They met Ederyn at the town square.  He had several people with him, waiting for them.  Wedrein was there, along with Geraint, and Kell, the last reevesman.  Far fewer than he would have liked to have seen, though.  Galen thanked them all for coming.  “I’m going to go up to John’s place and get stuff set up for the autopsy.  If you want to come up for his service, you don’t have to stay for the post, but I’ll say right now I can use all the help I can get.  It’ll be a last thing you can do for him.”  They all nodded; these were the people Ederyn had gathered and they were all willing to lend a hand. 

            Galen took the bike up the mountain, taking Nwyvre with him.  Ederyn he left to lead the others up the trail. 

            The smell of dead sheep had gotten oppressive on the plateau before John’s place.  Nwyvre held her sleeve over her nose as they rode through. 

            For Galen it felt weird and a bit rude to ride his bike straight up to John’s, across his yard and right into his house.  John had made it clear to his neighbors that he did not like noise up near his place, and that especially meant loud air-terrain bikes.  The roar of his bike was even louder inside, setting off echoes that rang after he killed the motor. 

            John was where they had left him, not that he expected anything different.  But he looked unscathed, too, so that meant the scavengers hadn’t been there yet.  Ederyn or Geraint had watched John most of the day, but they both had been in town.  Geraint must’ve come down to eat or something.  No one else was around; if the mayor had been poking around earlier he certainly wasn’t here now. 

            Galen began to pull gear out of his carry-all and pile it up behind John where he planned on working.  John was mostly with his back to the entrance, which was too bad, the light was terrible over there.  Galen was prepared, though, and had brought several wizard lights which he planted up high on the wall on the other side of John. 

            He turned to see Nwyvre staring at the ground nearer the door.  He crutched up to her and saw she was transfixed by a huge dark stain on the floor. 

            “Bened,” he said gently.  He told her then, quietly, what exactly had happened, as far as he could remember it, what had happened to Bened and more importantly to her friend Moern.  When he was done she sighed and walked to the entrance to look out into the grey afternoon.  “How long do you think it will take the others to get here?” she asked, after a minute’s silence. 

            “Probably another 40 minutes or so.” 

            He considered her for a moment.  “Here, Nwyvre, help me get this stuff out then I’ll walk yo around John’s place.”

            She nodded silently and helped him retrieve his items from the carry-all, studying some of his tools but refraining from commenting on them.  When Galen felt he had enough of his gear out and half-way ready to go, he led Nwyvre slowly through John’s place. 

            “John loved the sky,” he told her.  “There wasn’t much more he liked better than flying.  He once told me it was a pure joy he felt when he opened his wings and took to the air, joy so crisp, so intense, he said he felt like he could reach out and grab it.”  He held out a hand, clenched his fist.  “So he made his home the sky, he told me, or as near the sky as he could get.  If you look close out front, everything is blue and white tile, and if you look long enough you can see the clouds in it.  And in here,” he gestured above them, “he put the sky above himself, made it his roof, his ceiling, his walls, so he wouldn’t ever feel cut off from it.”

            Nwyvre looked up.  Clouds and sky touched with the gold and rose-pink of dawn were above them.  “It looks very real,” she murmured.  “Is it magic?”

            “Aye, John placed some magic in here, he had a long time to work on this place, make it just what he wanted.  It’s a painting, mostly done himself, and then magicked too.  This entrance and this hall here was his dawn halls, he called them.”  Galen showed Nwyvre John’s moon hall, the large central sun hall, the star hall that reflected the current night sky, and his three twilight halls, all different.  “He loved the sunset more than anything,” said Galen.  “His one regret about this place was that it faced east instead of west.  Instead he would lay on top, over on the west edge, to watch the sunset.”  Galen paused, remembering.  “A couple times when I visited him he was just going up for that, and took me with him.”

            “How did you get up there?” asked Nwyvre.  There was no way to climb; the walls and the cliffs were sheer. 

            Galen did not look at her, looking instead at John’s sunset above them, brilliant magenta and violet, based on a sunset John swore he himself saw over the Ruins of Melin, after a dust storm.  “We flew,” he finally said.  “We flew.”  He smiled, remembering his own small grasp at pure joy, and, holding on to it, went back to John to settle him down. 

            Several people had gathered by then, not all of them with the group that Ederyn was leading, although they were trickling in.  Galen went to Ederyn when he arrived and asked him, “Do you want to lead the service?  Do you want me to, or maybe somebody else?”  Several of the Daere had wandered in, and he knew some of them liked to visit John as well. 

            Ederyn shrugged as he surveyed the growing crowd.  “Either way.  I can speak for him, if you like.”

            Galen gave him a sharp look that he didn’t notice.  He decided Ederyn wasn’t trying to make any sort of point, and nodded.  Maybe it would be better if only Ederyn talked.  Perhaps Galen had spoken for John enough, already.  “Go ahead, then, Ederyn. Whenever you like.” 

            When Ederyn felt most people had arrived, and asked around to see if anyone else was coming, he gathered them inside, halfway down the dawn hall to the left, in sight of John, out of sight of all Galen’s equipment.  The wizard lights Galen had placed earlier backlit John’s body, and it looked a bit like he was peacefully asleep.  Galen counted the people that had come.  He wasn’t sure how many he had expected, knowing the town had a dim view of John at the end, knowing it was a long hard walk up the mountain.  He decided it was about as many as he could reasonably expect to come.  It was fewer than he would have liked to see.  Ederyn shushed them and began.

            Ederyn spoke with a strong, firm voice that echoed through the empty halls around them.  He told the people about John, about how he had first come to Trent’s How many years ago, before any of them could remember.   He spoke about the little things that made up John’s life, about his continuous aid to the town and it’s people, about the kallikrane matter several decades ago and how John had helped out, about his fondness for the children of the townspeople and expecially of the Daere.  Ederyn talked about the stories John would tell, of the old days, of a distant land he called home.  And Ederyn talked about John’s friends, naming them, naming himself.  “John loved his friends,” he said.  “I talked to him often of friendship, of bonds to others, of belonging in a place where you were unlike anyone else.  And what made this place, this town, precious to him, was the people, the friends, he had made.”

