He finally looked away from the painting and wondered how long he'd stood enraptured. Though he guessed Adriana had been here many times, the counselor appeared equally awed. She saw him step away and smiled.
“There's nothing here that'll help us,” she said, “but I thought it'd be a shame for you to visit Hurst and not see the Emperor's Museum."
“You thought right.” He looked around, trying to estimate the number of such masterpieces in the cavernous room. There were six aisles the size of the one in which he stood, and he guessed that each aisle held at least thirty pieces of art. Even more were affixed to the curtain-lined walls, and three arched doorways lead to other chambers. “All these amazing things just sit in here, locked up?"
Adriana shook her head. “Most days, the museum is open to all. His Righteousness also allows collections to be removed for public display elsewhere in the city. With the heightened security today, though, only official visitors are allowed inside the keep."
The reminder of the tension that permeated the city soured Alexander's mood somewhat, but he was still dazzled by the array of artistry surrounding him. The pair strolled up the aisle slowly, talking as they took in the various scenes.
“The magical attacks are obviously linked to the grimoire,” said Adriana. “If Nikkolynda and Pellorin are unfamiliar with the nature of this magic, it stands to reason that it's something exotic. Like the Sandlanders."
“Not exactly flawless logic, but I'd wager you're correct. So, let's forget about linking the victims for now. I've been up and down that road countless times, and I haven't made a hell of a lot of progress.” He stared for a moment at a surreal scene. At the crest of a hill stood a tree, tall and leafy, with a great crown of leaves blocking the sky. A man and woman stood on opposite sides of the tree with their backs pressed to the trunk. Each of them reached backward with one arm, clasping hands on the foreside of the tree. Their faces were as finely detailed as the depiction of Tarrmarin's charge; though they smiled, tears ran down both their faces. In the distance, down the backside of the hill, pillars of smoke drifted upward from the ruins of a village.
“No one knows who painted this,” Adriana said. She stepped alongside Alexander and unconsciously snaked her arm through his as she became absorbed in the painting. “The only signature is a symbol scratched in the corner, under the frame, but none of our scholars have ever identified the painter."
They continued down the aisle and Alexander returned to the subject of the grimoire.
“Putting the victims themselves aside, what's the obvious result of both the murders and the attack by the spider?"
“Well, all told, we've lost about two dozen soldiers,” Adriana began, but he shook his head.
“More important than that. Hurst is damned close to war with Addamantia. The army is mobilized, security's being tightened, and I suspect the war faction of the Emperor's Council is gaining momentum."
“A lot of momentum."
“So, what's the motivation for the attacks? I can think of two possibilities. Either Addamantia is really trying to provoke a war, or someone else wants the Emperor to think so."
“You don't think Addam—"
“No, I don't. But I've got to consider all the possibilities if I'm going to solve the problem, and that's one of them. I don't believe Alfrid would do it, but I believe the possibility is there."
“But what does Addamantia have to gain by war with us?” She led him around a corner and down the next aisle. Through the archway, Alexander caught sight of a gleaming collection of armor and other metalwork.
“Control of the farmland and hill country,” he said. “Control of the lumber trade, or just the lumber itself. Maybe just a straightforward annexation—if I didn't know Baron Alfrid, I'd think it possible that he wants to rule the entire Western Realm."
“Then why the minor attacks? Some of the victims have been important men, but certainly not the key to Hurst's defenses. If the goal were to take us over, your ‘deviant’ magician should assassinate His Righteousness and his sons."
“True. For that matter, why hire a thief from Hurst to steal the grimoire? We've got plenty of them in Addamantia."
Adriana tossed her hair back from her eyes. “This is a frustrating kind of work that you do, Huntsman."
“We've only been at it for a few days. Frustrating is when you work at it for months and never solve the puzzle."
They examined a few more paintings in silence.
“All right,” said Adriana. “It's possible that someone in Hurst is trying to start a war by framing Addamantia for the attacks. I admit it seems a lot more likely than our other scenario."
Alexander agreed but decided not to voice the thought. Instead, he asked, “Who leads the call for war on the Emperor's Council?"
Adriana waved a hand. “A good dozen of our counselors and military officers. Even some prominent figures amongst the merchant class. There've always been warmongers among us, they've just never been this vocal before."
“Probably because they've never had so much popular support. I know the Emperor himself is against it. What about his sons?"
“Fenric tries to stay neutral, but it's common knowledge that he leans somewhat toward the war party. He'd never contradict his father, though. He's probably the most loyal citizen of Hurst."
