There was a moment of silence and then the crowd erupted in a roaring that Tia could feel through the soles of her boots. Panic flooded through her until she realized that the song had come to an end and these people were showering the performers with their thundering approval. Emboldened by the crowd, Tiadaria lent her voice to the crescendo, pounding her hands together in the most sincere applause she had ever given.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
The voice in her ear startled her. Not only because of the proximity, but because she hadn’t noticed the man’s approach. He was leaning over her shoulder, his head covered with a half-helm. Tia nodded, turning to get a better look at him.
He was clad in heavy armor, a black dragon emblazoned on the breastplate. It was a knight’s armor and belatedly, Tia realized that the man who had been standing behind her for who knew how long was a city guard, or at the very least, a part of the Grand Army of the Imperium. Tia recognized the sigil. The Captain kept armor in his war chest that bore the same crest. Even his fighting armor, the thin white silk with the fine ringlets of silver, had a black dragon embroidered on the inside breast. A man may leave the army, Tia suspected, but she doubted that the army ever left the man.
Why was he staring at her so? He had been standing just over her shoulder; certainly he had seen through the gauzy material of the scarf and seen that she was a slave. Her collar would have betrayed her and he would lower his pike and march her off through the crowd, and object of their scorn and ridicule. Tia had heard stories of what happened to convicts who were paraded through the streets of whatever town or holding they had committed their crimes in. Those stories didn’t oft end well.
The knight’s scrutiny seemed to increase. He cocked his head at her and then pointed to his ear.
“I said,” he nearly shouted over the din, “Beautiful isn’t it?”
Foolish, stupid girl. Tia berated herself as she smiled at the man, whose face settled into more relaxed lines.
“Yes,” she replied, equally loudly, for the girl had started a new song, this one much faster than the last. “Quite!”
The man smiled, patted her on the shoulder, and worked his way through the crowd. He nodded to this person and that one, stopping to converse with others only briefly as he made his rounds. It wasn’t long before he was completely long from view.
Tia’s chest ached and she let out a rush of breath that made her head swim. She hadn’t even realized she had been holding it. She rubbed the area under her rib cage, trying to massage the soreness of the extended effort away. Pairs were breaking off in the square now, and the crowd pushed back from the center to allow those who wished to dance the space to do so, unimpeded.
The outward expansion of the gathering invaded Tia’s secluded doorway. Where she had been alone a moment before, she was now pressed among a mass of bodies that ebbed and flowed like the tide. She was assaulted by a number of smells, some of them pleasant, others less so. Her heart began to race and she knew that she needed to get back to the inn, back to relative safety and comfort.
Running on dry sand was easier than moving through the ever-shifting throng of people in her way. It seemed that every time she made a few steps headway toward the inn, she was buffeted backward, to the side, or had to detour around some reveler who, lost in the music, disregarded any attempt for her to slip past expediently. The struggle felt like it went on forever, but she was finally free. She slipped into an alleyway, comforted by the cool blackness there and the relative silence.
Getting her bearings, she was able to deduce that she wasn’t too far off from the inn. If this inn met up with a road parallel to the main road, she could cut a few minutes off her trip by following the alley down to its end. Wanting nothing more than to be in the comfort of the inn, in her bed, fast asleep, she decided to risk it.
The alleys were a stark contrast to the well-lit streets. The blackness seemed to engulf her as she walked and she found herself trailing her fingers down the fieldstone wall beside her, a comforting presence that kept her focused and confident that she was still moving in the right direction. The night seemed to lighten ahead, and Tia saw that her alley joined another at right angles. There must be a lantern or oil lamp down the far alley that was shedding pale, butter colored light over the joint where the walls of the pathways met.
Tiadaria had almost reached the pool of light when a robed figure backed into the alley ahead of her. Momentum carried her another few steps before she was able to stop. The robed figure clutched its stomach, the cream-colored robes stained with blood. So much blood. It slipped through the figure’s clenched fingers and spattered onto the moss etched stones. Tia felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up and she pulled her belt dagger free, ignoring the now familiar jolt that went up her arm and settled into the base of her spine.
