Eye of Truth
Agents of the Crown, Book 1
Lindsay Buroker
Copyright © 2018 by Lindsay Buroker
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Foreword
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Foreword
Greetings, and welcome to the start of a new fantasy series. I’m glad you’re here and willing to try a new world and a new set of characters. I promise action, adventure, romance, humor, and a good time if you call… er, wait. Not that last thing.
Eye of Truth was originally published on my blog in the summer of 2018. Many thanks to those who read along there and commented (and pointed out the occasional typo). I originally intended to write a single novel, but you know how those things go. By the time I was halfway into it, I decided this would be the start of a new series of fantasy mysteries. Now, I have plans to write five novels. Maybe six. These things have a tendency to expand!
Before you jump in, please let me thank the tireless folks who help me publish my books:
My editor, Shelley Holloway, who has helped me with dozens (no, really—dozens!) of novels over the years. My book buddies and frequent beta readers, Sarah Engelke, Rue Silver, and Cindy Wilkinson. My cover designers, the good folks at Deranged Doctor Design. My regular typo hunters who so often catch things the rest of us missed. And lastly, thank you, good reader. Whether this is the first book of mine that you’ve tried or you’ve read all my series, I thank you for your support, and I hope you enjoy this new adventure.
1
Inquisitor Zenia Cham crouched atop a parked wagon, observing the brick square in front of the Temple of the Water Order. Observing and waiting.
Pedestrians ambled through the area, buying from vendors, ignoring beggars, and tossing pebbles into the dragon fountain for luck. Two boys waded through the water, scrambled up the statue, and giggled as they stuck their fingers into the dragon’s nostrils in an attempt to plug the streams shooting out of them.
Zenia almost yelled for them to get off the fountain—that statue represented the Blue Dragon founder of the Water Order and deserved respect—but she had a greater criminal to catch.
“He’s not going to come back here,” her colleague whispered from behind her.
“You’re doubting my ability to read a criminal’s intentions in his actions?” Zenia arched her brows and smiled over her shoulder.
Rhi Lin leaned casually against the wagon’s dormant smoke stack, but she also scrutinized the square from their elevated perch, her dark brown eyes missing little. “I’m doubting anyone would be stupid enough to return to the scene of his crime. Twenty minutes after committing it.”
“Judging by the nervous way he kept glancing over his shoulder, he knew we were following him. And his hand strayed often to his purse full of stolen coins. Those were hesitant touches. I believe he knows he won’t escape and that he’s decided to return the offering to the temple charity plate in the hope that we’ll let him go.”
“Your rock tell you that?” Rhi glanced at the front of Zenia’s robe.
Zenia’s dragon-tear gem wasn’t visible, but her colleague knew well that she kept it on a chain around her neck.
“I didn’t need magic to deduce our criminal’s motives.”
“So, you’re guessing.” Despite the skeptical curve of Rhi’s lips, she leaned forward onto the balls of her feet, her fingers curled around her bo staff. She was ready to spring into action.
“We’ll see.” Zenia smiled and turned her attention back to the square.
It was a guess, but after more than ten years as an inquisitor, and five years apprenticed to an inquisitor before that, she believed in her guesses. Her deductions. They typically proved correct.
One of the twin bronze-and-wood doors to the temple opened, their massive size and height making the blue-robed figure that stepped out appear diminutive. But the white-haired Archmage Sazshen was anything but diminutive, and when she yelled at the boys to get off the dragon, they leaped down and sprinted away so quickly they tripped over their own feet. Repeatedly.
Sazshen gazed calmly after them, then around the square. Her square.
Uncharacteristic nerves trotted through Zenia’s belly as she realized the temple leader, who was also her employer and mentor, might witness her failing. What if she had guessed wrong? Sazshen would think it odd to find her protégé sunning herself atop a wagon for no reason.
Rhi touched Zenia’s shoulder. “There he is.”
Before Zenia spotted their target, Rhi sprang from the top of the wagon. She landed lightly on the brick pavers, her soft shoes not making a sound as she sprinted through the pedestrians with her bo in hand. People hurried out of the way, though she wouldn’t have knocked anyone aside. Rhi was five and a half feet tall and as stocky as a dwarf, but she had the uncanny agility of an elf.
She weaved through the crowds like a dancer, the six-foot olive-wood staff a natural extension of her body rather than a clunky weapon, and if people hadn’t made exclamations of surprise as she ran past, her target never would have heard her.
But the gaunt man in tattered clothing glanced back and jumped, spotting her sprinting toward him. Rhi had been circling as she ran, perhaps hoping to herd him up the steps and into the temple’s great hall. But he took off down the street instead, heading toward the wagon where Zenia perched.
