“And the other is what exactly?” Danica asked. “Death?”
“No, no,” Phinneas said quickly. “We’d wipe your mind of the memories that pertain to subject matter we deemed sensitive.”
Danica looked hard at Phinneas. “You’re serious. Bloody hell.”
“It’s not a procedure without its risks, but I am rather skilled in such techniques,” Phinneas replied. “Among other things I studied hypnotherapy at the Academy. My skills in this area was one of the main reasons Ogden recruited me.”
“That’s all I need to know,” said a pale Lar. “We’re all Sentinels now. Good. Happy to be aboard.”
“Just shiny.” Danica sighed. “Us against the world, then. So, now what?”
The topic of conversation turned to the events of the previous night. Eithne summoned a brunch of sweetbread, cheese, grapes, and sausages as they discussed their next course of action.
Elias shared his thoughts on the innocence of the Ittamarian delegates. Ogden agreed, saying that the Ittamar were ill equipped to fight a war, which was the only logical outcome of a public assassination attempt, regardless of whether it succeeded or not. It made little sense that the Ittamar would choose such a tactic. The chief aim of the haphazard attempt on the queen’s life, Ogden suggested, was likely to sow dissent amongst the court, an end to which it had succeeded admirably, and was a contrivance more in keeping with the Scarlet Hand’s methods than the Ittamar.
The party conceded to this line of reasoning, more so when Elias explained the function of his father’s shield. Elias performed a brief demonstration to Ogden’s delight, who exhibited a childlike curiosity in the talisman. “Your father had more secrets than I imagined,” he remarked.
“So,” said Eithne as she popped a grape into her mouth, “we have agreed it probable that Agnar and his men are innocent, the Scarlet Hand being the obvious culprit, but the question remains what to do now?”
Elias felt the weight of Eithne’s hazel eyes. “We have few leads to follow,” he said. “The three assassins are dead and left us with no clue as to their identity. All of the household staff assigned to the banquet have been questioned by the Redshields, under Blackwell’s order. No one claims to have seen anything.”
“The assassins stole past a palace full of guards, courtiers, and servants with no one the wiser,” Eithne said. “They must have had help from the inside. It’s the only explanation.”
“Agreed,” said Elias. “Or they had the possession of some magic that allowed them to access the palace unseen.”
“That is unlikely,” Ogden said. “The Sentinels have set and maintained many wards around the palace. If there was a foreign magic they should have alerted us.”
“Should have,” Elias countered, “but we’re dealing with practitioners of the arcane we admittedly know very little about. Have you checked the status of all the wards, Ogden?”
Ogden spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I haven’t, no.”
“Ogden, I want you and Phinneas to check all of the wards and safeguards that the Sentinels have placed on the palace and grounds and see if there is anything amiss,” said the queen. “Elias, I think you ought to question all of the household staff that were on duty yesterday, including the Red and Whiteshields. Someone must have noticed something, however small. Bryn, as you are familiar with the palace and the usual suspects, I want you to accompany Elias.”
“Surely,” said Bryn. “As to whether magic played a role in the attack, I can definitely say yes.”
“How’s this?” asked Ogden. “I didn’t sense the presence of another wizard.”
“I had that assassin hobbled and dead to rights. Then an invisible force grappled me and dragged me halfway across the floor, and the assassin with me. That man couldn’t have walked if he wanted to—I cut right through his hamstring.”
“The assassin was also an arcanist?” Ogden asked, stymied.
“I think not,” said Bryn. “The assassin was dragged along with the same force and handled it no better than I.” Bryn shivered despite herself. “That and I looked him right in the face as he fell on me. He was completely expressionless and his eyes…his eyes were empty. Like the eyes of a dead man. Whoever cast that spell it wasn’t him. There was a fourth conspirator. I alerted Blackwell and searched the palace with a couple of Whiteshields I knew I could trust, but found nothing.”
Ogden’s brow furrowed. “Odd that I didn’t sense anything. This is even more troubling than I had thought. It has to be the Hand at work. There’s no other explanation.”