“And Darien?” Alexander paused again, his attention caught this time by a depiction of a lake nestled against a backdrop of great trees. The surface of the lake was cratered, as if a large boulder had been dropped in its center, and water splashed toward the sky. A figure wrapped in massive feathered wings plummeted toward the broken surface. It was obviously a flyer from the Hurst Air Corps, though his glider wings obscured his face. Loose feathers trailed behind him into the sky. A light green mist surrounded the falling man, tiny points of color that sparkled in Alexander's eyes.
Adriana wrinkled her nose and snorted. “Darien's a complete nonentity. I haven't seen him at a Council meeting for two years, and he was carried out of that one after vomiting on the table."
They turned another corner. Adriana headed for the archway opposite the door through which they'd entered.
“Still, Fenric bothers me,” said Alexander. “Your sis—Kandys was convinced that Stamovan was trying to kill her, and she insisted that Stamovan is Fenric's man."
“Stamovan acts on his own a lot. Besides, he was probably just going to arrest Kandys, and she made things worse by resisting."
Alexander shrugged and let the matter drop. They entered a chamber full of sculptures, most of wood but some of stone or metal.
“You do an admirable job of playing both sides,” said Adriana quietly, “even when one of the scenarios turns your home into the aggressor."
“Thanks,” he said. “I hope something comes of it."
An impressive menagerie of wooden animals cavorted around them. The display was set up in four rows along a wide arc, with the smallest of the carvings in front. Alexander guessed that fully a hundred beasts stood before him. Like the paintings in the previous chamber, the attention to detail was incredible. Spines on the back of a porcupine appeared sharp enough to pierce the skin. A rearing bear was coated with a pelt of individually rounded hairs, and both heads of a ketchdog snarled with double rows of fangs in their open mouths. He fought the temptation to reach out and stroke the rough scales of a water monkey.
“I don't like the sculptures very much,” Adriana said.
“I saw a magician of some sort sculpting a gargoyle in Shipman's Plaza on my first day here. Pretty damned impressive."
“Jantaru,” said Adriana. She looked amused. “Probably the most famous artist in the Western Realm."
“Like I said, it was impressive."
Adriana led Alexander through the wooden zoo toward the back of the room. “This way,” she said. “We've got an entire collection of his work. His Righteousness buys anything Jantaru creates, if there's no other buyer. He believes in patronizing those with incredible t
alent."
The light in the room appeared to dim as they entered a section of stone horrors. Most of Jantaru's creations stood six to ten feet high, even those depicting men, gnomes and dwarves. Though a few were pleasant character studies of normal people, most of the sculptures in this section were of misshapen animals or demonic beasts such as Alexander had never seen. Horns, fangs and wings sprouted everywhere; great muscled arms ended in wicked claws and whip-like tentacles were poised in mid-air. Some glared about with countless eyes in a single head, while others possessed no eyes at all. A few of the sculptures represented impossibilities of nature: mouths that couldn't close because of their over-extended teeth, heads that couldn't turn due to a missing neck.
“What the blazes lives in this man's mind?” asked Alexander.
“Who knows?” Adriana shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself. “He used to do live sculptures of real people, but his work has gotten more ... well, hideous as he's aged. I stopped looking for his new pieces years ago. They frighten me."
“I can see why."
“Let's look at the armor collection."
Alexander frowned as his memory produced a glimmer of recognition. An idea formulated in his head, something that seemed impossible at first but not quite enough so to dismiss it entirely. He stared at the visage of a one-eyed, glowering demon.
“Alexander?"
“How big do you think the base is on this one?” He pointed at the statue, which was one of the smallest in the collection.
“I don't know, maybe three feet to a side,” Adriana said. “Why do you ask?"
“Just an idea. Probably not a good one.” He tried to picture the empty space in Postwick's chambers, the spot he'd found oddly devoid of furniture. A statue about this size could fit there, he thought. One of the smaller, less ferocious sculptures. There were plenty of slender creatures or men and women that would have fit nicely in the corner of Postwick's room.
“Well, I've had my fill of these things. I'm going on to the armor."
“Yeah,” said Alexander slowly. “Can I meet you there in a minute? I'd like to look a bit longer."
