Saving Solace c-1 Page 4

  "You two have business to discuss. I'll wait out here."

  Inside, Gerard greeted Palin awkwardly, studying the former mage. Palin was grayer now than he had been during the war, and his once-emaciated frame now carried a little extra weight. There were worry ridges across his forehead, but his face bore laugh lines as well. Most striking, however, was the nimble agility of his fingers, shattered when he had been tortured for information he refused to divulge, then magically restored at the end of the war. After welcoming Gerard, Palin smiled at his old acquaintance, the expression dancing in his eyes.

  Evidently, life as Solace's mayor agreed with him.

  Gerard returned Palin's friendly gaze guardedly. They had not been close, exactly. Rather, they had been comrades during the war, both fighting for the same ends. That seemed a tenuous link between them nowadays, in the bustling atmosphere of peacetime Solace.

  "Please, sit down," Palin said, gesturing toward a chair. "Make yourself comfortable."

  Gerard glanced across the cozy parlor. A colorful knitted throw rug lay folded and draped over the back of a comfortable-looking stuffed chair, one of a pair of such chairs drawn near a fireplace. A sturdy leather hassock rested in front of the second chair. A little wooden table between the two chairs offered a convenient place on which to set a book or mug.

  Gerard sat, feeling oddly ill at ease in the warm intimacy of the room, so different from the cool, aloof austerity of his parents' home. This comfy room attested to a loving relationship between Palin and Usha unknown to him, and that brought a pang of longing.

  He turned his attention to the artwork on the walls. The paintings varied from a portrait of Caramon over the mantel to interesting still lifes and landscapes elsewhere around the room, all of them done in the unmistakably vivid style of Usha Majere. Caramon in his portrait appeared ready to smile, as if he would at any moment call for a plate of spiced potatoes, while the strawberries in another picture left Gerard with the impulse to pluck one up and dip it in the painted bowl of cream, so lifelike was the image.

  Palin took the other seat. "So, I hear you've left the knighthood," he said evenly.

  Gerard peered at him closely, wondering if he meant this as an accusation. "How did you find out?"

  Palin crooked a smile. "I still have sources in the wider world. Tell me, do you miss it?"

  Gerard held his gaze. "You tell me, do you miss the magic?"

  Palin raised his long, slender hands before his face, slowly extending his fingers as though he still couldn't believe they had been healed. "Sometimes," he said softly. Then he dropped his hands and looked back at Gerard. "But I find the modest duties of mayor surprisingly satisfying," he said with a smile.

  Gerard didn't fully believe him.

  A moment of silence lengthened between them, growing uncomfortable. Finally, Palin interrupted the awkwardness. "I'm glad you came. Glad you answered my summons."

  Gerard nodded.

  "So you'll take the job?"

  "Why me?" Gerard countered. "Why not someone local?"

  "Because I think you're the right man."

  "Why?"

  "Well, your record during the war, for one thing. You're courageous, resourceful, and, uh, well…"

  "Yes, and what?"

  "Not likely to be encumbered by-how shall I put it? — misplaced feelings of obligation toward one group or another that might affect your ability to handle matters in a fair and balanced manner."

  Gerard went cold. "You mean, I have no friends in town."

  Palin's face flamed. "That's not what I meant."

  "What happened to the previous sheriff? Vercleese tells me he was mysteriously murdered. Does that mean I, too, will be at risk?"

  Palin hesitated, staring at Gerard from across the small table that separated the chairs.

  Just then Usha entered the room, and the question was forgotten. Golden-eyed and silver-haired-not the silver of age, but of agelessness-she was still as fresh-faced and beautiful as a maiden half her age or younger. Gerard leaped to his feet and drew in a sharp breath, caught off guard as he always was by the sight of her. He felt unaccountably clumsy in her presence.

  Palin stood as well and smiled, the tolerant, bemused expression of a man who recognized the effect his wife had on all men and women, and who wasn't threatened by it. Gerard wondered how long it had taken Palin to achieve that measure of acceptance. It wasn't a state a man might come to easily, he thought.

  Usha was busy heating water. "Please sit," she said, motioning Gerard back to his chair. "Tea will be ready in a moment."

