“Let me also introduce myself,” he said in his most suave tones. “I am Basha Lyim Rhistadt, Potentate Aniirin’s legatee.” He waved the dwarves toward three empty chairs at the conference table. “Please, make yourselves comfortable while you repeat to all of us the nature of your grievances.”
Amidst loud grumbling, the short-legged folk struggled into the tall chairs.
Mavrus exchanged a worried glance with Lyim. The manservant had thoughtfully suggested replacing three of the human chairs with shorter, dwarf-sized ones. Lyim had quickly rejected the idea, informing the manservant that, in his experience, dwarves interpreted that sort of gesture as patronizing. Lyim merely wrinkled his lips now, as if to say, “Who could have known?”
“As we told your man Mavrus here,” said Glous, “we have come to lodge a formal complaint concerning the looting of our trade barges and the murder of our sailors and merchants. Ships that have passed through Qindaras on the Torath in recent months have reached their final destinations with only half their loads and often minus a number of deckhands. We demand a formal investigation into this matter,” concluded the dwarf.
“Perhaps your sailors are not as trustworthy as you think,” suggested Vaspiros in his twitchy way. Like Lyim’s, Vaspiros’s district was on the waterfront. “Perhaps they were tired of life aboard ship and deserted after selling your stolen cargo to insure they could retire in style.”
The dwarven minister of trade leaned forward to speak, his fleshy cheeks burning red with anger beneath his beard. “Sailors returning to Thorbardin reported that the missing deckhands went ashore while here in Qindaras. When they did not return, search parties were dispatched. In all cases they discovered the missing sailors slain in the streets of your riverfront districts. We reported the murders, but nothing has been done.”
Calesta and Garaf, aldermen of inland districts, both visibly sighed in relief.
“Qindaras is a city of considerable size,” said Alderman Hasera, who had taken over Rusinias’s warehouse district on the riverfront. “This type of sordid thing happens all the time in cities.”
“Perhaps in human cities,” said Noshor with thinly veiled disdain, “but not in civilized cities like Thorbardin.”
“Civilized!” barked Aniirin, seeming to pay attention to the discussion for the first time. “You have a great deal of nerve coming in here, demanding anything. You’re lucky we let you sail your boats past Qindaras at all!”
“I’m certain His Lordship doesn’t mean that—” began Garaf, struggling to calm the storm that was beginning to brew. He looked helplessly to the other amirs.
Lyim’s attention turned, however, to the door. On cue, Salimshad slipped in from the courtyard and moved, with the unobtrusive grace of a surefooted elf, to Lyim’s side. He looked like a shadow in his black jelaba and hood. Lyim leaned back in his chair to give an ear to Salimshad. The elf whispered to him briefly, and Lyim’s face abruptly lit up. He nodded in satisfaction before waving Salimshad back through the doorway.
“If you do not give us satisfaction regarding these robberies and murders,” von Eaugur was shouting, “we will be forced to consider null and void the three-hundred-year trade agreement struck with Aniirin I.”
Hasera picked up the lame defense. “I’m certain the potentate shares our concern with continuing this mutually profitable trade agreement. Perhaps he has an idea that may satisfy all parties.”
“Aniirin,” stormed the potentate, “can speak for himself! Mavrus! Give Garaf and Hasera half-punishment for impersonating the potentate.”
Mavrus was surprised at the turn of events. But ever the trained manservant, he waved an arm through the doorway. Four armed sentries appeared within heartbeats. Mavrus pointed to the stymied and frightened amirs, who obviously remembered the sight of Amir Rusinias’s remains in a blood-soaked box. Without delay, the sentries marched the anxious amirs out of the Hall of Councilors. Vaspiros and Calesta gaped like landed fish, but swallowed any words they had intended to speak.
Lyim cleared his throat, then addressed the dwarves. “I take exception to your demanding tone,” he began. “The potentate moved to correct the problem of which you speak upon hearing of it from Mavrus this morning. I regret to admit that the majority of these crimes appear to have happened in my own district. Because of that, I offered my own man, Salimshad, to infiltrate the seedier sections of the district to find those responsible. He has just informed me that the culprits have in fact been apprehended and await punishment.”
