Legends of the Riftwar

by Raymond E. Feist

  Steven Argent hoped that the tips of his ears didn’t look as hot and red as they felt, but all eyes were on Pirojil, anyway, and not on him.

  ‘So let’s not dismiss you, quite yet, my lord Verheyen, while we turn to the court barons, Barons Viztria and Langahan. Or should we deal with the Swordmaster first?’ He nodded to himself, and turned to Steven Argent. ‘Let’s do that. You’ve all heard the rumours that Steven Argent was having an affair with Lady Mondegreen, and I’ll not embarrass the Swordmaster by asking if the rumours were true. A denial might not be believed, under the circumstances, as we could reliably expect someone who murdered to lie; and an acknowledgment would humiliate him. A gentleman, as I understand it, does not speak of these things.’

  ‘You can’t believe the Swordmaster did it, or you’re even more a fool than you are a pompous twit,’ Viztria snickered. ‘If you think that Steven Argent is the murderer, then you’re an ass to leave him as the only armed man in the room.’

  Pirojil shrugged. ‘Or I could be attempting to draw him into attacking me, thereby proving his guilt. I’m perfectly capable of that sort of deviousness,’ he said, ‘and as to him being the only armed man in the room, I’m not certain that that’s true.’

  Where it had come from Steven Argent couldn’t have said, but Pirojil suddenly had a knife in his hands, and from the looks of it, it was a throwing knife.

  ‘Be that as it may,’ he said, looking down and running the tip of the blade under his thumbnail, as though to clean it, ‘let’s not be distracted, and turn to Barons Viztria and Langahan, who have every reason to wish every baron in LaMut discredited–and the Earl himself, for that matter–to further augment the influence and authority of the Viceroy, Guy du Bas-Tyra, at the expense of the Duke of Yabon, who is, by the Viceroy’s reckoning, too closely allied with Duke Borric of Crydee, of whom Guy du Bas-Tyra is known to be more than passingly unfond.

  ‘If one of Earl Vandros’s barons is murdered by another baron, under his own roof, and the murderer is never caught, doesn’t that argue that he’s not competent to be Duke, regardless of whom he marries? It’s not unknown for a duke to remove an incompetent baron from office, and while I know that a prince or his viceroy would be reluctant to remove a duke, it’s not at all unlikely that Guy du Bas-Tyra would never permit Earl Vandros of LaMut ever to become Duke Vandros of Yabon, if one of his subordinate barons is believed to have got away with murder, is it?’

  Langahan’s face was unmoving. ‘Sometime later, Captain Pirojil, you and I may have occasion to discuss your show of disrespect for the Viceroy, who would never countenance such an action.’

  Pirojil shrugged, his eyes never leaving the tip of his knife, which was working its way down his fingers. ‘Perhaps he wouldn’t. If he knew about it. But he’d be a strange ruler, indeed, who didn’t take an opportunity that presented itself to him, wouldn’t he?’ He looked up. ‘So. We know that everyone in this room has at least some reason to think himself better off with Baron Morray dead, and we don’t even have to consider the possibility, for the moment, that the real target was Lady Mondegreen, and that one of her other lovers–if indeed she had other lovers–decided that he’d rather she be dead than warm and alive in another man’s bed, eh?’

  Argent didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything.

  Yes, his affair with Carla had had its intense moments, but he had always known that he was not the only one, and as fond of her as he was, he had no cause to resent her having chosen Morray, as he had known that she would. He hadn’t even been sure that their own relationship would have ended with her marriage to Morray; Carla Mondegreen had had a very Eastern view of the bounds of marriage being more of a guide than a border.

  And even if he had missed her, even if he never again smelled her perfume as she lay warm in his arms, even if the image of her in another man’s bed had haunted him (though it wouldn’t) would he kill her for that?

  Never.

  ‘So let’s move along and consider the question of opportunity and, just for the sake of argument, let’s consider that it was the Swordmaster himself who decided to kill the two of them, and stalked down from his quarters in the Aerie, a hidden knife on his person and murder on his mind.

