Only Darius, Rex and a few other members of the Azure Guard went to the crime scene. The rest were to wait for them in the inn's main hall. Bleist had questions for the witnesses, but first he wanted to think them through and discuss them with his deputy.
The door to the indicated room was locked, which offered little protection even against those unfamiliar with magic. The lock clicked quietly and they were able to peer inside. The interior was flooded with the light of magical sparks, revealing a terrifying sight, and the smell of musty, stagnant air mingled with the sweet stench of rotting meat, causing stomach cramps.
The medium-sized room, containing four simple beds, a wardrobe and a small table, was in a state of utter ruin. Some of the furniture had been smashed to pieces and hurled with great force towards the outer wall of the building, whilst the rest lay overturned and covered in numerous gash marks. Furthermore, almost every surface was splattered with long-dried blood. The most blood was found beneath the window. A large stain resembled the shape of a human body lying in an unnaturally contorted position.
Even at a cursory glance, Darius could tell that some of the items had been moved after the massacre. It would be difficult to determine what the attacker had done and what the soldiers did. He thought, shaking his head. He had no illusions and could say with certainty that, despite the thoroughness of the on-site inspection report, there was no one there who had even the slightest idea of how to conduct an investigation in such cases. If any traces had been visible, they had long since been obliterated.
Bleist stepped inside. He didn't feel like it, but he had to. He had no intention of leaving everything to his subordinates, and certainly not such a vile task. Although he could have. Wrinkling his nose, he took a few steps and looked around again. Little could be deduced from the state of the room alone, and the only certainty was that Caim Rocha had not given up without a fight. Darius turned towards the entrance and blinked in surprise. The entire wall around the door was scorched, though these were not the marks of a torch or anything similar; the lack of charring above suggested magic. It was surprising and strange, given that, according to all records, the dead City Watchman had no magical abilities. And yet someone had attacked the assailant with fire magic. Apart from this single instance of extraordinary abilities being used, no other traces clearly pointed to a duel between mages.
'This definitely didn't happen yesterday,' Rex stated with a grim expression. The corporal voiced the thoughts that had been running through Darius's mind for some time.
'And that's the problem. The report stated that the murder took place on the same day, yet the testimonies of our witnesses and these traces clearly indicate that it happened much earlier.' The colonel examined the traces of fire magic, paying no heed for the time being to the other items in the room. 'And it seems this isn't the only discrepancy between the documents and reality.' He nodded towards the door. 'It appears that the honourable Mr Rocha has concealed his magical abilities in the field of fire magic.'
'I'm liking this less and less,' Rex muttered resignedly.
'There have been nothing but problems from the start, and we haven't even got round to what we actually came here for.' Bleist sighed heavily and gestured to the Guards waiting at the entrance. 'Search the room; perhaps the murderer and the local soldiers missed something.' He turned towards the bloodstain on the floor.
'Do you think he bled to death, Colonel?' The corporal stood beside his superior and focused on the same trace.
'With that amount of blood?' Darius almost snorted. 'It's possible, but I suspect whoever is responsible for this murder went to great lengths to finish the job themselves.' He assessed that the unnatural bloodstain had not formed uniformly. There were places on it where it was clearly evident that the body had been moved or dragged, with streaks running in one direction and then the other. Slowly. Someone had time. 'This wasn't murder, it was torture,' he stated, noticing the fingernails lying on the floor directly beneath the wall.
'Why torture a City Watchman? Rex didn't seem convinced. 'Unless something happened in the meantime that the victim's friends haven't told us about. Some sort of dispute, an argument, or an incident that could potentially serve as a pretext for cruel revenge.'
'They probably would have told us about it. I also doubt the innkeeper would try to cover for them, nor the priest.' Earl shook his head. 'If anything had happened, half the village and all the merchants who were here on that fateful day would surely be talking about it. At some point, it would have reached us too. Too great a risk.'
