The Assassins of Thasalon

by Lois McMaster Bujold

  Laris eyed him in cool speculation. “So, were you sent as a spy? Or… an assassin?”

  “Neither,” said Pen, “though I can imagine how more persons than you might leap to that hazardous conclusion. I really am an oath-sworn Temple divine, and my usual pursuits are much more scholarly, but I was drawn in, ultimately, because Methani sent assassins to Adelis in Orbas. Twice. Both miscarried, obviously. The first was a squad of bravos who attacked him at his fort, almost eight weeks back. Thanks to Adelis’s alert guardsmen, none survived the attempt.”

  Laris’s lips pinched. Nao’s teeth set.

  “But at the second one, the day after Gria arrived”—Pen drew a long breath—“things started to get really complicated…”

  The telling of it was long, convoluted, and frequently interrupted by questions, some astute, some understandably baffled. They’d received many of the same conflicting rumors about Adelis that the Xarre ladies had, and were intensely relieved to learn he was uninjured. Pen tried not to get too diverted onto his basic-demon-lectures, though portions of it needed to be understood by his listeners before the rest of the events could.

  Laris was less horrified than grimly validated by Pen’s confirmation of what had really happened to her uncle Prince Ragat. “We were both so certain it was an assassination,” she said, with a worried glance at her husband, “but no one could determine how, and without that, we could make no accusations. You may be sure we insisted the Mother’s Order try every test.”

  One smaller mystery was resolved along the way, the identity of Alixtra’s first victim.

  “It must have been Minister Hethel,” said Nao. “He was imprisoned on false charges which we’d succeeded in having dismissed, but he died in his cell the night before he was supposed to be released. The prison staff swore under the most stringent questioning that it hadn’t been any of their doing. How this Learned Tronio fellow of Methani’s got in is a question that never came up.”

  “Do you know Tronio?”

  “Only to speak to in passing. He’s been one of Methani’s court for years. I always assumed he was a liaison for any business of the minister’s that impinged on Temple interests.”

  “To be clear,” said Pen, “I have no evidence yet that anyone in the Thasalon Temple hierarchy except Tronio was involved in this demon-ploy. He and Methani both had very good reasons to keep it close.”

  “Hm.” Nao waved him to go on.

  Nothing about any of the twisted political schemes had seemed hard for either of Pen’s listeners to follow. Only when he came to his account of the god in the bottle dungeon were they taken aback, Nao seeming rather stunned. Getting them both over the matter of Pen’s bringing the assassin back to Thasalon with him was the most delicate part; Pen mentioned the white god frequently.

  “It’s highly probable,” said Pen, “that once the saint has succeeded in removing Tronio’s demon and it becomes practicable to arrest him, she’ll be quite willing to testify against him in return for a pardon, or even the clemency of exile. Note there were only three witnesses to that conspiracy, and one of them is beyond confession. Or anything else.”

  Laris looked incensed at this. “She murdered an imperial prince.”

  “One normally arrests the bowman, not his crossbow. She is much more than a tool, though it’s obvious Methani and Tronio treated her as one, but I maintain she is accessory not murderer.”

  Nao scowled at him. “And if we differ?”

  “Please, please don’t,” Penric begged. “I undertook to guarantee her safety if she cooperated with me, and it would make things dreadfully awkward”—he just managed the tact not to say, if I had to oppose you—“with Adelis.” Though with their chief opponent Methani removed, Pen wondered how much less critical Adelis had become to Laris and Nao’s affairs. The general must still be wanted, if not for a palace coup then for the Rusylli tribes menacing their empire’s borders, for this gave them pause. “And what our god might do on her behalf, I can’t imagine,” he added truthfully enough, if only to plant the quelling idea in their heads.

  “Methani’s luck certainly seems to have run out,” Nao conceded. “Who did poison him last night, if it wasn’t you? The accusation of the Xarre’s servant did sound plausible.”

  Which brought Pen, neatly and at long last, to his own aim for this meeting. “I promise you it was not him. I’m afraid I can’t say who it might have been, although there were plenty of suspects passing in and out to choose from. Many people were shocked at Methani’s death, still more at his attested sundering, but there was a remarkable lack of surprise. Or grief, even on Lord Bordane’s part. Master Bosha’s main error was bringing himself to Bordane’s attention at a bad moment in the proceedings. I gather they have some old enmity about Lady Tanar, Bosha’s long charge and Adelis’s betrothed.”

