick and painless as possible.”

 

 

And she did. The Greater elves sent Griffon back along the relay first, accompanied by Porthill’s partner. He had begun to cry again as he left, and Indra asked again if they were going to hurt him.

 

“He will be tried and punished accordingly by the Assembly’s hand,” said Porthill. Indra looked troubled, and Porthill asked, “Are you concerned for him?”

 

“Well…” Indra hesitated. “Well, he’s never hurt anyone, not a soul. He’s not a bad man.”

 

“He abducted us,” Falnight said in a small voice. I put my arm around his shoulders, drawing him close to me. Indra shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked at the floor.

 

“Not me,” she said. “He’s my uncle.”

 

We all straightened up at that. Indra glanced around at all of us with watery golden eyes, then looked back at the floor, shrinking into herself.

 

“My parents died in a flood when I was little, and he’s raised me since,” she said. “He really doesn’t have a bad bone in his body. He’s just… He has ideas about a new school of magic, and he wanted untrained mages to teach it to. Children are easy.” A tear rolled down her cheek, and she hastily wiped it away, but her voice still quivered. “He said that he was giving all of them a better life than they had. He always treats us well…”

 

She hiccupped then, and started to sob. I felt for her—she was too young to be making apologies for another’s mistake. Of course she believed whatever he told her. They may have been blood, but she was still his victim. The worst kind of crime, I think, to be used and betrayed by your own family. I bowed my head to kiss the top of Falnight’s and closed my eyes.

 

Porthill spoke softly to Indra for a few minutes, then guided her to sit in a chair by the window and came to me.

 

“Where do you come from, Goodwife Heiric?” she asked, dry and professional.

 

“My son and I rode here from Sheaside,” I replied, indicating Harlan, leaning against the far wall of the parlor with his arms crossed.

 

“And how did you know to come here?”

 

“I went to a plains troll mage. She told me of the house and I deduced the rest.” I told her the Dog’s name and where she lived. There were a few more questions—when had I left Sheaside, who else knew of the house, how long had Falnight been missing. Porthill sighed and shook her head when I told her of the reports that had gone unanswered in all our missing cases.

 

“I wish that I had an explanation for you,” she said, “but I do not. Ovelia falters under old, ineffective leadership. It is slow work improving it. I’m sorry that you have been hurting while we fumble about in the city.”

 

“I just want to take my son home,” I said. I meant for it to be a polite stop to the conversation, but I had not the energy to smile at her or even look sympathetic. Porthill’s mouth shut tightly and she inclined her head. “I hope that our business together will be finished quickly.”

“I understand. We will try to keep you in Ovelia for no longer than a day,” said Porthill.