[Bronze Wood] Suspicions (Sam)

[Ulric]

71st of Spring, 510 AV “Hmm,” said Ulric as he peered down at corpse. It was a Syliran knight; any fool could tell that from the damned armor. What Ulric didn’t understand, however, was why the man was lying in the middle of the forest with a slit throat and a crossbow bolt protruding from his head. Surely, this is the definition of overkill. There wasn’t much he could do except leave the man for the crows. That they hadn’t already gathered around the corpse suggested the kill was recent, and that the murderer was still in the area. Ulric didn’t like the sound of that. Knight-killers were typically dangerous, crazy, or a mixture of the two – a high probability in this case, seeing as the knight had been slain on his own petching doorstep. Worse, one of the man’s eyelids was shut, fixing Ulric with a perpetual wink, while the slashed throat seemed to grin at him, as if to say, I know something you don’t. “Yeah?” Ulric snarled. “Well at least I’m not dead.” He returned the grin, accepting the fact that he was becoming increasingly morose the longer he spent in the wildlands. It was quite an intriguing situation, though. How had the knight died, and for what? Ulric doubted it was an accident. I mean, it’s not like a barber’s hand slipped while he was giving a petching shave, and then he decided, “Hey, why don’t I shoot the bastard in the head?” That kind of thing just didn’t happen. But then again, Ulric wasn’t from these parts, so he supposed anything was possible. Just… not the barber theory. What he did know, however, was that knights were wealthy. Not shyke-wealthy, where you could gorge yourself for a decade and still not equal your weight in gold, but their purses tended to be substantially heavier than any hunter’s or laborer’s. Come to think of it, Ulric’s scowled as he fumbled with the knight’s purse, where’s the bastard’s weapons? The man’s scabbard was empty, yet Ulric didn’t see any trace of the blade. It could have been lost among the leaves, but he certainly wasn’t going to spend the next hour searching for it. Not with the killer still roaming loose. Why take the sword, but leave the purse? Ulric thought, failing to consider, in his sudden avarice, that the killer might return on that very purpose. He shook the leather pouch, his lips curling into a smile as it emitted a satisfying jingle. Perhaps luck was on his side, after all.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Since his night with Merris, Sam's mood had wheeled violently between exhilarated exultation and a tranquil calm, with only minor, fleeting bouts of unease, doubt that things could all have improved so much in such a short time. Regardless of the truth of things, he had flown the coop, riding his windrunner like one of Zulrav's bonesnappers. Best to enjoy the moment, he figured, because it was sure to pass. Indeed, it was about to, although he was entirely ignorant of that fact. Horse was ambling lazily now, his manic gallop saved for those spurts of joy he shared with his rider. Though no Cyphrus Strider, his training with Sam was advanced compared to most horses, and their constant time together had formed a deep bond. It wasn't only the lack of a strider that obfuscated his racial identity; his braids had been shorn a decade previous and never allowed to grow back. His single windmark was covered by a leather cuff about his wrist. With Horse's snort, Sam became alert. His hand found the hilt of his scimitar, then retreated, his hands resting on his thighs as they progressed. Someone was up ahead, and he would draw if it became necessary, but a drawn sword going into a situation was likely to make itself necessary. "Ho, stranger," he called ahead, the stranger and the predicament coming quickly into view.

[Ulric]

Ulric’s head snapped up. Who the petch is that? He scrambled to his feet, scowling mistrustfully at the rider. Despite the innocent greeting, Ulric saw the lad’s hand settle upon the hilt of his scimitar, as if sensing trouble… or preparing to silence a witness. For all he knew, this could be the murderer returning to the scene of the crime. Or perhaps he thinks I’m the murderer, Ulric realized with growing alarm. He was still holding the purse in one hand and his crossbow in the other. It did, now that he considered it, look very incriminating. “Erm, it’s not how it looks,” he dropped the purse, shamefaced. “I was just… searching for some kind of identification. A signet, perhaps, or a scrap of parchment – something to show the Sylirans when I reach the city.” Ulric sidled around the corpse, his brow furrowed and then protested. “I did not shoot him in the head!” Well, that didn’t seem incriminating at all, you bastard. He stared at the rider, waiting to see how he would react.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Dark eyes widened at the one-man carnage, the dead knight feathered by a crossbow quarrel and butchered by a blade. Oh, but this was not good. This was terrible. And the man... standing over the corpse with purse and crossbow, dropping the purse like it was white-hot anathema. Still he didn't draw; that would be tantamount to a challenge. Horse snorted nervously at the metallic tang of human blood on the air and Sam felt the same thrill of apprehension, though he did his best to remain calm. That wasn't working out so well for him. "Is that a knight?" he asked, curiosity stalking the cat if not outright killing it. The less he knew, the better. He should have just backed away and let Horse have his head. Few things could catch up with a windrider en gallop, and they traveled relatively light. "No, never mind. I don't want to know. I don't want any trouble." But why was he looking at Sam like Sam was suspect?

