Mages & Murder

By L. Evans

  In the quaint village of Bearstone, Leonor, a former mercenary turned innkeeper, leads a life as unassuming as her inn, until a winter storm brings an unexpected influx of travelers and with them, a dark secret.

 

When a snobbish mage is found murdered in her best room, Leonor's past skills are unwittingly summoned back to life. With the road to the city snowed and help days away, she must navigate through a web of village gossip, old secrets, and unexpected alliances to unravel the mystery.

 

From the bustling inn's hearth to the frozen shores of Silverpool Lake, "Mages & Murders" weaves a tale of magic, mystery, and the unbreakable bonds of a community. Join Leonor as she uncovers long-buried secrets and faces an unexpected killer.    

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thousand Tales
• Release date: Dec 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223676584

Book preview

MAGES & MURDER

By L. Evans

Copyright © 2024 by L. Evans

Cover art by Illustrious Covers

Contents

1- Unexpected Guests

2- Full House

3- Memories

4- A Dead Mage in Bearstone

5- First Discoveries

6- The Healer

7- The Village Council

8- Letter from the Academy

9- Silverpool

10- A Mysterious Visitor

11- The Hedge Witch

12- New Guests

13- Another Mage

14- The Burial

15- Rogue’s Escape

16- Another Dead Mage

17- The Hidden Mage

Epilogue

1- Unexpected Guests

The hearth fire crackled, casting a warm glow across the inn's main room. I paused in front of it, rubbing my hands. My knee was aching—a little memento from a bad fall back when I was a reckless fighter. It had been snowing for a full month in our forsaken Naustrian mountains.

From outside came the relentless whistling of wind. From the kitchen, the usual clanging of pots and Praxia's grumbling. This time, the cook's topic of displeasure was the weather. We'll soon be buried in snow, I'm telling you!

I rolled my eyes. The woman could find something to complain about in paradise. Ella stepped out of the kitchen, mop and bucket in hand. The girl still needed some meat on her bones, but at least she didn’t look like a skeleton dancing out of its tomb, like when I found her begging in the streets of Cyrdon. She tossed back her messy braid, the color of fox fur. We need the snow, Auntie Praxia, she chirped. Last year was so dry!

I shook my head and smoothed back the loose wisps of graying hair. Leave it to Ella to soothe anyone. Then I did my morning round. The wooden floor was clean enough to eat off, if somebody bothered, thanks to Ella. The dark oak tables stood scrubbed within an inch of their lives, ready to receive platters piled high with food and foaming tankards of ale. A menagerie of mismatched chairs, collected over long years, surrounded them, awaiting their daily punishment. Barrels of ale, mead, and wine lined up along the back wall, freshly tapped and ready to pour.

Yep, everything was in order. Not that I expected any less. I ran the place as tight as the mercenary company I'd captained years ago. I was proud of my inn. The Dancing Bear might just have been the inn of Bearstone, a small village away from the bustle of the Royal Road, but its service rivalled the poshest establishments in Cyrdon.

Brego lifted his shaggy head from his spot by the hearth as I passed by. His massive size and big teeth kept thieves and rogues in check, but he was a softie at heart, his tail thumping a greeting as I walked by.

Bran, more wood! I hollered, putting some lung power behind it. It’s colder than on top of the Starwatcher in here!

Aye mistress! came the reply, followed by the hulking form of young Bran lumbering in, arms full of logs. At eighteen, he was already built like a bull, all muscle and brawn from long days of hard labor. With his tawny hair and gentle manner, he reminded me of an oversized golden retriever. He’d been working for me for six months now and acted as though he’d been born here.

Anything else, mistress? he huffed, dumping the logs by the fire.

Yes, the back storeroom still needs tidying up.

Just then, my rascal Enas came barreling through the main door, letting in a blast of cold air and wet footprints over my nice, clean floor. Ma! Bertram's back from the Royal Road. He says there’s been an avalanche that has covered it over a hundred paces! He spread his arms wide, nearly whacking poor Ella, who was coming down the stairs.

Though only fifteen, the boy was taller than Bran, all gangly limbs and wild energy. His dark hair was a wavy mess, and his bright eyes couldn't sit still, always jumping to the next thing. One would have never guessed that his father had been the mild-mannered King Albarran. Talk about heredity.

Well, then, I said. Maybe it’ll drive some business our way if the main road’s impassable. We best be ready. Enas, get those filthy boots off and help Bran with the rooms. Ella, check the larder and fetch more flour. Mistress Nora should come today with her hens’ eggs. Also order five more breads from Mistress Jaya and a barrel of ale from Master Jax.

Yes, Mistress. And also, cheese?

This girl was a pearl left lying in the mud. That was where I had picked her from.

You’re right, Ella. Cheese.

And some lard. Lard’s good when it’s cold! came from the kitchen.

I smiled. You’ve heard Praxia. Ella nodded and went to collect her cloak and clogs.

The inn sprang to life as the boys jumped to follow my orders. As for me, I was in two minds. Many travellers would take the alternative route through our village towards Pillar Bridge. Some would stay the night. That meant plenty of strangers. Maybe some had seen me in my previous life and would be keen to collect the bounty on my head? I fought the urge to slip a hand down my belt, seeking the reassuring weight of the sword I no longer carried. But I had changed in fifteen years, I reassured myself. Who would recognize the infamous mercenary captain Thea Karn in Mistress Leonor, this benign, middle-aged innkeeper?

With a sigh, I walked into the kitchen. Do you want some help, Praxia?

