Chronicles of Waylon's Crossing - 8. Missing

Queen's Hunter Karadur was not a demon to be trifled with. He was big, even for a demon, tall and muscular, blacker, it was said, than night itself and able to crush stone in his bare hands; but what really set him apart -- at least to other demons -- was his aura. Karadur was old. If not for his Bonded, he might have died centuries ago. He also had a penchant for setting random things on fire when he was stressed, or just plain pissed off. With the queen in a bad mood and her chief Hunter prowling the halls of the Dark Court, the inhabitants kept their heads down and tried to be unobtrusive, or they hid entirely. Even the Prince kept his distance.

Dammit, Kynan! thought Karadur. Where is your hidey-hole?

The Queen had interrupted the interrogations to summon him and demand that he find the missing halfling.

"Missing?" he'd asked, shocked. Kynan, not finish an assignment?

The Queen had grabbed Karadur by his gilt collar and practically ripped the thing off in her shaking. She had never lost her temper so completely with Karadur before.

"Yes! Missing!" she'd thundered, and thrown him. "Find him! Now, Karadur!"

"But, Mistress, th --"

"I DON'T FUCKING CARE!"

Karadur had stared at her wide-eyed. Not care about a possible traitor in their midst? He shook his head, still slightly dazed. "H-how do you know --"

She had advanced towards him, practically glowing with repressed rage. "NOT YOUR CONCERN! It's the Cyfnewid, you cretin! Remember? He doesn't know what's happening to him! Find him, damn you."

She had grabbed him again, lifting Karadur until they were nose to nose, the Hunter's hooves pawing the ground awkwardly. "I need him back," she had whispered. "I need ... my son."

"Holy shit!" Karadur had muttered as she released him to flop on the floor. He didn't pause after that; he ran, and then flew, as fast as he could back to the townhouse he shared with his pairling. There were so many things, so many odd occurrences of the past thirty-some years that now made a heck of a lot of sense to the demon, enough to chill him to his very bones.

Azil met him when he arrived back at the house, standing open-mouthed in astonishment as Karadur ripped open the secret entrance to Kynan's room right in front of their petrified guards. The minstrel tried to push past the chaos inside Karadur's head, but failed, and he fidgeted from outside, face lined with sudden worry. His pairling was keeping information from him, but Azil could feel what Karadur felt. Why was he looking for Kynan? And why didn't he want Azil knowing?

Karadur ransacked the place, but Kynan lived like a human in their house; he always had. There were cans of food, sacks of flour and sugar and salt, coffee, dishes, some changes of clothes, books, and Kynan's jewels, cleverly stashed below the floorboards, but nothing else. Karadur even went through the shelves of human writings, but still found nothing. He swore and returned to court.

Kynan had a secret source of information; there had to be a record of it somewhere, something that could clue in the demon to where the halfling had gone. Kynan had to have a lair somewhere, and Karadur scoured the halls of court until he found it. Or, rather, until the goblin servants he'd terrorized into helping him search, took him there. At this point, haste was more important than keeping his mission a secret. Let court wonder how the halfling had displeased the queen, let them think her bad mood was all his fault, it didn't matter, so long as he found him, and found him alive.

The goblins led Karadur to a corridor off of the main thoroughfare, where part of the ceiling had come down. It was a good location. Unused, forgotten, the entrance was still close enough that the near-constant stream of people along the passage completely covered Kynan's unique scent. The nest itself was through a tiny crawl-space that Karadur had to enlarge to get through. On the other side of the wall was an alcove roughly the same size as Kynan's room in Karadur's house. A long, wide desk was fashioned lengthwise along the wall, with two swords hanging above it and a clutter of strange paraphernalia scattered over the top. The only things Karadur could identify were a jade bowl, an oily rag, and a box containing tiny, oblong, metal objects. Bullets, if he remembered correctly. He picked up and surveyed items at random before turning away. In one corner was a wash-basin upon a battered old cabinet and a piss-pot. In the other corner was a nest of furs and rugs, a clothes chest that held the few pieces of courtly garb Kynan owned but had never worn, and, hanging on the wall, was a yellowed ... drawing? Karadur couldn't make out anything but what appeared to be random lines and faded words in a tiny script. He almost burned the thing in his frustration.

Then he turned back to the swords. They were very finely made, well-balanced, sharp, and stable. In Karadur's hands, even the larger blade was more like a big knife, but he could see that it would suit Kynan admirably. The smaller one was far too small and slightly different in style. Karadur stared at the two blades for a minute, trying to think. When had Kynan stopped using a sword? When he'd gotten his guns, of course.

He frowned suddenly. When was the last time he'd seen Kynan with a sword? Both blades were in very good shape, ready to be used at a moment's notice, and, knowing Kynan the way he did, that meant he had some affection for the things. He examined them more closely, and then turned to look at the drawing again.

Azil, he thought at his pairling. Azil, look through my eyes and tell me what this is.

