Chapter 40: The Ghost of Whitewalls (Part I)
"Actually, we've already told Ser Lucien about the Blackfyre treasure," Ser Grayson added.
"I'm sorry, ser. I'm truly sorry." Dorian suddenly looked deeply embarrassed.
"You've just lost someone close to you. I sympathize with your grief, truly and deeply. I'll forgive any misconduct or suspicion you've shown because of it."
"Thank you for your understanding, ser."
"However, if you truly want to avenge your adoptive father, you need to sit down now and help me piece together what really happened."
"The truth is simple—you said this room belonged to a Grafton knight! He's the killer, isn't he?" Dorian pressed.
"The Graftons of Gulltown in the Vale. Can you think of any connection between your adoptive father and them?"
"Uh..." Dorian thought for a while, then shook his head. "No."
"Then this lead brings us nowhere for now. The killer might be a sworn sword who once pledged to House Grafton but later broke his oath and became a sellsword knight, taking the equipment with him.
Or perhaps a sellsword knight simply bought or seized a set of armor bearing their sigil. Armor is different from heraldic swords. Few knights carry another house's heraldic blade, but they'll accept emblazoned armor readily enough—it's too expensive to be particular. This doesn't prove anything."
"I was careless. Ask me anything. I'll tell you everything I know."
Ian nodded with satisfaction, then began his questioning. "Why did Blackwing come to this inn yesterday?"
"He didn't say. My adoptive father was always decisive. We rarely questioned his orders."
"So you don't know who he came to meet?"
"I don't know."
"He took a private room last night. Was that his usual habit?"
"No. Though my adoptive father was forceful in his decisions, he was modest in daily life. He usually ate and slept alongside everyone else, so I was confused when he requested a private room yesterday." Dorian's eyes grew distant with memory.
"You didn't ask him about it?"
"I wouldn't dare, ser."
"Before he went to meet the killer last night, did he come to the common room where you all slept to wake anyone?"
"No. Pierre is an incredibly light sleeper." Dorian gestured to a youth behind him, about fifteen—his own age. "If my adoptive father had come, Pierre would have woken."
"So even after bringing all of you to the inn, Blackwing still chose to meet the killer alone? And he clearly didn't trust whoever it was—he donned his armor before going." Ian studied Dorian's face.
"That was his favorite set, his finest armor." Dorian nodded in agreement.
"So their meeting was secret—or they planned to discuss something secret. Something he didn't want anyone in the company to know. But he might have told you, as his adopted son, wouldn't he?"
"He treated me as his own blood, but he told me no secrets!"
"Think carefully."
Dorian downed a large gulp of Summer Red and began to recall. After a moment, his expression grew visibly agitated, and the anxiety persisted. Suddenly he clenched his fists and slammed them on the table, shaking his head violently.
"I don't know! I can't remember! I can't recall anything! Maybe my adoptive father did say something, but I didn't pay attention!" Tears streamed down Dorian's face. "Seven hells! I can't remember! Ahhh!" He roared, trying to release the frustration burning inside him.
"Grief is natural, but blaming yourself won't help. Your adoptive father fell to his enemies. You're no longer a nestling protected under his wing. You must become the new Blackwing." Ian suppressed his impatience and spoke with forced patience. Gods, I should've been a septon.
"A new Blackwing? But my adoptive father's company has been taken from me. I have friends there, but most followed him, not me. Honestly, I rank third in influence now—no match for Clubfoot or Ser Harrison."
"But you can avenge your adoptive father. That's your first step." Another knight. Gods help me, I can't keep these names straight anymore.
"But I can't remember what secret my adoptive father told me!"
"That's why I'm here to help. Just tell me what you know, and I'll work out the rest."
"What I know? You mean about the Blackfyre treasure? So that's still your goal after all!"
How is this boy so sharp? He can't be fooled! "Would you believe me if I denied it?"
Dorian shook his head.
"Then, given that I want the Blackfyre treasure, will you still ask for my help avenging your adoptive father?"
Dorian hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.
"So why fixate on such a pointless question? Blackwing's murder is almost certainly connected to the Blackfyre treasure's secret. Since Blackwing is already dead—I'm sorry—and since you lack the resources to pursue the treasure yourself, what harm is there in letting me pursue it? You wouldn't want your adoptive father's killers to succeed, would you?"
"You're remarkably honest. Forgive me, ser—I was being petty. If you can help me get revenge, I'll tell you every secret I know. Where should I start? What do you already know?"
"Essentially nothing," Ian shrugged. "So you'll need to tell me everything." At least I've got time to kill.
"I don't know what information matters. How about I start from the beginning? You can interrupt when you hear something important."
"Fair enough."
"The beginning... where should I start? We were actually the first to encounter the Ghost Bandits of Whitewalls." Dorian paused, gathering his thoughts.
Ian glanced at Grayson suspiciously. He recalled Grayson claiming that Ser Wilder Grey, a local landed knight, first discovered the bandit group. But Grayson just shook his head, indicating he had no idea what Dorian was talking about.
"We just didn't know such a bandit group existed at the time," Dorian continued, oblivious to Ian's exchange with Grayson. "That was four months ago, when a traveling merchant caravan arrived at Ser Harrison's castle. That's our company's main base—fifteen leagues northeast of the Whitewalls ruins, near the Kingsroad."
All right, then this Harrison gets the nickname 'Ser Stronghold,' Ian decided privately.
(End of Chapter)
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