“Well,” sighed Penric, “that will be for the high courts of Thasalon to decide. That this misuse of demons is condemned by their Master has been made plain. And I don’t think it’s an accident that it’s been done so publicly, before so many witnesses. Some One must want word to get around, for the discouragement of imitators. Methani has already been judged for it, in a higher holy Court than any here. Up to you which verdict you think you have more cause to fear, but I know which one you will never evade.”
“If it had worked, it could have held key military applications for the empire!” Tronio defended.
Had Tronio been picturing himself a future general of demons? The vision made Pen shudder. “Any army that tried it,” he countered, “would be headed for a swift and messy defeat. As you have perhaps just discovered.” Which did lead to some interesting questions about certain military disasters of history… Methani and Tronio couldn’t be the first to ever hit upon this scheme.
Not now, Pen, sighed Des.
Alixtra, scowling, put in a question of her own. “And whose idea was it to threaten my five-year-old son with castration and enslavement if I did not cooperate?”
This won a surprised blink from Magistrate Pasia, his first glimpse of the complexity that might lie behind her perplexing pardon.
“Methani’s,” Tronio hastened to repeat. With enough certainty that it likely didn’t need the sergeant-saint, listening so carefully, to decide it was the truth.
“You did not think to remonstrate with him?” Pen asked mildly. “In your capacity as a divine, if not as a sorcerer?”
Tronio looked at him in vague astonishment. “The chambermaid was his servant, not mine.”
Really, he’s amazingly impervious, said Des. I believe he’ll go to the gallows still protesting his righteousness.
It was the gods’ place to judge the man’s soul, not Penric’s, he was reminded. And glad he was to leave this one to Them. Although if Tronio was this deaf to their god before his death, his chances after were beginning to look as bad as Methani’s. Maybe it all just needed time to sink in. It hadn’t even been two days since the ex-sorcerer’s world was upended, for all that it felt like a year to Pen.
You are much too charitable, said Des. She didn’t exactly sound disapproving. More… fond.
“I think,” said Penric, turning to Alixtra, “it may be just as well for you to give your sworn testimony about Tronio at this time.”
Yes, Des agreed, let her speak her truths aloud before the one who sinned against her. In the normal course of justice, Pen understood, it was the accused who had a right to be confronted by his accusers, but this time it seemed more the other way around.
“Stay to your direct experiences of him. Just as you confessed it all to me in Vilnoc will be fine. You may need to repeat or expand some of it later to Lord Nao and Princess Laris, but I’ll leave them to ask their own questions.”
“You will go with me for that?” she asked him apprehensively.
“Every step,” Pen promised. He lowered his voice. “For now, leave out Adelis’s current whereabouts. And of Methani’s reception, only what part you directly witnessed before you left with Kittio. The magistrate does not want hearsay, eh?”
She swallowed, nodded. Reassured—not baselessly, Pen prayed—she turned to the listening impromptu court of inquiry, signed herself, and began her tale. Yet again. The practice was helping her retain her composure through the most harrowing bits. The flat, controlled rage of her delivery had traveled far from the distraught despair of her earlier confession.
She’d better be controlled, said Des. She’s a sorceress now.
Yes. I’m rather proud.
The three authorities, listening, grew grimmer and grimmer, especially the magistrate and the chapter head. As all his shadowy secrets were laid bare in this pitiless new light, Tronio said little beyond a disputing mutter, though at the more condemning details he spasmed in a reflexive attempt to draw on a power he no longer possessed.
The younger sorcerer had been watching Penric for some time in puzzled dismay. As Alixtra drew her account to a close with a note that Bosha had been with her at Methani’s continuously until she’d left with her son, he turned to Penric.
“You didn’t give me your true name when we met night before last. How much more of what you told me was false?”
“Well, I did take my seminary training at Rosehall. I could hardly have confided my real mission at that time. If Tronio had not left before Blessed Iroki and I arrived, the events of the night might have gone quite differently.” And, from Pen’s point of view, perhaps more disastrously, even if he and Iroki had managed to corner Tronio in some quiet nook and they had left him unconscious as well as stripped of his demon. Count our ambiguous blessings?
