Legends of the Riftwar

by Raymond E. Feist

  ‘A combined Mondegreen and Morray makes the most powerful barony in the duchy,’ added Argent. ‘And the very selfless act of stepping aside for the greater good might be just the thing that would cause Earl Vandros to recommend Morray to the Duke as his successor.’

  Pirojil said, ‘Seeming to have no reason to murder a rival, Verheyen now could ensure beyond a doubt Morray would not become again a rival for the earldom. He’s got no motive, so no one thinks he did it.’

  Steven Argent said, ‘It sounds so simple.’

  Pirojil arched an eyebrow. ‘Swordmaster, if I may?’

  ‘May what?’

  ‘Address the barons, once more, for just another moment?’

  Steven Argent nodded. ‘Please.’

  Pirojil turned to the others. ‘I just wanted to thank you for your kind attention, and bid you all farewell. As I said, I’m not entirely sure that some won’t blame me and my friends for exposing the murderer more than the murderer himself, so we’re withdrawing ourselves from the service of the Earl of LaMut, and we shall be on our way in the morning.’

  ‘In the snow?’ said Lord Viztria, with his usual raised eyebrows and sneer.

  ‘Snow melts, my lord Viztria. We’ll manage.’ He turned back to the Swordmaster. ‘May we keep our room in the barracks for the night, my lord? Or should we seek accommodations in town?’

  Steven Argent didn’t understand.

  Why?

  These men had proven their worth, under the most trying of circumstances, and he had been about to offer them permanent commissions, subject to the confirmation of the Earl. Maybe they weren’t exactly what he thought of as officer material, but competence and loyalty should have a reward.

  But, before the barons, with Verheyen lying dead on the floor, he didn’t quite know what to say, so he said nothing, and simply nodded.

  ‘A good day to you all,’ the preposterously ugly man said. Then he turned on the balls of his feet and walked out of the hall.

  He didn’t look back.

  SIXTEEN

  Truth

  It was dark outside.

  But that was outside, and they were, thankfully, inside, and the oil lamps made the room comfortably bright.

  The sounds from the barracks common room were more muted than usual. Pirojil could just make out the sounds of distant conversation over the rattling of dice.

  They gathered around the hearth in their quarters, the bottle of wine from Lady Mondegreen’s room on a side table next to Kethol, who was busying himself, weaving leather thongs in and out of each other across a wooden frame.

  What few possessions they had seemed to have grown in their time in LaMut, and they had had to procure four extra rucksacks from the castle dungeon in order to keep what they didn’t want to throw out. A packhorse would have been good, but Pirojil couldn’t quite see how to get a horse on brezeneden.

  Durine had been sceptical, and was ready to make another run, throwing out some of their collection, but Kethol had quickly improvised a sort of sled from an old door, some extra strips of wood, and a piece of rope, which should be easy enough to pull across the snow, until the snow melted, which it showed every sign of doing quickly.

  A few days of hobbling along on these awkward-looking brezeneden, and then…

  After that, they’d have to procure some horses in the next town, though that might be difficult. Well, if they had to walk all the way to Zun to get mounts, at least they had enough money for it. They could even afford to be a bit picky–

  No, any horses would do. They would have to sell them in Ylith anyway, and men who were about to take ship away–far away, as far away as they could get–were hardly in the best bargaining position. They’d need five horses, most likely…

  Kethol had already finished another set of brezeneden and was working on one more, when there was a knock at the door. It opened without a word being spoken, and Mackin’s improbably broad face peered through.

  ‘Come in,’ Kethol said. ‘We were just talking about you.’

  ‘Milo says we’re going with you,’ he said.

  ‘You’re welcome to leave town with us,’ Durine said slowly, carefully. ‘Although if you are going to come with the three of us, there’re some things we’ll have to get straight–’

  ‘Yeah.’ The dwarf’s grin broadened, and he stretched out his thick hands and cracked his knuckles. ‘Looking forward to it, I am.’

  ‘–by talking it out. We settle things by discussion and vote, the three of us, and not by beating each other up. We save that for when we get paid.’

