“He actually returned just this morning and will be available soon to answer your questions. Remember, it was the Ulathan duke who brought you out this way. It would have been closer for many of you to have met in Keshtor,” Richtor said, trying to misdirect the frustration and even mild anger of some of the realm’s representatives.
“It’s more of a lecture, if you ask me,” said another baron, dressed in silks and a light robe which had lacing around it. He was obviously from one of the southern realms who traveled much farther than most of the others.
“Or a sermon,” said another. Several folks nodded their heads, and there was murmuring and disgruntled talk coming from over half of them. Several simply stood silently, almost scowling at the Balarian leader.
“We’ll have Aquinian wine . . .” Richtor offered.
“What’s wrong with the wine from Pentost?” asked another.
“Nothing,” Richtor responded quickly. “We’ll have quite the selection, including plenty of Safron weed.” Several people nodded. Safron was known for its fine tobacco and wasn’t the cheapest either. “So if it’s agreed, let’s have you and your delegations here at sunset tomorrow. Feel free to bring as many guests as you need.”
The group started to disperse, and several of the Balarian officials saw to the guiding of their guests to the main gate. The sun had set an hour earlier, and the large Balarian courtyard was brightly illuminated from several large glass orbs attached to the tops of tall iron posts set deep into the ground. The orbs were designed by the Kesh and never required refueling the way the lamps in the city proper did. They were expensive, and only the elite of Balaria and the rich merchants could afford them.
“Why so many?” Richtor asked the guildmaster as they watched the many small nobles, clan leaders, and ambassadors of Agon’s far-flung realms depart.
Jayrel took a moment to rub his chin, placing his elbow in his other hand’s palm, watching the many people depart. “Well, they all had the correct invitations, gold-inlaid cards with the sigil that the Kesh marked them with. They were all legitimate, unless they were forged, and that’s not easy to do with the rings the Kesh gave us. No other realm can work magic, so again, I think they simply have something important to say in order to call so many realms to this meeting. On another note, what have you decided to do with that dragon head?”
Richtor turned to face the guildmaster. “I’ve had a crew place it in our largest torture pit and then fill it with as many death beetles as we could find. They should have picked it clean by tomorrow, and I’ll mount it on the founder’s stone in Merchant’s Square.”
“So just the skull?” Jayrel asked.
“Yes, the wizard claimed the horns. Speaking of which, will that Kesh wizard, what’s his name?” Richtor asked.
“He’s been here for months. I’m surprised you don’t remember it,” Jayrel said.
“Oh, I remember some of it. Can’t remember how they use their titles in front of their names. It makes it sound different, all those Kay this and Kay that. They also have a peculiar way of talking.”
“They do, and to answer your question, his name is Kaylor.”
“Yes, well, will this Kaylor advise us of the nature of their meeting, or will we have to wait like all the others to find out what the fuss is all about?” Richtor asked.
“He’ll do whatever he wants, he’s a Kesh,” Jayrel said, as if that answered everything.
“Well, those magic-users will find themselves short on allies if they continue to treat everyone the way they do. I’m not pleased at being forced to host so many realms, especially considering the nature of our enterprises.” Richtor took a look down at his sleeves and straightened them after much of his gesturing managed to wrinkle them in a few places.
Jayrel shook his head and headed for the gate, giving the governor one last remark. “I’d still prefer to be on their side and not against them.”
Richtor left the remark unanswered and finally sighed when the last guests departed. It would be a very long week.
The shadowy figure listened to the governor and thieves’ guild master until they departed. The storm drain emptied into the city’s sewer system, and the collected rainwater helped to occasionally flush the scum and waste into the sea. The system was heavily locked, with strong iron bars that were inspected monthly, but this figure had a way around the bars and locks.
Positive that there was no one else around except the guards, the figure retreated down the storm water drainage pipe to the heavy bars. The figure started to glow a gentle light blue color as the body turned into a gaseous form. It silently wafted past the bars and reincorporated on the other side. Quickly it made for the city’s center and was lost to sight with no one knowing of its presence.
The watch’s alarm bell was unmistakable, especially that early in the morning. Diamedes woke from his sleep and placed his feet on the cool marble floor of his room in the rented villa. His sandals were by the door, but he felt he didn’t need to put them on. Even the paved stones outside were smooth, and so he decided he would walk barefoot to the patio and see what he could see.
It didn’t take long for the bells to be silenced, and that struck the historian as odd, almost as if someone didn’t want the alarm to be taken seriously. Diamedes watched from the same table overlooking the bay and city center as a long line of officials wound their way down the zig-zagging streets from the governor’s complex.
A few fisherman were already out and about, their small boats bobbing in the waves off the coast. Those still in the bay held steady, the water calm and smooth like glass. A servant approached and asked if he needed anything, and Diamedes requested tea. Soon he was joined by his host on the same table, as the justiciar was rubbing his eyes and appeared to have been awakened by the same alarm.
“You’re up early, Master Historian,” Orwell said, pulling out his chair and sitting down, blinking and letting loose a long yawn.
“The city alarm woke me, the same as you,” Diamedes ventured.