            He paused and looked around at the crowd.  “That was the John I remember.  That was the John that was my friend.  Whatever happened to him at the end – that was not John.  ‘I will remember my friend, my brother, and I will honor him,’” he said, quoting Elyan the Lost.  Galen looked up, a bit startled.  He had used the same quote when Boot was settled down.  Ederyn was silent, finished. 

            Galen repeated what he had said.  I will remember my friend, my brother, and I will honor him.  After a sorrowful silence a few others murmured the same words.  Then, by ones and twos, the group broke up, some whispering together, most silent. 

            “If anyone is staying to help with this final task for John, please come over by the entrance,” announced Galen.  Several people stayed, including, to his surprise, two Daere, Leire and J’nar, who he seemed to recall was named for John, based a little on the first part of his real name.  Galen gathered the people who were going to help and explained how they were going to do it.  “I’d like to find out what happened to John, if there’s a reason he did what he did, illness or whatever.  It’s going to be a long hard job, messy and unpleasant; I’ll tell you that right up front.  If you don’t want to help with John, then we could sure use your help clearing away all the sheep around his yard, toss em over the south cliff and let the scavengers get fat.”  Galen went on to explain what he wanted everyone to do, how he wanted samples collected, exactly what he wanted.  “We get one chance to figure this out, folks.  Make sure you don’t start hurrying through it.”  Everyone seemed to understand, and they set to.  Galen gave everyone a laser-knife, walked them through basic safety, and after he started the dissection he stood back to supervise.  After fifteen minutes of supervising, he decided to try his brace out, set his crutches aside, and began to help. 

            About two hours into it, Stafford showed up.  Not to help, just to get on Galen’s nerves, as far as he could tell.  Galen stepped over from the area he had set aside to dissect organs, and crutched carefully over to Stafford.  The floor had become treacherous. 

            Galen had no patience for Stafford and was less than polite.  “What do you want, Stafford?”

            “Came to see how things were going.  Find anything out?”

            “Sure.  Victim of physical trauma,” he said drily.  “Are you going to help?”

            Stafford shook his head emphatically.  “No, no.  Can’t, I’m afraid.  Still working things out with the farms that he attacked.  Making a tally, you know.”

            “A tally? For what?”

            “Recompense, of course.”

            “John’s dead, he can’t compensate.”

            “Oh, we might be able to think of something.  I’m sure we can find some way to help pay back all those farmers.  John destroyed a lot of lives, not just the people he killed, you know, but the people who lost all their flocks.  We can’t just let that go, you know.”

            Galen glanced back over his shoulder at the others, making sure the Daere and Ederyn were well out of hearing.  “Look, Stafford,” he said softly, dangerously, “if you think you’re going to take parts of John’s body to sell them, you’re fucked in the head.  The Daere will never stand for it.  I don’t think you understand how strongly they feel about this.” 

            Stafford made a small sneer of distaste.  “Of course not.  I’m not talking about that at all; where’d you get that idea.  I’m talking about his treasure.” 

            Galen snorted.  “John’s treasure?  He didn’t have any treasure.  That’s a stupid rumor, started by people that know nothing about John.”

            “Oh, he must have some somewhere.  Doc, I don’t mean to take up your time.  Don’t mind me; I won’t stay long.”

            Galen didn’t say anything, but just stood and watched him.  When Stafford began to walk back into the deeper halls, Galen stopped him.  “Maybe you’d better wait until they take a look at his estate, Stafford.  Maybe you should send to Holten Towen for a magistrate to come out and settle things.”  Galen tried to sound casual, but the steel in his voice shone through. 

            Stafford’s eyes narrowed.  “We don’t need an outsider to come in over this, Munro.  You get Holten involved and then everything will be twelve times as complicated, and Holten will end up with half the proceeds, if there even are any.” 

            “If John’s got a will then they’ve got it on file.  You’re going to have to go there.”

            “It won’t matter.  Recompense will take priority.”

            “Well then you’d better let the magistrate figure that out then.  You walk in here and try and seize his property without doing it proper, I’ll have you and Morvran before Holten so fast what’s left of your hair will fall off.”

            Stafford sputtered angrily, then stomped off.  Galen watched him, thankful he had at least prevented Stafford from rummaging around John’s home while they were still doing his necropsy.  Bastard. 

            It took another six hours to get done.  Galen took care of the head and the brain himself, but other than a blessed big hole through his head and a ton of hemorrhage, nothing looked weird.  Everything else was just trauma.  Ederyn’s concuss-force blows to John’s shoulder and body had echoed through his thorax, causing massive hemorrhage.  Geraint’s blow to his neck had crushed his trachea, fractured his spine.  Even if Galen hadn’t hit him, John would not have lived.  The only other thing Galen found out was that he had been right; John was not eating the sheep.  He was just killing them.  John had stopped eating altogether, as far as he could tell. 

            It was after midnight when he decided they were done.  Everyone was completely knackered, and covered in blood.  “All right, folks, let’s call it a night.  Thanks again for your help.  Hopefully I can get this figured out with all the samples we took.  We’ll take care of the remains tomorrow.  Go home and get some sleep, and meet back here in the morning, please.  Early, we’ll do what we can before Arven Dale’s service.”  Everyone made their tired way down the mountain.  Galen felt a bit guilty for roaring off on his bike, but by then his knee was killing him.  He dropped Nwyvre off at her home; she desperately wanted to take a bath and crawl in bed.  He went home to do the same, carelessly riding his bike through town to his house, waking a few people.  Others were still awake when they heard him. 