  ‘It seems a rather strange coincidence that he would see the watchman asleep, doesn’t it? Unless, of course, he arranged it himself with the watchman, and this talk of Erlic falling asleep was merely a conspiracy between the two of them. Which wasn’t the case.’ Pirojil shook his head. ‘My friend Durine is capable of being very persuasive in his own way, and he’s certain that Erlic, who now is locked up down in the dungeon, is as shocked as anybody else about these two murders.

  ‘No. It was the sleeping watchman that turned a desire into an opportunity, and the murderer had to be in a position to see that sleeping watchman, and quickly–very quickly; I’ll get to that in a moment–take advantage of that rare opportunity.

  ‘Steven Argent, maybe? He’s in charge of the castle and the entire earldom while Earl Vandros is away, but that doesn’t mean that he wouldn’t seem out of place prowling the hall outside the guest quarters, for any reason, much less waiting for a once-in-a-lifetime chance to find the watchman asleep.

  ‘Baron Viztria was quite right–I know it wasn’t the Swordmaster, and indeed I’m more than slightly gratified that he is the only other man in the room beside myself with a naked blade in his hand.

  ‘No, the killer was one of you barons, residing in the guest wing, somebody whose presence in itself would not have drawn any particular attention to him, simply because he–like the rest of you–belonged there.’ He nodded. ‘In my own profession, I’ve always thought it important to take advantage of surprising opportunities, and in a way, I’ve got to admire how the killer did that. He couldn’t be sure that the sleeping watchman would remain asleep, mind you, so he had to be ready to kill him, too –and quickly, before his outcries could summon anybody, and then disappear back into his own room, only to reappear with the rest of the barons who had gone to bed, apparently every bit as surprised as the rest.’ Pirojil looked up. ‘Visualize it yourself, my lords, as I’ve been spending the afternoon doing. The killer hears Morray in the hall and glances out of the door. He sees the Baron enter the Baroness’s chamber. He ponders his choices. He has the two of them alone and vulnerable. He waits. Later that night he looks out of the door again and he notices that the watchman is asleep. Seizing the moment, he quickly dresses himself–’

  ‘Dresses himself?’

  Pirojil nodded. ‘He can’t stalk across the hall in his nightclothes, after all, not with a knife in one hand and a sword in the other–he might need the sword, after all, to kill the guard quickly on his way back to his room, should the guard awaken or be awakened. If, before the murders, he’s seen in such a strange condition, it’s going to be clear to all that his intentions were bloody, although perhaps not quite clear what those intentions were, and why risk anything prematurely? He’s a vile piece of shit, begging the pardon of all but one of you, but he’s not an idiot.

  ‘So, as I was saying, he dresses himself, and takes the opportunity to go over and open the door to Lady Mondegreen’s room, perhaps having spent a moment listening outside, for sounds of sleep or–well, or for other sounds.

  ‘And then he opens the door, sees them asleep on the bed, and steps inside, then closes the door behind him. From this point on, he’s committed, and while he’s fast with a knife–he’s about to demonstrate that as he stands over their bed, he can’t quite be sure to slit first one throat and then another without the thrashing about of his first victim awakening his second.

  ‘So he draws his sword, and holds it back, the point over, perhaps, the eye of his second victim, ready to run the point of that sword through and into the brain to silence his second victim, if the first one’s death is a little more violent and dramatic than he hopes for.

  ‘But he’s lucky, as well as fast and good at what he does, and his knife is very sharp and his hand
very steady, and a few seconds later, blood is fountaining from the throats of both Baron Morray and Lady Mondegreen.

  ‘And now, he’s in a rush, and his heart is pounding, thumping in his chest. He’s done his deed, and he has to get out, and back to his room.

  ‘He blows out the lantern–if somebody has heard something and walks in, he wants that somebody to walk into darkness, and his sword point; besides, he wants the room dark when he opens the door, for the obvious reason–and then he’s back at the door, pulling it open only a crack to see if the watchman is still asleep, which he is.

  ‘So he goes down the corridor, with his sword already drawn–remember, the guard could wake up suddenly, even at his quiet footfalls–and back to his room.’ Pirojil finally looked up. ‘But I’ve left something out, haven’t I?’ he asked, smiling.

  He turned to Baron Langahan. ‘Excuse me, my lord, but would you be so kind as to slide over your swordbelt?’

