Finder: First Ordinance, Book One Read online

  FINDER

  First Ordinance, Book One

  CONNIE SUTTLE

  For Walter, Joe, Sarah H., Lee D., Dianne J. and Larry O. Thank you.

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  The Author's information may be found at the end of this book.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents portrayed within its pages are a product of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons (or vampires, werewolves, High Demons, Greater Demons, Lesser Demons, Larentii, shapeshifters, Ra'Ak, wizards, warlocks, witches, Avii, Saa Thalarr or gods) living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Finder, © 2014 by Connie Suttle

  All rights reserved

  This book, whole or in part, MAY NOT be copied or reproduced by mechanical means (including photocopying or the implementation of any type of storage or retrieval system), without the express written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.

  The author wishes to thank you for purchasing this e-book. Purchasing this book through legitimate channels supports the author and makes it possible for her to keep writing. If you did not purchase this book through legitimate channels, or have downloaded it from a website that pirates authors' works, the author kindly asks that you purchase a copy for yourself, as sales of her books are her only source of income.

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  ISBN-10: 1-939759-28-5

  ISBN-13: 978-1-939-759-28-3

  Other books by Connie Suttle:

  Blood Destiny Series

  Blood Wager

  Blood Passage

  Blood Sense

  Blood Domination

  Blood Royal

  Blood Queen

  Blood Rebellion

  Blood War

  Blood Redemption

  Blood Reunion

  * * *

  Legend of the Ir'Indicti Series

  Bumble

  Shadowed

  Target

  Vendetta

  Destroyer

  * * *

  High Demon Series

  Demon Lost

  Demon Revealed

  Demon's King

  Demon's Quest

  Demon's Revenge

  Demon's Dream

  * * *

  The God Wars Series

  Blood Double

  Blood Trouble

  Blood Revolution

  Blood Love

  Blood Finale

  * * *

  The Saa Thalarr Series

  Hope and Vengeance

  Wyvern and Company*

  * * *

  The Finder series

  Finder

  * * *

  The R-D series

  Cloud Dust*

  *Forthcoming

  First Ordinance, Book One

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 1

  My voice didn't come until I was nine. With everything I'd heard and witnessed by that time, I knew better than to speak. Orphaned at the age of two and foisted onto the kitchen and housekeeping staff of the palace in Lironis, I mostly kept to myself as I cleaned ashes and soot out of fireplaces every morning. Afterward, I was expected to spend the rest of my day in the kitchen, scrubbing and cleaning.

  Early on, they'd called me girl. I have few memories before the age of four, when I was put to work cleaning dishes. I had to stand on a roughly fashioned stool at that age to reach the counter and the wooden tub set upon it, filled with hot, soapy water. Wolter and Irdith hadn't been kind, either, hitting me with long, wooden spoons or ladles if I didn't clean something thoroughly. I learned to do my job quickly and well.

  Later, I was set to cleaning hearths, in addition to my other duties. Nine was the age for other things, too—things certainly not pleasant to remember. I began growing what the palace physician called bone spurs on my shoulder blades, and he ordered them cut away using the same nipping tool the smiths used to trim horses' hooves. The procedure is quite painful, leaving my back sore for weeks.

  My hair, shaggy as always, was also cut away at the same time, with shears used to cut a horse's mane or tail. My hair is not unmanageably thick, but I did not own a comb at the time. My locks were chopped away each time until I had only three fingers' width of hair left.

  What hair remained resembled a wheat field after a storm, with slender stems going in every direction. The unevenness of it never goes unnoticed by the servant boys and the kitchen staff, all of whom tease and ridicule. Each year since I turned nine, the same ritual is performed. My bone spurs (which continue to grow) are cut away every spring, as is my hair.

  I can also read and write, although I've never been taught. I've never been given a proper room in the servants' quarters, either. Happily, my ability to read and write coincided directly with my tiny sleeping space. Located inside a nearly forgotten storage room, it was cluttered floor to ceiling, almost, with bits and pieces of things unneeded and long forgotten.

  Most of those bits and pieces were books, many of which had empty spaces where pages had been callously ripped away, leaving ragged, gaping holes in my knowledge of history and geography. What was certain, though, was that troubled times had come to Fyris, and few recognized or understood them.

  The King, too, had withdrawn any support for the education of Fyris' children, announcing in a decree during my early childhood that Fyrisians could educate their children at home. Grumbling had begun in the kitchen; after all, who would have time to sit with their children and teach them letters after a long day at work?

  It didn't matter, eventually. Babies and children began dying a handful of turns later. Physicians were at a loss to explain the deaths—there was no known disease they could readily identify as the underlying cause—the children were either stillborn or sickened and died soon after.

  In the midst of Fyris' uncertainty, my miraculous ability to read had not been reported and went unnoticed by those around me, who thought me a mute imbecile much of the time. That ability was also not the one responsible for giving me my name.

  My name eventually came from another talent, and once it had been reported, I'd have given anything to take the knowledge of it back.

  * * *

  When I was six, a minor noble's maid swept into the palace kitchen, frantic and wiping tears away. Her lady had lost a brooch, she'd wept. If she failed to find it, the lady would have her right hand cut away for stealing.