“Quite,” said Bryn. “If it weren’t for the Prelate of all people, and Elias’s ready sword, I’d be as dead as the assassins.”
“I had forgotten about that,” said Eithne, “what with all the excitement. Rumor is the One God has gifted the Prelate with extraordinary powers, but frankly, I figured it was merely the handiwork of the gossips. Yet he is clearly blessed like the prophets of old with the capacity for miraculous feats.”
Elias made a grunt in his throat. “You have something to add, Elias?” asked the queen.
Elias leaned back in this chair and rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know if I’ve just grown paranoid, but for some reason that fellow left a sour taste in my mouth.”
“The Prelate?” said Eithne, taken aback. “He is known for being quite charismatic and personable for a man of his station. I have had many interactions with him and found him to be a charming man. Most eligible ladies at court bemoan the fact that he is a cleric.”
“There’s something about that man that I don’t trust. When he said pleased to meet you, my badge grew warm. He lied.”
“That is curious,” Eithne replied, “but I must confess that him being unpleased to meet you can hardly be considered incriminating behavior. Perhaps he just doesn’t care for men at arms, being a pacifist by vocation.”
“You’re probably right,” Elias said begrudgingly. “Suppose I’m a little edgy is all.”
“What of Lar and I?” asked Danica. “What’s the assignment of the two newest Sentinels?”
Eithne studied her for a beat. “Four newcomers to the court are bound to have caused quite the stir. If I’m not mistaken Danica, your sharp tongue will make you a natural at the game of courtly intrigue. I want you to try to make some new acquaintances among the courtiers. Keep them occupied and give them something else to focus their attention on. See what you can learn from their wagging tongues. As for you, Lar—a lady of bearing never goes unescorted. Stick with Danica and keep an eye on her, and see if you can’t make some friends among the men of court.”
“If there is nothing else, then,” said the queen, “I declare this audience at an end.” Eithne waited, timing the seconds with the beating of her heart, as the nascent Sentinels looked around the table at each other, determined to a man, and grave. “Very well. You have your assignments. We’ll reconvene tomorrow to discuss our progress.”
The queen stood, but paused as she walked away, turning to look over a shoulder. “And be sure to watch your backs.”
Chapter 19
Signs and Portents
“What have you learned?” Sarad asked.
Talinus alighted and tucked his leathery, batlike wings behind his shoulders. “Not much, my Lord,” he said. His upper lip curled over his needlelike teeth in a grimace. “The queen took council with the Marshal, his party, and Ogden in her private audience chambers, but the room was warded with the deep magic and I could not sneak in, nor scry their conversation. Through my sources, however, I have discovered that the Marshal suspects the delegates to be innocent. His senses are keen.”
“Spare me your editorializing, imp,” Sarad snapped. “What else? Is there word of me, and the display of my powers at the banquet?”
“Indeed. Surprise as you might guess, but most look on you favorably, though some are unsettled. Your staunch supporters—the recipients of your sacrament—are both quick and liberal with their praise. For the faithful, y
our miraculous display merely confirms what they have supposed—that the Prelate is favored by God himself. Better yet, it convinces them that the Ittamar are savages not to be trusted, for even God resists them.
“But most of the gossips are fixated on the Marshal and his daring heroics. He saved the queen single-handedly, you know. How did he detect danger before anyone else? Did you know he’s a wizard? And so forth.” Talinus barked a short laugh. “You wouldn’t believe how many different rumors on his origin are going around. Why, one such—”
“Enough!” Sarad hissed. “I’ve heard enough chatter about this Elias Duana myself!” Sarad glared at his familiar, and detected smugness in the twist of his lips and mirth dancing in the glint of his demonic eye.
Talinus sketched a deep bow and said, “Yes, my master, as you wish. I live but to serve.”
