"Which of the other officers knows Captain Schavian best? I'm not thinking so much of his commanding officer, but more of a close colleague. Someone he's fought with in several campaigns, for example. A long-standing personal friend."
"Hmmm." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Captain Ildrissta, I would say. They had joint command of a cohort ambushed by scorchers at Hildingrist Crest and did well there, earned commendations. I believe they shared service in Thebenta some years ago as well. They often dine together, joined by their families on occasion. If you want to speak to Ildrissta you'll find him in the officer dining hall. He's taking a late meal after a morning of overseeing the guards at the gates. Everyone entering the Quarter is being searched from head to foot now, you know."
"Most commendable," Cassian murmured and thanked her for her help. Relieved at not receiving another invitation to sup with her, he headed toward the scent of army food. It wasn't pleasant. As he entered the long, gloomy dining hall, a quiet query of the servants at the door soon told him who he was looking for.
The t'skrang was unusual, and a little set apart from his fellows, mostly by virtue of his armor. Though Theran officers in the same cohort would normally be expected to wear identical armor, the t'skrang had obviously enjoyed some good fortune in life, possibly before being accepted into Theran military service. His skin rippled with a dull, metallic sheen; covering his body was what appeared to be a living skin of thin metal, studded with blood-red pebbles. Over it he wore a leathered breastplate and metal leg bracers, but that was doubtless just for the sake of conformity. The magical armor was a finer protection than any mundane Theran equipment, no matter how well made. Cassian asked the t'skrang's permission to sit beside him, and the t'skrang nodded indifferently as he plunged a long-handled silver spoon rather disconsolately into his gray and unappetizing soup.
"Thank you for speaking to me," Cassian said rather presumptuously. "I am praetor Cassian, by the way. From Thera."
"I know," said the t'skrang gloomily, as if he could not bring himself to care a whit about the subject.
"I am told that you and Captain Schavian are good friends."
"Yes?" The t'skrang was more alert now, slightly suspicious. The tip of his tail swished ever so slightly on the ground behind his chair.
"Please do not be concerned," Cassian said soothingly, glancing around to make sure the few other officers present—for most had taken their repast before now— were out of hearing range. "I have no suspicions of Captain Schavian and I know how he and his family have suffered. There have been certain disgraceful rumors fomented, but I want to assure you I have paid them no heed."
"Really?" The t'skrang was still suspicious, though a little more at ease, prepared to meet the elf's gaze now.
"I am following other lines of enquiry, Captain lldrissta. I have yet to learn that Schavian had any enemies."
"No," the t'skrang said firmly. "He is a good comrade. His first thought is always the safety of the men he leads. There are many who are less considerate."
"Indeed," Cassian replied. "So, you do not know of any feuds or other malice directed at him."
"Most certainly not. Go and talk to his men. They'll vouch for him, every last one of them."
"Your word is quite enough," Cassian said calmly. The t'skrang was looking less suspicious by the minute. "Very well, then. Has he any business involvements in Vivane?"
"Are you joking? Of course not. Schavian lives in the barracks with the rest of us. He's not some fancy general with a mansion stuck away behind leafy trees and beds of flowers over in town. Like me, all he has is his monthly pay."
"Well, that's what I thought," Cassian said, omitting to mention that he'd verified that fact during one of his many stints at the House of Records. "And his wife?"
"She's an enchantress," the t'skrang said. "Works in the Maracanium."
"If that's a specimen of the work done there," Cassian said, nodding at the captain's pebble armor, "they are fine artisans."
"It's not for me to discuss how powerful the wizards of the Maracanium are," the t'skrang said sharply. "This is mine, anyway. Took it in Thebenta before I joined up."
"It is very fine/' Cassian said admiringly. The t'skrang was still defensive and all too ready to react adversely to anything other than mundane queries. "Tell me, Captain, did the twins take after their father or mother?"
"Can't really say." The t'skrang was obviously clamming up again.