  Langahan did just that, with no more than the slightest of hesitations, and with the hint of a scowl.

  ‘What are you leaving out, Pirojil?’ Steven Argent asked.

  ‘Why, the knife, my lord,’ Pirojil said, extracting the knife from Langahan’s belt. He held it up. It was a usual sort of belt-knife, its stacked-wood grip fancier than Steven Argent would have preferred, and its single-edged blade gleamed from both polish and oil. ‘When a throat is cut–and I can tell you that I’ve cut a few throats in my time–blood doesn’t just ooze out. It spurts. He would have been lucky if the blood didn’t coat the whole blade, and perhaps his hand as well.

  ‘He could hardly go out into the hall with a blade dripping blood, could he?

  ‘Now, if he wasn’t rushing, he could have spent a few minutes carefully cleaning the knife off–perhaps using the sheet from the bed, or tearing off a piece of the sheet, although that would have made a loud noise.

  ‘But my friend Kethol examined the room very closely, and he reported that there were no bloody rags left–just some spots on the sheet, where, perhaps, he quickly cleaned his blade as well as he could in a few seconds. Did he stand in the light of the oil lamp and clean the blade carefully, thoroughly, being sure to get at all the cracks, then bring the bloody cloth along with him?’ Pirojil shook his head. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think that he went across the hall with the knife held behind his back, or along the flat of his arm, either, as that would have indelibly marked his clothes with blood, and with his sword in his right hand, as he crossed the hall. He would want to keep his left hand free.

  ‘I think he simply made two quick swipes on the bedsheet, in the dark, and then sheathed his knife, and later thoroughly–very thoroughly, my lords–cleaned that knife in his own room, down to the last spot of blood, perhaps burning the rags afterwards, or more likely simply using his water pitcher, and pouring the bloody water down the garderobe–or perhaps even drinking it, as disgusting as it sounds, to hide the evidence.

  ‘Blood is so…so messy, my lords.’

  Steven Argent shook his head. ‘But…’

  Pirojil took the knife and began to cut away at its sheath. ‘My apologies, Baron Langahan, for ruining your sheath.’ He spread the leather out. ‘If it had been Baron Langahan, we would have seen signs of the blood here. In fact, if you look at those brown stains there–’

  ‘That’s an old stain,’ Langahan said. ‘Hasn’t everybody at some time put away a knife when it wasn’t clean?’ He shrugged. ‘I can remember once when I was hunting with the Viceroy, years ago, when we took a boar, and–’

  ‘Yes, my lord, it is indeed old blood, or at least old something.’ Pirojil turned to Viztria. ‘I think I’ll ruin your sheath next, my lord. Unless you have some objection?’

  For once, Viztria was speechless, but he simply slid his swordbelt across the table, and Pirojil repeated the process.

  ‘No stains here, my lord. Baron Verheyen next, I think.’

  Verheyen snorted as he did the same, and Pirojil cut his sheath open as he had the others.

  ‘Interesting, Baron Verheyen,’ he said, as he spread the leather for all to see. These stains appear rather…fresh.’ A sneer curled itself across Pirojil’s thick lips. ‘You murdering pig.’

  Verheyen was on his feet, snatching the sword from Folson’s sheath. ‘You lying sack of–’

  ‘Stop right there, Verheyen,’ Steven Argent commanded. ‘You’re under arrest, in the name of the Earl of LaMut.’

  Verheyen shook his head, his face red with rage. ‘I’m innocent,’ he bellowed. ‘I’m not sure what your man is up to, Argent, but I’ll find out after I’ve stuck him a few times!’

  He lunged for Pirojil, who was quickly out of his chair and around the table.

  Steven Argent moved between them, and struck the Baron’s rapier aside with his own rapier.

  Pirojil watched the two men confront one another, waiting for an opportunity to bolt for the door. It wasn’t fear that motivated him, but caution, for he had heard Durine’s recounting of the practice bout between Argent and Verheyen and knew the Swordmaster would be fortunate to emerge from this conflict alive. Once to the door, Pirojil would shout for guardsmen to overpower the furious baron.