The magistrate put in, “So Blessed Iroki was with you the whole time, Learned Penric?”
“Ayup,” said Iroki from his place by Lady Xarre’s feet.
“We were together still looking for Tronio, down by the cisterns, the very first time I met Minister Methani,” Pen clarified. “Who was already a raving revenant by then. We were not, at first, even sure who he was. Or had been.”
“He was right fresh,” said Iroki. “Never saw a ghost so new before. Or so crazed.”
“I never saw you there, Blessed,” said the young sorcerer.
“Once we met the sundered ghost,” said Iroki, “and were sure Tronio wasn’t to be found, Learned Penric had me escort Lady Tanar home soon as I could. We didn’t tell her anything we’d seen, so’s not to upset her, but it was plain that party was no place for a young woman.”
This was accepted with understanding nods. Lady Xarre said, “I thank you so very much for that consideration, Blessed.”
He ducked his head in calm assent.
“Alixtra and Bosha,” said Tronio roughly. “They were together. Not using her demon, no, but Bosha’s a known poisoner. Someone must have helped hold Methani down. The two of them, then!”
The sergeant looked to the saint, and the magistrate to them both.
“Nope,” Iroki said simply.
Alixtra said coldly, “We had a more important task before us.”
Tronio set his teeth at the veiled insult.
The magistrate then took over for a short cross-examination of all involved, save Lady Xarre, whose frowns still made him twitch. To Pen’s relief, his focus was on the earlier uncanny assassinations—maybe some higher-ranking magistrate in the city had been appointed for the inquiry into Methani’s death. Alixtra’s answers were precise and brief. Tronio tangled himself further and further in coils of self-exculpation and increasingly wild accusations of others, which were listened to attentively but without much expression by the magistrate and the sergeant. No one further taxed the saint, who observed it all with the interested air of a man watching a holy-day play on a temple portico.
At length, the magistrate had his scribe circulate to each witness to sign the lengthy deposition. Iroki was much apologized-to for the imposition; he caught his tongue between his teeth as he laboriously scratched out his name. Pen signed it neatly, reflecting that court shorthand would be a fascinating new writing system to learn more of. Alixtra’s signature was firm and plain. Tronio at first refused, but then managed an angry scrawl. The scribe put her busy quill away, ordered the papers in her writing box, and closed it up.
“There is enough here,” said the magistrate, rising, “to hold Learned Tronio and to present the case to my own superiors.”
Yes, Pen could imagine he’d want to boot all this upstairs at his earliest chance.
“I must have a lawyer,” said Tronio. Late off the mark, to be sure—had the man imagined himself far above such mundane needs, before?
“You’ll have the chance to engage one later.” At the magistrate’s gesture, the captain took over the task of marshaling the new prisoner out. Alixtra’s shoulders sank, like a cat coming off its tense and bristling arch, as he left the courtyard.
&nbs
p; Pen delayed the chapterhouse head, making to follow, with a touch to his arm.
The fellow gulped and turned to him. “Yes, Learned Penric?”
“Legal matters I leave to the Father’s Order. But do I understand correctly that Tronio was a member of your chapterhouse, and thus under your supervision and spiritual guidance?”
“I… on the roster, yes. He kept lodgings with us, when he was not engaged on tasks for the minister or the government. But everyone understood he was Methani’s man.”
“You are not Sighted, I understand that, but how is it your supervisor of sorcerers never brought the increasing and discernible corruption of Tronio’s demon, and by extension its rider, to your attention?”
A reproachful look passed from that eldest sorcerer to his superior, which made him cringe. Ah, so that’s how that was. “Tronio is a very senior man,” said the chapter head. “He’d been there for years before I was ever promoted to my post, and had served the imperial government for longer still. He was not a man to question. Nor one to brook remonstrance from juniors.”