  Mackin shrugged. ‘Well, we can talk about it. If it doesn’t work out, you three can go your way, and Milo and me, we can go ours. Long as I don’t have to keep calling you “captain”, and saying “yes, sir” all the time, that might happen. Or it might not. You never know.’

  ‘I’m not a captain,’ Kethol said. He had been the first to get out of his grey officer’s tabard. It, like the others, still had the rank tabs on the shoulders, but all now lay neatly folded on a chair by the door. ‘Never was much of one.’

  ‘Me, neither.’ Durine nodded. ‘Just three men who kill people for money,’ he said, then shrugged his massive shoulders and looked over at Kethol and Pirojil.

  Maybe they had enough money now to find a place for the Three Swords Tavern?

  Or would it have to be the Five Swords?

  Mackin nodded. ‘Then we’ll see. We leave at first light?’

  ‘Wolf’s tail,’ Pirojil said. That’s what they called it down in the Vale, that grey light before dawn that was certainly good enough for their purpose, since leaving was their purpose.

  Mackin nodded. ‘Then I’d better get a few pints of ale in me, and get some sleep, eh?’

  He left without waiting for an answer.

  ‘You think it’ll work out?’ Kethol asked. ‘Why bring in another two?’

  ‘We can find work for five as easy as three,’ Pirojil said. ‘And I think that Milo needs to leave LaMut, for a few reasons. We can talk about those tomorrow, eh?’

  Kethol bent back over his work. ‘Fair enough.’

  Pirojil wouldn’t cut Milo and the dwarf in, not without them buying their share with blood and money over time, but you never did know how much money a mercenary soldier had on him, not unless you searched him very carefully, and it was entirely possible that the other two had enough for their share.

  And there had been some blood involved, already, although he didn’t even want to think about that, not right now, and wouldn’t want to talk about it, ever.

  But cutting them in would be something to discuss. Even if it was only a way to avoid discussing other things.

  Secrets, he thought.

  Shit.

  He and Milo had a secret.

  Pirojil had been sure that the murderer was Verheyen, and thought he might be able to corner the Baron, forcing him–he was known to be short of temper–to do something that would reveal his guilt.

  But he hadn’t been sure of it, and Pirojil liked a sure thing.

  He could blame the Swordmaster for having put them in an impossible position. Or he could blame himself for not trusting his own instincts and reasoning.

  Or he could just try to forget about it.

  There was another knock on the door and this time whoever it was waited long enough for Durine to say, ‘Come in.’

  It was Milo, with an impassive expression on his face, and five small leather pouches held in his cupped hands. ‘The Swordmaster sent me, with your pay.’

  ‘Our pay?’ Kethol looked puzzled. ‘How did they get into the strongroom?’

  ‘I don’t much like asking about strongrooms,’ Milo said, grinning for a moment. ‘But as I understand it, Steven Argent took up a collection among the barons, to be repaid when the Earl gets back. Not enough on them to pay everybody off, mind, but enough for the five of us, so let’s not let anybody else know about it, eh?’ He pocketed the two smaller ones, and handed over the other three. ‘
You might want to count the money, and check with him, just in case you think some of it might have fallen out on the way over.’

  Durine nodded. ‘We’ll certainly count it. Be a shame for us to get off on the wrong foot, and all, since you and the dwarf are going to be travelling with us, I’m told.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Milo said, looking at Pirojil, not at Durine. ‘It would be a shame if there were any misunderstandings, so let’s be sure that that doesn’t happen.’

  ‘Easy.’ Pirojil raised a hand. ‘We won’t have any problems. Or if we do, you just go your way, and we’ll just go ours.’

  Milo nodded, and left, closing the door behind him.

  Kethol laid the final one of the brezeneden on the pile with the others, then stretched. ‘Well, if we’re moving out in the morning, let’s get some sleep tonight. Bar the door, stand a one in three, or both?’

  ‘Both,’ Durine said.

  Pirojil nodded. It only made sense. Word would get around quickly, with the barons all talking to their captains, which meant that they were known to have a fair amount of money on them–although not nearly as much as they actually had–and you could never be sure about thieves and such.

  ‘I’ll take the first one, then wake you,’ he said to Durine, who nodded.

  Back to normal, at least in that.