  "Oh, no, don't bother," Gerard stammered.

  "Nonsense," Palin said, urging him to sit. "You wouldn't deny my wife the opportunity to play hostess, now would you?"

  Gerard sat. The truth was he would not have denied this woman anything, so disarming was her beauty. Yet he realized hers was not a beauty that aroused jealousy or caused a man to glance in sideways distrust at his neighbors, but simply the visible aspect of someone upon whom the gods appeared to have bestowed all that was perfect in a woman. Usha was maiden, mother, and revered elder, all in one.

  Palin took his seat again with a deep sigh that bespoke contentment with his lot.

  "You really don't miss it, do you?" Gerard blurted with sudden amazement.

  "Miss what?"

  "The travel, the excitement." Gerard felt his face go hot with embarrassment at having spoken perhaps too indiscreetly. "The magic."

  Palin considered. "Travel is just another word for bad food and worse accommodations. Excitement is anything that disrupts the tranquility I have come to treasure. And the magic?" He pursed his lips in thought then laughed as if his musings startled him. "No, I don't really miss it. All those years of desperately seeking the next spell, the next magical artifact, of dreading the loss of magic in the world, and now instead I have this." He gestured with his long, graceful fingers, fingers once shattered and now fully restored. Their motion took in Usha and the surrounding room and, indeed, all of Solace. "I think it's a fair trade, don't you?"

  Gerard nodded, although he couldn't imagine feeling satisfied at being stuck permanently in Solace. Yet at the moment, this room did feel very inviting.

  "Besides," Palin went on, "we have plenty of excitement here, as you will see. More than anyone needs." He peered at Gerard closely. "Look, you will take the job, right?"

  "I wouldn't be staying long," Gerard said, unwilling to create a false impression. "I could help out until this temple dedication I've been hearing about, but after that I'll have to be moving on and you'll need to find someone else… uh, more permanent."

  "Oh, of course," Palin said quickly. "If you can stay only a short while, then I understand."

  "So what is this temple dedication all about?" Gerard asked, eager to shift the conversation.

  "I'll take you over there in a little bit and show you around. But right now, let's have some tea and talk." He gestured to where Usha was pouring three mugs with steaming tarbean tea, filling the room with its welcoming aroma. She handed them each a mug and took the third one herself, gracefully seating herself on the hassock.

  They talked of old times for a while, catching up on news of companions and heroes from the war. "You may even see some familiar faces here for the dedication," Palin finished with a wink in Gerard's direction.

  Usha smiled knowingly but said nothing.

  Gerard shrugged. He didn't want to play guess-the-secret. "Do you think the sheriffs murder had anything to do with the dedication?" Gerard said, adopting a businesslike tone.

  "That's what worries me," Palin said. "There are different factions in town. Some welcome outsiders, some welcome trouble, some just want to be left alone. You'll find as sheriff that your job is to mediate between these groups and get along with all of them. Sheriff Joyner was good at that, very good at his job. Everyone liked him. I can't fathom who had a grudge against him. Oh, the occasional outlaw he caught, maybe, but someone who hated him enough to kill him?
It seems so unlikely." He shook his head.

  "What about Baron Samuval?" Gerard asked.

  Palin paused for a drink of tea then went on. "Oh, Samuval's been quiet lately. Believe it or not, he steered clear of Sheriff Joyner. Still, that's a possibility, though I hate to admit it. Somehow he'll have to be investigated. And there are other possibilities too… but I'll leave that to you and your deputy. I'm no detective."

  "Hmm, my deputy seems like a good man."

  "Yes, he is a good man. He'll help you get started around town. Oh, and here, you'll want to wear this." Palin finished his tea, set the mug on the little table, reached into his embroidered jacket, and produced a bronze octagonal medallion that filled his palm. Attached to one edge was a loop of green and gold sash. On the uppermost face of the medallion, Gerard saw engraved a majestic vallenwood tree and around it the words, "To Protect the Peace and Promote Prosperity."

  "What's that?" Gerard asked warily.

  "The medallion of office. You should wear it now that you're sheriff."

  Gerard shook his head. "I'd feel funny, wearing a medallion, being only a temporary sheriff."

