But, then, that’s why she was here. Mountainheart had clearly intended to broker her fame for Aggar’s pardon. He should have just told her that back in Stormreach—she could have saved them both the trip.
Just then, the door opened and a short, harried-looking dwarf hurried in, carrying a sheaf of papers and pushing up violet-lensed spectacles that kept sliding down what, for a dwarf, was a very small nose. He couldn’t have been more than forty years old. Sabira and Aggar exchanged skeptical glances and stood.
“So sorry I’m late!” The newcomer exclaimed, sticking out a hand first to Aggar then, a little less enthusiastically, to Sabira. “I had to fight my way through an awful crowd outside Ferrous House. They’ve even called in the city guard! Apparently there’s some other murderer here called ‘Shard Axe’ that they’re demanding to see released. Ridiculous! And what sort of self-respecting criminal would name themselves after an urgrosh, anyway …?” The dwarf trailed off as he caught sight of the shard axe strapped to Sabira’s back. “Oh.”
“Other mur—” Sabira repeated incredulously, ignoring the barrister’s chagrined look. Aggar cut her off with a quick shake of his head.
“No, it’s fine, Saba. A good advocate always presumes his client’s guilt, because that’s what his opponent is going to do—you’ve got to think like your enemy if you want to defeat him. Isn’t that right, Rockfist?”
“Exactly so,” the junior barrister replied, nodding vigorously. Evidently he thought his slip of the tongue had somehow won Aggar’s approval, and he was obviously relieved to have done so.
Aggar just grinned at the advocate’s undue enthusiasm, looking a bit like a cat that had eaten his owner’s beloved but annoying songbird. “By the way, Rockfist, meet Sentinel Marshal Sabira Lyet d’Deneith. She’s the ridiculously named ‘Shard Axe.’ And she’s going to be my lead defender, and your new boss.”
“Aggar, you can’t be serious—” Sabira began, only to be drowned out by Rockfist’s own angry protests.
“What do you mean, lead defender? She’s not even a barrister, let alone a dwarf! You can’t do that! And the Council will never—”
“She’s the Shard Axe. If you’d bothered to study recent history instead of just ancient law, you’d know she’s as close as you can get to a dwarf without being born one, or formally adopted into a clan. The Council will hear her, and they’ll give far more credence to what she has to say than they will to whatever arguments you might come up with. You tell her the right words to use, she says them, and maybe I might actually get out of this thing alive.” Then Aggar, who’d been walking toward the barrister as he spoke, stopped in front of the other dwarf and lowered his voice. His hand shot out to grab a fistful of Rockfist’s short beard, his gold Aurum rings gleaming in the light of the room’s single everbright lantern. “And don’t you ever presume to tell me that I can’t do something. As long as I’m paying your bill, I can do whatever I want, and you’ll keep your opinions about it to yourself. Understand?”
“Y—yes,” Rockfist spluttered weakly before Aggar released him.
“Now,” the Tordannon heir continued, as if nothing untoward had happened, “I’ve already briefed Sabira, so why don’t you two go over Blackiron’s notes and figure out how you’re going to keep me from hanging?”
Blackiron apparently hadn’t had a great deal of time to review Aggar’s case before his ill-fated fishing trip, because his notes consisted of little more than the details of the murders, including the times of death, and Aggar’s relationship to each of the victims, as well as his whereabouts during their deaths. In short, nothing she didn’t already know, and nothing that was going to help.
Something did strike her as odd as she went over the dwarven characters, and she asked Aggar about it, not trusting in either her translation or Rockfist’s helpfulness.
“Is this right? All of the bodies were found within a day or two of the victims’ deaths, and the latest victims were found the fastest?”
“Yes, that’s right.” It was Rockfist, clearly perturbed that she was ignoring him. He pushed up his spectacles officiously. “Ag—that is, the murderer—took less care hiding the bodies as time went on. Almost as if he wanted to be caught.” He said that last dramatically, like it was some sort of brilliant deduction, and Sabira snorted.
“Or as if he wanted someone else to get caught—which, by the way, is the crux of Aggar’s defense. Namely, that he was framed. Try to keep that in mind, hmm?”