Looking straight at the picture, Karadur relaxed his body and mind to enable his pairling to exert a small amount of control. It was hard to do for any prolonged period, but memories could be hazy and indistinct, and time was of the essence.

It's a schematic, Azil replied, worry and fatigue pulling them apart again. Some kind of house. A human house. I don't understand most of it, it must belong to some kind of warlock.

A warlock? thought Karadur.

Yes. The warlock's symbol is in the corner there.

Karadur's eyes went wide as he saw what Azil was referring to. It wasn't just a symbol, it was a crest -- the same exact crest as was engraved upon both swords.

He thanked his pairling, grabbed up the larger of the two swords, and went into the city. He couldn't help but feel proud of his protege. For one thing, the kid had had sense enough to cultivate the attentions of what must be a powerful warlock; and secondly, he'd been smart enough to keep it a secret. Magic had been almost completely obliterated in the backlash of breaking the binding of the worlds. Whatever the peace might be, a human warlock would be a threat to the World of Eternal Night and would have been terminated immediately if the queen had known. Kynan must have bartered with the warlock for its safety. Information and cunning tools in exchange for the warlock's life. So, Kynan's innocent exterior must actually shelter a more devious mind than anyone gave him credit for.

It was late afternoon when Karadur arrived in Waylon's Crossing. He went immediately to a couple of his sources, but they could only tell him that no smith in the borderlands within the city sported that crest. That only confirmed Karadur's belief. A few terrified shopkeepers and watchmen later, Karadur hauled open the door of a small blacksmith's shop in a very human section of the city. He stopped abruptly as the door banged shut, staring at the very-white-faced man behind the counter.

"Werewolf," growled Karadur, nostrils flaring in distaste.

"C-can I help you?"

The demon slammed the sword on the counter, ignoring the papers and accounting strewn over the top. "Who made this?"

The werewolf peeled himself off the wall he'd pressed his back to and inched forward. "Uh, I did, sir. That's one of my swor --" He stopped, mouth pressing downward in a deep scowl. Angry eyes met Karadur's without flinching. "I remember that sword," said the werewolf. "I made that for a man named Kynan."

"You don't look like a warlock."

The werewolf ignored him, scowling at the demon. "Where is my son?"

"What do you know about Kynan?"

"Tell me where my son is!"

Karadur seized him by the leather apron he wore. "You tell me what I want to know and I'll consider letting you live."

"That fucking bastard has been messing with my son!" snarled the werewolf.

"Kynan!" snapped Karadur, giving the smith a shake. "What do you know of him?"

"Only that he came in here a couple times. I made the sword, my son and I did; and he bought some foolish invention that my son made. Don't hurt my son, please, whatever your quarrel is with Kynan, leave my son out of this."

"I have no interest in werewolves, so long as you stay out of my way." Karadur set the werewolf down and ran his fingers along the pommel of the sword. "Kynan," he said quietly, "is like a son to me, and he is missing. You say yours is missing? When?"

The werewolf brushed at his clothes. "I last saw Alan two days ago. He'd gotten himself arrested, told me some kind of bullshit about a myster -- fucking hell!" He dropped onto the stool behind the counter and thumped his head in his hands. "I need a drink."

"Tell me what you know," Karadur pressed.

"Shit. My son's mixed up with demons. Shit." He sighed. "What my son told me was that he received some kind of message on the night of the moon and went looking for his friend, this Kynan. I had thought they'd stopped seeing each other years ago, but Alan told me he'd still been doing work for him, all this time."

"Your son is a warlock?"

The werewolf snorted. "Not so far as I know. He's just a very smart kid. He makes things. Now if he would just apply himself --"

"Who sent your son this message?"

"I don't know. I'm not even sure what, if anything, was the truth in what my son told me. He said," his eyes closed slightly as he tried to remember, exactly. "He said that he'd received a message that said that Kynan was in trouble and that he -- my son -- was the only one who could help him. It was only then that he told me he'd been helping him all along, and after I specifically told him -- I knew that man was trouble! Fuck."

Karadur smiled slightly, despite the gravity of the situation. "Mister, ah?"

"Mammon."

"Mister Mammon, are you sure that your son said that he was the only one who could help Kynan?"

"That's what he told me. I know he was lying but I'm not sure about what part. He said a stranger showed up at his house with a message, and that's what the message said. Alan seemed to think it was important enough to run around the city as a werewolf." He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth for a moment against the idiocy of youth.

Karadur drummed his fingers on the counter, thinking hard. "That's all? You don't know what this messenger looked like? Where he was going? Anything?"

"Well, the Watch picked up my son in the park, but, yes, that is everything I know."

"Dammit!"

"Are you going to kill me now?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm not done with you yet. Where did you see your son last?"

"The Sixth District. Of the watchmen."

"Then where did he go?"

"I don't know. He never went home. Hasn't come to work since. He's just gone."

"Mister Mammon, like it or not, you and I are going to be getting to know one another real well."

"Fuck."

"Let's go."