“Yes, it wasn’t very loud, but it struck me that perhaps something happened with the delegations in town. It stopped quite suddenly as well. Perhaps it’s a good thing you stayed with us here, much safer than in the city proper.”
“You may be right,” Diamedes said, not taking his eyes off of the city’s center. “What did Edwin say about the festivities tonight?”
“Ah yes, you retired rather early, but the governor has decided to have a grand ball this evening to kick off the start of the meeting tomorrow. You’re invited, of course. In fact, from what Edwin informed us last night, anyone we wish to invite will be welcome. It seems there has been some discontent amongst the smaller realms at being summoned to a secret meeting by the Kesh.”
“Why would that cause them grief?” Diamedes asked.
“The nature of the meeting, being kept in the dark, and, of course, the forced travel, long distances for many of them,” Orwell said.
The servant arrived and laid out two cups along with a pot and a small bowl of sugar cubes as well as a small pitcher filled with fresh milk. Orwell thanked the man, and Diamedes nodded, figuring the justiciar must have asked for tea as well before he arrived on the patio.
“Well, perhaps we’ll find out what happened. In the meantime, would you mind terribly if I secured the use of one of your servants and a ladder?” Diamedes asked.
“Whatever for?” Orwell asked, arching a brow.
“I would like to take a few measurements of the dragon’s skull once it’s mounted. I doubt the Balarians would honor my request if I made one to do so before it was mounted.”
“Ah, most likely you would be correct. I doubt they’d assist an Ulathan, or a Tyrinian for that matter unless it was absolutely necessary,” Orwell said, putting a sugar cube in his tea and using a spoon to stir it.
“So you’re fine with my request?” Diamedes asked.
“Under one condition,” the justiciar said. “You look into the alarm and let me know what
happened down there. I tire from politics and drama, but it would be prudent to know if there are any issues, especially if one involved the Kesh. Besides, if anyone can get to the bottom of the truth, it would be a great historian like you.”
“Agreed,” Diamedes said, taking a sip of his own tea and returning the smile his host gave him. Diamedes watched the commotion below. What is going on down there? he thought to himself. He would find out.
“Is it bad, Seth?” Alyssa asked from the dock where she caught sight of the assassin as he left the guard’s quarters near the docks.
“Good morning, Alyssa, you’re up early,” Seth responded, continuing to walk toward the main thoroughfare that led to the governor’s complex.
Alyssa trotted to keep up with the quickly moving man as he held firm to his path, walking briskly in the early morning light. The sun wasn’t quite up yet, but it would be, and the sky was already a deep blue, portending its rising. “What is it? Where are you going?” she asked.
Seth never stopped nor slowed his pace, but he did look at her from his hooded face, his eyes intense. Always intense, she thought to herself. “I’m going to check on something at the main barracks.”
“Come on, Seth, you know I can be trusted. That is why you insisted on me accompanying you on the Kesh expedition. What happened back there and why was the alarm silenced so quickly?” she asked.
Seth turned onto the main road and started up the hillside that rose from the base of the city toward the large towers of the Balarian government. He seemed to contemplate her words for a minute before deciding to speak. “Do you remember the Kesh complaining that a single squad of soldiers, despite being an elite unit, wasn’t enough for our expedition?”
“Yes, so what of it?” she asked.
“Well, we had little choice but to conscript the soldiers from the city guard, specifically the harbor watch, as they were simply closest and the most convenient at the time. We were ready to leave, and Overseer Jaxon didn’t want to wait nor return to the main barracks to secure more troops,” Seth said, walking quicker now.
“Yes, we got authorization to use a half dozen of the harbor guards because they were marines, experienced in long arms and boarding other ships. So what does that have to do with the alarm, and why are you practically running now?” she asked.
Seth continued his pace, perhaps slowing down a bit so she could keep up, before answering. “Well, the watch found three of the harbor guards murdered in their sleep.”
“And how does this fit in with what you’re telling me?”
“The three soldiers were marines, our marines from the expedition.” Seth stopped and looked straight at her, grabbing her by her shoulders and leaning in to whisper to her. “Only the three survivors from our party. The other harbor guards were untouched.”
Seth suddenly released her and resumed his made pace toward the main barracks housed near the governmental complex high on the hill.
“You mean they were targeted?” she asked, her voice full of disbelief, and she had to occasionally run a few steps to keep pace with the assassin. “Why would someone do that?”
“I don’t know, but I intend to find out.”
“So why are you rushing to the main barracks?” she asked.
Seth responded immediately. “To see if any other soldiers from the expedition suffered the same fate.”
Alyssa gasped but kept pace, now silent and pondering the new information. Finally she could resist no longer and asked a final question that morning. “Did you stop the alarm?”
“Yes,” Seth said, continuing his walk. “I was following someone, or something, in the sewers and was nearby when the alarm went off. It took me less than a minute to arrive, and I ordered the alarm silenced. I’m sure it was too late, however. The other realms’ representatives have to know that something happened.”
