Mystery Picnics
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The wind blew hard past the mountain, sweeping up a chill that settled into my bones. I felt as though I stood at some great height in the world; that I could see for leagues around me and there were no obstacles to stop me from seeing farther still.
Yet all about was the same green valley, with its many trees and wildflowers; only this time it had been laid out in a long wide circle instead of being squeezed between mountains on all sides. It seemed strange to find such a place so far below sea level. The grass looked dry and brittle, but my feet sank down into it easily enough.
All around lay the fallen leaves of autumn; they had turned golden brown and orange with the fading of summer. But even those vibrant colors were muted somehow; perhaps because of the strong winds that swept across the valley.
“But what is this place?” I asked myself aloud as I walked over to join a group of people gathered together by a fire. There was no doubt that it was the same party from before, though now I saw that two of them were clearly sisters, one much older than the other; both women wore similar gowns made of something like silk or satin, with embroidery along the sleeves and hem.
They had their heads covered in scarves. One woman, who appeared to be the elder sister, spoke to her younger sibling in hushed tones. “I swear that there’s another person here somewhere,” she said in reply, sounding worried. She looked around, frowning, then called to a passing servant. “Bring us more wine.”
Another man approached the gathering, wearing a slightly different outfit. He wore a cloak of deep blue velvet with elaborate silver trimmings, and he carried a small folding stool with him. When he reached the fire, he placed his stool down beside the eldest sister, then bowed to her.
“Good evening, Lady of Archenhold,” he began in a cultured voice, bowing again. He did not seem surprised when she addressed him by name. “It is good to see you again.”
She smiled at him, tilting her head slightly. “And to meet you,” she replied politely. She gestured toward a nearby bench. “May we sit? We have brought refreshments for your enjoyment.”
He nodded and set down the stool. “Certainly. Please wait just a moment, though. I shall fetch our table.”
The younger sister hovered near the edge of the circle, watching him go. Then she leaned close to the elder sister. “Do you think he would notice if I took off my veil?”
“No. You look too young to have any need to hide your face,” said the elder sister. “But please don’t do anything that might cause trouble. The last thing we want is for someone to know where we are. Once everything is arranged, we’ll come to you and tell you exactly how things should be done. Until then, stay calm and wait.”
The younger girl sighed. “Of course. I suppose I can always use the excuse that I’m tired after walking all day.”
“Don’t worry; I’ve got you covered. Just relax and enjoy yourself,” said the elder sister. “You’re lucky to be enjoying this while many others cannot. Someday you will understand why.”
They laughed softly together, then both turned back to watch the newcomer. His hands moved swiftly as he worked on arranging the food on the table. Despite his apparent haste, the dishes were carefully arranged: roast boar meat with carrots and potatoes; pickled mushrooms; boiled turnips; a basket of bread.
A jug of wine rested next to each plate, and the whole array sat atop a cloth spread out over a piece of wood.
The steward returned to the gathering and set several large platters on the ground. He bowed to the sisters, then went to work setting out the food, placing platters and bowls and pitchers in neat rows. He lifted the lid off an empty pot and poured a thin stream of broth into the nearest bowl.
He walked up to the youngest sister, who held out her hand expectantly. With a smile, he filled her cup.
When the steward finished, he folded the cloth and put it aside. He collected the plates and cups, then lifted the platter containing the roasted boar. While I waited patiently, he lit a taper and set it beneath the dish, then used a fork to push it down through the ashes until it caught fire. After a brief struggle, he managed to keep the flame burning.
The steward set down the platter and bowed once more to the sisters. Then he carried away the charcoal embers with which he had burned the dish. As soon as he left, I stepped forward. “I presume you are the Steward of House Archenhold?” I asked in a low voice.
He looked up from where he stood by the fire. “Indeed I am.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “Who are you, stranger? And what business do you have with me?”
“Please forgive my rudeness. My name is Avan. I have come to speak with the master of the house.”
“Master?” The steward straightened, his brows drawing together. “Why…you must be mistaken. I have no such title. Only the servants of the Archenhold family are allowed to address me by that title.”
“Oh, but you do,” I countered. “Because you are the steward of a household that has lost its master.”
His lips parted, and he gaped at me, then lowered his gaze to the floor.
