Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness

by Carl Sargent, Marc Gascoigne (v0. 9) (epub)

  "How do you know that?" he said aloud.

  "I overheard her, sir. I didn't hear or see the other wizard."

  "I think," Cassian said slowly, "that you had better tell me everything. From the beginning. Every last detail."

  Jerenn had a momentary impulse to scratch the back of his head, and as he raised his arm behind his head to do so he cut the movement short, wincing in pain from the cut. Cassian immediately demanded to see his arm. Cursing his forgetfulness, Jerenn rolled up his sleeve. The wound had almost soaked the bandage now, and as he fumbled with one hand to roll up the sleeve, the soaked cloth almost fell off, leaving a bloodied trail of unwinding linen dangling in mid-air. Cassian shot out of bed like a hare bolting from cover, pushed the boy down into a chair, and ran off towards the servants quarters, shouting for a maid.

  Jerenn hung his head, trying to patch up the bandage. What had he gotten himself into now?

  16

  By noon, Jerenn's resistance was so low that he'd blurted out his fear of the threat of blood magic. Cassian did his best to reassure him that the protections of the Rose Villa itself would prevent such reprisal, and gave him a silvered pendant for further protection. It was not magical, in point of fact, and of no value—save that it comforted Jerenn and made him feel secure. The elf made sure the boy's wounds were properly cleaned and treated, and left orders for him to be fed on good meat and a little wine, to replenish strength lost from bleeding. Noticing the sideways looks he got from some of the other slaves, Cassian knew they thought he'd taken the lad as a catamite.

  Well, let them gossip, he thought. It'll keep them from wondering about anything important.

  He also managed to put in a couple of hours' work at the House of Records, searching diligently for any documents that might provide a link between Ilfaralek and Patracheus. Though Ilfaralek should be as above the schemes of the city's purse-string holder as Cassian himself was, wisdom dictated that he make some such study. If Ilfaralek was involved in something underhanded, it was unlikely he'd left behind any proof, but a praetor could leave no stone unturned. To his relief, Cassian could find no such evidence; but there were many formal agreements between members of Houses Zanjan and Thaloss, and he was uncomfortable at the prospect of doing what he must do next.

  "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice," he said smoothly to Ilfaralek while being ushered into his offices in the Southern Barracks. "I'm afraid that I must impose on you for some help. I've discovered a document of some interest. I must ask you to speak of Patracheus."

  Ilfaralek's pupils dilated. "He is powerful," he replied slowly, "and very influential. Very influential."

  "I need to know which are his most important commercial connections. And which are perhaps less than entirely public." Cassian went right to the point, dispensing with the exchange of pleasantries that would only have wasted time and done nothing to soften up the alert and clever akarenti.

  "You'd better have a very good reason for your query," Ilfaralek said. "And I had better be assured that this information will not be traced back to me in any report you compose."

  "That goes without saying," Cassian began.

  "Say it anyway," the man said tartly.

  Cassian laughed. "I can assure you that that will be so. Come, your profession is not so very far from mine. You know that I would not be so unwise, nor so inconsiderate."

  "Much of Patracheus's work these days is handled by his associate, Mordain. Patracheus has been his mentor for some years and perhaps grows a little lazy."

  "Not wise for one in his position," Cassian murmured.

  "Perhaps not, but on the other hand, it lets Patracheus appear to be above the common corruption of his post."

  "Mordain does the dirty work now, leaving Patracheus to deal with the most powerful nobles," Cassian suggested.

  "Exactly so. Patracheus retains control, but he has someone trusted to deal with the details," Ilfaralek said.

  "Can Patracheus trust him?"

  "I think so," Ilfaralek said slowly, after some consideration. "Mordain is still too junior to be a threat to Patracheus. Anyway, you can be sure that Patracheus has enough dirt on Mordain to keep him from doing anything rash. Should one fall, the other would go down too, I think."

  "Patracheus is involved with all major city works?" Cassian said casually.