Chapter Fourteen

            John was gone when Galen went back to his place the next morning.  Not just gone, dead, and cleaned up, but gone, completely gone, even the floor had been neatly erased of every trace of his presence, and Galen and his helpers had spread a lot of John around in their work.  Galen stood there in the center of John’s entrance hall, in stunned disbelief, turning in incredulous circles.  There was the stain Bened had left, on the floor.  There was the stain Moern had left, wall, floor.  But of John there was nothing, as if it had never happened. 

            Galen wondered if maybe time had slipped, somehow, even this far out from Juncture, in an extremely stable field like Holten.  He shook his head.  Impossible.  Besides, there were the stains from Bened and Moern’s blood to convince him that yes, it had all really happened. 

            He met the other people that were heading up the moutain to help him, and shortly told them to go home.  He did not tell them what had happened.  Leire and J’nar were with them, along with Ederyn, and he avoided their eyes.  He certainly did not want the Daere to find out about this until he figured out what had happened.

            Furious, he made his way to Morvran’s house.  A block away he stopped his bike, catching himself before he did anything stupid.  He waited until he had calmed down a little, thinking hard, considering his options and possible outcomes.  Finally he went on, reminding himself not to get too angry. 

            A stranger opened Morvran’s door.  Galen was not terribly surprised.  “I’m here to see Morvran,” he said coldly, and the stranger grinned and led him in.  He was human, and like no one in Trent’s How, that was for sure.  By the spid-armor and the weaponry, Galen pegged him for a part-time mercenary, part time dragon hunter, full time pirate.  He didn’t say anything, just led Galen into where Morvran was sitting with 3 more of the same type of people, human male, arewon female, and a Vug.  Only the man stared at Galen; the others ignored him.   

            Morvran stood when Galen walked in.  “Ah, Doctor Munro, I have been expecting you.”

            “Of course you have,” said Galen.  He was outwardly calm but could not hide that chill in his voice.  “What have you done with John?”

            Morvran nodded, smiling politely.  “Ah, yes, I knew you would jump to your own conclusions about that.  When it became obvious your crew would be unable to dispose of him in a timely manner, Doctor, I merely allowed our esteemed guests from Juncture an opportunity to help us out.  They were most anxious to assist us.”

            “I bet they were.” 

            “I assure you, Doctor, John’s body has been treated with the utmost respect.  If you are concerned about the Daere, indeed, they can not complain.  John has been settled down properly.  Indeed, even more quickly than his victims, I might add.  You have no cause for complaint.” 

            “What have you done with him?”

            Morvran began to switch from friendly to cordial.  “That is no longer your concern, Doctor Munro.”

            “It is.”

            “You are not his relative.  In the absence of relatives, the mayor of the town of residence determines arrangements after death.  The law is clear.”

            Galen paused.  “Do you really want to bring the law into this, Morvran?” he said quietly.  “Because I will.  I won’t hesitate.  And if they find you have profited from his ‘arrangements’, then, I assure you, Mayor, you’ll be found out.”

            Morvran scoffed.  “There is no law I’ve broken.”

            “Perhaps not in Holten.  But Juncture law?  That’s another story.”

            “You wouldn’t dare.”

            Galen just returned his suddenly angry gaze. 

            The barony of Holten was an independent state, but still lay under the protection and the higher law of Juncture in many matters.  Mostly Juncture didn’t pay any attention to its little worlds on the Outskirts.  But they would pay attention if they were alerted.   

            “You wouldn’t dare bring Juncture law into Trent’s How,” repeated the mayor.  “Do you know what that could do to this town?”

            “Then tell me what you did with John, and I won’t have to.”

            Morvran stared at him, then snarled, “Get out.”

            Galen shrugged.  “As you wish.”  He turned to leave, and one of the Juncture mercs began to block his way.  Galen stared down at her and began to walk forward, and she hurriedly got out of his way. 

            The merc that had opened the door followed him out into the yard.  Galen stopped by his bike and glared at him.  “What do you want?”

            The merc smiled, shrugged.  “Not speak,” he said, and then, in Junction, the language of Juncture, he said, “Do you speak Junction?” He had a thick accent, Deep Dark maybe. 

            “Sure,” said Galen, and switched to his language, which he hadn’t spoken since he left there.  “What do you want?”

            “You, you’re mad at the slick guy, yes?  For taking your dragon?”

            “Very.”

            “Ah, ah, I see.  Doing you a favor, you know, messy job.  We cleaned it up nice.  You one of the people that killed it?”

            “Yes.”

            The merc nodded, suddenly all business. “Yes, I heard you lost two on your team, very sad.  Not too unusual, though, we plan on losing two or three every time, maybe five with a dragon like yours.”

            “We only had five.”

            The merc stared, mouth open.  He blinked.  “Five on the lead team?  You had a lead team, and three or four back up?”

            Galen smiled a little.  “No.  Five people. Period.”

            The merc was amazed.  “So, three survivors?”

            Galen nodded.

            “Hurt, surely?”

            “Just me.”

            The merc pondered that, still looking a bit incredulous.  “Huh.  How’d you kill it?”

            Galen told him, briefly.  The merc nodded, listening carefully.  When he finally looked back up at Galen, it was with respect.  “Dragon was crazy, huh?”

            Galen shrugged, tired of the conversation.  “I don’t know.  Gross necropsy didn’t show squat.” 

            “Yeah.  Must’ve been crazy.  Maybe made it easier for you  - maybe harder.” 

            “Maybe.  What did you guys do with the body?”

            “Oh, you know.  Standard.  Tell you what, I’ll make sure you get yours.  You deserve it.”

            Galen scowled at him.  “Forget it.”

            “Suit yourself.  You’re missing out, though.  Set yourself up for life, with this one.”

            Galen paused, considering how to play this.  “I assume you guys are going to sell in Juncture?”

            “Of course, we’ve got buyers lined up for miles.  You name it, we’ve got someone signed up for it.  We didn’t get everything we wanted, you and your necropsy crew screwed up a lot of stuff, but still a pretty good haul.” 