  Yes, underline that last bit, Des agreed.

  “They are indeed betrothed?” said Laris. “They’ve kept it very secret.”

  “For fears Tanar might be used against Adelis, yes. But they both seem devoted to each other.”

  Or Tanar found it a convenient excuse to be left alone with Bosha, Des opined.

  Shh.

  Laris, after a speculative glance at her husband that he reflected, accepted this with a nod. Both she and Nao certainly saw how convenient it was to their own interests.

  “Bosha has been a faithful retainer to the Xarre ladies,” Pen went on, “a loyalty they return. I am especially charged by them this morning to beg of you any and all aid you can deliver to him in his arrest. Since there is some personal enmity between him and Lord Bordane, Tanar is very afraid Bordane may take this chance for some petty, or not so petty, revenge. No one could stop a lord regent from abusing the machineries of justice”—he turned to Nao—“except another lord regent.”

  Or maybe a powerful and clever sorcerer, said Des.

  That’s a stretch I’d rather avoid, thank you.

  Laris’s neutral expression suggested that the fate of another noblewoman’s servant was not normally something to concern an imperial princess. Pen wondered if he might have done better to imply Bosha actually had done her the favor of removing Methani. But Nao looked thoughtful.

  Pen, a little apprehensively, drove home his reserved clincher argument: “The other issue, of course, is that Master Bosha knows everything about Adelis’s movements that we do.”

  “Oh,” said Laris, her hand touching her throat.

  A short silence.

  “What I can do,” Nao said finally, “is write an order remanding him into my personal custody as a lord regent. He can be brought here and kept safe for both the Xarre ladies and General Arisaydia, and from any reprisals to penetrate the prison. The fate of poor Hethel being a lesson against relying on its walls to protect and not just hold.”

  “It could make it look as if he acted under our orders, though.” Laris sounded more judiciously concerned than objecting outright.

  “If he’s indeed innocent, there must be a real guilty party somewhere, who may yet be found,” said Nao. “That problem could solve itself.”

  Eee, no, thought Pen.

  Laris shrugged. “I for one would not be inclined to pursue our unknown benefactor very hard.”

  Des would have grinned if she could, but she noted to Pen, This might only serve to transfer Bosha as hostage into less unfriendly hands.

  I actually trust this more if they see his custody as a benefit to themselves, and not a mere favor.

  Point.

  Nao called his patiently waiting secretary back over to him, and gave the requisite instructions. The man hurried off to the palace’s scriptorium to obtain the correct paper and seals and write out the official order. Pen was relieved that there would be no more delays. This unscheduled conference had already run long—the other supplicants waiting in the entry court must be incensed by now.

  Laris tapped her fingers upon her knee, frowning. “If this uncanny assassin had succeeded with General Arisaydia, is
there any doubt that I would have been next on Methani’s list? I’m still not best pleased with letting the woman go free. …Assuming it wasn’t she who turned on her lord last night.”

  “It was not,” said Pen, “but please consider the mitigating factors. You two have a young daughter, do you not?” Their faces softened unwilled. A girl of three, Lady Xarre had told Pen. Easy to picture—he thought of Rina with a homesick pang. “Methani held her child hostage, and threatened horrors upon him. What would you two refuse to do, in that position?”

  This appeal struck home to both of them. By the look on Nao’s face, the answer was Not much. And by Laris’s, But the threatener had better never turn his back. She gave a reluctant gesture of concession.

  This brought another mother and child to Pen’s mind. “This is Adelis’s business, not mine, which is solely with Tronio. But with everything upended this morning, what are your plans for the council of regents?” Probably not politic to ask directly, And for the boy emperor? “Now down to just three, the empress-mother, Bordane, and yourself.” Leaving Nao still outvoted, if the empress-mother aligned herself with Bordane in his uncle’s stead.