  ‘I dunno.’ Kethol looked at the door longingly. ‘I’d sort of like to go up to the Aerie and say goodbye to Fantus.’

  Durine laughed. ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea. The Swordmaster would probably talk you into the three of us staying on, which would mean, as far as I’m concerned, that it would mean you staying on, because I need to get out of here.’

  Pirojil nodded. ‘Me, as well. Besides, I’ve never been very much for goodbyes, and neither have you.’

  ‘Yeah, but that’s with people,’ Kethol said, as though it made some sort of difference. ‘Dragons are different. In another world, maybe I might have liked to get to know one, you know?’

  ‘In this world, if you walk out, don’t come back and tell us we’re staying,’ Durine said, firmly.

  Kethol gave up with a bad imitation of good grace. ‘One more thing…’ he said, pouring what remained of the wine in the bottle into their three mugs. He passed out the mugs, and looked expectantly at Pirojil.

  ‘Your turn, I think,’ he said.

  ‘We all knew the Baron about as well, but Lady Mondegreen seemed to have taken a particular fancy to you,’ Pirojil said. She had also played him like a lute, but she had probably liked him, too. And Kethol had certainly taken quite a shine to her, as well. As had Pirojil, in his own way. Just because she scared the shit out of him didn’t mean that he hadn’t liked her–he just would have preferred to like her from a distance, given her penchant for manipulation, combined with her abilities at manipulation…

  Which, in the long run, hadn’t made her throat any less resistant to being cut, though.

  Kethol thought it over for a moment. ‘Baron Morray and Lady Mondegreen: a true gentleman, and a great lady,’ he said, then downed his wine with a quick gulp, as did Durine.

  Pirojil sipped at his own wine, making it last.

  Not the worst he had ever had, although it was a bit bitter and tannic for his taste. Not that a man in his line of work should be fussy about such things. Still, it might be that the Three Swords–or the Five Swords, now, perhaps–would have a wine cellar, as well as good dwarven ale and a decent human brew, and maybe he ought to acquire some knowledge about such things, even if he probably couldn’t ever afford fastidiousness.

  Kethol blew out the oil lamps, and he and Durine lay down on their bunks, and were almost instantly asleep.

  Pirojil took his chair, and leaned it back against the barred door, and let his eyes sag shut for a moment.

  Yes, there would be a lot to think about, and a few things to talk about, eventually. But give it a while. He sipped some more of the wine. Too bitter, really. Maybe there was something about all this that he was missing.

  He hadn’t missed much, he was sure. Verheyen probably would have got away with the murder, although, in the long run, he wouldn’t have ended up as Earl of LaMut, not if the murder had gone unsolved, and with everybody still under permanent suspicion. It wouldn’t have been either of the two Bas-Tyra stalking horses, either, although Guy du Bas-Tyra might have ended up profiting by having some other vassal of his put into the earldom. Vandros would hardly be in a position to resist the pressure from the Viceroy, not under the circumstances.

  Pity that he had been right.

  He had been hoping that there would have been a sign of fresh blood in Langahan’s sheath. Viztria was too much of a popinjay to be a murderer, but Langahan was a quieter sort, and probably more dangerous.

  He sipped at some more wine. Not much of it, but he might as well enjoy it.

  No, it had been Verheyen. Verheyen had had, in his own way, just as much respect for Lady Mondegreen as Pirojil did. It would have been nice to have had a look at Verheyen’s sheath before, but that wouldn’t have had the same impact.

  Having Milo lift Verheyen’s knife, cut his own finger, and rub it on the inside of Verheyen’s sheath before replacing the knife had been the right thing to do, and if Pirojil would never know for certain if Milo’s blood had covered Lady Mondegreen’s and Baron Morray’s, he could live with that. Maybe Verheyen had been just a little more fastidious than Pirojil had thought he was.

  Maybe not.

  Best to make sure that the problem was solved, and he had done that. Steven Argent wouldn’t have liked knowing how he had solved it, but…

  To hell with him.

  Tell a soldier to solve a problem for you, and he would do just that, and he’d do it with steel and blood, and do his best to be sure that it wasn’t his blood, and Pirojil’s betters were best off not knowing just how he had solved the problem. That was true for Kethol and Durine, too, at least for now, although he would tell them, eventually, when they were all far enough away.