            “You guys splitting the money?”

            The merc gave him a fake-shocked look.  “Of course not!  Slick in there gets it all, that was the deal.” He smirked.  “But what he doesn’t know about selling prices won’t hurt us.  This is your chance, buddy, to get in while you can.  Maybe I’ll talk to Keye, in there, he might even want to hire you on, after he hears how you did this one.  You’ve got guts, style.  His kind of hunter.”

            “Naw, that’s ok.  Thanks, though.  Catch you later.  You guys staying in town long?”

            “Dunno.  I think Keye and Hersold are sticking around; I might get stuck taking our shipment back.”

            Galen nodded.  “Good luck with that.”

            The merc’s eyes narrowed as he watched Galen get on his bike and ride away. 

            Galen stood in front of his connect at home, frustrated.  “You’re sure you can’t get anyone out here any quicker than that?” he asked again. 

            “Dear, I’ve told you,” said Issa.  “The soonest would be two days.  The soonest!  I swear, Galen, you’re acting like one of the Daere yourself.  You and I both know John, the real John, was not in that pile of meat, and what happens to it now is of no matter.”

            “It’s not that, Issa, and you know it.  It’s that Morvran would dare to do this, and to make money!”
            “Now, Galen, has it occurred to you that perhaps you are overreacting?  After all, Morvran will be thinking of the needs of the town.  John managed to beggar several families, Galen hun, don’t forget that.”

            Galen began to pace and then stopped, a stabbing pain in his knee.  He sat down heavily in a chair and muttered a curse.  Issa waited. 

            He sighed.  “Maybe you’re right.  I’ll wait and see.  I’d like to hear what he’s going to tell the Daere, though.  Will you be able to send the samples on once you get them?”

            “Yes, Galen, I told you I would.  Don’t worry about them.  The U of J has a nice little extension service that I found, based near Silas origin portal; they said they would be happy to look at a dragon.  I’ll give them your connect and once I get their info I’ll pass it back to you.  They’ll be able to find out what happened to John if anyone can.” 

            “Thanks, Issa.  I owe you one.”

            She smiled.  “Come to Juncture and I’ll collect.”

            He grined a little.  “Can’t.”

            “Oh Galen!  Don’t tell me you have a girlfriend!  There goes my heart, broken again,” she said, smiling. 

            “I’m not sure.  I think I might, at that.”

            “Good for you, dear.  Who is she?  Ailiae?  She always liked you.”

            “That was her sister.  She got over it.”

            “Who then?”

            “Nwyvre.”

            Issa gave him a wide smile.  “Ah, that’s a sweet one, such a pretty girl.  And tough.  She’ll keep you in your place.  Good for you, hun.” 

            “I’d better get going.  They’re holding Arven Dale’s service in a little bit; I’d better get over there.”

            “Take care, Galen.  Give Nwyvre a heart-stopping kiss for me.”

            “Right.”

            Mr. Dale’s service was led by Wedrein, who always did a pretty good job.  Galen stood near the back, next to Nwyvre. He was distracted during the service; he had arrived a little later than he had wanted to and so hadn’t been there when the magistrate from Holten had spoken to the townsfolk in the town square beforehand.  He hadn’t had time to talk to anyone about what had been said, but people were sneaking looks over his way that frankly didn’t look all that friendly.  When the service was over people knotted up in groups to visit, but only a couple people said hi to Galen.  Everyone else avoided him.  Galen cornered Geraint. 

            “What did the magistrate say?  I missed it.”

            “Oh, yeah… well, he pretty much said that everything looked legal to him; he said it was ok we killed John.  ‘Justified’, he called it.  Plus he said that John gave up all his rights and property when he killed people.  ‘Forfeited’, he said.”

            “What else?  Why is everyone giving me the cold shoulder today?”

            “Oh, I don’t know.  Probably cause when you came back down from John’s this morning everything was gone.  Making people talk, you know.”

            “What?  I didn’t do that; Morvran and that crew of pirates he brought in from Juncture did that.”

            “Did they?”

            “Oh, aye – went and talked to him this morning, straight away after I left the mountain.  He’s up to something; I don’t know what.  I asked Issa to get someone to come out.”

            Geraint frowned.  “Well that’s not going to endear you to anyone around here.  You know how they hate those folks from Juncture poking around here.”

            “I’d rather call in these folks than those hunters that Morvran brought in.  I mean, why are they here?  He had plenty of time to cancel, tell them not to come, that the job had been taken care of.  Except he wanted to cut up John’s body and sell it, that’s why.  Where’d that magistrate go, anyway?”

            Geraint shrugged.  “I don’t know.  Back to Holten, maybe, or over to the mayor’s place.”

            “If he’s investigating John’s death – why hasn’t he talked to me?”

            Geraint shrugged again.  “Track him down and ask him.” 

            Galen caught up to the magistrate not out at the mayor’s but at the clinic, visiting with Eus, who was still under Gunson’s orders to stay put.  Galen was surprised; he had expected Eus to be out by now.  Gunson informed him quietly in the front, when he asked, that Eus not only had a consussion, but seemed to have some lingering psi shock.  Gunson was adamant that he not be disturbed too much, and was reluctant to let even the magistrate be in there talking with him. 

            “His head wound is healing fine, just a bad concussion, little fracture.  But whatever happened when he touched John’s mind – well that’s taking a little more to get over.  He’ll be fine, I think, he just needs time.”  Galen and John discussed the case and Galen had to agree, but gave Gunson a couple suggestions for additional treatment. 

            Galen waited for the magistrate to get done with Eus, and followed him outside to talk with him.  Laval was his name, and he seemed like a reasonable fellow.  He explained the law regarding John’s case to Galen, and asked a few questions about what had happened, both in Haeredown and in John’s place.  Galen told him as much as he could remember, down to exactly what John said to him in Haeredown. 