Cassian was in a bind. He could hardly try to make the reluctant solider more forthcoming by saying he suspected that the young elves had, indeed, been murdered. Any forceful and persistent questioning would only make him even more defensive and uncooperative. He decided to call it a day.
"Well, thank you," he said, standing up and pushing his chair back under the table. "I can only assure you again that your friend has my sympathies and I appreciate your concern for him. He is indeed fortunate to have such a loyal colleague."
"Hmmm," the t'skrang mumbled as he investigated the fishy blobs at the bottom of his soup bowl. The slightly gelatinous liquid bathing them had grown tepid now, and the overall effect was far from appetizing. He stirred the blobs around, cast the bowl aside, and stood up suddenly, apparently going off in search of the main course.
Cassian left him to it, pondering his options on the way back to the parade ground. The last division was marching off to the barracks now, and he was left alone with the warm sunshine and dust for company. I have to discover who those wizards are, he thought. Arlyna and Nighthand.
Something else in the pattern of events also had him worried. Someone was striking at individuals through their children, possibly as a form of vengeance. Killing Daralec wasn't enough, his son was murdered too. Mordain was struck at through the slaughter of his son. Schavian's children were killed. This was disturbing. It didn't feel like part of some careful plot to sabotage the city and make a grab for power and money. Somehow, Cassian felt the whole matter was deeper and murkier than Ilfaralek's rational theories allowed. Something was still missing.
He could wait to see what Mordain had to say when, or rather if, he ever recovered from his self-inflicted wounds. He could wait for Ilfaralek's wizards to plot out every last yard of the tunnel system they'd uncovered. But, somehow, Cassian didn't think he was going to find the answers there.
Ziraldesh. Some intuition brought the wizard's name into his conscious mind. Wizards, children. . .Ziraldesh was a tutor of the young.. .a wizard.. .blackmailed for the sake of his adopted son. . .somehow, Cassian sensed he could learn something from him. His instincts told him the man was not part of the murderous scheming in this city, but there was something—or perhaps many things— he'd held back until now, things that Cassian needed to know.
Cassian had to knock loudly on the doors of Ziraldesh's house for several minutes before a harassed-looking slave finally appeared to open them. He inquired none too politely after the master of the house.
"He's not here," the man said defensively.
"Where is he then?"
"I'm not sure," the man muttered.
"Look, my good fellow, what you mean is that you're not supposed to tell anyone. That's different. You know who I am, and you'd better tell me now."
"Sir, he'll be furious if I do."
"And I'll be furious if you don't, and I'm here now and he isn't," the elf insisted.
"He's gone to Sky Point, sir."
"What for?"
"I don't know, sir. Really I don't."
"Well, then, is the mistress of the house here?"
"No, sir. She's gone with him."
"Fine," Cassian grumbled. "His son, then— Ladamair?"
"He isn't here either," the man said miserably.
"Wonderful," Cassian said. "When do you expect your master back?"
"He didn't say, sir."
"When did he leave?"
"An hour or so after rising, sir."
He'll have reached there long ago then, Cassian thought. If Ziraldesh
planned to escape the city, he could be a hundred miles away in the skies by this time, and his entire family gone with him. This was the last thing Cassian had expected from Ziraldesh. Why had he done it?
"If he returns, you are to send a message to me at the Rose Villa of House Medari immediately," the elf commanded angrily. "And you will not tell your master that you have done so."
"But sir—"
"If you do not, you will be very sorry," Cassian said grimly. He knew that what he was asking was unfair, and that it put the slave in an impossible position, but he had no choice. He could hardly have the place watched day and night for Ziraldesh's return, especially since he had no reason to suspect the man of wrongdoing and absolutely no evidence of such. To do so himself was out of the question; there was so much else to attend to. Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode furiously off to his carriage.
I could follow him to Sky Point, but that would waste most of the rest of the day, he thought. I cannot risk sending Jerenn. The boy feared that he was still under the threat of blood magic, and perhaps he was. He would have to commandeer another kedate from Ilfaralek.