  Palin thrust it toward him. "Still, you'll need it to denote your authority."

  Gerard put it on gingerly, feeling the burden of office descend upon his shoulders.

  "Now," Palin said with enthusiasm, as if he had just won some contest of wills, "the first thing to do is for you to get around, introduce yourself to people. Get comfortable with folks. Long-time citizens of Solace have been skittish since the sheriff's murder, what with all the newcomers and strangers about."

  Gerard drained his own mug and set it beside Palin's. Palin slapped his knees. "You ready for a look at the temple?"

  "Uh, of course." Gerard stood up. The medallion felt clumsy against his chest. He nodded to Usha. "Thank you for the tea."

  She gave him a smile that warmed him to his toes, making him forget his misgivings. "You're welcome here anytime, Gerard."

  Outside, Vercleese was still waiting. "Sir Vercleese, you should have come in," said Gerard.

  "I didn't want to disturb two old friends," the old knight said gruffly.

  Palin put a hand gently on Vercleese's shoulder. "Next time, come in and join us." Then, as the old knight looked uncomfortable, Palin led the way in the direction of the mountains along a gently curving road that featured several temples and shrines on the eastern edge of town. After several minutes he stopped in front of a large, new structure, which Gerard thought looked vaguely familiar. Stone steps led up to a porch where six marble columns flanked the great double doors of an entryway. The pitched roof of the main structure was pierced by a large, domed tower in the center of the building, while three smaller domed towers rose one on each side of the main building and one at the rear. The building was evidently in the final stages of construction, for scaffolding still stood in several places, giving the army of workmen access to the walls. Men on the scaffolding were shouting and calling for materials, which others on the ground hurried to provide. Several men were dressing blocks of stone, their chisels ringing as they tapped expertly with wooden mallets. A group of laborers mixed mortar to cement the stones in place.

  "That's the new temple," Palin said. "Recognize it?"

  "Of course, it bears a distinct resemblance to the Temple of Mishakal in Xak Tsaroth!" Gerard exclaimed. "I've read descriptions of the ruins." He turned to Palin. "This is built to the same plans?"

  "Only smaller," Palin said, nodding again.

  Gerard pursed his lips, lowering his voice. "Look, I'll do my best, Palin…"

  "Of course," Palin said a little too heartily, clapping him on the shoulder. "Of course."

  Once the temple was dedicated, Gerard would be off to… well, he'd be on his way somewhere else. Until then, but only until then, he would do his best to be sheriff of Solace.

  CHAPTER 5

  Gerard strolled along the bridge-walks, accompanied by Vercleese. The walkways were more crowded than ever as people poured out into the fresh air and sunshine, and frequently Gerard had to turn his shoulders in order to edge past groups headed in the other direction. Down on the street, drivers of carts and wagons shouted at passersby to move out of the way so they could get through. Traffic remained snarled, though few people seemed to care, so festive was the overall mood.

  Even Gerard found it impossible to resist the gaiety in the air. Vercleese greeted people as they passed. "Good morning, Master and Mistress Tucker," Vercleese said to one couple, lowering his voice to tell Gerard as the pair smiled and moved past, "Bartholomew Tucker is the leading wine merchant in town, and is said to have his eye on running for town council when the opportunity arises. He'd be a good man for the post if he gets elected." The grizzled knight nodded to an elegantly dressed, middle-aged woman.

  "Lady Drebble," he said. She barely acknowledged the greeting. When they were safely out of earshot, Vercleese informed Gerard, "Marguerite Drebble is a relative newcomer in town, a widow who claims the right to the title of Lady, although no one seems to know anything about her family connections. Still, we mostly humor her, as she seems harmless enough. That boy of hers, on the other hand." Vercleese rolled his eyes. "Nyland Drebble hasn't got the sense the gods gave a kender."

  Often, the two stopped for more formal introductions, as Gerard was introduced to some of the citizens he'd be protecting. "Ah, Brynn," Vercleese boomed at one tall, extremely thin man with a dreamy air about him and a face dusted with fine white flour. "How's the bread business?"