“I am sorry,” I continued. “For some reason, I forgot. I meant to say ‘servant,’ not ‘master.’ It’s been rather busy here at the palace these past few days, so I haven’t had much opportunity to sleep.”
While I spoke, I watched his expression change. He looked up quickly, and I noticed the color flushing in his cheeks. “You’ve guessed correctly. Master Archenhold was murdered last night. His murderer was a man named Zhan. Do you happen to know him?”
As soon as I mentioned the name, he stiffened. “Zhan? That traitorous thief! I knew he’d get himself killed one day!”
My mind flashed back to the previous evening when I had seen Zhena leave the palace. Without thinking, I glanced around the courtyard, searching for her. But although there were plenty of people milling about, none of them looked like a tall, dark-haired woman with an aquiline nose and sharp grey eyes.
“How did you know that?” asked the steward, frowning at me again.
“I saw him leaving the palace with Zhena last night,” I explained. “They seemed very close.”
“Perhaps they didn’t realize I was nearby,” he replied, still watching me curiously. “It would explain why they were acting so strangely, if only because they were unaware of my presence. Yet Zhan has a long history of thieving and other crimes, and it seems unlikely he could have gotten away with killing our master without a witness.
There must have been some flaw in the plan—some way Zhena managed to bring him into her confidence before he struck.”
I nodded in agreement. “That makes sense.”
At that point, I noticed that my palms were damp. I reached down to smooth them over my trousers. “I’m sorry, but I need your help. I can’t tell you how grateful I am for all you’ve done thus far, but now matters are growing even more urgent. Please give me just a moment to collect myself.”
In the meantime, I took a deep breath. Once again, my heart pounded against my ribs, and I felt dizzy. But this time, instead of wishing for death, I wished for a quick end to my suffering. Everything hurt.
I couldn’t stand to think about what happened to me yesterday; all I wanted was to forget everything that had transpired. I needed to regain control of my body and mind, to find peace within.
But I couldn’t manage more than a few seconds before I was overcome by waves of nausea. I staggered to the ground and retched violently, spewing stomach acid onto the stones. When I was done, I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and sat there motionless, trying to compose myself.
After several minutes, the steward said something quietly. “What?” I replied wearily.
“Will you please accompany me to Lord Archenhold’s chamber? I will show you the way.”
I hesitated. I hadn’t expected to be taken there immediately after eating. On top of that, I wasn’t sure how much good it would do to see where the murder had occurred. At least, that’s what I thought until I caught sight of Zhena coming out of the kitchen. She saw me, and she turned to face me.
Her eyes widened, and her lips parted, but she didn’t utter a sound. I stared back, unable to look away. I found myself trembling, both from fear and guilt. I couldn’t remember much of what happened, but I remembered enough to fill my mind with shame. What else should I expect, though, when she was the one who had hired me to kill my own father?
Without really meaning to, I rose to my feet and started walking toward her.
“No!” The steward grabbed my arm. “Don’t approach her! You’ll frighten her. And never forget—”
“Let go of me.” I pulled my arm free and hurried past him into the hallway.
He followed me, muttering behind me. “If you don’t listen to my advice, Master, perhaps it’s better if you continue to remain unconscious.”
The closer I got to Zhena, the worse my head throbbed and the harder my muscles grew. My legs felt like they were made of stone and my arms were heavy ropes. I stumbled forward, forcing myself to keep moving. If I stopped here, I wouldn’t be able to move again.
And then I saw the blood.
Red splattered across the floor like paint thrown against the canvas. It stained the white stone tiles and clung to the walls and ceiling in a thick crimson blotch. The puddle in front of Zhena had already dried, leaving a dark red stain on the glossy black marble.
Zhena stood beside the door, staring at the mess. Blood covered her hands, but not as much as I would have imagined. She had been clutching her chest when I first saw her, and yet she appeared completely unharmed. Not even a scratch marred the skin of her face or neck. A small cut, barely visible, ran across her forehead, just above the bridge of her nose.
“Master Archenhold,” Zhena whispered, looking up at me. “Is that you?”
My eyes bulged, and my jaw dropped. Yes, that was me—my blood-covered body standing in the doorway.
“Are you well?” she asked.