Seth spoke no more, and soon they arrived at the outside of the large gated complex just below and to the side of the governor’s mansion, and indeed it was part of a larger grouping of buildings, towers, and gates that comprised the bulk of the Balarian bureaucracy. The barrack guards opened the main gates as soon as they saw and recognized the man. Seth was part of the ruling class in Balaria and had full privileges, unlike Alyssa who was only a member of the guild.
Several soldiers stood outside one of the side doors to a long row of rectangular buildings as several dozen soldiers milled about the complex’s courtyard, most in a state of disrobe as if they had just recently awakened. Seth headed directly toward the armed men.
“Who’s in charge?” Seth asked, coming to a stop in front of a soldier wearing a plumed helmet, sword in his hand and not sheathed, which was suspicious in itself.
“I am, Master Seth. Captain Gustus, of the third guards,” the man said, nodding to Seth, holding his sword and pointing it at the ground. It was obvious the officer didn’t want Seth to misinterpret the gesture.
“Are all your men accounted for?” Seth asked, looking around.
There was an awkward pause before the officer responded. “Well, no, sir. We’ve had a crime, and several of our troops have been killed.”
Seth responded immediately. “Five of them?”
The men around the officer gasped, and Gustus’s eyes widened at first and then narrowed as he clenched his sword, willing it to stay pointed downward and not at the deadly assassin. Measuring his words carefully, the officer responded. “Yes, Master Seth, five of them. How did you know?”
Seth saw the fear, anger, and despair across the faces of the men. Only the officer seemed to be focused on Seth as a suspect and was surprised at how he knew. Seth also selected his words carefully. “Captain Gustus, the five soldiers were part of our expedition who brought back the dragon’s head. The other three surviving members of that group are also deceased. Someone killed all eight of them.”
Understanding crossed the face of the officer. “That was the alarm we heard?”
“Yes,” Seth said. “Why did you not sound an alarm?”
“We thought it best to inform the governor and Marshal Kraken first,” the officer said, referring to the man who was in charge of all the Balarian troops.
Seth realized the man had shown a wiser course of action considering their many guests, and he nodded, looking at Alyssa. “Do you think you can inform your guildmaster of this?”
Alyssa nodded. “Yes, I’ll go there now.”
“I’ll inform the grandmaster, and I’m sure the governor and the marshal will be here shortly. Meet me back here when you’re done.”
“Right,” Alyssa said, departing the group.
“You, Captain Gustus, secure the scene until I return, and keep this quiet for now. Understood?” Seth commanded.
The officer nodded and then started to bark orders as his men started to dress, arm, and take up positions around the barracks.
Seth turned and walked away, heading for the warehouse where his order was located. He would inform Azex that there was a new assassin in town and that assassin wasn’t following any of their rules.
Seth feared it would get bloodier before it got better.
Chapter 7
Deceit
The men gathered in the small room, huddled together in the chill of its air. The cool slabs held eight bodies. All had white sheets over them. Seth never enjoyed being in the city morgue, despite the fact that he was one of the main reasons it existed in the first place. This time the tables had been turned, and the Balarian leaders were hotly debating the most recent misfortunes and course of events.
The mortician approached the group of men. “So, it’s confirmed—the cause of death for all eight was a severe laceration to the larynx, severing the jugular across the trachea. The effects were, of course, immediate.”
Governor Richtor’s lower jaw just dropped for a moment and then snapped back before he spoke. “Damn it, man, give it to me in layman’s terms.”
“Their throats were cut,” the mortician said and then turned and wal
ked back to the cold marble slabs to finish his duties.
“That was rather blunt,” Jayrel said, watching the worker as he walked away.
“Yes, but very accurate,” Azex said, looking at the governor in kind.
“Let’s get back to business, then, shall we?” Jayrel asked, turning his gaze back to the group, nodding at Richtor.
“Fine, then, so are we certain that not everyone heard the alarm?” Richtor asked, almost frantically, waving his arms at the others as if willing them to speak differently.
“Our confidants informed us that less than half the city actually heard the bells. Most were told about it, so our story has credibility for now,” Jayrel said, confidence in his voice.
Richtor was undeterred. “Still, your man”—the governor stressed the word while glaring at Azex, his face red despite the coolness of the room—“failed to restrain the alarm from going out. Worse, he allowed the killer to escape as well.”
Seth was used to the governor’s reaction, but not directed at him personally. The man was borderline suicidal in Seth’s mind. Still, he noticed his boss stealing a quick glance in his direction to assess his mental state before he spoke. “I’d use different words when describing what you were told,” Azex said, shifting the weight to his other foot and leaning forward to emphasize his words.
“What words would those be?” Richtor said, letting out a long breath before resuming. “I’m simply repeating what I was told.”
“Then you’re repeating it incorrectly,” Azex resumed evenly. “My man was tracking an intruder who bolted when the alarm was sounded. We have no proof or even a suspicion that this intruder was the killer. It could have been an Ulathan spy or a servant of the Kesh, for all we know. You shouldn’t jump to conclusions so hastily.”
The Blue Dragon: A Claire-Agon Dragon Book (Dragon Series 2) Page 6