Turning back to Aggar, she continued, “Except for Goldglove, right? His body wasn’t discovered for a week.”
“That’s right,” Aggar replied, the crease in his brow showing that he wasn’t quite following her admittedly circuitous line of reasoning.
“So, when someone dies and their body is found quickly, it’s relatively easy to determine exactly when they died. But when a body sits for a while, it becomes much harder—predators, weather, and rot all take a toll. So how do they know exactly when Goldglove died?”
“His logbook,” Rockfist answered before Aggar could, grabbing some of the papers out of Sabira’s hands and leafing through until he found what he was looking for. “Here.”
Sabira took the proffered sheet back and skimmed it quickly. The journal was mentioned halfway down, where Blackiron had apparently jotted down notes from an official report that listed the items found on or near each of the victims.
Goldglove’s body had been found on the 9th of Eyre, a little over a week after he’d met with Aggar, an appointment that was mentioned in the logbook. Subsequent entries dealt with the hot springs he’d been examining and continued up until five days before his corpse had been discovered, and presumably the day he’d died. The final entry was short, cryptic, and unfinished.
New hot spring found, approximately a quarter-mile from the last and deviating from the postulated straight-line progression by only four hundred fifty feet. See map in D.’s Tombs report. Evidence suggests spring is not natural, including …
But whatever evidence Goldglove had been referring to had never made it from his head to the page.
“What’s this report the last entry refers to?” she asked Rockfist. If the barrister wanted to prove his usefulness so badly, he could start by giving her the information that wasn’t in Blackiron’s notes.
“I don’t know,” the dwarf admitted. “We don’t have a copy of the logbook, only the entries spanning the time from Goldglove’s meeting with Aggar up to his death. But I can’t see how it’s relevant—unless you’re suggesting he was killed to cover up this business with the hot springs, and every murder since then has simply been an effort to divert attention from it?”
Sabira glared at the bespectacled barrister. He was really starting to get on her nerves. But she’d seen enough of the bureaucrat now to know how to deal with him.
“I’m not suggesting anything. But there could be a link, and we owe it to our client to pursue any avenue that leads away from him as the main suspect, don’t you think?”
As Sabira had hoped, Rockfist fairly preened at her use of the words “we” and “our.” Like anyone working in the shadow of a legend—and Blackiron had been that, and more—Rockfist wanted to know his work had value on its own merit. Sabira had seen little thus far to suggest that was the case, but if Rockfist thought she was putting stock in his opinion, he’d fall all over himself to prove he was worthy of that trust.
“I’ll request a copy of the journal be made available to us,” he said, scribbling a note on one of the many papers he still held. “The original is most likely still in Frostmantle, either with the authorities there or already released to his mother.”
Before Sabira could respond, the door opened again and the Narathun guard stuck his head in.
“Time to go, Tordannon,” he said gruffly. “You’re up next.”
As Rockfist gathered up the rest of his papers, Aggar pulled Sabira aside.
“Before we go out there, I need to know something.”
; At her quizzical look, his gaze sharpened.
“Why are you going through with this, Saba? Orin entered into his contract with you under false pretenses. You can’t be bound by it under those circumstances. And we both know you couldn’t care less if the Iron Council had me drawn and quartered—Dolurrh, you’d probably ask for a box seat! So what else is going on here?”
Sabira regarded him for a moment, biting back her first impulsive response, which was to call him an ungrateful orc and question his ancestry.
It was a valid question. By rights, since Orin had lied about the terms of the contract, she was under no obligation to honor it. But the fact was that her being here no longer had anything to do with her contract. She wasn’t sure when the shift had occurred, or what had caused it. Maybe it had been Elix’s admonitions that Ned would have wanted her to do this, or Orin saving her life aboard the Dust Dancer. Maybe it had been the sight of Ned’s sword on Elix’s wall, or just being in Vulyar—being home—again after so many years.
Call it duty, or guilt, or stubborn pride. Call it stupidity, for it most surely was that. Call it all of those things, or none. Ultimately, the motivation mattered far less than the action itself, for she had committed to facing up to the ghosts of her past, and her course, at least, was clear.