Sarad flicked his wrist casually and, through the geas that bound the imp to him, flung Talinus against the wall. “We will have to strike, and soon,” Sarad said more to himself than his familiar. “Though it is yet early to make our move, I cannot allow Duana to consolidate his power, or worse yet discover us. How long will it take to summon all of our retainers in Galacia?”
Talinus made a sound in his throat, half purr and half growl, as he pulled himself from the floor. “At least a fortnight, my Lord.”
“Do it.”
Talinus pulled his squat, muscular form from the floor and a wide, toothy grin erupted across his bestial features. “As you wish, Master.”
†
“I just don’t trust him,” Elias said.
“He’s the bloody Prelate!” Bryn said as she pulled the curtain aside. “Here, this seems a likely place for an assassin to hide.”
Elias nodded to a cook who puffed on a cigarette in the deserted servant’s hall. The man peered at Elias with wide eyes and then looked to his cigarette. Elias shrugged, and with a motion of his head told the cook to scram. He hadn’t come to harry kitchen workers sneaking a smoke in the deserted tract that linked the great hall and the kitchens.
Elias crouched and examined the floor and alcove behind the red swath of cloth. “There’s something about him that rubs me the wrong way. Why isn’t anyone else alarmed that the man broke a confounded axe with his bare hand? Does no one find this strange? It doesn’t seem the kind of thing normally found in a cleric’s bag of tricks.”
“Peace, Marshal,” Bryn said with an easy grin. “There hasn’t been a priest who could manage such a feat in my lifetime, or my father’s father for that matter.” She tossed her auburn locks over a shoulder and sat on her haunches beside Elias. “But in the days of old—as you might know if you read the One Book—holy men were said capable of such miracles. Perhaps the Prelate is a modern day saint.”
“Or a wizard pretending to be cleric.”
“Elias, we have bigger rats to catch. Truth be told, folk are more interested in your miraculous feats. The Prelate’s been granting blessings and participating in healings for some time now, since he was a Hierarch. Many have seen a visible manifestation of the divine when he prays. Maybe he is favored by God.”
Elias placed a hand on Bryn’s wrist. She turned to meet his eyes. “Do you know that feeling you get when someone uses magic, that tingling up the spine?”
“No,” she replied and looked at his hand, taken aback by the familiar gesture from a man that had been nothing but stiff and reserved since she had met him, that and the serious look in his eyes. “I use a cantrip to detect the presence of the arcane and view auras. Most of the magic I know is utilitarian spells learned from tutors from Arcalum.”
Elias frowned. “Whenever I’ve been in the presence of magic, since all this began, I experience a sensation like pins-and-needles. I felt that when the Prelate turned that axe, and before the assassins barged in. This time the runes on my arm grew hot as well.”
“Maybe your instincts, or your sword’s enchantment, react the same way to the divine?” Bryn sounded about as convinced as she felt—not very.
Elias rose and sighed deeply. He realized that he still held Bryn’s creamy, elegant wrist in his hand and that he stood a little too close to her. His heart quickened, but then he thought of Asa and a stabbing pain shot through it. Elias released his hold on Bryn.
“In the short time I have known you, I have come to value both your counsel and your instincts.” Bryn’s brow knitted and she glanced over her shoulder as if expecting an eavesdropper or a ghost. “I will have my contacts in the Vanguard and the Blackshields keep an eye on the Prelate, just to be safe. Maybe dig around a little.”
Elias exhaled a deep sigh of relief. “Thank-you.” His solace turned at once to unease, however, when he heard footsteps clacking down the granite hall and he became glaringly aware that he and Bryn stood behind a curtain, huddled like a couple of conspirators. They exchanged a glance and then crept surreptitiously from the cover of the curtain and confronted...
...the hulking Lar.
Startled, the corn farmer back-peddled and stepped on Phinneas’s foot. The doctor yelped and in turn stumbled into Ogden.
“Britches!” cried Lar. “You nearly scared the sand right out of me!” He narrowed his eyes, a peculiar expression stealing over his face. “What were you two doing back there?”