How did I know that?
Then I realized that I’d been talking to myself. I tried to open my mouth, but words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t make my tongue work, and the air trapped inside my lungs felt as though it would choke me to death.
“You don’t look well,” Zhena said. “It’s best you rest in Lord Archenhold’s chamber. Perhaps you’ll feel better there.”
“Rest?” I gasped. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been awake? How much time has passed since yesterday? Or does the same hold true for the rest of the castle?”
She looked confused. “Yesterday? No. That was last night. You’ve slept for three days. Four nights, actually.”
I stared at her in disbelief. “Four nights? Is that possible?”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “Yes. Yesterday morning I heard voices outside. Someone came to the door, but no one answered. When I went to investigate, I found Master Archenhold lying on the ground. He was very pale, but he seemed to be breathing.
I carried him back to his chambers, but I didn’t dare call anyone. So I waited. And then some men came to help. They took care of him, and now I’ve brought you here.”
“Who is the man who helped me? Was it Lord Archenhold?”
“Lord Archenhold?” Zhena shook her head. “No. He died. But I think you’re familiar with one of the other people who helped him.”
That made sense. One of the people who had carried me to a bed and put me to sleep must have been the murderer. Well, so I assumed. Certainly, everyone knew who had killed my father. I could hardly miss out on all the gory details.
“But what happened to Lord Archenhold?” I asked. “Was he injured by the assassin?”
“I suppose so. His face…” Her voice trailed off. She looked down at the floor.
Blood? No, not blood; a crimson smear.
“His face is…is covered in blood,” Zhena said. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I didn’t realize it before. Master Archenhold doesn’t usually wear such thick makeup.”
A chill ran through me. We were going to have to find someone else to impersonate Lord Archenhold. In fact, I probably should have thought about this sooner. I hadn’t considered the possibility that the killer might have done something to my friend while I was asleep.
“What happened to your face?” I asked. “Does the blood belong to Lord Archenhold too?”
Zhena shifted uncomfortably. “Yes. Did you not notice? I think he used my brush.”
“Your brush?”
“Yes. Lord Archenhold always liked painting my face. It was quite flattering.” Zhena sighed. “He told me I had the prettiest eyes—”
I felt dizzy. “Did he do it?”
“I can’t say,” Zhena said. “I only know that I woke up after you fell unconscious. I washed the blood off, but the paint must have seeped beneath my skin. I haven’t been able to remove it.”
I looked away from her, shaking.
“Master Archenhold always spoke so fondly of you,” Zhena continued. “When he painted my face, he talked about everything under the sun. I wish he were still with us. But I suppose we will never know what he meant to say.”
“I want to ask you about something else,” I said. “The man who found me. Do you remember if he wore armor?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t like the guards’ armor. It was different. I think he was wearing leather.”
“Leather? Leather?”
“Yes.”
“Why would a man wear leather armor when they’re hunting a monster?”
“Oh, that’s just Lord Archenhold,” Zhena said, sounding bored. “He likes to dress in all sorts of costumes. He’s been known to show up to court in a dragon costume or as a woman.”
“Really?” I asked. “What kind of dragon?”
“A green one.”
Green. That didn’t sound like a color I’d seen on a monster. Nor did anything else she had said.
“Is there any way to get into Lord Archenhold’s chambers?” I asked. “Are there servants who work here?”
“Yes, but…” Zhena hesitated. “They won’t let me go near them. Not even when they’re sleeping. They say I can only speak to them when they aren’t working. I don’t understand why. But that’s what happens.”
It sounded awfully strange. I remembered thinking how odd it was that Lord Archenhold’s bodyguards wouldn’t allow me to see him without an invitation. Now I wondered if it had been because of something I might have overheard. As soon as I was able, I needed to find the time to talk to Lord Archenhold’s men.
“Can you tell me where I am?” I asked. “And about Lord Archenhold? What happened to him?”
Zhena nodded. “Yes, yes. I’ll answer those questions. You are in the palace. Or at least, a building very close to the palace. And Lord Archenhold is dead. The assassin poisoned him.”
“Poisoned?”
“Yes. I believe he mixed his own poison.”
“So you don’t know how he died?”
“No, I don’t. I can’t be certain it was poisoning.”
