The scar was visible from the top of the mesa, when stood on the edge of the docks. It was a dark line drawn through the forest, perhaps forty metres in length, though it was hard to judge from that distance, irregular and ragged. Viewed through a scope, Roldan Stryke thought he could perhaps make out some of the wreckage, where the Black Scree had come to rest. There were some smaller marks separate from the main impact site, where smaller parts of the disintegrating ship had fallen.
All hands lost, they said. Roldan had never been taken for a fool, and this time something was sitting uneasily in his gut.
After crowds had dispersed from the rally in the city he had retreated with Elia Shinn to a watering hole on the good side of the river, from where they could see the buildings being demolished in the old slums. Treydolain was all change, these days. Regenerating the area, he'd heard an official say back at the palace.
Huddled around a table in the corner of the pub, he'd listened to her account.
"The captain of the ship had been causing problems for days, making all kinds of demands," Elia had said. "She wanted access to Baron Lief - who was considered a prisoner, so that would have been completely out of the ordinary - and then started threatening to break anchor without clearance."
"That would do more damage to her ship than to the docks."
"That's what she was told." Elia had taken a sip from her mug, then sat back in her chair and sighed. "She'd have known that, of course. I understand that she didn't like being caught up in her boss's mess, but she was only exacerbating the situation."
"Exacerbating?"
Elia had smiled. "Making things worse."
Roldan had nodded. He'd never been one for big words, when small ones would do the job. "Then what?"
"Then, we're not sure. One night, the ship goes down in flames, and we find the berth's anchors blown open. Seemed like she'd made good on her threat."
It hadn't made sense, and it still didn't. He'd never met her, but Roldan had heard of the captain of the Black Scree. She wasn't one to make stupid mistakes.
"Had they been confined to the ship?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"What about messages, in and out?" He'd glance around the pub, known for being friendly to guards. It was as close to the river as any of them dared get.
"We'd kept an eye on them, but hadn't really stopped them from doing anything."
That had been the previous evening. Standing on the edge of the mesa in the clear, morning sun, Roldan found the story as confused and unlikely as he had the night before.
The bodies from the crash site had been recovered and were still in the morgue below the palace, next to the jail cells. In all the recent upheavals, nobody had thought to process and move them, it seemed - which was to his advantage.
Hidden from the sun beneath tonnes of stone, the morgue retained a cool, dry air and somehow escaped the dripping unpleasantness of the cells, though none of that prevented the stench from hitting him the moment he crossed through the doors from the corridors outside. He found the bodies in a small room adjacent to the main one, piled unceremoniously on the hard, stone tables. They should have been returned to Bruckin, or at least buried in the cemetery on the outskirts of Treydolain, but had instead been abandoned and forgotten. There was no identifying the individuals - they were burnt beyond recognition. Even in their blackened, encrusted state injuries were evident: the crash had been hard, brutal and unforgiving.
Roldan walked slowly around the room, observing the bodies from all sides. He was more used to examining the bodies of dead animals, while tracking across the plains or hunting down a rogue, dangerous bear that was bothering a village. On occasion he might need to examine a single human body, perhaps the victim of a crime, but a room full of death was unusual. Unsheathing a small knife from his belt, he prodded at the bodies, moving the crackling limbs and pushing at the crisped skin. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he'd know it when he found it.
Now that he'd been in the room for a few minutes and had become accustomed to the smell, he began to detect an odd duality in the air, almost as if there were two intermingling sensations. One was the unmistakable, acrid flavour of burnt source fuel, while the other had a more earthy, sooty texture, as from a wood-burning fire. Even the burn marks on the body, which were total, leaving no patch of undamaged skin, seemed to take on two different tones: some of the bodies were darker than the others, which were tinted more reddish.
