by DAVID B. COE
Kreazur sat on the floor opposite his small bed, his back against the stone wall. With an open hand he indicated the bed, inviting the duke to sit. Sertio shook his head, and began instead to pace about the room.
The minister watched him briefly, then cleared his throat. “The guards tell me that the duchess has imprisoned all the Qirsi in Castle Curlinte.”
“Yes. She decided to do that soon after she had you taken from my chamber. She wasn’t certain enough of your guilt to let the others remain free.”
The man gave a wan smile. “I suppose I should be pleased.”
“We both know better, Minister.”
The smile fled from the Qirsi’s lips. “I’m glad to hear you say so, my lord. There are great perils in what the duchess has done, not only for my people but also for herself, for you, for every court in the Forelands.”
“I know.”
“Have you told her as much?”
Sertio faltered briefly.
“I see,” the minister said quietly.
“My daughter is a proud, difficult woman, First Minister. Being so new to the throne, she isn’t likely to accept counsel that runs counter to her own ideas.”
“That doesn’t speak well of her as a ruler, my lord.”
“It says only that she’s young, First Minister,” the duke said, an edge to his voice. “Her mother was much the same way when she first claimed the duchy as her own, and I think you’ll agree that she turned out to be a fine leader.”
Kreazur looked away. “Of course, my lord.”
“I do intend to speak with her,” Sertio went on, his voice softening once more. “I see the dangers as well. I find myself convinced of your innocence in this matter, Kreazur. I’d be far less concerned for Diani’s safety knowing that you were at her side. And like you, I have no desire to see Qirsi imprisoned and persecuted here, or anywhere in the Forelands.”
“With all respect, my lord, I’m not certain that you do see the danger. This is about far more than your daughter’s safety or the mistreatment of my people.”
Sertio felt his stomach tightening. “You think this could lead to a civil war? A conflict between the races?”
The Qirsi let out a high, harsh laugh. “My lord, we’re on our way to such a war already! Don’t you understand? That’s what the leaders of the conspiracy want. They believe my people can prevail in such a war, perhaps not yet, but someday, sooner rather than later.”
“You know this?”
“Not from any reliable source, but the other ministers and I have spoken of the conspiracy, wondering where these killings and machinations may be leading. On the one hand it seems quite clear: the leaders of the conspiracy wish to divide the seven realms, both against one another and against themselves. But more than that, I believe they wish to destroy the trust between Eandi nobles and their ministers, indeed, between all Eandi and all Qirsi. By imprisoning us, by indicating so clearly that she distrusts us, and, in turn, by nurturing our resentment against the arbitrary exercise of her power, the duchess is doing more to help the conspiracy’s leaders than any Qirsi traitor in the seven realms.”
Sertio had halted in front of the minister and was staring down at him as if he had never seen the man before. The duke should have thought of all this long ago. For that matter, Diani should have as well. But clearly neither of them had. By considering it for them, Kreazur was merely doing his job, proving himself to be a loyal servant of House Curlinte and an enemy of the renegade Qirsi. Yet, the mere fact that he could think in such a way, that he could anticipate the desires of the conspiracy with such chilling certitude, made him more suspect in Sertio’s eyes, not less. Did all the white-hairs think this way? Were they born with a propensity toward treachery, or was it a product of their service in the Eandi courts?
“You disagree with me,” the minister said, misreading his expression.
“Not at all. It just never occurred to me to think . . . in such terms.”
The man actually smiled, shaking his head. He was heavier than most Qirsi, with a fuller face, and in the dim light, looking both hurt and amused, he resembled an overindulged child. “So now you think me a traitor, just as your daughter does.”
Sertio resumed his pacing. “Not at all.”
“Please don’t dissemble with me, my lord. It does both of us a disservice.”
“I don’t think you’ve betrayed us, Kreazur. If you had, you wouldn’t have been so honest a moment ago in your assessment of the danger facing the courts.” He faltered briefly. “I merely find myself thinking that the Eandi mind and the Qirsi mind work differently. No Eandi could have devised such an ingenious plot.”
“I think you give your people too little credit, my lord,” the minister said, his voice thick with irony.
They both fell silent once more, Sertio wishing he hadn’t come at all. He feared for his daughter more now than when he had come, and though convinced of Kreazur’s innocence, he doubted that he could ever rely on the minister’s counsel again. It wouldn’t come as a surprise if the Qirsi and his fellow ministers left House Curlinte permanently upon winning their freedom from the prison tower. If Kreazur had accurately gauged the intent of the conspiracy’s leaders, the duke and his daughter had been all too quick to further their plans.
“I take it you haven’t found the assassins yet,” Kreazur said at last.
“No. I have men searching the countryside, but I fear they may have come to Curlinte by sea. They may be impossible to find.”
“Perhaps not impossible. More difficult certainly. But our house has good relations with most of the merchant captains between here and the Crown, even those sailing under the Wethy flag. They may be able to help us.”
“Yes, that’s a good thought. I’ll send messages to the ports later today, provided there’s no word from the moor. Thank you, First Minister.” It was sound advice. Perhaps Kreazur could still serve House Curlinte after all.