            “Well, I have to congratulate you, then, Doctor Munro. This all could have turned out much worse, I think.  You did very well in getting him put down so quickly.”  Laval had a leather pack hanging on a strap across his shoulders, and rummaged in it for a bit.  “The Baron heard all about what happened out here; he sent these out with me.  I’ll need to see the rest of your team, too, of course.  Um… Geraint Ferault, and Ederyn Tae Mmyr.”   He pulled out a stack of parchment.  “Now let’s see.”  He spread the first one out on the bench they were seated upon, and smoothed it out.  It was blank.  Laval took a pen out of his pocket.  Galen noted it had the baron’s seal on it.  Laval tapped it on the parchment, saying, “Dragonslayer,” then let the tip of the pen rest on the center.  With a sudden flourish of ink of all colors, the parchment became illuminated – a bit overly garish for Galen’s taste.  “Dragonslayer,” it read at the top, followed by a wide clear space, and then a short paragraph that Galen’s couldn’t read from his angle, the letters were so elaborate.  “Doctor Galen Munro,” said Laval, and Galen’s name appeared in the blank space. 

            “I don’t need that,” said Galen, a bit baffled.  “I was just doing what had to be done.” 

            Laval handed it over and Galen read the rest of it.  “I don’t want this.  I don’t need this.”

            Laval put the pen and the rest of the papers away.  “Humble, eh - that’s admirable.  But want it or not, you have it.  It’s the baron’s perogative to grant the title Dragonslayer.  He was so tickled to find out he had the opportunity – first time, for him.  He wanted to come out himself, but couldn’t.  Congratulations.”

            Galen tried to hand it back but Laval refused it.  “Take it home, Doc.  Shove it in the back of your bookshelves, if you want, forget about it.  Take it out again in ten, twenty years, show your kids.  You’ll feel different about it by then. Trust me.” 

            Galen didn’t know what to say.  He stared at the paper and nearly tore it up.  Finally he rolled it carelessly and stuck it in his belt.  Laval watched, wincing a little, deciding maybe he’d not tell Holten the truth about how things with the dragonslayer had gone. 

            “Well, thanks,” said Galen, without much feeling behind it. “I guess.  What I’m really concerned about, is what happened to John’s body afterwards.”

            “Well, you did the necropsy yourself, didn’t you?”

            “Aye, but then the mayor and his… people chopped him up.  They’re taking the pieces to Juncture to sell, surely there’s got to be a law against selling someone’s body.”

            “Oh aye, there is.  Unfortunately, John gave up all his rights when he killed, you know.  I went over that before the service.  Lost the right to life, first of all, which you took care of.  Lost his right to decide how he got settled down, too.  Did he get a service?”

            Galen nodded.  “Aye, we gave him one before the necropsy.”

            “Well, there you go.  You really can’t ask for much more than that, with what he did.” 

            “It’s not fair,” said Galen, feeling childish as soon as he said it. 

            “No, I imagine it’s not.  Not fair that he killed all those sheep and creela, either.  Not fair he widowed Mrs. Dale, or killed those other people.  Not fair at all.”  Laval stood to go.  “As far as I see it, Doc, John is paying back, the only way he can now.”

            Galen sat, frustrated.  He knew that the magistrate was right, legally, but it just seemed so wrong to him that John would be forced to pay his debt this way.  “Wait – did John have a will on file in Holten?”

            “Hm… I don’t know.  If he did, I’m not aware of it.  He might’ve filed before I got there.  I can check, probably should.  Was he wealthy?”

            Galen shook his head.  “Not really.  He had a library, and his house.  Not much else as far as I knew.  His will might have said something about what he wanted done if he died, though.  Just a thought.”

            “All right.  I’ll connect over when I can and check.  If you’ll excuse me though, Doc, I’m going to see if I can track down the other members of your team.  Do you know who is settling down the two people who died?”

            “Moern and Bened?”  Galen thought, then told Laval where he could find Moern’s parents, Bened’s brother. 

            “I’ll take their titles over to them then.  They’re being settled tomorrow?”

            Galen nodded.  “Aye.  And you’ll find Ederyn out at the Daere settlement, and Geraint at his father’s mill.  Probably.” 

            Laval waved and walked off, and Galen watched him.  As he stood to go, though, Doctor Gunson called him in. 

            “Galen.  Get in the exam room.  Pants off.”

            “What?!”

            “Follow-up.  Go.”

            Galen grumbled his way inside, and Gunson shooed him up onto a table to look at his knee.  “Well, Galen, your legs seem to be healing all right, in spite of yourself.  You can thank Bidcom for that.”  Gunson held Galen’s foot, with his other hand on his knee, and began to gently move his lower leg back, forth, then in small circles.  Galen grit his teeth at first, then nearly stood straight up on the table. 

            “Goddammit,” he gasped.  “Not so hard.”

            Gunson nodded.  “Thought so.  How much have you been using this leg, Doc?”
            “A bit.”  He shrugged.  “With the brace, though.” 

            “I told you that brace wouldn’t do it all for you.  Didn’t I tell you that?  Didn’t I say, use the crutches?”  He felt Galen’s knee, tracing the tendons, digging against them with his fingers.  Galen put up with it for another ten seconds then jerked away. 

            “Galen, Galen.  You like your knee, don’t you?  Want to keep it, right?”

            “Of course.  Without you poking it so damned hard, though, if you please.” 

            “Well, then, let me spell it out for you.  You, Doc, who ought to understand these things better than any of my patients and yet somehow seems to be the most idiotic about it.  This knee,” and he tapped on it again, precisely in a spot that shot a stab of pain down Galen’s leg to his toes. “This knee is going to be completely ruined if you don’t get off it and stay off it.  For three days.  At least.  Do you understand?”

            Galen nodded.

            “You’re lying.  You don’t understand.  If you understood, you would’ve followed my advice before and stayed the hell off of it.  I’ll explain.  If you don’t go home right now, straight from here, and get in bed or sit on your couch, for three days, them I’m sending you to Holten and let them work on you.”