No sooner was the blade free than a massive black shape bounded into the alley. It struck the robed figure in a blur, sending it crashing against the wall. There was a moist thud and the body slid down to a sitting position, its legs sprawled grotesquely outward. Tia shifted into the offensive stance the Captain had taught her, but even as her instinct took over, she felt her stomach clench as the beast turned its full attention on her.
Eyes glowing with blue fire, it snarled, its powerful legs bunching, preparing to spring. There was a scream from the alley behind Tia. Someone, possibly one of the revelers from the square, had stumbled into the alley and found something horribly at odds with the pleasantness of the evening.
The creature’s ears swiveled, its fangs glistening with spittle in the dim light of the far off lantern. With a low growl, it leapt off the way it had come, leaving Tia standing there with her blade in her hand and a body at her feet. There were shouts behind her now. She knew that she should sheath the dagger and check on the robed figure laid out before her, but she couldn’t seem to make her body obey. Her arm dropped to her side, the dagger clasped lightly in fingers made nerveless by shock.
Someone grabbed her and wheeled her away from the body, pushing her up against the wall. They plucked the dagger from her hand.
“He’s dead,” someone said. It was a man’s voice, flat and devoid of emotion.
“Let me through,” someone snarled, and the growing crowd reluctantly parted enough for a man clad in silver armor to squeeze through. He carried a large lantern and it registered somewhere in the back of Tia’s mind that it was a street lantern. They took them off the poles. That’s obviously how they lit them. It made perfect sense. Another part of her screamed that none of this made sense. That there was no single part of any of this that made any sense at all. She wanted to silence that nagging voice, to tell it to shut up and leave her alone, but it kept nagging at her, like the echo of a pebble dropped down a deep well.
“She stabbed him!” That voice was shrill, a woman’s on the verge of hysteria. “I saw it.”
“There’s no blood,” Tia heard herself say. She meant on her dagger. There wouldn’t be any blood on the dagger, since she hadn’t done anything. A slow thought bubbled up to her. Someone had taken the dagger, she didn’t know who.
“There’s plenty of blood, you silly bitch.” A man’s voice, hard and vindictive.
“Silence!” The knight’s roar caused the crowd to back up a few steps. He lifted the lantern and shone it directly into Tia’s face. She squinted against the light, but recognized him easily. It was the knight she had spoken to in the square. How long ago had that been? It seemed like years. If there was any time for the Captain to appear, as if out of nowhere, like he did...now was that time.
“I know you,” the knight said slowly. “I spoke to you earlier this evening.”
Tia nodded, feeling bile rise up in the back of her throat. She was determined not to add humiliation to the events of the evening by vomiting all over her boots, or worse, the knight himself. A leaden hand went to her throat, fighting back the wave of nausea that crashed over her, threatening to carry her away.
The
gesture was ill-advised. The knight held the lantern closer. A flicker of, something, flashed across his features. So quickly that Tia wasn’t sure she even saw it. His thick fingers went to the end of the scarf and tugged it free. The thin fabric unwound itself readily, as if it was eager to give up her darkest secret. As it fell, there was a gasp from the crowd. Her collar stood out in black damnation against her pale skin.
“A slave!”
“Run her through!”
“Take her head!”
“ENOUGH!” The knight bellowed, bringing the butt of his halberd down on the pavers so hard that a few sparks leapt from the bottom of the weapon. “You lot go about your business. There will be no vigilante justice here tonight. Not while I still stand.”
He glowered at them, and the crowd began to disperse. In a few moments, the only men standing in the alley were the knight and two men clad in robes identical to that of the corpse. One of them held her dagger. He was turning it over in his hands, holding it toward the light of the knight’s lantern.