You’re hopeless with food, and you know it, the stout cook replied, already aligning vegetables on the table. I won’t entrust you with boiling an egg!

Too right. I leaned toward the earthen stove and its gentle heat. Copper pans gleamed on the walls, while garlands of onions and dried herbs hung from the rafters.

Praxia started chopping carrots with the methodical precision of an executioner. I’ve never seen a woman so inept in a kitchen—or a man, for that matter. Just scrub the potatoes, rinse the cabbage, and pull off the wilted leaves. For the rest, I’ll manage.

Will we have enough, you think?

For tonight, no problem. But for tomorrow, you’ll have to resupply quickly at the market. Go early: with the snow, half of the farmers might not make it.

Ash and dust, I hadn’t thought about that. What if—

The kitchen door leading to the backyard banged open on the round face of Nora, the village official busybody. She was a petite thing, barely five feet tall, with a cap of golden curls, giving her a deceptively cherubic look. I was on Nora’s good side, but I never let her appearance fool me—behind the button nose and dimpled smile lurked the mind of a professional interrogator. Nora hoarded secrets and rumors like a dragon hoarded gold. My, my, we’re cut off from Cyrdon!

I made a wry grin. You look delighted!

Of course! At least something to talk about!

Talk for you! I was planning to visit Talitha for the Long Night Festival.

I thought she was a mage student. Can’t she... make you fly, or something?

Not yet.

The cook aligned a dozen onions on the table and attacked them as if they had insulted her mother. Do you still have spare cabbage, Nora? Looks like we might run short of supplies if we are swarmed with travellers today.

I might still have two or three to spare, but that would be the last of them.

Great!

I’ll bring them tonight. I’ll also bring stuff to sell. And my daughters, of course.

You want them to become rumor mills like you?

What’s wrong with that? Plus, they need to see some lads from outside from time to time.

She winked. I opened my mouth to reply, but heard the main door creaking. I stepped back into the common room, expecting one of my regulars. But it was old Bertram, ensconced in his sheepskin coat. His sparse hair was plastered flat by the melting snow, making the deep grooves in his weathered face stand out more. As I live and breathe, it’s a right storm out there, I tell you. The avalanche has cut the road for half a mile. There’ll soon be travelers aplenty on your doorstep, mistress, mark my words!

Bertram had been journeying to and from Bearstone for over thirty years. He knew the roads and rivers like the wrinkles on the back of his time-worn hands. If he was saying the road was impassable, it certainly was.

Behind him, the bulky form of Dustin filled the doorway. I thought you might need an extra hand tonight, Mistress Leonor, he rumbled in his deep voice. He was a giant of a man, bald and brawny, his bare arms corded with muscle. But his craggy face was softened by smile lines and bright blue eyes that twinkled with good humor. Despite his imposing size, he had a gentle manner about him. For the last twenty years, he had been the village odd job man. He had a knack for turning up whenever he was needed, lending a hand for harvest, hauling logs of wood, crates of nails, barrels of ale, or sacks of flour.

That’d be right helpful, thank you, Dustin, I said, giving him a smile.

Sure enough, the first travellers started trickling in shortly after. They had that weary but determined look of folks who have been on the road too long: merchants bringing wagons of goods for the Long Night Festival in Cyrdon, pilgrims coming to attend the Light of the Way, new students enlisting into the royal academies, and laborers seeking work in the capital. Many people took the Royal Road, the only one through the mountains, this time of year.

In the morning, most travellers crossed Bearstone without stopping. They would sleep in Highwood, half a day from Pillar Bridge. Some bought provisions. A couple stopped at Mahal’s forge to shoe their mules and then were on their way. Others went to see Mathilda, the healer, for colds and blisters. Those seeking lodgings came at the end of the afternoon. Then, the flood of people started.

As darkness fell outside the fog-shrouded windows, the inn was packed tighter than Praxia's sausage rolls. Every table overflowed with damp, road-weary people. Cloaks steamed by the great stone fireplace above skis and snowshoes. There were broad-shouldered laborers rubbing their calloused hands over the flames, wandering peddlers with their packs full of wares, devout pilgrims with grime coating their felt boots, and chattering students clad in their scholars' robes. There were even a couple of minor officials on some bureaucratic errand, and a pinch-faced tax collector taking notes and looking displeased at everything he saw.

Enas and Dustin hauled in piles of ragged pallets and old blankets to cram more poor souls into every corner of the already bursting common room. My usual crop of regular customers gamely vied for precious space along the benches. Curious villagers also turned up in good number, eager to gawk, gossip, and peddle their humble wares.

The back corner filled up with Nora and her entire flock of ruddy-cheeked daughters, their wicker baskets overflowing with freshly baked loaves of bread, burlap sacks bulging with nuts and dried fruits, jars of golden clover honey, and deep red jam made from last year’s strawberries. Warris, Mahal’s apprentice, came to deliver some spare horseshoes and stayed, following Ella with dreamy eyes.

I kept hearing the same snippets of conversation: ...How long do you think before the road is cleared? ...Two more days and they can cross off this year’s Winter Fair... the Festival would have to be canceled.... My own mind churned with calculations of how much ale remained in the taps and how soon Jax would have the next batch ready. We were holding our own for now, but if this tide went on through the next day, I'd have to start watering the spirits. We hadn't been this busy in years. Mercifully, I saw no one I could recognize. Anyway, all those I had worked with in my prime must have been dead or retired, like me, nursing aching joints and broken teeth.

In