  Nao frowned. “Prince Ragat should have been replaced before now, but we were at loggerheads over a candidate. Adding a new regent requires the unanimous consent of all the remaining ones. We wanted an ally—preferably Laris herself. Methani of course wanted his own creature. As of yesterday, no sufficiently neutral other had been found who was acceptable to both sides. And now we have two empty seats.”

  “One each?” said Pen. “By way of compromise?”

  Nao pursed his lips. “If one were Laris, maybe.”

  “With the empress-mother on the council, they cannot pretend my sex is a barrier,” said Laris. Some lingering heat, there? “If a half-uncle may sit, so should a half-aunt.”

  “With Methani gone, are there any blandishments that would persuade the empress-mother to favor you?” asked Pen. Something to convince her that you are now less a threat to her own son had likely better not be said aloud. Pen didn’t expect he needed to.

  “We were going to use Arisaydia to take the army out of Methani’s control, which was hanging by a hair even before his death,” said Nao. “And then use it to seize the council.” Or the throne? “Which was going to be… unavoidably messy. How Methani’s cabal will respond to all this is yet to be seen, but they have to be scrambling this morning. It will be hard for any of them to climb to his eminence overnight. And I promise, none onto the council.”

  “The other possibility”—and by her expression it wasn’t one that Laris enjoyed contemplating—“is to soothe the empress-mother’s fears by offering a betrothal between her son and our daughter. I do not care to wager the fate of the empire upon the fragile lives of children, but it might do as a stopgap.” Yes, she of all people must know that such expedients could be temporary, for all kinds of reasons. “Methani had blocked this before as a threat to his control, but…”

  Methani’s cabal, Pen reflected, weren’t the only powers in Thasalon scrambling for purchase on the new rocks this morning. How much of this had Tanar foreseen?

  More than we’d guess, I daresay, opined Des. She’s been a close observer for years, and has had wit-full tutors in Bosha and her mother.

  Laris diverted further dangerous discussion by summoning a servant to bring refreshments, for which Pen was grateful. All his talking in this heat, of both kinds, had left him thirsty. The secretary returned, and Nao scrawled his signature upon the bottom of the heavily stamped document.

  The lord regent then detailed his guard captain and a small squad to deliver it to the prison and fetch back the prisoner. Their authority would be unquestionable. Pen, uninvited but not denied, tagged along, not least because he was going to need to report it all to Tanar later.

  He had his faithfully waiting wickerman follow in the guards’ wake. Pen was grateful for the paper parasol the man raised over the guest—Xarre servants had to be used to Bosha’s albino vulnerability to sunburn—and even more glad not have to find his own way in the crooked streets. With Bosha’s urgent danger addressed, Tronio again returned to the forefront of Pen’s thoughts. Might Pen again use his disguise as a visiting templeman to try to find him through the Bastard’s Order here? This kept his brain busy until they arrived at the formidable imperial prison, a massive affair of gray stone blocks not far from the harbor.

  Where they discovered from the bewildered warden that the prisoner Bosha had been removed, some three hours earlier, by order and into the custody of lord regent Bordane.

  Chapter 15

  Lady Xarre’s lawyer had arrived at the warden’s office only a short time before them, encountering the same setback. The warden, the lawyer, and Nao’s guard captain fell into a futile debate, a mixture of defenses, recrimination, obscure legal arguments, and threats. Pen dropped back to tax the captain’s lieutenant, who looked to be a senior and experienced man, prudent enough to stand aside and leave the affair to his betters.

  “Where do you think Bordane’s people would have taken the prisoner for questioning? His palace? Does it have a dungeon?”

  “Not as such. Cellars, yes.” The man pursed shrewd lips. “Don’t think they’d take him into the main house, though. Not if they expected things to get noisy or messy. Probably to one of the outbuildings, maybe one of the storehouses. They have thicker walls.”

  “Do you know where it is? Could you guide me there?”

  “Yes, but you’ll have to speak to my captain.”