            Galen closed his eyes, sighed.  Then he surprised Doctor Gunson by simply saying, “Fine.”

Chapter Fifteen

            Galen managed to wheedle a trip to Bened and Moern’s service out of Gunson.  He did not speak at either one, but sat near the front, getting in early and leaving late, so he could use his crutches and be careful about it.  He had no desire to be forced to go to Holten.  Although Nwyvre sat next to him, she did not speak with him much, recognizing his need for silence.  After each service, while everyone else filed out and began the usual gossip, he sat until long after the room was empty.  Thinking.  Wishing.  Trying to figure out how he could have made things different.  Sitting there, he missed a lot of the gossip that was going on outside. 

            Nwyvre and Geraint kept him updated, though, visiting him at home where he tried hard to follow Gunson’s orders, wanting to pace, restless.  The dogs were besides themselves in doggy glee; Galen spent most of the days throwing balls for them to fetch. 

            They told Galen that the Daere were, indeed, angry about the disrespectful use of John’s body.  They were peacefully protesting by talking to the mayor, one after the other, and by no longer doing business with the humans of Trent’s How.  This was screwing up things in town more than people had expected.  For once they started to become aware of the many things and services the Daere provided them, from the best fruits and produce to the finest clothes.  The town’s one tinsmith was Daere, as was one of the town’s teachers. 

            The humans felt it, felt the absence of the Daere, within a day.  Did they blame the Daere, become angry at them?  No – they became angry at Galen, for stirring the Daere against them. 

            Every day, Galen called Issa to check on the progress of John’s samples that he had sent in, and whether an investigator was heading out yet.  When she gave him the connection information for the extension lab working on John’s case, he began bothering them every day. 

            For Junction people, they seemed fairly decent.  They patiently answered his questions and seemed genuinely interested in the case.  The xenopathologist working the case, Doctor Nkiju, asked many questions of his own, and assured Galen they were doing everything possible at the moment.  “It’ll take some time, Doctor Munro.  I’ll keep you updated.” 

            Other than hovering over the connect, pleasing the dogs’ every whim, and visiting with Geraint and Nwyvre when they could come over, Galen had very little to do.  He called Doc Lythre from over in Bonham’s Gate to see if he could take over his caseload for a few days, and wasn’t too surprised to hear he already was seeing a few of his clients.  “I didn’t think you’d mind, Galen.  I knew you’d cover it if you could, but it sounded like you were a wee bit busy.  I’ll handle it until you’re up to taking over again.” 

            The day after Bened and Moern’s services, Laval came over to Galen’s house.  “I was going to ask you to join me and the others, Doctor Munro, but decided to just come over when I heard you were laid up.  Hope you don’t mind.”

            Galen let him in, after herding the dogs to the backyard and shutting them out.  “Not at all.  Have you found out anything more about what Morvran was doing?”

            “Hm?  Really not looking into that, Doc, I thought we discussed that.  He’s the mayor; he can in this case do as he likes.” 

            Galen gestured Laval into a seat and eased into his chair opposite him.  “All right then.  What brings you here?”

            “Well, you did ask me to look into whether John had a will.  I have a copy of it here; I’ve already released the contents to the estate’s executor and primary heir and your mayor.  Let them know what it said, in other words.”

            “Anything on how he wanted to be settled?”

            “Oh, aye, he says a bit about that.  I thought you’d be interested in the heirs part, namely that you’re second only to the executor as heir.”

            That was not what Galen had been expecting.  He stared at Laval in stunned silence.  “He what?  He said what?”

            Laval pulled it out and read it to him.  Sure enough, that’s what it said.  Galen listened with half an ear, too stunned and baffled to really absorb it all.  The will was written by John, that much was clear, the language was uniquely his, and Laval read the date as being only four months previous.  The tone was friendly and amused, with the dry humor that also marked it as being John’s work.  He named Ederyn as his executor and primary heir, and then Galen as his secondary.  Third was Gwaysalt, an elderly woman that lived over in Bonham’s Gate that Galen didn’t know personally.  Fourth was Morvran Tegidsown, as representative of the people of Trent’s How.    

            There were a few others, but Galen’s mind stopped listening carefully at that one.  Laval finally caught his attention again with the precise instructions for disposal of John’s wordly goods. 

            Everything was too much.  The monetary amounts Laval was rattling off were staggering.  “Wait, that can’t be right.  He gave me what?  That’s impossible.”

            Laval handed it over, pointing to the sentence in question.  There it was, written as clearly as could be.  John had willed Galen about as much money as it would take to buy half of Trent’s How.  Ederyn, more than that.  “That can’t be right.  John didn’t have that much money.”

            “Well, his will says he did.  As executor, Ederyn has the details.  He told me to tell you, that we’re going as a group up to John’s place after you’re released from bed rest. To settle up the will, he said.” 

            Galen tried to shake off his disbelief.   He read it again, silently, to himself, trying to ignore the big numbers and read what John had written. 

            There was no sign that John was anything but his old self in these words.  No hint that he would turn so drastically from himself, turn into a killer.  His words were kind, in fact, and showed that even John was well aware of his own mortality.  He did not spend too many words on each of them, in fact all John had written for Galen was, “For my dear friend Doctor Galen Munro, who I have known all his life, I have many gifts, as he had for me.  Galen, you gave me health, not only of body but mind, teaching me how to see things anew.  I pray that what I leave you will allow you to see the world anew as well.” 

            John left many other precise instructions regarding how his gifts could and couldn’t be used, though.  Ederyn and Galen were prohibited from giving the money to the town; Morvran’s money was for that purpose.  Galen was instructed to use the money ‘to help you see the world anew’, whatever that meant. 

            “Is this valid?” asked Galen, after he had reread it for the third time.”

            “The baron validated it, of course it is.”