  "Most certainly. He has control of all financing in such matters. Naturally, there are separate moneys for military expenditures, though never enough. It's true the Overgovemor also has his own household bursary, which is considerable. But Patracheus controls what really matters. Even if he doesn't, he's always kept up to date on work projects, not least because the planner is usually hoping for extra funds from the House of Works. I myself must go to Patracheus, hoping to persuade him of my own requirements for expenditures, and he is reasonably receptive. I have good relations with him, and we have no cause for quarrel. Thus, you might not consider my opinions entirely objective, though I've done my best to be so."

  Cassian smiled and changed the course of the conversation.

  "He would have had contracts with Daralec, then?"

  "Come now, Cassian, you've been spending time at the House of Records. You already know that is so."

  The elf smiled, deliberately trying to make Ilfaralek feel a little more in command of the conversation than he actually was.

  "And then Haughrald is also a member of House Thaloss, and Dragold seems to have enjoyed Patracheus's favor," Cassian went on.

  "Yes, because of his working with Haughrald. They were always in favor with the Department of Bursaries."

  "Patracheus's wife is of House Medari," Cassian observed.

  "She is Tarlanth's cousin," Ilfaralek told him.

  "Quite so. So, then, Daralec and Tarlanth were both involved in city works?"

  "Well, yes, but they weren't on particularly good terms."

  That surprised Cassian, but he let nothing show on his face.

  "A dislike of each other, I think. Not overly marked, but they usually avoided each other as politely as possible. Tarlanth never took much interest in the stone-importing business anyway. He is more concerned with other things: food, slaves, fabrics—well, more or less anything and everything, to be honest."

  Yet messages passed regularly from Daralec to Tarlanth, Cassian recalled. How intriguing, that. Not to mention the startling fact he had learned in Balkaria, that Tarlanth was about to inherit Daralec's business, with Patracheus's implicit blessing as a witness to the elf's will.

  "I see. Well, finally, I'm wondering about certain information—only of a most general kind—that might, or might not, have been filtering back to you from beyond the walls of late."

  Ilfaralek was the spymaster of the city, of course; and he would have his network of spies and agents, beggar-snitches and brats, scattered among the huge throng of Barsaivians beyond the walls of the Theran Quarter.

  "Indeed?" Ilfaralek said, giving away nothing.

  "Matters relating to the city's security' Cassian replied smoothly.

  "There are always such rumors and I hear many snippets from time to time." Ilfaralek was obviously not going to give away anything Cassian didn't ask for.

  "But perhaps something a little more concrete. Involving a date, and possibly the involvement of one or two individuals who warrant more than the usual concern," Cassian said.

  "Oh, the stories about tunneling. Getting into the city on Overgovernor Kypros's feast day. Get those every year," Ilfaralek said with a dismissive wave of the hand. "Supposed to be some wizards involved, I hear. I would expect some kind of uprising in or around the Northern Barracks. Such saboteurs would, of course, have to deal with the center of military resistance and reprisal first. Nothing to worry about. Matters are in hand."

  "You're very efficient." Cassian was reassured but also a little crestfallen. "Could there really be wizards involved?"

  "Probably," Ilfaralek told him. "There must be a few of 'em out there among all thos
e tens of thousands of worthless souls. Probably escaped from a score of different kinds of enemies back in Barsaive. It's not as if we can keep a census out there, after all. But there's no evidence of anything big brewing."

  Cassian was quiet for a moment, keeping his own counsel. From Ilfaralek's reply, it was possible that the spymaster did not, indeed, know of any Theran wizard among them, and Cassian certainly didn't wish to mention any names he'd heard from Jerenn. He needed to learn more, he decided, before coming back to Ilfaralek.

  Rising to his feet, Cassian shook the akarenti's hand warmly, thanking him for his helpfulness. Had he been able to see the thoughtful and curious expression Ilfaralek directed at his back as he departed, it wouldn't have surprised him one bit.