She hopped down, not with as much agility as her colleague, but she was ready when the man approached, bystanders scattering to get out of the way. Zenia lifted her arms and stepped toward him. She had no great magical attacks she could throw at him, since her gem only lent her powers that were useful in sussing out clues and tracking down criminals, but she prepared to shout a mental command into his mind, a compulsion to stop and surrender.
Before she sent it, he saw her and halted so quickly he tumbled to his knees in front of the dragon fountain. Sheer terror flashed in his eyes, making Zenia feel like some tyrannical troll that ate those who trespassed in its territory.
The man was so gaunt and clad in such tattered clothing that a part of her wished she could let him go, that she could look the other way and let him take the Order’s donation money to buy some fish and flatbread. Times had been difficult for many these last years of the war, and Zenia hadn’t forgotten what it was like to go hungry and to have hunger turn into desperation.
But she had sworn an oath long ago to do the Water Order’s bidding, to protect the interests of the temple and all it employed. If the laws were ignored for one, they might as well be ignored for a thousand. Besides, she could never let a criminal go with Archmage Sazshen looking on.
As Zenia stepped forward, believing the man would give up, he threw another terror-filled look at her and leaped to his feet. He whirled to sprint in the other direction.
By now, Rhi had caught up with him. She launched a fist at his face. His nose crunched loudly enough that Zenia heard it from several paces away, even over the rumble of a nearby steam carriage and the gurgle of
the fountain. The blow dropped the man to his back.
As Zenia approached, Rhi knelt to pat down the thief. Groaning and dazed, the man brought shaky hands to his nose but did not object to the search.
Rhi produced a jangling pouch and handed it up to Zenia. A witness in the temple had seen the man slip the donation coins into the pouch, so there was no question that they belonged to the Order.
“All those hours I spend sparring with Jagarr and throwing sandbags around in the gym,” Rhi said, shaking her head, “and criminals are more terrified of you than they are of me.”
She truly sounded disgusted.
“It’s the pin that terrifies them.” Zenia accepted the pouch and pointed to the dragon claw pin attached to the front of her robe, the pin that marked her as an inquisitor. “Those with sins staining their souls get nervous when an inquisitor of any of the Orders comes around.”
“I’m not arguing that, but you’ve got a special reputation in the city. And don’t tell me you don’t know it.”
Zenia grimaced as Rhi hefted the thief to his feet, tears streaming from the man’s eyes. She was aware of her reputation and the fact that she was known as the Frost Mage—and occasionally the Frost Bitch, depending on who was listening.
She never knew how to feel about it. In the early years, she had been proud, because it had come about due to all the crimes she’d solved, all the underworld felons she’d located and brought in. She’d risen to her current level of fame—or perhaps infamy, at least in the eyes of guilty parties—three years ago after finding and defeating the elusive Dark Stalker, a man who’d raped and murdered his way up and down the kingdom coast.
She remained proud that she was good at her job, but her reputation did lead to a degree of isolation that she hadn’t anticipated. Even within the temple, she had few friends, and she wasn’t sure why that was. It had been years since a man had asked her out to dinner or for a walk on the beach. Even though she was focused on her career and told herself companionship wasn’t important, she sometimes wondered if she would die without ever marrying and having children, without finding someone she loved and who loved her.
Her gaze drifted up the long marble steps to where Archmage Sazshen still stood, now gazing down at them. Sazshen was everything Zenia longed to be, with a career and power that nobody could take from her, but she’d also never married and she had no children. By choice? Or because she, too, had been feared by men rather than loved by them?
Realizing that Rhi was almost to the top of the stairs with the prisoner, Zenia trotted up after them. She hoped the gaunt man wouldn’t be punished unduly for his crimes, especially since the money had been recovered before it could be spent.
Archmage Sazshen regarded him with cold eyes.
“Dungeon, Archmage?” Rhi asked.
“Dungeon.” Sazshen nodded firmly. “Brakkor will drop a few lashes on his back to ensure he thinks twice about stealing again.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Rhi escorted her charge into the cool temple interior.
Zenia was glad the man would receive a whipping rather than the traditional punishment for theft, having his hand cut off. Thankfully, all the Orders had grown more lenient in dispensing justice these last few years. It was anything but a time of prosperity for the kingdom, and half the city would be without hands if punishments remained as harsh as they had been historically. Even so, Zenia was glad she was usually assigned tough cases, men and women who had done far more evil than swiping a few coins from the Order’s coffers.
“How did you convince the thief to return to the temple?” Sazshen asked. “I’m sure your monk appreciates having such a short walk to the dungeon with her recalcitrant prisoner.”
Your monk. As if Archmage Sazshen didn’t know Rhi’s name. A few dozen monks lived in or worked for the temple, but that wasn’t so many that one couldn’t learn their names. And Rhi, as one of only two female monks here, was memorable.