I didn’t like the sound of that. “Then how do you know the assassin was involved?”
“Lord Archenhold was killed by a dragon.” Zhena paused, looking nervous. “I know this because Lord Archenhold told me so.”
“A green dragon?”
“Yes.”
“That makes no sense. Green dragons don’t exist.”
“Of course they do,” Zhena said. “Every dragon has a color.”
“Do they?”
“Yes. Black, red, blue, yellow, and green.”
“Yellow?”
“Yes.”
“But…they’re made of stone.”
“Not all of them. Most of the time they are, but some of the older ones are made of clay.”
Clay? That sounded more like a magical creature than a monster. But there were plenty of people who believed in magic. If I wanted to convince Zhena that the dragon was real, it might help if I could offer evidence for the same.
“Have you ever heard of a gold dragon?” I asked. “Or a white dragon?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never seen either.”
“Gold dragons are supposed to be born every thousand years.”
“You mean the old stories?”
“Yes,” I said. “There are many dragons, Zhena. Some of them are good. Others are evil.”
“Evil?” She frowned. “Some of the dragons are not so bad. They live alone or form small groups and hunt animals, mostly. Some are so young they can hardly fly.”
“Did you know anyone named Abrastal?”
Zhena blinked. “No, I haven’t met anyone called Abrastal.”
“Was Lord Archenhold afraid of the dragons?”
“Yes. His father was too. They say that he fought against the dragons. But I’m certain Lord Archenhold knew them better than his father.”
“How could Lord Archenhold know anything about dragons?”
“Because he studied with one of their priests,” Zhena said. “The priest taught him how to fight dragons.”
“A dragon?” I thought back to what I’d seen of Lord Archenhold’s chamber. There hadn’t been much in the way of books there, other than scrolls.
“Yes. One of the dragons. Lord Archenhold trained with the dragon for two days once a week.”
Two days? I couldn’t imagine spending that long with a dragon. Even if it was the legendary gold dragon. It seemed like the sort of thing I might have heard about.
“Zhena, who is the oldest dragon?” I asked. “If there are others besides the golden one.”
“The oldest one?”
“Yes. How old do you think it is?”
“Three hundred years, maybe.”
“That’s not very old. But I suppose that’s not surprising. Gold dragons are supposed to be born every thousand years.”
“So they’re not really all that ancient?”
“No. But they are powerful. According to the stories, a green dragon would kill any creature that wasn’t a dwarf or a human.”
“What about a brown dragon?”
“Brown dragons are also known to be dangerous, but they won’t bother most creatures. They prefer to hunt herbivores.”
“Are there black dragons?”
“There are none recorded. But I wouldn’t doubt that there are.”
Black dragons…black dragons were almost certainly a myth. And yet, it was hard to believe they weren’t real. In the world of magic, anything was possible.
“Is there a red dragon?” I asked.
“Red dragons are the rarest of all,” Zhena said. “According to the stories, the red dragon will eat any living thing. Even humans.”
“Really?” I stared at Zhena.
“Yes,” she said. “It is my belief that they exist.”
“Where did you learn all this?”
“I read a great deal.”
“And you think Lord Archenhold knew these things?”
She hesitated. “He spoke of them often.”
“What happened to him?”
“I do not know.”
We had talked enough. The conversation would likely go nowhere. “Thank you, Zhena. Please tell your mother that I will visit again soon.”
“Goodbye, Lord Garen.”
I left her and made my way back up the stairs toward the tower. I wondered if I should have brought along some of the other dwarves. I didn’t want to make the mistake of rushing off to investigate something without having proper support. But I wanted to get going as quickly as possible. For all I knew, the dragon could be gone before I returned from the village.
But I found myself hesitating. I had only just begun to explore the possibilities. I wanted to know more about the dragons. I knew that they were supposed to be able to change their scales—to turn themselves into different colors or even shapes.
Perhaps that meant that they could disguise themselves. Maybe I could find someone else who’d seen one. Or perhaps there was another dragon-shifter in the area.
Or possibly I was completely wrong. I’d seen what I saw. That was all. And it could be that Abrastal’s story was nothing but a tale told by a madman.
I decided to return to the inn. I needed to share what I’d learned.
The End