Returning once more to the barracks, he found the ukarenti's offices buzzing with activity. That he had expected. What he had not expected was to find Ilfaralek in such good humor. The man was almost manic, a gleam of triumph in his eyes.
"You've learned something?" Cassian inquired of the obvious.
Ilfaralek brandished a document bearing the seal of I louse Thaloss in his hands. "I've got the bastard!" he crowed happily. "Kypros can give me the writ now."
"And what is it you've got there?"
"A will. A will, my dear fellow."
"Mordain's will?"
"Better than that. Darnius's will!"
"That of his son?" Cassian was more than startled.
"We found it among his papers and effects."
"Not at the House of Records, then."
"Indeed not. It must have been sworn out there, of course. Our friend Patracheus is the witness."
"By the Mynbruje!" Cassian exclaimed with genuine surprise. It was the last thing he'd anticipated.
"And guess who inherits the property and business."
"Tarlanth."
"Absolutely."
"But this will be complicated legally. By Imperial law, the son can inherit even if he predeceases the father, provided it is by less than seven days," Cassian mused. "But it so rarely happens the law is rarely invoked."
"Well, you can be sure Tarlanth planned to do so," Ilfaralek said grimly.
"Is there any doubt as to the authenticity of the document?"
"It is indisputably the boy's handwriting," Ilfaralek said. "There is also no doubt of the signatures of Tarlanth and Patracheus either."
"Have you asked Patracheus about this matter?"
"Yes. He denies it. He denies ever having seen or heard of it, but he's lying, obviously."
"Wait a moment," Cassian said. "It's not so difficult to perfect a forgery by magical means."
"Look, he's admitted witnessing Daralec's commercial will. Says he did it as a personal favor to Daralec. Frankly, if he did one, he did both."
"Odd that he should admit to one and not the other," Cassian said. This was not as clear-cut as Ilfaralek's obvious elation had made it seem at first.
"It's good enough for me and I dare say it will be good enough for Kypros."
"What of Mordain? What has he to say about it?"
"He died less than an hour ago." Ilfaralek lowered his head as a mark of respect.
"How very inconvenient," Cassian murmured. "Something seems not quite right here, akarenti. Not right at all."
"Now look, praetor. . ." Ilfaralek's displeasure was evident in his use of Cassian's formal title. "I was given some eighty hours to save my neck. After saving Kypros from being killed at his own feast the swine threatened me with dismissal and disgrace. I can take this to him and it'll be good enough for him. What do you want me to do? Sit on my hands and say, 'oh no, this isn't good enough, let's just sit here and wait and see what happens?' Don't be absurd. I have an appointment with His Excellency in an hour and I'm going to come out of all this as the savior of Vivane. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have business to attend to."
Returning disconsolately to his carriage, Cassian had completely forgotten the original purpose for his visit. Then an insight struck him, clear and bright as noon, and lie stopped dead in his tracks.
Of course. Of course!
28
Cassian needed to think, so he ignored his carriage and headed south toward the river, making for the southernmost portion of the markets. This was a rougher area of the Theran Quarter, a place where he'd never have gone had he been carrying much money. But what little he had in the way of precious possessions was disguised and concealed beneath his clothing, so he sat down in the open air and paid for some kokala and a little plate of small, sweet fruited cakes from an eager, dirty-faced young scrap of a girl. Sipping the dark, hot, bitter liquid, enjoying the contrast of the drink and the sweetness of the cakes, he assembled his thoughts.
This entire business did appear as if Tarlanth were poised to profit hugely from events. Financially, he would gain enormously. And, politically, the death of Kypros while giving his speech would have opened the door to Tarlanth himself rising to the post of Overgovernor. The scheming had been careful and extensive. Just not careful enough.
It wasn't that House Medari, and Tarlanth, would benefit. It was that House Medari and Tarlanth had been made to appear to benefit.