'So perhaps something that happened back in the capital? They didn't go into details when they mentioned the farewell.' The non-commissioned officer looked around, his gaze lingering on the Guards slowly rearranging the furniture and checking whether anything important lay amongst the shards scattered about. 'A wild party means plenty of alcohol, and that's a recipe for trouble. All it would take is to rub someone from the Thieves' Guild the wrong way, or some other shady character. I wouldn't be at all surprised if someone had hired a hitman.'
'Do you think they'd risk retaliation from the City Watch?' Darius looked up from the bloodstain. 'Even if Rocha had left the unit, he still had friends in the city. If it came to light that someone from the underworld was behind it all, Arkien, and even more so Xalveth, would become the scene of mob justice. Just as cruel as what happened here.'
'So what do you think, Colonel?' Rex gave up on coming up with his own theories.
'I think we know even less than we thought. First, we need to find the missing pieces of the puzzle.' He stood up and stretched. 'I also don't like the timing of Rocha's transfer request. Somehow, I don't want to believe it's a coincidence that the timing coincides with reports of Quel-naza commanders disappearing in the area.'
'A City Watchman serving on street patrol would be involved in the elimination of the leaders of a fanatical organisation?' Rex raised one eyebrow, presumably trying not to look too sarcastic.
'Why not?', Darius shrugged. 'If someone went to the trouble of changing the dates in the reports, they must have had a reason.' He looked at the meticulous Guardsmen and decided that their presence during the search was more of a hindrance than a help, so he headed for the exit.
'Do you want to question them again?' The corporal followed his superior.
'No, or at least not yet. First, I'd like to speak to the victim's family and find out what the reason was for Rocha's return to Bushtabhar.' Bleist stifled a yawn as he left the room. 'But that's for tomorrow.'
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They spent the night on the top floor of the inn, which was divided into four large suites. As Stave had said, these were used by the wealthiest merchants visiting the area. He had made the entire floor available to the Guard unit, apologising for any inconvenience. Darius was tired, so he fell asleep quickly, but he didn't sleep very well. It wasn't even the temperature or the stuffiness, but the peculiar atmosphere of the place. It was also possible that he had been dwelling on unpleasant thoughts for too long.
At dawn, they had breakfast and, following the priest's advice, set off for Elder Jome. To avoid giving the old man a heart attack, Darius took only Rex and two Ruby Guards with him, who had insisted on accompanying the colonel. Fortunately, they had left their heavy shields at the inn, deciding that broadswords and pistols would be quite sufficient in the narrow streets.
They had to walk through the entire village, so Bleist had a chance to get a better look at the inhabitants. Even now, the locals avoided the Guards from a distance with fear, trying not even to meet their gaze. Generally, everyone here looked alike. Dressed in long, light-coloured tunics in poor condition, with gaunt faces and weather-beaten hands. No one here was doing particularly well, but they weren't starving either. It seemed things weren't quite as bad as one might think.
Elder Jome lived on the very outskirts of the village, by the path leading to the local cemetery. The priest had mentioned that it was the old man who looked after the graves. This, alongside his seniority, explained his familiarity with the villagers. After all, everyone was destined to end up on that small, stony hill.
Darius stopped at the edge of the village. At least, that's what it seemed to be. Whilst the northern entrance had a low wall and a palisade, here the defences were limited to a low embankment made of rough-hewn stones piled one on top of the other. In the middle of this, gods help us, fortification gaped a gap through which ran a narrow path leading uphill between the rocks.
Between the large stones, the colonel spotted the walls of a sandstone hut. The small cottage clung to a high rock that shielded it from the fierce southern sun. Paradoxically, being situated higher than the others, it might well have been a far more pleasant place to live. There was no time to wait, and they set off towards their destination.
Bleist stood on the threshold of the dwelling, almost completely drenched in sweat, even despite using protective spells that should have significantly reduced his perception of the heat. The armour was of no help at all, even though it was covered in a multitude of spells.
Darius took a deep breath and knocked on the door. Silence fell, broken only by the heavy breathing of the Guardsmen. After a moment, the colonel knocked louder, and only then did a sound come from inside.