  The only problem with the plan was that several barons were standing in a knot between Pirojil and the door. To try to move around them would bring him within a thrust of Verheyen’s sword.

  While he pondered his next move, the struggle commenced.

  Pirojil was impressed. He had seen many a fight, from barroom to battlement, and with every sort of blade imaginable, but Baron Verheyen was as fast a swordsman as he had ever seen. Pirojil was certain that had he stood to face the Baron alone, he’d now be dead upon the floor of the Great Hall. He wasn’t even sure he could confront him with Durine and Kethol standing behind him with their swords at the ready.

  Argent and Verheyen were now exchanging blows faster than Pirojil thought possible. The look of concentration on the Swordmaster’s face revealed the fact that he knew himself over-matched. Yet he continued to press on. He might not be quite as fast as the Baron nor as deft with the blade, but he was far more practised, and experience counted for a great deal when death was on the line.

  Back and forth they lunged and parried, yet they hardly moved from their original positions, taking only a step or two in either direction, and Pirojil kept watching for an opportune moment to run to fetch the guards.

  Three high attacks from Verheyen were countered by Argent, who riposted twice and found his opponent ready. Then the Swordmaster launched a seemingly frantic attack of his own, only to be repulsed by the nimble footwork of the Baron.

  Then Pirojil sensed a change in Argent.

  It seemed that the Swordmaster had spotted something that Pirojil hadn’t seen. There was a pattern emerging, and suddenly Pirojil forgot about seeking the guardsmen, instead becoming entranced by the display of swordsmanship before him.

  Both men were drenched in their own perspiration, despite the cold, and the only sound in the room was the stamp of leather boots upon the cold stone floor, the ring of steel upon steel and the heavy breathing of the two combatants. Blow, parry, riposte, parry; the contest wore on.

  Then Pirojil saw it. Argent was laying a trap. Each time the two men crossed swords, the blades lingered in contact a tiny bit longer, with a little more pressure upon the opponent’s blade. Argent almost fell into a pattern, three high strikes and a low strike, lulling Verheyen into studying it for an opportunity. He changed to two strikes, then three again, causing the Baron to hesitate in his riposte.

  Then Argent offered Verheyen the blade. He took a block and pressed forward, and for an instant Verheyen took the blade, resisting the pressure. Then Argent moved left, allowing his blade to fall away and Verheyen found himself over-extended and exposed for just an instant.

  And then Steven Argent was standing over a dead man, and Verheyen’s blood was running down the length of his sword. The Swordmaster looked down at the dead baron then very slowly and
very deliberately he produced a handkerchief from his tunic, and cleaned the blade very carefully before putting it back into its scabbard.

  ‘You thought it would turn out this way, Pirojil,’ Argent said.

  The ugly man nodded. ‘It seemed possible. Corner a rat and he’ll fight; and I wanted this rat cornered, my lord. He deserved that. And I’d just as soon I not be known as one who killed a nobleman, no matter what the justification or cause. Baron Verheyen has relatives, and he has some friends, I’m told, and I’m sure that some will blame me as much for exposing him as they will blame him for the murders.’

  ‘So you put me in harm’s way to protect you from retribution?’

  Pirojil shook his head. ‘To tell the truth, my lord, I wasn’t thinking that far down the road.’ He shrugged. ‘As to why, well, in the field, I’ll put myself and my friends up against almost anybody–we’ve done that enough times–but I know I’m no match for a nobleman in a duel, and you were the only man here with a chance to stand against the Baron.’ He looked down at the body on the floor and added, ‘I’ll tell you it doesn’t bother me at all that a murderer met his reward.’

  Lord Viztria looked down at Verheyen’s still form. Blood was soaking into the thick carpet covering the cold stones. ‘But why?’ he asked.

  ‘My lord?’ said Pirojil.

  ‘Why kill Morray and Lady Mondegreen? Morray had agreed to step aside in Verheyen’s favour.’

  Pirojil shrugged. ‘Just because Morray said a thing, doesn’t mean it’s true. Is any agreement made here between the barons binding upon the Earl? Or the Duke of Yabon? Or the King?’

  ‘Well, no,’ said Lord Viztria. ‘But it seemed logical.’