  Their carriages crossed as Cassian approached the western gates, heading along the long side-stretch of the Grandwalk. He saw the swirl of colors on her, and the dark mane of hair streaming around her face. He poked his head out the open window of the carriage, shouting to the coachman to turn around and follow. The Grandwalk was easily wide enough for such a maneuver, and within moments he was after her. The opportunity to talk with Shusala without having to encounter her husband was just what he needed.

  Turning back east and then northward, he trailed her to the Recitatorium, where some determined hunting found her in one of the small chambers, empty of performers or audience, sitting quietly with hands folded in her lap. She sat with her back to him, small shoulders hunched and her hair looking more spectacular than ever, truly like the mane of a Thebaran lion. Cassian made his way down the small aisle and past the handful of seats to sit beside her. She turned to look at him as if she'd been waiting for him here all along.

  "I regret that your husband is concealing things from me/' he said a little sadly. "When he does so, it suggests that he's hiding something, which may be rather less important than it seems—to the listener, at the least."

  She smiled sadly in return, but her composure was undisturbed. "He is a good man, praetor Cassian."

  "I have no reason to believe otherwise, but his secrecy engenders suspicions that do not encourage one to be favorably disposed," Cassian replied.

  "He's protecting me and my son."

  "My kedate will be back from Marac before long."

  "Ah," she breathed. "Then he may arrive at the truth."

  "It would save time, and require no further visits from me to your husband, were I to hear it now," Cassian informed her.

  "I am not Daralec's daughter," Shusala said quietly.

  "That will not affect inheritance?" Cassian knew perfectly well that it would not; he'd seen both of Daralec's wills, and knew that no daughter from a dissolved marriage would have any claim on Daralec's property in any event.

  "No, but that isn't the issue," she said. It was obvious she was having to drag something out of herself that she'd hoped would never need to be uttered.

  "It's part of the skills of a praetor that much may be concealed, or go unmentioned, in what he reports if it is not directly relevant to his concerns," Cassian said gently.

  "But it might appear to be, even if it were not so," she said querulously.

  "My kedate will know," he said, opening his palms in a gesture of regret. I will know, his hands said to her, and I would like to know now.

  "My son Ladamair is not aware that I am not Daralec's daughter," she began.

  "It would hardly be a shaming on him if he were to learn that."

  "It would be if he knew the truth of things."

  "In all likelihood, he will not need to know. I will certainly not speak of it to him."

  She sighed and turned her face from him. "I was one of the jaraleh in Marac," she said. "I was gotten with child, and there that is an unforgivable mistake. I hid my pregnancy from most eyes. Very few knew of it."

  An ex-slave—of course! Under Imperial law, no such woman could ever inherit anything, nor could any of her offspring. In faraway Marac a jaraleh could rise to a position of eminence through serving and capturing the heart and mind of a male, and there had been several in history whose children had become powerful as rulers and warriors, their mothers basking in their glory. But beyond that land Shusala's status would be a shameful one. If the truth were known, she would be ostracized in Vivane, and still more painful to her would be the tainting of her only son by the scandal.

  "I met Ziraldesh there. He loved me then, just as he always has. He came to an arrangement with Daralec, who was also in Marac at the time. Documents were purchased, the right people paid, records were altered, and Ziraldesh bought my freedom. When everything had been done he brought me here, without trace of my past. So far away, it seemed we would be secure. If the truth were ever learned—well, my husband has friends in other lands. We could be spirited away as easily as we came here."

  "But you are not so very young," Cassian interjected, diplomatically. "Surely such a subterfuge could not have worked in Marac?"

  "You have not been there, then," she said sharply. "In Marac, anything and everything can be changed for gold. Coins and gems buy forgetfulness or vivid recollections of that which never happened."

  "Who does your son believe was his father?" Cassian asked.

  "A swordmaster," she told him, "someone killed by the dervishes. I knew of such an elf, so it has not been difficult to tell him."

  "Someday he will have to know the truth."