“Looking for evidence, of course,” Elias said hastily. “We’ve spent all day yesterday, and the better part of today interviewing the household staff and guard and no one seems to have noticed anything out of the ordinary on the night of the banquet, so we decided to make a clean sweep of the servant’s hall and see if we couldn’t stir up some answers.”
“And did you?” asked Phinneas.
“Not a one,” said Bryn.
“Shouldn’t you be with Danica, Lar?” Elias said. “Watching her back?”
“I was,” answered the larger man, “but some ladies invited her to afternoon tea so I’ve been wandering around looking for you ever since.”
“Luckily he wandered into us,” Ogden said. “I think the poor thing was lost.”
“I’m standing right here!” Lar blustered. “Besides this palace is bloody huge.”
Elias grinned despite himself. Lar could always put him at ease. Elias often suspected the oxen Lar had more cunning than he let on. “And how did you two fare with the wards?”
Ogden’s face fell. “Not well. We’ll talk about it later, somewhere more private.”
Bryn made a show of looking up and down the empty hall. “A little paranoid, old man?”
“After what we’ve learned these last few days, I’d rather err on the side of caution,” Ogden said.
“Very well,” said Elias. “Now what?”
“Time for your very first lesson,” Phinneas said and offered Elias a broad grin. “We’re going to examine the assassins’ bodies.”
“Perhaps Danica would be more suited to that kind of work,” Elias said dryly. “I’m not a White Habit, so I don’t see how the lesson would apply.”
“Think about it, boy,” Phinneas said. “If the assassins were under the influence of the arcane, as Bryn suggested, what could we expect to find?”
Elias considered but briefly. “If the assassins were under an enchantment there may be some sign of it on their person?”
Phinneas’s grin broadened. “Exactly so.”
“But how?” Elias asked.
“Yes,” said Bryn, “please illuminate us.”
“I can see this area of discourse is new to you as well, Miss Bryn,” Phinneas said a little smugly, but the warm glint in his eyes took the sting out of it. Bryn’s only response was a well practiced harrumph.
Ogden again peered around the hall uneasily. “Come, let’s walk. I’ll do my best to explain.” The party began to make their way back toward the palace proper, with Ogden in the lead. “It is possible there may some residual magical signature on the northerners corpses,” Ogden said. “It isn’t anything we could really quantify and present to the court as evidence, but it could confirm o
ur suspicions, maybe give us a clue as to what type of magic was used.”
“You can do that?” Lar asked in a hushed tone.
“Perhaps,” Ogden said. “All magic leaves behind an energetic imprint that arcanists can perceive to a certain extent. This imprint can be left on solid objects, or even in an entire area depending on the strength of the magic.”
“Like an aura?” Elias asked.
“Precisely,” Phinneas answered. “A wizard can train himself to perceive these energetic signatures just as he can perceive a person’s aura. An enchanted item, like your sword, will have a permanent kind of aura around it. Arcanists with this ability would instantly know what you were carrying.”
“If we discover such an imprint on the assassins would it help us track those who were responsible for this?” Elias asked.
“Only if we had another such signature to compare it to,” Ogden replied. “Mostly we would be able to gauge the strength of the arcanist and get a feeling for the energy involved. Every wizard’s magic is slightly different, but the aura of his power is only really perceived as a certain color or colors and a sense of his power, a unique kind of…” Ogden waved a hand, “well, feeling. It’s hard to explain. Interpreting these energy patterns is part science and part art.”
“Hmn,” commented Lar sagaciously, “Ma says that about cooking.”
Ogden managed to turn his neck about and glare at Lar while still walking a straight line. He’d have to learn that trick, Elias thought. “So, if we find one of these energy signatures, we can then compare it other signatures we may find in the future and thereby track our man?”
“Certainly,” said Ogden, “but more than that, a wizard’s aura and the energetic imprint of his magic are quite similar, often glaringly so. In other words, a wizard leaves behind a bit of himself in the magic he works.”
Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) Page 23