Whoever had plotted all of this intended for Tarlanth to appear as the spider at the center of the web. They guessed, probably rightly, that the time was perfect for just that conclusion to be drawn. It was close to Kypros's feast day. Ilfaralek and the military were jumpy and nervous and under great pressure to discover why so many nobles had been murdered and who was—it appeared— intending to kill Kypros himself. Under such circumstances, most people would jump to the obvious conclusion. Just as, indeed, Ilfaralek had. If the spymaster had doubts, he would swallow them because of the need to save his own skin. And someone had taken all this into account.
So, if Tarlanth had been framed here, who could be responsible? Whoever it was had both wide and intimate knowledge of the workings of this city. One part of the puzzle was incontestable—Daralec's will. Someone must have known of that. It was likely, indeed, that Tarlanth had schemed that part at least. He'd had some hold over Daralec. Perhaps he knew of Daralec's corrupt dealings with Mordain and had compelled Daralec to make a will in his favor. He might also have had Daralec killed. He might even have arranged for the murder of Daralec's son, just to make absolutely certain that Daralec had not swindled him with some other document that negated the will. Possible; but somehow, Cassian didn't think so. Nonetheless, the way Tarlanth had spirited Daralec's wife out of the city suggested that he'd played some guilty part in what had befallen House Carinci.
It was true Cassian had not seen the will Ilfaralek had been waving about, but he was sure the akarenti was wrong! That will made it too obvious that Tarlanth was supposed to be behind the mysterious and terrible events occurring in Vivane. Far too obvious. But that might not matter. If whoever was at the bottom of it all knew Vivane politics well enough, he might judge that the obviousness presented no problem. Like any powerful man, Tarlanth would have enemies, people who'd be glad to see him brought down and wouldn't look too closely at the pretext. And there would be plenty of other opportunists only too ready to become jackals at the feast. The schemer had calculated very shrewdly indeed. Cassian hadn't been fooled, but the schemer might not have known that a praetor would be called in. And now that matters had come to this point, Cassian's quarry might calculate that the praetor’s voice would be drowned out by the chorus of other voices here in Vivane.
But who might it be? Cassian's whirling thoughts kept coming back to that question. Who was Tarlanth's enemy? Who would benefit from his fall? It was hard for h
im to reflect accurately on that. After all, he'd been puzzling about the exact reverse problem for days. To overturn his conclusions so suddenly was very difficult, and he gave up the unequal struggle. Frustrated, but excited nonetheless, he greedily assembled the crumbs from the cakes in a line with his index finger and brought them to his mouth, licking his lips over the last of the fruit and honey.
It was time to pay another visit to his host. After all, it might be the last opportunity he would have before Kypros had Tarlanth flung into jail. And he might just be able to manage an acceptable pretext.
"I may, of course, be worried needlessly," Cassian said smoothly "However, there is something of a pattern here. Powerful men, deeply involved in the commercial life of the city, have had their sons struck down. I assume that you have taken precautions against being attacked yourself, but it might be as well to consider having your son removed to a place of safety."
Cassian had thought out this line of conversation carefully. It gave him a natural lead-in to an enquiry about Karlanta, it would show concern for Tarlanth's family and thus not arouse the man's suspicions, and it would seem logical and perceptive. All in all, Tarlanth should have thought well of him for it. The man's response was whol ly unexpected.
"Absolutely out of the question." Tarlanth seemed lurious at the mere suggestion. "I wouldn't even think of it."
"I'm terribly sorry if I've given some offense," Cassian said, taken aback. "I was only concerned for his well-being and that of your family and House."
"Yes, well," Tarlanth blustered, clearly at a disadvantage now and unsettled for some reason, "I won't hear of it. My family stays in this household together. We are well guarded and you can be sure that we can look out for ourselves, thank you, praetor."
"As you wish. I believe I am correct in saying that Patracheus has a son?"
"What of it?"
"He is also, perhaps, a potential target for violence. I will offer him the same advice I have offered you, though, ol course, his response may be the same."
"That's his business." Tarlanth had regained his composure now, but was impatient, obviously wishing the elf would leave. But Cassian had to press on, having so little time.
Shadowrun - [Earthdawn 05] - Shroud of Madness Page 21