  "One day, when he comes to his Path. But Ladamair is very young yet, and has years remaining to him, for all his precocity, before he needs to know."

  "I understand. But why has your husband been so anxious? This secret does not concern me or my affairs," Cassian asked.

  "After we came here, Daralec pressed for money to keep the secret. That was not part of the original agreement. For years he has bled us like a leech."

  "Blackmail? A very good motive for murder,"

  Cassian mused.

  "Exactly. It is said in some quarters that Daralec's accident was not what it seemed. Now that his son has died, the questions become even more pressing. Is it so surprising that my husband has been so afraid?"

  "And that is why he's sold so much of what he owned over the years," Cassian thought aloud. "Now I understand better.

  "Thank you for your frankness," he said, standing up and rubbing at the dull muscular ache between his shoulders left from many hours spent hunched over documents in the House of Records. "You have, after all, told me why your husband might have murdered Daralec."

  "After some thirty years? Hardly. My husband would take his own life before that of another Namegiver, anyway."

  "Unless in defense of the one he loves most," Cassian said gently "After so very long?" Shusala's large brown eyes were soft and appealing, but she was asking for reasoned thought, not pity.

  "Why have you never left and settled elsewhere to escape Daralec?"

  "My husband is no longer young, and my son needs stability. Besides, Ziraldesh has made friends here, found good work, and we never had to see Daralec. We have grown used to life in Vivane."

  "Well, I do not think your husband is a murderer," Cassian said. But he could not deny that at the back of his mind lurked the thought that the assassin had worked through magic, and that Ziraldesh was a wizard. He might not think Ziraldesh was a killer, but he could not afford to rule it out either. Perhaps Daralec had represented some additional threat, some other hold over Ziraldesh that Shusala was not aware of.

  "Do you know Schavian and Andrellesse of House Zanjan?" he asked.

  The query brought only a reaction of slight surprise. "Very faintly. I've not seen them in several months, not to talk to, at least. Oh, I've run into them at concerts and such, though we attend those only rarely. Why do you ask?"

  "Only that I will be paying them a visit and wondered what you might tell me," he said truthfully.

  "Then I can help you very little. Schavian is a skilled swordmaster and well respected in the Legion. He's been here for many years, long before I came. His wi
fe is a jeweler. Her work is fair, though not considered special." She looked at him rather puzzled, and then more concerned.

  "Their children killed themselves. Do you suspect that perhaps their deaths had something to do with Daralec?"

  "I know nothing," Cassian said smoothly, "save for the fact that I'm sure you will be as silent as I about our meeting and what we have said."

  She looked worried, and wondering about him, but he was gone before she could say more.

  Across the city, a small and long-fingered hand, almond-nailed and very pale of skin, traced its way down a list of names; some already crossed through, four remaining. The fingers lifted and took a pen, the metal nib sunk into ink as black as moonless midnight, and then stabbed at the paper with the force of a knife plunged between ribs.

  Two frightened souls had already received warning from her, but a lying warning, alerting them to a danger that did not exist. One that drew them all closer together, that whispered of terrors worse than oblivion into unknowing hearts, and drove them to see her as their only hope of warding off the terrible unseen enemy.

  And delivered them into her arms, with their young flesh and warm blood and the promise of power enough to destroy all that remained.

  17

  Cassian's heart sank as he saw Crotias parading her men in the Barracks square. His carriage was too obvious to go unnoticed, and it had been parked within the Barracks complex for some time. The ork left her lieutenant to continue the drill while she marched over to greet him.

  "Good day, praetor Cassian," she said loudly. "You have come for more hurlg, perhaps?''

  "I don't think it would be wise to drink such fine beer together with one so formidably skilled in its consumption as yourself," he said carefully. "I am glad that I have been given a body as can take such punishment without fear of death, but I would not consider it prudent to subject it to such treatment twice within such a brief span."

  She smiled happily at the compliment. "You've been seeing Ilfaralek, then?" She stood before him, hands on hips, in good humor but obviously expecting a straight answer.