  The man pulled himself from whatever reverie gripped him and smiled wanly. "Rising, Sir Vercleese, always rising."

  Vercleese laughed at what had obviously become a standard joke between them. It was probably the bread from Brynn's bakery that Gerard had smelled from his room earlier.

  Vercleese indicated Gerard. "Brynn Ragulf here is our leading local baker," the deputy said for Gerard's benefit. "He's descended from a long line of bakers. Isn't that right, Brynn?"

  The baker's smile took on a more brittle, stretched appearance. "Nobody knows dough like a Ragulf." But oddly, he didn't sound happy about the boast.

  "Brynn's a good man," Vercleese whispered to Gerard when they were on their way again, "but he doesn't like being a baker. Hates it, in fact. Loathes bread, you see.

  He thinks it's a deep, dark secret nobody knows about him, though everyone in town's well aware of it. Just don't ever get him onto the subject of adventure; he'll talk your arm off. He's a real arm-chair adventurer." Vercleese grinned wickedly, glancing at his stump of an arm. "Take it from me. That man dreams night and day of traveling to exotic places and doing bold things. He's especially keen on a seafaring life, although he's never so much as seen a ship." The knight shuddered, apparently recollecting his own recent high seas trip. "He doesn't know how lucky he is.

  "Brynn's wife, on the other hand, is a stoic, practical woman who knows little of his dreaming and cares even less. She just shakes her head over his constant state of distraction, which isn't good for business-he can forget an entire bread order if she doesn't remind him-and sees to the practical running of the shop. When she is laid up in childbirth-a frequent state, as Brynn seems as fertile as the yeast he employs, fathering six children so far and another one 'in the oven,' as he will tell you with some dismay-the bookkeeping goes to the dogs, and everyone in town knows not to count on getting any of their orders right. So the whole of Solace's bread-eating routine is geared around Molly Ragulf's pregnancies!"

  As they walked, Gerard noticed that everyone seemed to know Vercleese, and most clearly liked him. Just appearing in the knight's company recommended him to citizens.

  "Come on, there's someone else I think you should meet," Vercleese said, heading down one of the stairways to ground level. "This one's a bit of an enigma around town, as no one seems to know just who he is or where he came from." The knight led Gerard to the smithy in the center of town, where a brawny man scowled as he pounded a red-hot coulter into shape, h
is hammer blows falling heavily. "Torren, I'd like you to meet Gerard uth Mondar, our new sheriff," Vercleese announced between blows. "Gerard, this is Torren Soljack."

  The smith glared at Gerard with fierce, squinting eyes. "The new sheriff, huh?"

  Those eyes were like a pair of furnaces, Gerard thought, their fires barely banked behind drooping lids. Gerard forced a smile. "That's right, at least temporarily."

  "Just for a while?"

  "Until the temple dedication, when the mayor will have had time to seek a more permanent replacement. As you know, the previous sheriff was recently, uh, murdered."

  Gerard couldn't be certain, but it looked as though the fiery intensity of the smith's gaze flared a little at this statement. "Don't imagine you'll have much to do before the dedication."

  "Except we intend to find Sheriff Joyner's murderer," Vercleese said. "He was a friend of mine, and a loyal friend of Solace's, too. That's a double debt to be repaid."

  "Debt, yes," Torren muttered darkly and resumed hammering. "By all means, justice must be rendered."

  Gerard wandered about the shop, stopping to look at a half dozen unfinished swords leaning against a wall. He liked the man's handiwork. "I could use a good sword," he said to Torren, picking one up and testing the feel of it. "How long would it take to finish this?"

  "Come back in a couple of days," Torren growled without looking up. "I can have it for you then."

  Gerard nodded, and he and Vercleese left the smithy. "That man's hiding something," Gerard said in a low voice as they walked away.

  "Yes, but what?" Vercleese agreed. "He's an angry, frustrated man whose every hammer blow is a declaration of some inner turbulence. And you should see him eat!" The old knight grimaced. "He gulps his food as if using it to stuff something terrible back down inside him. He's a good smith, but he intimidates most people, and they don't come to his shop with cracked or broken implements to be repaired until absolutely necessary. No one has learned what plagues the man so."