“There’s no blood on this dagger, Valyn.” The man tipped the blade toward the knight, showing him the proof. He used the tip of the dagger as a pointer, first at the cobblestones and then at the body. “Plenty of blood on the stones and his robes. You’re not going to tell me this dagger struck the blow.”
“I’m not going to tell you anything, Faxon.” Valyn propped his weapon against the wall and scrubbed at his face with his now free hand. “Now, slave, tell me exactly what happened.”
“She has a name, Valyn.” Faxon stepped forward, the other robed man a step behind him, a living shadow. “What’s your name girl?”
“Tiadaria, Sir.”
“Where is your Master, Tiadaria?”
“The Captain had a meeting with Torus in the palace.”
Faxon and Valyn exchanged startled glances. It was obvious that whatever answers they had expected from her, this wasn’t it.
“The Captain,” Valyn muttered, as if he couldn’t believe his ears. “You don’t think she means--”
“Who else is referred to as The Captain, by practically everyone in the Imperium, Valyn?”
“I don’t believe it. Not even for a minute.” A flush began to creep up from his neck and colored his cheeks.
“Easy, Valyn.” Faxon clapped the man on the shoulder before he turned back to Tia. “Just to be clear, you’re saying that your Master is Royce MacDungren? Former Captain of the Grand Army of the Imperium and war hero to the realm?”
Tiadaria nodded.
“Great Gatzbin’s gonads,” he swore softly. Faxon motioned for his shadow to lift the body. “We need to get to the palace, Valyn. Right now.”
~~~~
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Royce MacDungren, Former Captain of the Grand Army of the Imperium and war hero to the realm was furious. White-hot anger boiled just below the surface of his carefully composed and impassive facade. The crier had come racing into the council chamber with news that a slave had murdered a mage. The Lord-Knight of the Guard and Master Faxon were on their way to the palace, he said. He took two breaths fit for a dragon, and then asked his sovereign if his grace cared to return a message. Heron thanked him for his service and dismissed him.
The wizened King turned to Royce and Torus, subjecting them to a scrutiny that would have made lesser men pale. “What do you boys know of this?”
“Nothing, Your Grace.” Royce replied quickly, the lie bitter and heavy on his tongue.
“I won’t tolerate liars, Royce, not even a man as highly decorated and honorable as you. Your jaw could have cracked walnuts when the crier said slave. So what’s going on?”
In for a fraction, in for the crown, Royce thought. Though the recounting was hurried, he ran the King through the events of the last few weeks. He omitted the fact that there were two bodies burned down to ash and bone off the trade road to the far south of King’s Reach. There was such a thing as too much honesty. When he had finished, the King shook his head, scratching the wisps of hair over his ears.
“You certainly don’t like doing things the simple way, do you Royce?”
Torus snorted. The King eyed him for a moment before he went on.
“Would she have done this?”
“No,” Royce replied emphatically, shaking his head. “I don’t know what happened out there, but she wouldn’t murder someone.”
“Not even to keep her secret?” Torus’s voice was quiet and measured.
Royce looked at him. The doubt was justified. Slaves were known to go to desperate lengths to keep their status a secret. To keep the shame and indignity at bay for as long as they could. The figures here didn’t sum. Royce was positive that whatever had happened, the girl hadn’t been the aggressor.
“No.” His simple reply held grave weight behind it, and Torus turned away, unable to hold his gaze.
“Enough, you two.” The King lowered his rickety frame into a sturdy chair and poured a glass of wine from a flagon on the council table. “We’ll get to the bottom of this soon enough.”
No sooner was that said than Valyn and Faxon entered with Tiadaria. Another man in a robe followed them. Royce recognized him as Adamon, a mage and Grand Inquisitor of the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences.
Royce swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat. Inquisitors had one role and one role only: to mete out justice to errant mages. There were many forms that justice could take, but the most severe was censure. The ritual would sever the link between the mage and their magic. In many cases, it was a fate worse than death.