Pushing one of the bodies aside, he picked one at random and examined it more closely. There was nothing to observe: it was a destroyed, burnt body, with only its rough, melted shape to reveal what it had once been. He moved on to another, leaning in close, not knowing what he was looking for; he picked over the skin's surface, in places paper-thin and revealing charred bone beneath. Up legs, past the pelvis, along the torso, the arms, the head—
Something caught his eye. He carefully pushed the head, bending it away from him, not so much as to crack the skin. There was a mark on the neck of this one - easily missed, among the ruined former flesh. It was an indentation - no, a cut. A deep cut, as long as his thumb, in the neck of the body. He inserted his knife slowly, feeling for the depth of the wound, which proved to be deep. It wasn't an old wound, for it hadn't healed. Recovering and moving the bodies wouldn't have caused such an incision and there had been no examination, leaving only the disturbing possibility that it had happened before death. Whoever this person had been - Roldan wasn't even sure if it had been a man or a woman - had been killed, prior to being burned. It was a good way to hide the evidence of assault.
Stepping away from the table, Roldan cleaned his knife then re-sheathed it, all the while seeking an alternate explanation and finding none.
Returning to ground level, he made his way to the offices of state that lined the corridor which led to the throne room and court. These were the rooms of bureaucrats who enacted the king's wishes. The palace corridors were busier than usual, occupied primarily by guards who stared from beneath their helmets at all who passed, seeming to be daring anyone to antagonise them. Well aware of the stink of his clothes from his time in the morgue, he walked into the head steward's office, finding the man huddled behind his desk. He looked up at Roldan's entrance, bearing an expression of efficiency and due process.
"Mr Stryke," he said, always keen to demonstrate that he knew everyone and everything in the palace. "What can we do for you today?"
"I seek an audience with King Guijus."
The steward smiled condescendingly. "Don't we all? The king's diary is not open to new appointments."
"Then how about Baron Theodus Lief? I am conducting an investigation on behalf of the King's Eyes which would benefit from a conversation with the baron."
"I see," the steward said, pausing for thought. "Baron Lief is still under house arrest in his upper chambers. He is being extended every courtesy, of course, but is not allowed visitors without the express permission of the king or queen."
"Perhaps you could log the request in that book of yours," Roldan said, turning to leave. As he placed one hand on the door, the steward spoke.
"There is to be a gathering, have you heard? All King's Eyes have been recalled to Treydolain."
Roldan clenched his jaw tight, then forced himself to relax as he faced the steward. "There hasn't been a full cohort gathering for decades."
"Long over due, some might say," the steward said, smiling again. "With the threat from the north it seemed prudent to call a council of the King's Eyes and issue new orders. The world is changing, we must change with it."
"Is that right?"
"I'm paraphrasing the king, of course."
"Of course. Withdrawing Eyes from the valley will leave us blind." As a political and strategic move it made no sense; the king had always relied on his Eyes to keep him informed of what was happening at the border towns and out on the plains.
"The meeting is in a week, once everyone has had time to return to the capital. That might be your best chance to speak with King Guijus."
Roldan nodded. "I'll be there."
Leaving the palace, he crossed the bridge to the southern mesa, where he went to his old room in the barracks, blowing dust from the chest at the foot of the bed. He never did spend much time here.
From the chest he removed his essential items: his compass, his water skin, his walking boots, his more practical short swords. No use walking about the land with a long blade at his side.
He wondered what Fenris would do. Increasingly, he wondered what Tranton would do. Lastly, he wondered what Roldan Stryke would do. That last question seemed the most elusive.
Bag packed and slung onto his back, on his way out he very literally bumped into Elia Shinn, just returning from a shift.
"Going somewhere?" she asked, cheery as ever.
"Got some investigating to do," Roldan said. "Why don't you come with me? I'll be headed out of the city for a few days."
Elia was surprised to be invited and, for a moment, looked excited at the prospect. "Any other time and I would," she said, "but you've heard about the gathering? I'm so excited to meet some of the Eyes I've only ever heard about in stories. I don't want to miss their arrival."
She was young, enthusiastic. Naive. Had he ever been like that? If he had been, he couldn't remember. "Are you sure? I could do with a second pair of hands, and eyes."
"Tell me about it when you get back," Elia said. "And don't take too long - everyone has to be here to receive the new orders."
Roldan grunted, shifted the weight of the bag on his back. He started walking, then glanced over his shoulder at the woman, who looked impossible young to his weary eyes. "Watch your back while I'm gone."
She frowned and shrugged. "I didn't know you were such a worrier."
"Neither did I."
He took one last look at Elia Shinn, then turned and headed towards the funicular which would run him to the base of the mesa.
The forest, and answers, beckoned.