“And now he is fallen, and has besmirched the white god’s Order in Thasalon in the process. I expect you’re an able administrator, but as a senior divine your care of those in your chapterhouse must be more than material. I’ll be going back to Vilnoc, where I have other calls on my time, but it seems to me the Order here has some cleaning up to do quite apart from what’s fallen to the justiciars.”
“I… hardly know where to start.”
“Well.” Pen’s lips stretched in a non-smile worthy of Bosha. “I suppose you could begin by praying.”
The chapterhouse man glanced across the courtyard, so lately and shatteringly god-touched. There being no possible answer to this that wouldn’t make it worse, he sensibly shut up. “I am advised, sir.”
He retreated after the magistrate’s party.
A long, fraught silence held among those remaining for a few moments, until it became certain that none of the invaders would be circling back. Across the courtyard, a few Xarre servants began to move about the disheartening business of picking up.
Pen, staring at the entryway and learning to breathe normally again, asked Iroki, “So. Blessed. Just what exactly did you pray for last night, out by that fishpond?”
Iroki shrugged. “Asked the god to let me finish this job for Him quick as may be, so’s we could both go back to my river.”
“Nothing more… specific?”
“Nope. Not a fool. Better to leave it to Him.” Iroki hesitated. “I’d’ve asked too small, y’see.”
“Ah,” said Pen.
Chapter 18
Fortunately, the violence of the guardsmen’s invasion had not penetrated as far as the Xarre kitchens. Breakfast being long lost, Lady Xarre settled her awkward honored guests for a by-now-late luncheon in the farther and less trampled end of the courtyard. Immediately after, Pen went up to Bosha’s chamber to compose a careful note to Princess Laris and Lord Nao. The proliferating disruptions to high Thasalon politics had to be pressing both today; likely not a good idea to just show up at their door. Not least because he was unwilling to trap Alixtra and himself on the wrong side of the city walls while all was still so unsettled.
He summarized the events of the morning and humbly begged for their instruction on any further testimony required from him and Alixtra. Whether he’d humbly obey such orders if and when they arrived, he left to be decided. But it was best they receive an eyewitness account before the distortions of rumor had a chance to work up to them. He dispatched the sealed letter by a trusted Xarre liveried man for delivery directly to the hand of either Nao or Laris, to wait for a reply if any. Which would leave him waiting as well, glad for a chance to catch his breath.
Which he didn’t quite get. A soon as he emerged, he was drawn in to treating the injuries of the Xarre servants, a request from the lady he could not refuse. At least it spared him from being sent to the kennels to deal with worse. He took the opportunity to set Alixtra at his shoulder to observe some of the subtler aspects of uphill magics. This was followed necessarily by a wander around the grounds and stable to find allowable vermin in which to dump the accumulated chaos, also instructive to her he hoped.
Kittio was diverted from a distressing visit to the kennels by being let to pull a wicker cart around the stable yard, pretending to be a horse. Secretly envious—child-Penric would have thought such a vehicle a wonderment—Pen briefly talked him into taking turns towing and riding it, which gave Pen his chance at the experience without having to embarrass himself by asking the wickermen. Kittio’s mother, arms folded, watched the play in deep amusement, as did the Xarre stable hand.
His messenger not being back yet, Pen offered help to Lady Xarre with her bad joints, explaining that persuading such age damage to rebuild itself required small, focused treatments spaced over weeks and months, and what he’d have time for wouldn’t provide more than slight amelioration. The process was watched over closely by Alixtra, and with baffled curiosity by Tanar and Lady Xarre’s faithful secretary.
This filled the time till supper, during which the liveried messenger finally returned. He came with a note, not a guard squad, so it was probably going to be all right. …Probably. Pen tore it open at once, scattering sealing wax on the tablecloth, and read it by the candlelight.
“You and I are charged to attend upon Lord Nao tomorrow, midafternoon,” Pen told the anxious Alixtra. She nodded apprehensively. “Blessed Iroki is respectfully invited as well, though they do not command him.” Did not dare, Pen read between the lines.
“Oh!” Alixtra looked across at the saint in hope. “Would you go with me, too, Blessed? To bear me witness?”