Lyim snapped his fingers. Four scruffy, gagged vagrants tripped through the doorway, prodded from behind by Salimshad.
Aniirin’s mouth hung open, and his eyes bulged. The dwarves were astonished at the speed with which their demands had been met, particularly in light of the conversation.
“There can be no mistake?” asked Glous.
“None,” Lyim said, his expression as firm as cooled metal. “Salimshad is expert at forcing the truth from even the most reluctant prisoners. The men have all confessed. Your barges will have no more trouble in Qindaras.”
Lyim turned to address the potentate. “What is your will for their punishment, Sire?” Aniirin still looked stunned, obviously searching his misshapen head to remember when he had issued orders for such a search.
“Perhaps,” Lyim suggested, “you would allow the dwarves to decide their punishment, in the spirit of continued good faith.”
Pleased at his own clever forethought, Aniirin slammed a fist to the table. “Excellent idea!”
“I only remind you of what you yourself thought of first,” Lyim insisted with carefully measured humility.
“Kill them in our presence,” von Eaugur demanded. Glous and the minister of trade both nodded their bushy heads. “It is the punishment for similar, if infrequent, crimes in Thorbardin.”
Immediately, the guards tossed a loop of fine cord affixed to a wooden handle around the throat of each prisoner. The handles were twisted, and the cords tightened like tourniquets. The prisoners were unable to scream, or even whisper. One by one they dropped to their knees, their faces turning bright red, then purple. Their cheeks swelled and their eyes, filled with terror, bulged from the sockets. They convulsed in their bonds for what seemed to Lyim quite a long time. He was not sure when the precise moment of death came because their eyes never closed, though they glazed over noticeably somewhat before the limbs stopped twitching.
Satisfied at last that all four were dead, the soldiers relaxed their grips and let the bodies collapse to the floor.
Lyim leaned in and dropped his voice, ostensibly so that only Aniirin could hear. “Sire, when you decide upon a punishment for my part in these shameful incidents, I would ask that you consider my loyal service. It is unforgivable that citizens of my district could think they would get away with such acts. Garaf was right: we lose sight of how dangerous the streets are, those of us who do not live in the worst of them.” Lyim stood up straight. “Still, I take full responsibility.”
Vaspiros and Calesta exchanged looks. They had seldom heard such a long speech from the basha, whose frequent silences they had attributed to shiftiness. Neither had they expected self-reproachment from him.
“Await me in my chambers,” Aniirin pronounced with unfamiliar seriousness. For once, the look Aniirin gave Lyim was unreadable.
With bowed head, Lyim stepped over the crumpled bodies of the four innocents Salimshad had procured from the streets outside the palace. When he reached the door and slipped through it, a secret smile pulled at his lips.
* * * * *
“I do not recall giving an order to find the culprits,” admitted Aniirin. His puffy body disappeared into a soft, deep chair by the hearth. The palace was warmed by magic, as always, and needed no fire, but the potentate’s servants knew he liked to stare vacantly into flames. He claimed it soothed him.
Lyim squirmed slightly and adjusted his collar. Aniirin’s quarters were unbearably hot. “You did so this morning, Sire. We were discu
ssing renovating the stables when Mavrus informed us of the dwarves’ arrival and complaints.”
Aniirin nodded his head. “I remember that.”
“We discussed sending agents into the waterfront districts,” Lyim continued, “and then Mavrus claimed your attention for some other pressing court issue. I merely executed what I believed was your order and sent my men into the streets.” Lyim paused and looked contrite. “I hope I did not overstep my bounds.”
“No.” Aniirin stood and began to pace. He tried to lock his hands behind his back, but his arms were not long enough to surround his girth.
“Since the meeting,” Aniirin said, “I have been thinking of my grandfather. He would not consider me to be a good potentate.” He put a hand up at Lyim’s sputtered protest. “No, no, do not interrupt me in this, my good Basha.”
The potentate appeared more serious and lucid than Lyim could ever remember him, as if the day’s events had sobered him.