  She hadn't stolen the jewelry; I could see that plainly enough. The usual, rough stool was beneath my bare soles while my arms were completely submerged in dishwater as I cleaned pots after breakfast that morning. The maidservant continued to weep and pour out her grief to any who would listen. Every servant inside the kitchen stopped what they were doing to watch the drama unfolding before them.

  Carefully drying my hands and arms, I hopped down from my stool and went to the distraught maid, tugging on her sleeve. Removing the hands that covered her eyes as she wept, she stared at me. I'd never been so forward with anyone, but the thought of a hand being chopped off revolted my innocent sensibilities. Angrily, she shoved me away.

  Unwilling to be deterred from saving a hand, I went back, tugged on her sleeve again and motioned for her to follow me. At first, she said ugly things to me and pointed me back to my place at the dish tub. Refusing to back away f
rom my offer, I beckoned to her again. Eventually she tossed her hands in the air, spouted more insults in my direction (which made the kitchen staff chuckle), and followed me.

  Once we'd reached the lady's suite, I pulled the maid, under the watchful eye of her lady and her lady's husband, toward the edge of the bed where we knelt down. Hidden behind the thick, polished wood post at the head of that massive bed lay the missing brooch. It had fallen off the bedside table and rolled behind the leg, where nobody thought to look. The girl squealed with delight and handed it to the lady, who thanked her absently while staring at me. Her husband, taller and standing behind her, stared as well.

  I was called Finder after that, and I was visited often by members of the staff and anyone else who couldn't find something, until tragedy struck and Wolter intervened.

  * * *

  Erdin was ten turns old when he was brought to Wolter, who put him to work in the kitchen. A thin child with a clever face, Erdin worked in the kitchen for barely six moon-turns and often made off with hastily stolen bits of food when nobody thought to watch him.

  He had no care that I witnessed these thefts. I was mute—whom could I tell? I was twelve at the time, when Erdin's thievery reached its peak and Lord Yevil's coin purse disappeared. I hadn't witnessed this theft—Erdin had been sent to the King's table to serve wine while I cleaned the dishes.

  "I had it at the table!" Yevil thundered at a cowering staff. You must understand; Yevil is the King's right hand. If Yevil speaks, it is with King Tamblin's words and authority. In fact, King Tamblin, whom I hadn't seen until that moment, appeared at Yevil's side and glared at the staff as well.

  Irdith, then a bit more spry and mobile than she is at present, poked her knobby cane in my back and shoved me forward. Prior to that moment, I'd been hiding behind Wolter's long legs.

  "The girl can tell you," Irdith cackled annoyingly. Amazingly, she still has most of her teeth and she gave me a grinning leer as I turned a hurt-filled stare in her direction. Until that moment, the King and his right hand didn't know about me. I preferred to keep it that way.

  "Did you steal my pouch?" I was snatched up in Yevil's grip so quickly I almost lost the filthy apron tied loosely about my waist.

  "No! But she can find it." Irdith's irritating laugh made me wish her dead. Dread had overcome me the moment Yevil appeared, shouting at all of us about his missing purse. Irdith, with her interference, was making sure that terrible things would come as a result.

  I smelled the wine on Yevil's breath and stared into eyes a hazy green, clouded with drink as they were. Dark hair fell over Yevil's forehead, lending an evil look to his angry visage while a thick vein throbbed at his throat.

  "Then find it," snapped the King. I was tossed forcefully onto the flagstone floor, where I rolled twice before coming to a stop. My body was (and still is) slight, and the top of my head even now only reaches halfway between Wolter's elbow and shoulder.

  Scrambling to my feet, I hurried away, intending to locate the missing purse as quickly as possible before Yevil chose to break bones. Yes, he is the King's right hand, as well as his voice and arm. That arm falls heavy on the unwary, at times. Would I do things differently now, at age seventeen? I do not know. I am still more afraid of the King and his inner circle than of anyone else, and have little to explain that feeling.

  The purse was found quickly—among Erdin's belongings. I'd never been inside his quarters, which he shared with two other kitchen boys. He was ten and he'd been afforded proper quarters, whereas I slept in a storage room. Not that I minded; I'd learned that my storage room offered privacy and a chance to read secretly beyond anyone's notice.

  Once I'd pointed to Erdin's straw mattress, where he'd hidden Yevil's purse, I knew death was coming. I just didn't realize how violent it would be. Yevil, who'd followed me closely, snatched his purse from beneath the mattress, counted the coins inside carefully and finding one missing, poured out his wrath upon an unfortunate ten-year-old boy who'd thought to steal from a noble.

  While we watched, Yevil, who wielded a long sword drawn from a scabbard at his side, severed Erdin's right arm. Blood gushed from the wound as Erdin screamed, the thick, red fluid staining his bedding and the stone floor. Erdin's left arm was then removed by a grinning Yevil and after that, his head.

  That execution is still too horrible to consider, and the youngest of us were forced to clean up the blood as the body and its severed parts were removed by stable workers. I have no idea what was done with Erdin's remains.