[Ulric]

“I don’t want any trouble,” said the rider. His words, and the hand that remained on his sword hilt, were as good as an accusation. Now, Ulric was a murderer, having slain two innocent souls in the north, but he certainly wasn’t going to take the blame for a murder he hadn’t committed. If I let him go, Ulric realized, he’ll probably squeal to the knights and I’ll be dancing the gibbet in no time. It was not a pleasant thought. He also wasn’t convinced the lad was as innocent as he seemed. Oh, he didn’t seem to have a crossbow, but couldn’t he have stashed the weapon, or perhaps operated with a partner? Ulric risked a quick glance over his shoulder, but the forest was empty. Better play it cool. “Come take a look,” he forced a smile. “I don’t know what to make of this, myself. Someone’s done a number on this poor bastard,” Ulric said. He bent down, still keeping his eyes upon the rider, and sniffed the corpse. It was still fresh, but the blood was well congealed. “Why,” he asked, “would a Syliran knight travel alone in the forest? And more importantly, who would risk the order’s wrath by slaying him?”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam considered the man dubiously, letting his hands rest on his thighs, but near enough the hilt of his scimitar should things get ugly. He peered at the corpse, nudging Horse a bit closer for a better view, but keeping a safe distance. After all, the man had a crossbow, and he didn't want to lose Horse after all they had been through. "I can see," he said, guardedly. Horse danced suddenly beneath him and it required a word in Pavi as well as a signal from his legs to calm the beast. He sighed and looked again. No investigator, he. "Pride or necessity, I suppose, would send a knight out by himself. I'm sure they have enemies, the Syliran Knights. I just don't know who... Everyone I have talked to seems to think them the bee's knees."

[Ulric]

“Bunch of pricks, more like,” Ulric sneered. “Most knights are nothing but arrogant, self-serving bastards that cloak their depredations with illusions of honor. Give a man spurs and a suit of armor and suddenly he thinks he’s a petching hero.” He scratched his chin. Not exactly helping my case, am I? However, he was intrigued by the rider’s words. “Pride and necessity, you say? Perhaps he was to fight a duel… but I don’t suppose that explains the bolt in his head.” Ulric set down his crossbow. He ordinarily wouldn’t have given a shyke, but the circumstances of the knight’s demise were so damned peculiar that he couldn’t help but speculate on them. However, it didn’t appear that the rider shared his morbid enthusiasm. “Is there typically some… uproar over a knight’s death?” Ulric asked. “Mass arrests, questioning, that sort of thing? I’m an outlander in these parts,” he said by means of explanation. Ulric imagined the Sylirans didn’t take kindly to members of their order being slain so near to the city. If so, all travelers arriving at the gates might be viewed with suspicion – the type of close scrutiny an unkempt, sinister-looking northman would likely fall afoul of. “My name’s Ulric,” he looked up. Being friendly never hurt.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Taking in the man's vitriol, Sam began to worry. What if this man tried to pin him with the murder of a knight? That could be worse than a quick death here in the wild; it would be drawn out and horrible, of course. Sam knew he was innocent, and this man, though somewhat disreputable of appearance, claimed innocence too. If it was anywhere else, he might simply have fled the scene. What care did he have for his reputation? But he was in Syliras for what he believed to be a Purpose, and he didn't want to get run out before he discovered what that was. Then again, this could be linked to that, couldn't it? "Sam," he said, meeting the man's eyes again. He could only hope he wasn't adding a nail to his coffin. "I don't... I don't really know what happens. I have met some of the younger knights, taught him some basics of horsemanship and equitation... But none of them are really... powerful. They are the powers of Syliras, though. I don't think they'll take kindly to knight-killers. And they'll want a scapegoat if they're men. "Do you think... do you think we should leave him?" he asked, somewhat ashamed by what seemed to him to be cowardice. "Or we could take him back to Syliras, one or both of us. There would be consequences to that, though. Perhaps good, but more likely bad."

[Ulric]

“Consequences?” Ulric didn’t like the sound of that. He was, after all, the exact sort of scapegoat the knights would seek, especially if Sam’s knight vouched for the lad’s innocence. But who’s to vouch for me? Ulric scowled. No, he did not like the situation one bit. “So you propose leaving him for the crows?” Ulric said. “I can find little fault in that suggestion. After all, it’s none of our business; why should we suffer for this wretch’s misfortune? But me, I wonder if the consequences are double-sided. If the fist of justice falls where it is most convenient, either you or I – probably me – will be hauled to the gallows, or worse, the torturers’ cells, and made to confess. Unless, of course, we concealed the body.” Found, it might cause problems. He could only imagine the cretinous investigator’s line of questioning. ‘Who left the city that morning? Sam. Who entered the city that night? Ulric. All right, bring them in and let’s get to the bottom of this!’ If Ulric was to be hanged for murder, he wished the executioner would at least get the charges right. He peered at the bolt in the knight’s head. It would definitely have to go. And the entire head, and the armor, and the purse, leaving a naked, headless corpse that defied identification. Unless, of course, the knight became a ghost. That could be rather unpleasant. Ulric looked at Sam, wondering how the rider would react if he started chopping the knight to bits. Badly, most like. If they were going to leave the corpse, it had to be done right. “Although,” he said finally, “How many murderers do you suppose convey their victims to the authorities?”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam listened to Ulric's words thoughtfully, and tried to read between the lines. It went against his nature to think the worst of people, but it was a necessary trait for survival if one had only oneself and one's horse looking out for one. Many of his dead relatives had looked disreputable in a similar way as this man, this Ulric--the which might be an alias or a name pulled out of the air or his backside for all Sam knew. "Do you think..." He paused, thinking hard, not wanting to sound like an unschooled rube or a complete idiot. "Do you think if we brought him into town all sad and solemn and left his purse alone and everything... do you think they might... reward us?" As Sturlin had pointed out, having the Knights of Syliras on your side counted for a lot when skulking about Syliras and its environs. It might not mean anything anywhere else, but... maybe?