The door was opened by a gaunt old man with dark skin, a deeply wrinkled face further marked by age spots, clad only in a loincloth. At first, it seemed as though the man could see very little, but after a moment, terror spread across his face and he tried to fall to his knees before the Guards, but Darius caught him in time.
'Please don't trouble yourself,' he said quite loudly, though he tried to make it sound friendly. 'I wanted to ask you something. May we come in?'
The old man merely nodded and gestured towards a shaded room.
'Thank you,' Bleist nodded and entered with the others.
The interior of the cottage consisted of a single room, screened off on one side by a thin curtain, from behind which a section of a bed protruded. The rest of the space contained nothing but a hearth, a table and a bench, and a small workbench on which lay small stones roughly shaped by a skilled hand.
'Are you Jome?' Darius asked before they had even reached the table.
'Yes, sir.' The old man grew even more frightened, and even his weary face smoothed out slightly.
'Have you heard about the murder a week ago?' Bleist gestured for the man to sit on the bench, whilst he himself leaned against the wall.
'I don't know anything... What could I possibly...?' the old man began in a breaking voice.
'I don't want to accuse you of anything,' the colonel tried to reassure him. 'I wanted to ask for your help. The priest said you know everyone in the village, so this is where I should be asking about the locals.'
'Oh, in that case, ask away, sir. I'll tell you whatever I know.' Jome regained his composure surprisingly quickly and looked at his interlocutor with a clearer mind.
'I'm looking for the family of the murdered Caim Rocha. He had relatives in the village whom I'd like to speak to,' the earl admitted openly.
'The one they killed?' The old man furrowed his brow, if that was even possible, even more. 'Rocha, you say, sir?'
'Yes, Caim Rocha, son of Felipe and Ines. Twenty-seven years old.' Rex clarified.
'There is no one here by that name,' Jome said, surprised. He seemed genuinely taken aback, which once again caused consternation among the Guards.
'Are you sure?' Darius clenched his fist behind his back. Nothing about this case can go normally, he thought angrily.
'I don't recall,' the old man shook his head. 'No one by that name lives here.'
'Twenty years ago, the boy moved to the capital to study. Later, he joined the City Watch,' the earl tried to clarify.
'Twenty. . . Rocha. . .' The old man fell deep in thought again, racking his brains. 'Rocha. . . No one by that name lives here.' He shook his head sadly. 'They used to, but that was a long time ago.'
'Can you tell me anything more?' Darius asked, his interest piqued. No matter how insignificant the information was, it was better than nothing.
'It'll be twenty-five years now.' The old man glanced between Darius and Rex. 'We had a plague back then, bandits, and generally a bad time. At that time, there was a family in the village known as the Rochas. They'd moved here a few springs earlier. Just the three of them, as you gentlemen have described them.' He gestured towards the corporal. 'Felipe, if my memory serves me right, was a carpenter. He used to help me out sometimes; I even remember that. His wife worked in the inn, but back then that wasn't anything to boast about. In the centre of the village stood a ramshackle house, as the visitors called it. And the gods gave them a son, and they named him Caim. Only, when the plague came, the little lad was one of the first to be taken by Fate.' The old man shook his head, and Bleist felt like screaming. 'Less than a week later, Ines passed away too, and Felipe... Afterwards, he just knelt by the graves all the time, until one morning he breathed his last himself.' He clicked his tongue heavily. It was clear that the man was speaking of all this with a heavy heart. 'Then I buried him too. If you'd like, I can show you the spot; I go there myself, because apart from each other, they had no one.'
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Darius glared at the three graves, gritting his teeth. Indeed, on the flat stones, the elder Jome had roughly carved the symbol of Thanatos, the dates of death and the names long ago. All three matched: Felipe Rocha, Ines Rocha and Caim Rocha. The only discrepancy with the documents Bleist had examined earlier was that all three had been lying here for twenty-five years.
Who died in that damned inn? the earl wondered. What on earth is going on?