            “But you said John forfeited his property.  Isn’t that what you said?”

            “Oh, aye, his land.  He owns a large stretch of this range; that’s no small amount of land he’s lost.  You can ignore all that where he gives that about; it’ll all go to the barony.  All his other goods, no, with a solid will he can distribute it as he wanted.  I double checked with the baron, even, he said that was fine.”

            Galen shook his head.  “This can’t look good.  Ederyn and I killed him.” 

            Laval nodded.  “Well, that can’t be helped.  I understand what happened, and frankly I’m the person you have to convince it’s all on the up an up.  I’m satisifed, and you’ll get your money.”

            “I’ll not take it.  It’s blood money.”

            “Did you not read what he wrote?  Read this part in section 3, subparagraph four again, Doc.  He knew you’d do something like that.”

            Galen read it again; he had skimmed over it as indecipherable legalese before.  “I don’t get it.”

            “What is says, is, that he knew you’d try and refuse, and you’re not allowed to.  He says, right here, that even in the case of you having to perform any and all of the final rituals, including the direct execution thereof, you are still entitled to full benefits as outlined above.  And what that means, Doc, is that John knew you might have to put him down someday.  He knew it.  And he still wanted you to accept this.” 

            Galen shook his head again.  “I can’t.” 

            “Oh, you can, and you will.  Look, Doc, I know this dragon was your friend.  Why not take him up on his last wishes for you?  Why not let your friend have his way, one last time?  Least you can do for him, you know.”  And with that Laval left him, letting the dogs back in on his way out. 

            Galen was not done with visitors.  The next day, after he had spoken with Doctor Nkiju again, and found out nothing new, there was another knock, back on his side door.  Thinking it was Geraint or Nwyvre, he hollered, “It’s open, come on in!”

            The dogs sounded different, though, and as he got up on his crutches to see who it was, the leader of the Juncture mercenaries poked his head through the door, fending off the dog’s vicious attacks of who could smack him with their wagging butt the most. 

            “What are you doing here?”

            “Doctor Munro?  I’m really sorry to intrude.  May I come in?  You said I could, I’m very sorry, you must’ve been expecting someone else, I now realize.”  He held a large dark wood box under one arm, with a deep sheen of red. 

            Galen was caught flatfooted.  Politeness, he had not expected from this man, based on the way he looked.  “Uh… sure, come on in.”  He pointed him to the same chair Laval had sat in, but this time allowed the dogs to stay.  They surrounded the merc, panting hopefully for his attention.  He absently scratched their heads in turn as he spoke to Galen.

            “My name is Keye; I think Sted might’ve mentioned that.  I’ve been back to Juncture and I understand you were unhappy with the disposal of the dragon.”

            “Yes, you might say that.”

            “Of course.  You killed it, true?”

            “Yes.”

            “Then of course you would not be happy with the arrangements your mayor made, of course not.  I understand.”

            “I don’t think you do.  I’m not upset because I killed him, because I think I deserve some split in your little scheme.  He was my friend.  What you did to his body was blasphemy.”

            “Oh.  Uh… hm.  Well – I can understand that too, I guess.  Not what I expected, but still.  I think I can still provide you with something you might want, something to ease your heart.  I have only one thing to ask of you.”

            “I don’t need whatever you’re offering.”

            Keye sat forward a bit.  “You don’t?  You already know what it is?  Look, Doctor, I can already see what you think of me.  Scum.  Good old fashioned Juncture scum, come to con you out of everything you own and steal the rest.  Well, I’m not.  All I am is a hunter.  I came out here to do a job and found that job had been taken from me, that the people I’d gathered and paid and promised were out of a job too.  It happens, and no hard feelings.  It was a job that had to be done, and you got to it first.  Did a fine job, better than we would’ve done, I’m certain, after I got a longer look at the idiots I hired.  We cleaned up your mess and made a little money off of doing that, enough to clear even and buy us a drink or two on the way home.  All legal – I double checked on that, you can be sure, I’ve been burned too many times.”

            “Legal that you skimmed what you paid to Morvran?”

            “We didn’t skim a hair of a whisper of a cent off that.  We renegotiated.  Completely fair, we did all the work.” 

            “Get to your point.”

            “My point is, hear me out.  I have something for you.  I think you’ll want it, whether you want it because you killed him, or just because you were his friend, or whatever.  And like I said, I have only a very simple request.”

            “What do you want?”

            “All I ask, Doctor Munro, is that you consider a job in dragon hunting.  No, don’t laugh, I’m serious – if you ever get tired of the Outskirts, and find yourself in Juncture, look me up.  We do very well for ourselves, and it’s not just dragons.  We work maybe two or three days a year – a year! – and we live pretty damned well on that.”

            “Forget it.”

            “That’s a shame.  I could use someone like you.  I really could.  Very well, thanks for your time.  I’ll see myself out.”

            “What were you offering?”  Galen couldn’t help but ask.

            “Hm.  I suppose it’s only fair I let you know.  To consider all your options, sure.  I’ll show you, even.  I’m making the same offer to all the surviving members of your team.  As team leader you’re first; I really hope you’ll help me out here, then maybe the others will listen too.”

            Keye set the box down on the floor and shooed the dogs away.  To Galen’s surprise they listened, and all piled over and lay on the floor, panting and watching.  Keye opened the box, a double hinge lid.  The interior was lined with black velvety material.  “I’ll not touch them.  The box is bigger inside than out, by the way. If you accept my offer, the box and all the contents are yours.  Even if all you want if to properly bury him, Doctor, this is a heck of a good deal.”

            Galen bent forward to look into the box, still wary of Keye.  He peered inside. 

            Lying on the velvet was a semilunar scale, gold rimmed by crimson, so highly polished it seemed to glow with its own inner light.  On one side of it was a long ivory fang.  On the other lay a shiny dark talon, so deeply red it looked black. 