His protection for her would be entirely in the realm of moral suasion, but… while offending any god was not a good idea, annoying the god of chance and mischance by insult to his favored vessel was possibly the worst pick. As had been lately and vividly demonstrated. Iroki could be a better outrider for her than Penric and Desdemona put together.
“Oh, aye,” said Iroki easily.
* * *
At the appointed hour the next afternoon, they all three arrived at Laris and Nao’s palace, to be gated in with no waiting by the deferential majordomo. Alixtra and Iroki were garbed once more in the sober finery they’d worn to Methani’s. Pen’s Wealdean robes being both worse for wear and a false flag, he’d combined the least flamboyant coat he could find in Bosha’s wardrobe with his own trousers, since Bosha’s would have fallen short of his ankles. Tanar had contributed a silver belt for his white tunic in what reference they could manage to his calling.
The majordomo ushered them in to the same receiving courtyard with the orange trees Pen had seen before. Pen almost tripped, startled by the persons arrayed in the awning’s shade upon a circle of chairs, who all turned to watch as the majordomo announced them. In addition to Nao and his secretary, a much older man in the five-colored robes and distinctive cap of the archdivine of Thasalon, by long custom chief prelate of the Temple in Cedonia, was attended by a full-braid divine in gray with a writing-box. And, with Bosha flanking him, Adelis.
Alixtra gasped at the sight of the latter. Iroki gave her arm a reassuring squeeze.
The archdivine climbed immediately to his feet and offered Iroki an obeisance. A moment later, the rest of the men did the same, even Nao and Adelis. Pen didn’t think the archdivine was a Sighted man, though he wasn’t sure of the assistant, but he’d made no mistake in the identification. “Blessed Iroki,” said the archdivine. “The Temple of Thasalon is at your service.”
Nao cleared his throat. “My household as well.”
However daunted the fisherman from Pef might be by this high company, the saint was not; he returned a fivefold tally, aimed generally around the circle. “Thank you, Your Grace, m’lords.”
Pen directed a bow to the archdivine, who, giving him a penetrating look, held out his hand with its ring of office. Pen bent to kiss it, murmuring, “Your Grace h
onors me.”
With a tight grin, Adelis offered a soldier’s greeting arm-grip, putting Pen in mind of their farewell on the Vilnoc dock nearly three weeks ago. His studiedly neutral civilian dress bore a faint aroma of sea salt. “When did you get in?” Pen asked him. “You made good time.”
“So I’d thought, heretofore. We landed yesterday afternoon, and sent Gria’s aide off secretly into town to make contact with the princess and Lord Nao for instructions. His tale to us upon his return was… what can I say. Gria and I had spent the whole of the voyage working out tactical plans for every possible contingency. Except the one we found waiting for us. Just how long have you been here?”
Pen calculated. “About six days?”
“Oh? And the city’s not yet burned to the ground? I still have the most vivid memories of my arrival in that poor pirate port. Slowing down, are you?”
“Once, Adelis. It was only the once, and only the waterfront. …And the five ships,” Pen protested.
“I wait with fascination to see how much they offer you to go away this time.” Adelis’s mood seemed peculiarly elated, for all that he looked as if he hadn’t slept last night. Apart from the squinty eyes, redder than usual, he was in sunbaked good health.
Nao sat and gestured his august company to do the same. Three empty chairs awaited them. Pen placed Alixtra between Iroki and himself for what bulwark they might offer.
Bosha sank back down with an almost inaudible oof. Pen couldn’t tell how much of his distant ironic smile was Bosha and how much was whatever dose of syrup of poppies he’d taken for his hands, now bound up in soft batting to protect them. A quick glance by Sight found them very swollen and doubtless throbbing painfully, though correctly aligned for healing. Pen must seize the first chance to treat them again, which was alas not yet. But it appeared the eunuch was released from close arrest. Or else Nao thought him rendered harmless by his injuries, which seemed… optimistic.
The Assassins of Thasalon Page 25