  Far away sounded good.

  The next thing Pirojil knew, Kethol was shaking him awake, as the grey light of pre-dawn filtered weakly in through the mottled glass of the window.

  And as soon as he awoke he knew that he had been horribly wrong.

  He caught up with the murderer in the kitchen. Even at this hour, it was crowded with cooks and assistants, and the smell of the baking bread was overpowering.

  ‘Good morning, Ereven,’ he said.

  ‘And a good morning to you, Captain Pirojil,’ the housecarl said, his face as glum as usual, no more, and no less. ‘I understand you’re leaving–did you want me to pack some provisions for your journey?’

  ‘No. We’re fine.’ Pirojil shook his head. ‘No. What I wanted was a few moments of your time–I thought I should say goodbye to you. And I’m not a captain any more, nor would I wish to be.’

  Ereven nodded. ‘My time is yours, of course, Captain,’ he said. ‘A word about what?’

  ‘Step outside with me, for just a few moments.’

  The parade ground was still packed with snow, but it was starting to melt, and it was slippery beneath their feet.

  ‘I know,’ Pirojil said.

  Ereven’s expression didn’t change. ‘Know what, Captain?’

  ‘I know that the bottle of wine you gave to Baron Morray was drugged. As was, I assume, poor Erlic’s supper.’

  ‘I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, sir.’

  ‘Oh, I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Ereven. I could even hazard a guess as to why, rather than how, but the how is clear enough. And as to the who, I’m tempted to say the people who conspired with the late Baron Verheyen were you and your daughter, Emma.’

  That got to Ereven. He paled. ‘Captain, I–’

  ‘But I don’t even know if Verheyen was involved, not really. He hated Morray, and he was probably smart enough to see through Lady Mondegreen’s negotiated settlement, but was he the murderer, along with you?’ Piro
jil shrugged. ‘That I don’t know. And I want to.

  ‘And if I don’t get an answer right now, the note that I’ve left–never mind with whom–will be put in the hands of the Swordmaster, a few days from now. Then he’ll be asking you the same question. Unless…’

  ‘Unless?’

  ‘Unless you explain to me, right now, why. The “how” part is easy, and I should have seen it before. A guard falling asleep on watch? A reliable man, up until the night before last. And then he suddenly fell asleep on watch. Very convenient.

  ‘A strange coincidence. Unless, of course, his food was drugged, as was the bottle of wine, which explains how you were able to slice their throats without waking them. A fine kitchen knife, well-sharpened, as all good kitchen knives should be, left their room on a covered tray, with you, after you brought it in on a covered tray, to slice their throats while they lay drugged. It wouldn’t be at all strange for the housecarl to be washing a knife down in the kitchen, would it?’ Pirojil nodded. ‘I think your daughter helped.’

  ‘She doesn’t know anything about it. Please don’t bring her into this. It’s not–’

  ‘It’s not right? You mean, in the sense that slitting two people’s throats isn’t right? Or–’

  ‘He treated her like a plaything,’ Ereven said, with no change in his inflection. A lifetime of keeping his expression and tone under control hadn’t abandoned him, even now. ‘He lured her into his bed, and made all sorts of promises to her–it’s not totally unknown for a noble to take a common wife, and a gentleman who sires a bastard acknowledges him.’

  ‘But Baron Morray didn’t do that.’

  ‘No, he didn’t. He lied to her and she thought he loved her. She was a good girl, and had never known a man before the Baron. I hoped to marry her to the son of Grigsby, the grain merchant. He’s a man of means and his son will take over the business one day. But a “kitchen wench” with the bastard of a noble in her arms? My girl thought herself in love with Morray, but he said nothing to her as her belly swelled with his baby, sir. I think…’ his voice faltered. After a moment he carried on: ‘Then to marry a woman who carries his baby–it’s no secret that Mondegreen was ill and his lady was with Morray many times.’ Ereven’s voice turned bitter. ‘What sort of man would deny his own? Not admit he fathered my daughter’s child, and then let another man claim a second child with the woman he was to wed? He and Lady Mondegreen were evil.’