Deprived of their connection to the Quintessential Sphere, the energy of all things, the mages would often go mad. Those that didn’t often turned to suicide to end their torment. The few that remained were hollow husks, shells of the men and women they had once been. They were referred to by many as the lost, and Royce couldn’t help but agree. There was a difference between living and merely existing.
So why was Adamon here? Had they learned Tiadaria’s secret, and by extension, his? Confronted with a reality that countermanded the natural order, had they sought to censure the girl? The talent for using both spell and steel was one that Royce had thought was limited to his bloodline. Tiadaria proved that untrue. How many others in the world had the ability? How long would it take for the Academy to discover their existence and hunt them down?
The Academy had little tolerance for rogue mages, those who didn’t receive formal training from childhood and had been overseen in their strict hierarchy. If they had discovered that the girl was a slave as well as a mage...
Valyn dropped to one knee before the King, his salute dismissed by a half-hearted wave from the sovereign. The mages bowed respectfully but did not kneel. Their haughty demeanor had always ruffled Royce’s feathers. He wondered if they’d retain their smug and superior airs if he told them that he too, was tapped into the Quintessential Sphere. He reined in his savage thoughts. Bouncing back and forth between fear and hostility was a good way to get killed. He forced himself to breath, struggling to attain an inner calm that matched his passive exterior.
“Alright,” the King said, looking each man in the eye in turn. “What’s going on?”
The sudden outburst from all sides that resulted from that simple question would have been comical under any other circumstance. Valyn and Faxon both took up their tale at the same time, with Tiadaria chiming in with her own explanation just a moment after. Shaking his head, the King held up his hand for silence.
“If I may,” Adamon said quietly, stepping between Faxon and Valyn and approaching the King. “The slave was found in possession of this dagger.”
The inquisitor produced the weapon and offered it to the King, hilt first. The King took the offering and turned it over in his hands as Adamon continued.
“An Initiate was murdered tonight, a stone’s throw from the market square. I don’t know why he was outside the Academy past curfew, but that seems to be going around.” He looked at Tia and she d
ropped her eyes. “I do know that the dagger you now hold did not kill him. The wound was torn, not made by as sharp or fine a blade as that one. The girl, it would seem, is innocent of murder. As for her presence in the city...” He nodded to Royce, who stiffened at the gesture. “Regardless of why she is here, she is, and she is the only witness to what happened in the alley where a promising young mage lost his life.”
The King turned the blade over in his hand. Royce wondered how long it would be before he recognized it. Royce had carried that blade every day for nearly thirty years, had stood side by side with the King with it on his belt so often that he had lost track of the occasions and events. Now this girl, a slave, carried it. Certainly he would see the meaning in that, if he chose to see it.
He looked directly into Tiadaria’s eyes and she blushed under the shrewd appraisal. They stood that way for several moments, separated by three feet and seventy-odd years. He flipped the blade in the air, as deft as a man less than twice his years, and caught the blade neatly between thumb and forefinger. He offered it to the girl, who hesitated only a moment before she accepted the offering and slipped it back into the sheath on her belt.
“What’s your name, girl?”
“Tiadaria, Your Grace.” She dropped to one knee, a perfect mimic of the gesture that Valyn had made before. Royce dared look at Torus, who no longer seemed to be as openly skeptical of the girl or her role in the killing. His eyes landed on Royce and he shrugged, as if to say it was out of his hands. It was definitely out of their hands, Royce thought. This impromptu performance would play out between Tiadaria and the King. The rest of the players would wait in the wings until their lines were called.
“Lady Tiadaria,” the King began with grave formality, “please tell us about the events that transpired tonight.”
“Against the Captain’s orders, I decided that I wanted to explore the city, so I left the inn and found my way to the market square. There was a girl there singing and a woman playing an instrument as big as she was that I haven’t ever seen before. I even saw Sir Valyn making the rounds. After the song was over, the people started dancing and things got very crowded. I was worried about people finding out about me...”
The Swordmage Trilogy Bundle, Volumes 1-3 Page 12