“Of course, my lord.”
They slipped into another uncomfortable silence, until Sertio finally decided that he had best leave. He stepped to the door and called for the guard.
“I’ll leave you to sleep, First Minister. Please forgive the disturbance.”
“There’s nothing to forgive, my lord. Were I in my chambers neither of us would think twice about such an interruption. Despite this unpleasantness I still serve you and your house.”
Sertio nodded as the soldier appeared in the corridor and unlocked the steel door.
“I will speak with the duchess about gaining your release. You have my word.”
“I’d be most grateful, my lord.”
Sertio nodded and walked out of the chamber as soon as the soldier pulled open the door. He was eager to leave the prison tower and the company of this man. No doubt Kreazur had been wronged, by Diani as well as by the duke himself. But though he would keep his word and attempt to prevail upon his daughter to free Kreazur and his fellow ministers, he had no desire to prolong their conversation.
It was still dark when he stepped into the ward once more and began to make his way back to his chamber. Dawn couldn’t have been far off, but the stars still shone brilliantly against the black sky, even in the east. Panya glowed directly overhead and red Ilias hung just above the eastern wall of the castle like some curved, bloodied blade.
“My lord!”
He turned at the sound of the voice and saw two soldiers approaching from the lower ward.
“You’ve found something?”
“Possibly, my lord,” answered the older of the two men. “An innkeeper to the south remembers seeing two men with shaved heads and bows just before dusk. They were on foot and claimed to have been hunting. They inquired about staying at his inn, but didn’t like his price and so continued south.”
“Where?” the duke asked eagerly, striding to the stable. “Show me. I’ll ride with you.”
“It’s almost all the way to Kretsaal barony, my lord. It’s an hour’s ride from the castle, at lea
st.”
“I don’t care. If they were heading south and looking for a place to stay, they probably chose Kretsaal. If we ride now, we may find them before they leave whatever inn they settled on for the night.”
The soldier and his companion exchanged a look and the second man shrugged.
“If you insist, my lord,” the first man said. “But we can just as easily bring them to you.”
Riding to Kretsaal himself made little sense. They couldn’t even be certain that these were the same men, though Sertio had little doubt that they were—no one hunted the moors this time of year. But after sitting by helplessly while Dalvia died, and watching in idle frustration as Diani struggled to learn the rudiments of leadership, Sertio needed to do something. Anything. The ride would do him good, and he wanted to interrogate these men himself, before Diani had a chance to vent her rage at them through torture or summary execution.
The stableboy saddled his mount quickly and within moments the duke was leading the two soldiers through the west gate and onto Curlinte Moor. They road south toward Kretsaal by the dim glow of the moons, drumming past the jumbled boulders and the still, tall grasses of the headlands and then past small farmhouses that already smelled of cooking fires lit in the cold hours before first light.
Before they were halfway to the barony, the sky over the Sea of Stars began to brighten, silver at first, then blending to soft shades of rose and purple, and finally, as they came within sight of the walls of Kretsaal, to pale gold.
They reached the village gate just as the sun emerged from the shining waters and began its long, slow climb from sea to sky. One of Sertio’s soldiers and several of Kretsaal’s guards met them inside the walls. Sertio’s man looked weary but pleased.
“Good morrow, my lord.”
Sertio swung himself off his mount, tossing the reins to one of the baroness’s men. “Have you found them?”
“We believe so, my lord. The two men we’ve been following took a room at an inn on the south edge of the village. We’ve men posted in front of the house and behind it. We were waiting for word from Curlinte before taking them. We had no idea that you’d be coming yourself.”
They hurried through the village, Sertio laying a hand on the hilt of his sword. Already there were men and women in the narrow, muddy lanes, leading small herds of goats to the gate or casting a critical eye at the wares of one of the few peddlers in the small marketplace. All of them stopped to stare at Sertio, looking wary, even frightened. House Curlinte ruled its lesser courts with a gentle hand, but the appearance of the duke or duchess in the barony usually meant trouble of some sort.
Upon reaching the southern end of the village, Sertio found several of his men standing a short distance from the inn, speaking to a grayhaired woman with clear brown eyes and a toothless grin.
“This is the innkeeper, my lord,” the guard said, as he and the duke stepped into the circle.
“The men are still in their room?” Sertio asked her.
“Must be. Haven’t seen them since they paid me. They didn’t even come down for their supper, though they paid for it.” She grinned again, but when Sertio remained grave, her smile faded.
“What did they look like?”
“Like I told these others, they was bald, both of them fairly tall. They wore riding cloaks and carried bows. They said they’d been hunting.”
“They paid you in silver or gold?”
“Gold, my lord.”
“Did you see anyone with them? A white-hair perhaps?”
“No one, my lord. And it was a slow night. Just the one other fellow who took a room was all. And he ate his supper like a gentleman and went upstairs.”
“Where is he now?”
“He left before dawn. I didn’t even see him go. That’s why I have them pay when they get here. If I didn’t, I’d be chasing all over the realm trying to collect.”