  Irdith sniffed, her nose high as she stalked from Erdin's shared quarters, her bent body stiff and unrelenting. Wolter glared at her retreating back while the King stared at me and Yevil cleaned his blade on Erdin's bloodstained shirt. Never had I wanted to use my voice as badly as I did then. If I had opened my mouth, many things would have poured out of it, including condemnation for Yevil and the King of Fyris.

  Wisely, I kept my lips pressed tightly shut and went about gathering rags to clean up blood while others ran to get men from the stable. In my anger, as I wiped up spilled blood and wrung out bloody cloths in buckets of water, I used my talent to search for Irdith's death. I saw it, right down to the day and the hour. Smiling grimly, I finished my task.

  * * *

  After Erdin's death, Wolter refused to allow anyone inside his kitchen who wanted my help to find things. He was forced to allow the nobles access, but servants were sent away while Irdith scowled. Irdith irritated Wolter as much as she did me, I think, but he never said it aloud. He knew the same as I did, I believe—that Irdith was King Tamblin's spy inside the kitchens. Wolter was as mute as I regarding his opinions around her.

  The palace kitchen was my life, up to the present. Had I any idea how quickly things might change around me? Sadly, the answer was no.

  * * *

  "Finder, Lord Hirill is here, wondering where his horse's bridle is," Wolter tapped a wooden spoon against his thigh in guarded irritation while the aforementioned Lord stood behind the tall cook.

  I looked up from scrubbing the floor beside Wolter's main fireplace—one of the kitchen boys had spilled half a kettle of soup while he shouted at one of his three fellows. Wolter had beaten the boy's shoulders with a heavy ladle for the transgression, sending the miscreant away with yelps of pain. The offending boy didn't have to clean up the mess; Wolter ordered me to do it.

  I rose and dumped my cleaning rag into the bucket of water I'd drawn, dipping my head respectfully at Lord Hirill. It didn't matter what they looked like; I always knew immediately which ones were in the King's inner circle. Those were his trusted advisors—cruel and secretive in all things. Lord Hirill was a member in good standing, his riding crop tapping impatiently against a high, polished black boot as he waited.

  He was younger than Yevil; I knew that right away, so he was in what I termed the second tier of inner circle members. Some of King Tamblin's first members had died off, triggering a search for replacements. He'd found them easily enough. Times were hard and becoming harder across Fyris, and a position with the King guaranteed money, fine food, wine and comfortable living quarters.

  Nodding again to Lord Hirill, I walked out of the kitchen, my back as straight as I could keep it. Did it embarrass me that I was dressed in stained and filthy rags? No. What can possibly be gained by that worthless emotion?

  I could never hope to rise above my present station unless I wanted to offer myself to one of the nobles I despised. Therefore, I kept my face dirty during the day and never asked for clothing other than what was handed down from the kitchen boys.

  At night I cleaned myself; it troubles me if my skin is dirty for very long, and my patched and tattered blanket and the cover over my bed are washed diligently each week. None saw me before I began cleaning fireplaces early, so they never saw my face as it was. The tattered and stained clothing I wore was offensive and put most people off, so I continued to wear it.

  Following Hirill toward the stables, I moved quietly behind him, f
ar enough that his riding crop wouldn't reach me if he chose to turn and wield it. He and I passed over the threshold of the stable, where Garth, the new stablemaster, waited for us.

  The stable around me was built of heavy, wooden beams and smelled of dung, urine and horse. Hay and straw dust floated in the midafternoon sunlight, winking brightly once a shaft of light caught the motes as they danced and whirled inside it.

  "There it is." The stablemaster heaved a weighted and much-relieved sigh as I pulled the missing bridle from a pile of straw inside an empty stall and offered it to Lord Hirill.

  I could have told him that a groom had knocked the bridle off a nearby peg the night before while dallying with one of the King's chambermaids, but as I'd never spoken, it wasn't wise to offer words now.

  "Mystery solved," Hirill offered the stablemaster the bridle and a brief smile. "Spoken with Amlis?"

  "My Lord," the stablemaster jerked his head in my direction. I was still standing in the middle of his stall, fresh straw nearly to my knees as I watched sunbeams toy with dust motes. Garth had not been stablemaster long—I knew that from gossip. He'd never chopped off my hair or witnessed the removal of bone spurs as his predecessor had.

  "She can't speak. Never has, according to my sources," Hirill's smile widened. "Regardless, we'll speak later, shall we?"

  Hirill had named the King's second son, Amlis. I'd never seen the younger Prince; after all, he'd only returned recently from spending several turns with his mother's family in Vhrist. Rumor had it that the King had commanded Amlis to be at his side for the twenty-first anniversary of his naming day. Timblor, the eldest son at twenty-five, was at his father's side much of the time if the gossip were true. Many called Timblor a true son to his sire, which, according to the rumors, made the King smile graciously.

  "Doesn't speak, eh?" The stablemaster eyed me with interest. I lowered my head and attempted to make myself smaller.

  "Not much there," Hirill agreed.

  "I can see that." The stablemaster stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Well, there you go. I'll polish this bridle for you and it'll be ready when you need it."