Sheriff Hemlock's Plea
Kael paces the room, Mal following him with heckles and tension. The dog reflects his master's unease. A prisoner. A mistaken prisoner. His name dragged into the dirt after such service to this town. He had spent three days now as a free man.
"It was all a mix up. A terrible mistake. We just thought that precaution, as much for your own safety, and also to be sure. Just to be sure. These are terrible times. Terrible, dark times."
Hemlock had stammered his way through an apology, looking broken. His face was drawn, so clearly tired, so close to exhaustion. But word had leaked, and some people now looked at Kael with clear disdain. He was innocent, of course, and the third murder that had occurred during his captivity was clear proof of that, but, well, Hemlock was keeping things secret. Nobody knew that there had been a third murder. They knew only of the second, the one that Kael had been implicated in.
He had gone from hero of Sandpoint, Charter of the Wolves of Sandpoint, for Desna's sake, and now, now people would leave the Hagfish as he entered. Not Ameiko, though. She always offered him a smile, and a cold beer. And not Brodert, either. The old man had, it transpired, spent most days petitioning Sheriff Hemlock and Mayor Deverin of Kael's innocence. Hemlock himself had told Kael just how ... forceful ... the old man had been. Forceful enough that Hemlock had once had to restrain him.
Brodert had much to tell Kael upon his release. He had not been back down to the Catacombs, had been to wise to travel into that dark recess unaccompanied, but he had done a lot of study. He had hit a bit of a dead end, and was not planning a trip to Magnimar. The thaws had come, the caravans would start to flow, and he would take one south to the capital and visit the libraries and sages there.
Brodert had spent hours in animated conversation with Kael that first night of release. "Lad, there are seven runes that repeat, and the seven pointed star. The runes, well, the catacombs repeats one over and over. I think it is wrath. WRATH! I know it means nothing to you, but it is eating at me. I have seen it before. I must travel south. Tomorrow I travel south. Heck, it is already arranged. Even Burnt Sausage, my cat, is all ready to join me. Whatever I find out, I will report back. Stay strong, and ignore any of these fools that cast you glances. You are better than them!"
He was, but that did not make it any easier, especially as he had been alone then, with only Mal as a companion. But Desna smiled, and Danth arrived back in town. Kael learned also that Jovik and Jokad were only a day or two travel from arriving back themselves, summoned to help Sandpoint find the true murderer.
So here he was, three days after his release, pacing the tower room at the top of Hemlock's quarters of the garrison, waiting for Danth, Jovik, Jokad, and Hemlock to turn up. He knew his friends had arrived back. He had heard the commotion earlier in the day, but he had not been able to see them yet. They had been taken into garrison for food and water, and a cold bath, and then Jovik had reportedly returned home to visit his family while Jokad had disappeared towards a certain pub he favoured. Kael had seen Danth, twice, but the young priest seemed changed somewhat, and had spent most of his time in the temple and with Mayor Deverin. Kael had managed to have a meal with him the day before, and the easy warmth between them soon came back, but Kael could sense a more serious aspect to his friend.
It was funny to think of them as friends. In truth he had only known then for a few short weeks. He had spent much more time than that with Nisk and Brodert since, and yet the horrific danger that he had faced and overcome with these other three young men had crafted them into more than just necessary acquaintances.
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When the door opened, Hemlock walked in, a bottle of red wine under one arm, five simple tumblers piled in the other. He looked up at Kael, the young sorcerer's face caught in the firelight and cast into strong shadow. Hemlock nodded a greeting and moved to the small table to lay down the wine.
Behind him Danth entered. The cleric, dressed in the finery of a city priest, looked more regal than any figure Kael had seen in recent memory. Danth smiled, and moved to clasp his friend's hand.
Jokad and Jovik came through next, lost in some shared joke. Jokad turned to close the heavy wooden door, and immediately rushed over to embrace Mal. The dog seemed pleased to meet his old buddy, the crazy barbarian who was always throwing him bones and fat. Only when Jokad had finished rough-housing the dog did he rise to clasp Kael in a warm hug.
"Sucks to be you, mate!" he offered, cracking into a broad grin. "I hear you spent a winter with old folks, and the first of the thaws in jail. You should ask young Jovik here what he has been up to. Sex, mainly, as far as I can tell. Certainly better than your winter!" His laughter lightens the room, as he moves over to take the first glass of wine.
Jovik offers Kael a wicked grin, and grasps his friend's hand warmly. He then moves over to greet Danth as well, muttering under his breath, but loud enough for everyone to hear "It wasn't ALL sex".
When the talk has quietened down, and everyone has a glass of wine in their hands, Hemlock starts to speak.
"First, let me thank you again for all you’ve done for Sandpoint. I owe Kael my deepest apologies. I am sure you have all heard of the ... unfortunate situation that occurred. Kael was leasing an alchemical workspace from one of the three victims. This, unfortunately, was a murder discovered by someone outside the guard, and word spread. We took Kael in, just to eliminate suspects, but we may have done more harm than good, and I can only offer my sincerest apologies for that mistake. Things, however, are bad, and I have been uncertain how to proceed in this matter.
It’s fortunate that you’ve proven yourselves so capable, because we’ve a problem that I think you can help us with—a problem that I wish I didn’t have to involve anyone with, but one that needs dealing with now before the situation grows worse.
Put simply, and as I am sure you all know by now, we have a murderer in our midst—one who, I fear, has only begun his work. Some of you doubtless remember the Late Unpleasantness, how this town nearly tore itself apart in fear as Chopper’s slayings went on unanswered. I’m afraid we might have something similar brewing now.
Last night, the murderer struck again, this time at the sawmill. There are two victims, and they’re… they’re in pretty gruesome shape. The bodies were discovered by one of the mill workers, a man named Ibor Thorn, and by the time my men and I arrived on the scene, a crowd of curious gawkers had already sprung up. I’ve got my men stationed there now, keeping the mill locked down, but the thing that bothers me isn’t the fact that we have two dead bodies inside. It’s the fact that this is actually the fourth set of murders we’ve had in the last few weeks.
I come to you for help in this matter—my men are good, but they are also green. They were barely able to handle themselves against the goblins, and what we’re facing now is an evil far worse than goblins. I need the help. But I’m afraid you’ll need the help too. You see, I’m afraid that this particular murderer knows one of you as well."
At this point, Hemlock reaches into his belt pouch, and passes a bloodstained scrap of parchment to Jokad.
Jokad's name is written in blood on the outside of the folded parch-
ment; inside is a short message written in blood:
"We have spoken of this before, my master. Now it begins. Join the Pack and it will end."