“I do not recall the last time I had real news of Qindaras, or cared to. You may not have noticed this, for perhaps I’ve hidden it well, but I have concerned myself only with the tax collected by my amirs, not what it represents. Are the citizens doing well? Are such murders as the dwarves described common in all riverfront districts? I know my grandfather, and my father, too, would have had the answers to these questions. A potentate should know these things.”
“It is not uncommon for leaders to lose touch with their people,” said Lyim, “particularly if they are unable to leave their palaces for security reasons.”
Nodding, Aniirin slumped back into the stuffed chair to stare into the flames in the hearth. “I do not recall the last time I saw a citizen close up, let alone spoke to one.”
Lyim pretended to be struck with a thought. “You are potentate. Who is to stop you from walking freely among your people? But, no,” Lyim said with a shake of his head. “It would be too unsafe for you.”
Aniirin sat forward. “Why is that?”
“What leader is free of citizens who would wrongly blame him for their own shortcomings? I am merely a humble basha, and yet I am still unable to travel even the shortest distances without bodyguards. As potentate, you would certainly be subjecting yourself to verbal abuse, possibly even bodily harm.”
“Who would dare to harm the potentate?” stormed Aniirin. “There would be retribution both here and in the afterlife!”
Lyim paused meaningfully. “It may seem inconceivable, Sire, but some people are willing to chance their placement in the hereafter to get the revenge they seek in the here-and-now.”
Aniirin considered that. “Few people have ever seen me. How would they know I was not some visiting nobleman?”
Lyim took in the potentate’s finely made clothing. “You don’t look like just any nobleman, Sire. Of course, I mean that only as a compliment.”
Aniirin’s brief frown of annoyance changed to resolve. “I am potentate, and I say I will travel in a disguise. Arrange it with Mavrus.” He saw Lyim’s look of protest and smiled slyly. “Consider the order your punishment for allowing those culprits to operate in your district.”
Lyim bowed his head. “Then I cannot refuse you, Sire. But I must insist you consider letting my contingent of bodyguards accompany you. I can personally vouch for their effectiveness.”
“Would I not seem more suspicious, surrounded by guards?”
“They are trained to be discreet.”
Aniirin slammed his fist upon the arm of the chair in triumph. “Then it is settled. You will see to my disguise and protection.”
“Mavrus will be the harder to convince, Sire.”
Aniirin waved a hand to dismiss the notion. “Mavrus will do whatever I say. Besides, he has witnessed your loyalty. He trusts you now.”
Lyim bowed his head once more in obeyance. “Then consider it done, Sire.”
Inwardly Lyim’s smile became a sneer as he reflected that soon, Mavrus would learn the depth of his mistake.
Mavrus’s pale, wrinkled fingers drummed the parqueted gaming table in Aniirin’s sumptuous quarters. The rhythmic noise began to fray at the already-ragged edges of Lyim’s nerves. He was supposed to make a move in their game of tenstones, but he could scarcely recall what color pieces were his, much less care. He was only playing the pointless parlor game with Aniirin’s manservant to occupy himself until the time the potentate was scheduled to return from his foray into the city.
Lyim knew Aniirin would never return.
At least that was what he hoped, what he had arranged. But the sun had slipped behind the last buildings visible through the arches of the west-facing windows. Salimshad was past due. The news of Aniirin’s murder by thugs was to have arrived just before nightfall. Salimshad made no mistakes and was never late without good reason.
What good reason could there be tonight? Either Aniirin was dead, a knife plunged through his inbred heart, or he was still alive. That possibility was unacceptable to Lyim. He unconsciously squeezed a tiny, rounded game piece until his knuckles were white.
“It is your move, Basha,” Mavrus prompted.
“I know that!” snapped Lyim. His lips compressed into a tight line at the uncharacteristic crack in his composure. “I have never been much of a player of tenstones,” he explained. “I forget the rules and—”
“I am afraid for him, too,” Mavrus interrupted.
“Don’t mistake concern for fear,” countered Lyim. “The potentate is under the protection of able guards.” Lyim pushed himself away from the table and stood up. “I don’t well tolerate changes in plan. There is never a good reason for them. Salimshad is responsible for tonight’s timetable. I will see him punished for this inconvenience.”