Sertio looked toward the inn, feeling vaguely uneasy. Whether they intended to flee or make another attempt on Diani’s life, they should have been up and moving by now. “Which room?”
“Last one on the left.”
He was walking before she finished, several of his men falling in step around him.
“Get them!” he called to the captain standing by the entrance to the inn. “We’ve waited long enough.”
“Yes, my lord,” the man said. He shouted a command to the men standing with him and immediately they filed into the inn.
Sertio drew his sword, but he remained in the lane, awaiting word from the men inside. For several moments there was silence. Then the captain appeared in the doorway once more, a sour expression on his face. Even before he spoke, Sertio felt certain that the assassins had managed somehow to escape.
“What is it?” he demanded, ice in his voice.
“You’d better come look, my lord.”
The duke eyed him a moment before following him into the house. Inside, the inn smelled of roasting meat and stale wine. The captain and Sertio climbed the steps swiftly, taking them two at a time. A knot of soldiers stood in the upstairs corridor just outside the last room, but they parted to let Sertio pass, most of them lowering their gazes.
The two men lay in the center of the room, their throats slit, dark blood pooling around their heads.
“Demons and fire,” the duke muttered.
He squatted beside them to take a closer look, noting that the blood on their necks was already dry. They’d been dead for some time.
“I guess they got what was coming to them,” the captain said. “Question is, from who?” He glanced at Sertio. “I suppose the duchess will want to know. Shall I—?”
Instantly Sertio was up and striding to the door, his heart battering his breastbone like a siege engine. The duchess. “Bring your men, Captain! We have to get back to the castle!”
He ran down the corridor and nearly fell rushing down the stairs. Bursting through the door, he crossed to the innkeeper and gripped her arm.
“The other man who stayed the night! What did he look like?”
She blinked, looking confused.
“Quickly, woman!” he said, shaking her.
“Tall, like the others. Yellow hair, pleasant face.”
“What else? A mustache? A beard?”
“No.” She shook her head, as if groping for an image of the man. “He had a small scar by the side of his mouth, like from a fight.”
“Good.” He released her and started running toward the village gate, heedless of the stares that followed him. “See to it that she’s paid for her trouble,” he called over his shoulder to the captain, who had emerged from the inn. “Leave a few men to clean up the mess and bring the rest with me!”
He was too old for this. He should never have left his mount with the baroness’s men.
He heard footsteps, and looking back once more, saw the captain just behind him. “Where are we going, my lord?”
“Back to the castle, you fool! The man who killed those archers will be after the duchess next!”
Diani awoke to the sound of knocking at her door. She felt lightheaded and confused for several moments until she moved, wincing at the pain in her shoulder and leg. Of course. The herbmaster’s tonic. Damn his potions.
The knock came again.
She rose carefully from her bed and crossed on unsteady legs to where her robe hung. She shivered slightly as she shrugged it onto her shoulders. There was warm water in her basin and a bright fire in her hearth. It seemed she had slept through a good deal.
Whoever had come rapped on her door a third time.
“Yes, enter!” she called, belatedly passing a hand through her tangled hair.
The door swung open revealing a guard, who looked uncertain and just a bit frightened. He glanced first at her bed before seeing her at the wardrobe.
“What is it? Why do you disturb me?”
“Forgive me, my lady. But a soldier has come from Kretsaal bearing news from the barony. He says it pertains to the attempt
on your life.”
“Have him speak with my father. The duke is looking into this matter.”
“The duke rode southward during the night, my lady. He received word that the men had been seen near the barony.”
Diani frowned and shook her head, still trying to clear her mind. “Father rode to the barony?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“And yet this man comes from Kretsaal?”
“He does, my lady. He bears the barony’s colors. He and your father must have passed each other in the darkness without either of them knowing it.”
She nodded, though she found all of it rather puzzling. Why would her father leave, without telling her, particularly with assassins abroad? And what news could a man of Kretsaal have that her own soldiers did not?
“Tell this soldier that I’ll speak with him shortly. I want my breakfast served first, in here. And I want the herbmaster told that I’m awake.”
“Of course, my lady,” the man said, bowing and withdrawing from the chamber.
Diani splashed some water on her face and then sat at her writing table, staring at the fire. The next thing she knew, yet another knock had pulled her from her dazed musings.
“Come.” She pulled her robe tighter around her shoulders.
The herbmaster entered the chamber, bearing a tray that held a full breakfast and a pot of some steaming broth.
“I didn’t know you were working in the kitchens now, herbmaster. It seems a waste of your talents.”
He smiled. “Some would say it’s the best use of them anyone’s found yet.”
“None who had tasted your brews.”
He placed the tray on her table and regarded her closely, his brow creased. “You don’t look well.”
“It’s your bloody tonic. It’s left my mind fogged.”
“Don’t blame the tonic. You were supposed to rest. Had you slept as late as I wanted, your mind would be clear. How are your wounds?”
“They hurt still.” She allowed him to examine her shoulder and then her leg.
“I expected that,” he said absently, looking closely at her injuries. They were still discolored, though less so than they had been the night before. After some time he straightened and nodded. “They appear to be healing nicely.”