She was going to defend Aggar, and hopefully lay Ned’s spirit to rest in the process, once and for all. Host help her.
Of course, there was no way she was going to tell Aggar all that. But he was a shrewd businessman with a nose for deception; he’d know if she lied to him outright. So she’d have to settle for telling him a partial truth, or they’d never get out of this room, which seemed smaller and more stifling by the moment.
“Voiding the contract also negates my fee. And, frankly, I find myself in a bit of debt at the moment and Orin offered me extremely generous terms. There was really no way I could reasonably refuse.” That was probably the easiest answer, for both of them.
Aggar stared at her hard for a long moment.
“So, you’re doing it for the money?” He grinned at that, though she couldn’t tell whether he actually believed her or not. “Now that’s the Saba I remember! Welcome back!”
He clapped her on the back, harder than was strictly necessary, using the jovial gesture to nudge her toward the door where Rockfist and the Narathun waited impatiently.
“Now let’s go find a way to pull my hide out of Onatar’s fire, shall we?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mol, Nymm 16, 998 YK
Krona Peak, Mror Holds.
Back in the main audience chamber, the Narathun led them to one of the curved benches three rows back from the edge of the circular area that housed the eye of Aureon. Eleven of the thirteen thrones were now occupied—all save that of the Noldrun clan, which hadn’t been used in more than four centuries, and the Kundarak seat, which had been vacant since that clan became House Kundarak. The eye itself was also occupied by a male dwarf with black hair and eyes, who had been stripped down to his breeches, a tactic used both to ensure that those testifying were hiding nothing physical on their persons and to make them feel as if they could hide nothing—physical or otherwise—from the watchful eyes of Aureon and the Iron Council.
The dark-eyed dwarf was in the middle of reciting his lineage, an exercise that could take days if done correctly. Luckily, it seemed the Council was only interested in the dwarf’s maternal side, so they might only have to endure a few hours of the monotonous litany of begats and begottens.
Aside from the three newcomers and their guard, who stood behind Aggar caressing the cheek of his urgrosh’s axe-head, the gallery was mostly empty. Two well-armed dwarves stood on either side of the double doors, a matched set to those on the other side, and another pair stood at either end of the Council dais. Other guards stood at intervals along the walls—ten in all—their stony faces and rigid stances making them appear to be statues. The priestess of Aureon was there as well, sitting in a plain wooden chair to the right of the dais. Another priestess stood at her left hand—probably the perceptor, who would be monitoring the chamber for anyone using magic to either disrupt the proceedings or circumvent the eye’s power. A female gnome sat scribbling in the front row, either a court scribe or a chronicler. And a dwarf woman wearing black mourning veils sat across the aisle from the gnome, her hands hidden in the deep folds of an ermine-trimmed robe. Probably the widow or mother of one of Aggar’s alleged victims, hoping her grief would sway the Council’s verdict against the Tordannon heir. A wish that was, unfortunately, almost certain to be granted.
“That’s Hrun Noldrun,” Rockfist whispered, pitching his voice low and gesturing toward the dwarf standing on the eye. “He arrived in Krona Peak back in Therendor, badly burned and raving. He claims to be the last heir of the Noldruns, and they say he can correctly recite all the key lineages. Torlan himself supported his petition to speak in front of the Council.”
To Aggar’s disbelieving expression, the barrister replied with a plaintive, “What?”
“You know about the latest pretender to Noldrunhold, but you don’t know who the Shard Axe is?”
Rockfist shrugged. “Barrut liked to read the Krona Peak broadsheets. Sometimes I’d sneak a look at them when I was supposed to be studying.”
“Well, good. I’m sure your mastery of all the most recent local gossip will come in handy when we’re addressing the Council,” Sabira snapped, disgusted. She hoped Kiruk had significantly reduced the retainer when Rockfist took over Aggar’s case. When the gnome threw a dark glance over her shoulder at them, Sabira lowered her voice and directed her next words at Aggar. “Didn’t you once tell me about another Noldrun who addressed the Council? A few months after Ned and I arrived in the Holds?”