  The captain, frustrated in his orders, was amenable to Pen’s alternate scheme of attempting to extract Bosha from Bordane rather than returning empty-handed, although it was plain he didn’t give much for its chance of success. With a fulminating scowl at the warden that Pen thought the man really didn’t quite deserve—if their lord regent’s directive was valid, so must Bordane’s have been—he took back Nao’s order and led his squad out into the hot streets once more. In this relatively quiet part of the afternoon, many Thasalon residents withdrew into the shaded quarters of their houses to wait till the sinking of the sun brought some relief, which meant that there were only twice as many people on the streets than Pen was comfortable with, instead of six times. Too many souls, too close together…

  Bordane’s palace proved more modest than his uncle’s, along the lines of Lord Nao’s, but still impressive enough. At the front steps, Pen left the captain and one of his men to present their signed and seal-stamped order at the entry, where Pen expected there would be another heated debate much like the one in the warden’s office. He had the lieutenant and two other guardsmen lead him the long way around, past the high walls. A wrought-iron service gate topped with spikes opened onto a utilitarian back compound that included a well, the kitchens, the laundry, and the storehouses. The lock surrendered quietly under Pen’s hand, which made the lieutenant’s eyebrows climb, and they slipped within.

  Even at this hour, enough servants were around to make sneaking a useless exercise; better to walk through openly as if they were official visitors, carrying out some assigned task just like everyone else. Which was true in a sense.

  Des, Sight. Pen flared his inner senses to their full range.

  Yes! In that storehouse at the very end, thick-walled and windowless, was the soul Pen had learned to recognize as Bosha’s. In a high pitch of stress, but not moving around. Along with one other man—and a distinctive demon-ridden companion.

  Well, said Des. That’s unexpected.

  Unless Lord Bordane kept his own court sorcerer whom no one had bothered to mention to Pen, they’d just found Tronio.

  And Blessed Iroki was still back at the Xarre estate… Pen bit off bad words in Wealdean.

  The other man was not Bordane. It would be unusual for a high lord to sit in on such an interrogation himself, though given his strong personal interest, not impossible, but this was some stranger to Pen. Guardsman, recording scribe? Acting on Bordane’s orders, though, obvious
ly.

  Des, damp yourself as best you can till we get inside.

  I’ll try…

  Pen nodded toward the far building, and murmured to the lieutenant, “Bosha’s in there. I definitely want to get him out. But there’s a problem. There’s another sorcerer with him. He’s not someone you can handle. I’m going to have to try. Come in with me, but hang back till I tell you. There’s one more fellow—I’m not sure who or what he is. I want him detained till I can find out.”

  “Yes, Learned,” said the lieutenant. He was clearly wondering how Pen had somehow taken command of this venture, but was disinclined to argue with the mysterious Temple sorcerer who’d come straight from secretive talks with his high lady and lord.

  The heavy storehouse door was not locked. “It’s possible some things will be happening very fast, that you won’t be able to see. Don’t panic. I’ll explain later.” This caution, alas, only evoked stares of worried incomprehension.

  Des, ready? It may mostly be up to you.

  Oh, aye. If it’s Tronio, I have plans for him.

  I’m glad one of us does.

  With a jerk of his head, Pen motioned his escorts in behind him, pulling the door shut. His dark-sight came up without his having to ask, pushing back the deep shadows around the pool of lantern light ahead; the guardsmen peered into the glow, blinking. Bosha’s interrogators appeared to have arranged their own private midnight, and Pen doubted it was in courtesy to the albino’s sun sensitivity.

  The three men limned by the lantern light all turned their faces toward the footsteps, Tronio pushing off the wooden chest he’d been perched upon, and wheeling. Even without Des’s view, he was unmistakable in the summer vestments for a learned divine, an ankle-length sleeveless tunic in the Bastard’s white with a sash braided of white, cream, and silver. Not, Pen was relieved to see, bloodstained. Spare and lanky, he was tall for a Cedonian, with short-trimmed gray hair and beard practical and serious, suggesting indifference to rich display.

  The second man must be there for his muscle, though he did not wear Bordane’s guard uniform. He was better dressed than a street thug; a lord’s personal retainer, yes. Something about him tugged at Pen’s memory, but it wasn’t his appearance. More than his heavy build and sunburned-brick skin, the poniard at his belt marked the bravo. His hand went to its hilt as his more dark-adapted eyes summed their interrupters, by his waiting stillness misliking his odds. He looked to Tronio, who had to be in charge here.