“He convinced himself, Archmage.”
“Handy.”
“I thought so.” Zenia thought about mentioning that Rhi had wanted to head to the public market, believing the thief would rush to spend his ill-gotten coin there, and that it had been she who’d deduced the criminal’s route. She shouldn’t feel the need to brag, and it irritated her that she still had the urge to do so, to point out that she’d done something clever. She’d passed her thirty-second birthday, and she was established in her profession. Why did she still feel the need for praise?
“I sensed your approach and came out to meet you.” Sazshen touched the tear-shaped gem that she wore openly on the outside of her robe, an intricate representation of the fountain in front of the temple carved into its surface. Most people who owned the valuable gems hid them, lest they tempt the desperate and the hungry.
“Do you need something more than thieves from me?” Zenia asked.
“I wish to take you to lunch.”
“Ah.” Zenia had hoped for more interesting news, but she was always willing to spend time with her mentor. “I would be happy to dine with you.”
“I thought we would discuss my retirement.”
“Again?” Zenia smiled.
Archmage Sazshen had been threatening to retire for years. More than once, she’d hinted that she might suggest Zenia to her colleagues at the other temples as a possible replacement, but Zenia hadn’t been holding her breath. Even though she liked to think her work and dedication to the Order would make her ideal for the position, there were other mages and inquisitors who were more eligible. Older and more experienced. And from the nobility. Even though the temples supposedly promoted people equally these days, and ignored kingdom titles, the bias was there. And Zenia was… well, her father had never acknowledged her existence, so it didn’t matter that she was technically half zyndar.
“Many have watched your work and your career with interest,” Sazshen said. “Archmages are usually at least in their fifties before they’re considered wise and mature enough for the position—if Archmage Xan’s tendency to place noise-maker cushions on the chairs of his colleagues at meetings can be considered mature—but I’ve mentioned your name numerous times, and I believe they’re considering you. If you were to complete one more high-profile task for the Order, I suspect they could be swayed.”
Zenia clasped her hands behind her back. “I would certainly be honored to be chosen for the position, Archmage.”
Was it possible a high-profile task was already on the horizon? Perhaps some new crafty criminal was at work right now, harming the Order or the subjects of the kingdom.
“As it happens, I have a challenging assignment for you right now.”
“Oh?” Zenia leaned forward on her toes, not bothering to hide her eagerness. It had been weeks, if not months, since she’d had a truly demanding assignment. The capital city of Korvann had been unusually restful since news of the king’s death and the end of the war had arrived, as if its one million residents believed a period of prosperity would return now that resources would no longer be funneled across the sea to the north.
“I find it encouraging that you appear more excited about an assignment than a promotion,” Sazshen said, smiling slightly.
“You know I enjoy the challenge of my job, Archmage.”
“Indeed I do. I suspect that would have to be one of the stipulations of the promotion, that you would continue to tackle difficult assignments as an inquisitor.”
“Is that a possibility?” Zenia had dreamed often of rising all the way to archmage, not only the highest position in the Water Order Temple, but, because this temple presided over the capital city, one of the highest positions in the entire kingdom. Only the Fire, Earth, and Air Order archmages would be her equals. For a girl of her dubious origins… it was amazing to think that she might rise so far.
“You would be the boss over the whole temple. You would make the rules.”
“That sounds encouraging.”
Sazshen patted her on the shoulder. “Let’s
save that talk for the future and discuss this new assignment. You wouldn’t mind arresting a zyndar, would you?”
Zenia imagined her eyes flaring with inner fire. Usually the kingdom’s nobles were untouchable, above most of the laws of the land—and they knew it—but if a crime was grievous enough, they could be brought in for an inquisition and punishment. And she loved bringing in those arrogant entitled sots. Maybe it made her petty, but she couldn’t help it. So many of them did not deserve all that they had.
“I would not mind,” Zenia said calmly, hoping her feelings didn’t show.
“Good. Good. Because an artifact was stolen from the temple several years ago. Now that the war is over, and the soldiers are returning home, we may be able to get it back. You may be able to get it back.”
“I’m ready. Who has it?”
“Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow.”
2
Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow gripped the railing as the ship turned, knifing through the gleaming waves of the Anchor Sea, and Korvann came into sight. The war hadn’t touched these shores, and the capital was as he remembered it, the whitewashed plaster walls, the red-clay tile roofs, and the four pillars to the four founding dragons rising up from the winter, spring, summer, and fall quarters of the city. The brown waters of the Jade River delta still marked Korvann’s eastern border, with few attempting to build inland along the waterway, not with the dense mangrove swamps rising along the muddy shores for miles.
Claps, cheers, and shouts came from behind Jev as the ship sailed closer. All he felt like doing was throwing up.
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