“Ah, yes,” Aggar said, stroking his beard in thought. “What was her name … Eddartha? No, Eddarga. She was half-duergar, they said, and looked it: bald, gray skin, black eyes. Her appearance even gave some credence to the widely dismissed theory that Noldrunhold was wiped out by a gray dwarf uprising. Like our newest aspirant here, she knew all the right lineages. Her petition was actually sponsored by Gunnett’s family, the Stonebloods. They’re affiliated with the Toldoraths, and their lands border Noldrunhold on the north. Gunnett’s father was the one who got the Council to agree to hear her, but he never showed up to speak on her behalf—remember, they found him dead later? He was the first of Nightshard’s victims. Anyway, without him to speak for her, they ultimately rejected her claim. My own father and Garrek Soldorak were the ones who spoke out most strongly against her ‘tainted’ blood. Though personally, I imagine their objections stemmed more from the fact that, as the only other clans with lands bordering Noldrunhold, they had the most to lose if that hold became active again.” Aggar didn’t look particularly distressed either by the thought of his father’s prejudice or by the idea that Kiruk might have had more avaricious motives. “Eddarga left the audience chamber in disgrace, but not before she vowed to reclaim Noldrunthrone and the vacant Noldrun Council seat. Oh, and to punish her detractors, too, of course—wouldn’t make a good story without that.”
“Well, I’d guess by Hrun’s appearance, she didn’t follow through on any of those threats,” Sabira commented.
“It would seem not.”
The conversation lulled after that, with Rockfist diligently scribbling his own comments on top of Blackiron’s notes and Aggar surreptitiously tugging on various beads and braids in his beard. No doubt getting some inside information from Kiruk, who sat across from them on the Tordannon seat and had likewise developed a number of inexplicable facial itches and tics. Their movements were too quick and subtle for Sabira to follow, so she contented herself with a brief, nonspecific prayer of gratitude that Aggar’s scratching was due to his wordless conversation with his father and not his long, unwashed wait to address the Council. Though she supposed she ought to be thanking Rockfist as well, since it was his talisman that had removed Aggar’s objectionable odor—an old trick
of Blackiron’s, since juries tended to look more favorably on defendants they couldn’t actually smell.
Sabira quickly grew bored with listening to Hrun Noldrun’s long catalog of ancestors, so she spent the rest of her time observing the members of the Iron Council, trying to get a read on whether or not they would accept this new claimant to Noldrunthrone. Kiruk was too busy feeding information to his son to pay more than cursory attention to Hrun’s litany, but Sabira doubted his opinion would be any different this time than last—without irrefutable proof, he wasn’t going to vote to open up a hold that might ultimately challenge his clan’s supremacy in the south. Soldorak and Toldorath would no doubt vote against the self-proclaimed Noldrun as well, and for the same reasons. Narathun would probably vote for accepting Hrun’s claim, partly because the reopening of Noldrunhold would have no economic impact on her clan and partly because both Tordannon and Toldorath would vote against it. Droranath hated Tordannon, Toldorath, and Narathun equally, so it was anyone’s guess which way he would vote. He was probably one of the few who’d actually base his decision on the merits of Hrun’s claims and not on old clan alliances and hostilities.
Soranath and Soldorak most often voted together on the Council, and since Torlan Mroranon was likely to support the claim and clans Soranath and Mroranon had feuded since ancient times, Sabira felt sure the clean-shaven dwarf would vote against Noldrun. Laranak and Londurak were too intent on their own personal war to pay much attention to how the other clans voted, but if one voted to accept Hrun’s claim, the other would surely vote against it, effectively canceling out each other’s choices. Doldarun kept his own counsel, as did Kolkarun, but there was recent bad blood between the two, so it was a fair bet that if one accepted the new Noldrun, the other would reject him out of spite. Since clan Kundarak had no voice on the Council, that meant that the outcome of the vote was most likely already determined, and had been before Hrun ever began speaking. It would be six to five against.
The Shard Axe: An Eberron Novel (Dungeons & Dragons) Page 17