            “A tooth, a claw, a scale,” said Keye.  “It is the trophy of the Dragonslayer.  I was appalled when Morvran didn’t offer them to you.  That’s just not the way things are done.”  Keye looked up and caught Galen’s eyes, above the box.  “From one Dragonslayer to another, Doctor, I offer you your trophies.”

            “But with a price.”

            “Oh, forget the price.  Or rather, remember it.  I’ll give you these whether you promise or not, and hope you’ll remember the small thing I wanted.  If you’re ever in Juncture – look me up, and I can tell you more.  You’re not committing to anything.  If you never go to Juncture – then you never have to worry about it.  Deal?”

            Keye stood and stuck his hand out, scrolled with tattoos except for an abrupt transition to three bare fingers, probably lost and returned with magic.   Galen stared at the contents of the box.  All he had left of John, right here, three pieces.  Perhaps the Daere could tell him what to do with them. 

            He reached out and shook Keye’s hand. 

            “Thanks, Doctor.  I look forward to seeing you again someday.”

            “We’ll see about that,” said Galen. 

            Keye turned to go, but turned back at the door, hesitating.  “Doctor – I don’t know if I should mention it – but I and my crew are leaving town.  I think you saw us all at your mayor’s house.  We’re heading back to Juncture today.”

            “All right, safe journey.”

            “What I mean, is – if you see anyone around here from Juncture after today… it’s not me.  It’s not my people. Ok?”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “Nothing.  I’m just saying.”  Keye left then, and after he had been gone for a minute the dogs got up and sniffed around the door where he had been. 

            Galen closed the box, put it on his table, and spent the day glancing at it.  The next day he was freed from bed rest, with strict instructions from Doc Gunson to keep off the leg.  He took the box out to the Daere.

            He was stopped on the road into the Daere settlement, politely but firmly.  He was allowed to go on in when he told them what he was there for.  He went straight to Hessa, the Daere oracle.  She should be able to tell him what to do with these. 

            She invited him in and served him tea.  “I’m not surprised you came to see me, Galen,” she said as she sat across from him.  “Ederyn was here earlier today, poor boy.  I see you brought your box, too.”

            Galen had brought it in his carry-all, but he had not brought it out.  He sometimes wondered if Hessa was part psi rather than a true diviner, or in addition to it.  He nodded.  “I need to know what to do with it, with his remains.  I’m sorry that John wasn’t settled properly.  It was my fault; I should’ve taken care of him that night we did the necropsy.”

            “Oh, Galen, it wasn’t your fault.  And why are you asking me?  You’re his friend.”

            “I thought you’d be able to tell me what the Daere would do.”

            “Well, I’ll tell you then.  If I were you I’d go home and put that box and all it contains either in a place of honor in your home, or hide it deep in your possessions, whichever you think you can live with best.  John has been settled, although not the way we would’ve wanted, not the way you wanted.  How it’s done matters the most to those who loved the dead.  For John, that’s you, Ederyn, a few other people.  So what to do with him depends on you, Galen, not what we think.”

            “But… the Daere are angry; you and your people stopped doing business with the town.”

            “We’re angry because Ederyn is angry.  And you.”  She smiled at him.  “Galen, you do not need concern yourself with John.  He is gone, that is done.  Now you need to look to yourself.  Take home your friend.  Honor him.  If you do, then he will be properly settled.  Can you do that?”

            Galen nodded. 

            “I’ll tell you what else, too, Galen.  You do not need to be afraid.”

            “What?  I’m not afraid.”

            “You will be.  Follow the path of flight, Galen, wheresoever it may twist – know that you will someday land and be able to enjoy the brilliant colors you have missed for so long.  The sun will be yours, Galen Munro.”

            Friggin hell.  Hessa always drove him insane when she foresaw for him.  Sometimes she was straighforward (you’re going to break that arm again, Doc), but usually she was obscure and confusing.  Sounded like she was talking about flying, about making it up to the top of John’s place to watch the sunset.  He shrugged.  “All right, thanks.”  Maybe he’d be able to find a path to the top, given time to explore without John there. 

            Hessa gave him one of her incredible pies, boisenberry this time, and sent him on his way.  Galen left town slowly, stopping and being stopped to talk to several people in the settlement.  They held no animosity for him, although some were still upset with Morvran. 

            Ederyn ran and caught him at the edge of the village, right before he was going to leave.  “You talked to Hessa, then?”

            Galen nodded.  “She told me to keep what they gave me, that John was settled if I honored his memory.”

            “Aye, that’s what she told me.  That’s a load off my mind, I’ll tell you.  Galen, are you ready to go up to John’s place today?”

            “Why?”

            “Didn’t the magistrate tell you?  I’m executor of John’s estate.”

            “Aye, he told me that.  Why then do we have to go up there?”

            “John left me instructions.  The magistrate said all major heirs have to go up to witness me carrying out his instructions.”

            “All heirs?  That’ll be a bit hard on the lady from Bonham’s Gate, won’t it?”

            “She’s sending her daughter as proxy.  The magistrate said that was all right.  You’ll be coming too, right?  Please do, Galen, I don’t care what you do with the inheritance, but if you’re not there I’m be afraid the mayor might try something again.”

            “I’ll come.  I’ll take the bike up, though, I still can’t use this leg.  Why did John do this?  I don’t get it.”

            “I don’t know.  I wish he’d done something else, or picked you to be executor.  I hate this; I don’t want to be responsible.”  Ederyn looked around to see if anyone was close enough to hear.  “In this other part of the will, with the instructions?  He says he’s sorry, that he knows what this will do to us.”  Ederyn shook his head.  “I don’t think he really knew.  How could he know?”

            “I don’t know.  Heh – maybe he talked to Hessa.”

            Ederyn did not laugh – in fact the comment made him look thoughtful.  “Maybe…” 

            “Forget it.  When do you want to meet?”

            “Meet at the town square at about half past two.  Bring your bike, bring your carry-all.”