Mavrus toyed with the game pieces. “You forget Potentate Aniirin’s capricious nature. Your man would have no choice but to obey a whim of the potentate.”
Lyim frowned. Aniirin had agreed, for his own safety, to follow a prearranged sequence of events. Lyim remembered the potentate’s acquiescence had come quickly—maybe a little too quickly.
The basha was anxious to know what was keeping Salimshad from arriving with the “tragic” news.
“Perhaps I should have followed at a distance in disguise,” said Lyim. “Only then could we have been assured Aniirin would not veer from the planned route.”
There also would have been no alibi for Lyim’s whereabouts when it came time to investigate the assassination. The need for a credible witness was the only reason Lyim had agreed to sit in the potentate’s stifling chambers with Mavrus, playing a mindless children’s game.
An attractive young wench wearing the tight shift Aniirin preferred on his female servants glided into the room just then. She kept her face averted as she added logs to the fire already blazing in the hearth. Then the woman slipped soundlessly from the room.
Lyim frowned as the logs sizzled, then burst into flame. “Why must Aniirin keep it so warm in here?” He tugged open the strings at the neck of his tunic.
“Aniirin likes to—”
“Watch the flames, I know,” Lyim finished. The sweet scent of roses became almost overpowering in the heat, thanks to the potentate’s annoying penchant for surrounding himself with enormous vases of fresh flowers. “It smells like a death room in here.”
The pale, transparent skin on Mavrus’s face pulled up into a wry smile. “You get used to it.”
The manservant stood and poured some water from a crystal pitcher atop the settee. He took a long drink, then cleared his throat as if preparing to speak. But ever the manservant, he hastily remembered the heir apparent. “Would you care for some?”
Nodding absently, Lyim accepted the glass Mavrus held toward him.
Mavrus cleared his throat again with obvious awkwardness. “I would like to explain something that has troubled me,” he began. “When you first became amir of the merchant district, there was much talk of a negative sort regarding your character, particularly after the death of the amir who remains nameles
s. I confess I listened a little too closely to the wagging tongues and concluded that your motives were not the purest. I believed the potentate was enamored of your reputed magical abilities, and it was blinding him to your true nature.”
Lyim was amused by Mavrus’s discomfort. “Is that so?”
The balding man nodded ruefully. “You must understand, for so long I have been the only person the potentate would trust—could trust. There are few men who would not take advantage of proximity to the potentate’s ear.”
“Am I to presume from this confession that you’ve had a change of heart?”
Mavrus set down the water goblet. “I have watched you accept blame for things for which you could have seized credit. I have witnessed the loyalty you inspire. I have seen you foster in Aniirin an interest in the city’s welfare that he has never before possessed.”
Mavrus paused, then said in a rush, “It is a relief to admit I have been most concerned. I can see that the magic instilled by both Aniirin I and II to maintain the palace is waning. But other than gently reminding my lord, I have been helpless to do anything about it.” Mavrus clamped a hand over his mouth and sank weakly into a chair, surprised at his own confession.
Lyim stared at Mavrus’s fretful profile for a long moment. What a pity, he thought, that you should choose me as your confessor. I would slay any servant so free with his words about me, however well intended.
“Please forgive my loose tongue, Basha. It’s just that I am so happy to see new life breathed into my lord.” It was Mavrus’s turn to frown at the closed door. “And I am so worried that he has not yet returned.”
Lyim had similar concerns. Perhaps there was some way he could leave to locate either the potentate of Salimshad. If Mavrus saw him, Lyim would forfeit his alibi. As much as he’d like to, he couldn’t very well knock the man unconscious. The room was hot enough to inspire sleepiness, but Mavrus was too concerned about Aniirin to drop off on his own. Searching his mind for alternative means to slip away, Lyim absently fingered the velvety, wilted petals of a rose in a nearby vase. An old memory sprang to mind. He had once used a handful of rose petals to cast a sleep spell.
The Seventh Sentinel Page 10