Adriana grimaced but nodded. She wended her way through Jantaru's horrors quickly, taking care not to brush any of the statuary. Alexander broke his gaze from the one-eyed creature long enough to see the woman's back disappear through the archway. He waited a few more seconds, then stepped up close to the sculpture. Reaching out, he felt the cool stone of the creature's hand. The fingers were twice as thick as his, but they terminated in curved, tapering nails. After one more quick glance at the archway he grasped the sculpture's wrist with one hand and wrapped the other around the tip of a claw. He grunted slightly as he forced his weight down, hoping his leverage was greater than the strength of the stone. Apparently it was, and a two-inch length of the talon snapped off in his hand. He gave it a triumphant look, then slipped the stone into a pouch and hurried after Adriana.
* * * * *
Mezzino slammed the door, causing most of the furniture to jump into the air. Kalnai and Shinvai leaped to their feet, hands on their scimitars. Ravasakh sat in the center of the sparse room, legs folded beneath him, eyes closed. If the noise disturbed his meditation, the thaumaluk gave no sign of it. Behind him, long shadows from the window were beginning to fade to dusk.
“Are we expelled from the city, Fandyiha?” asked Kalnai.
“Tomorrow,” said Mezzino. “Starting tomorrow, all non-citizens are required to be outside the gate by three hours before sunset.” He unbuckled his belt and tossed his scimitar onto a mattress. “We're free to come and go during the day, but anyone caught inside the walls after the appointed hour will be arrested."
“Perhaps their jails will be more spacious than their inns,” said Kalnai.
“And the day after tomorrow, we won't be welcome in at all?” said Shinvai.
“So I expect."
“Ridiculous!” said Shinvai. “Surely these idiot westerners don't believe we had anything to do with that creature yesterday?"
“No,” said Kalnai. “They're certain the attack came from Addamantia."
“But anyone not of Hurst could be a spy for Addamantia,” said Mezzino. “Kalnai, have your sources found anything of use to us?"
The feyrhakin shook his head. “Nothing, Fandyiha. I checked with each this afternoon. Though they lust for oblatt, they seem reluctant to help."
“Ravasakh,” said Mezzino, “could the grimoire have been used to enchant that spider?"
Ravasakh opened one eye and looked briefly at Mezzino. “No, Fandyiha. The air of this city reeked of elven magic yesterday afternoon. That and water."
“Great Death,” said Mezzino. He pounded a fist against the footboard of one bed. The wood cracked audibly. “I find myself almost ready to take Teriya's advice.” He glanced around the room and his brow wrinkled. “Where is he?"
“He was to check the camp this evening before reporting in,” Kalnai said.
“The City Guard may have turned him back from the gate,” said Shinvai.
“No,” said Mezzino, “he should have been back inside long before now. By the Great Death, that little sand rat better not be doing something stupid."
* * * * *
Teriya huddled in a copse of trees near the wall that surrounded the yards of the keep. His robe was turned inside out so that the completely black lining enveloped most of his body. Settling himself against one of the largest trunks, the Sandlander concentrated on a deep, rhythmic pattern of breath. His crimson skin slowly flushed to a darker red shade, nearly black. This accomplished, Teriya froze in place.
He remained motionless for the next four hours. Insects alighted on his hairless head, then departed again upon finding that his tough skin resisted their bite. A pair of mice scampered over his feet and legs, then chased one another into the underbrush. Something crawled along the back of his neck for the better part of an hour, but the Burning Man didn't so much as twitch. Even his eyes remained locked in place, staring at the blank surface of the wall. As the moon rose he counted eight patrols, one every half-hour. Each consisted of four soldiers, well-armed and talking in low voices. Satisfied that the pattern wasn't changing, Teriya waited for one more set to march past, then slowly stretched his limbs. Fire blazed through his body as circulation returned but he ignored it. He stretched quickly and efficiently, then headed for the wall.
The stone didn't present much in the way of a barrier. Only eight feet tall, it wasn't even lined with a catwalk or archer stations. Torches every twenty feet or so allowed for plenty of shadows. Still, an army defending the keep would have a sizable advantage over attackers—the ground at the base sloped upward sharply so that the top was only five feet above ground on the inside. Dwarven work, Teriya thought, customized to the height of their human companions. A few hundred men could use the wall quite effectively against invaders.
With no one actively watching, however, it was little more than a hurdle to a Sandlander. Teriya jumped up and caught the top edge, then pulled himself over and dropped to the grass. He crouched and froze instantly, scanning the area for additional patrols.
No soldiers dashed across the moonlit yard, and no shouts of alarm sounded. Against the line of torches Teriya saw nothing but the silhouettes of barracks, armories and other buildings. One half-finished structure rose from the ground like an ungainly skeleton of some massive beast. The Sandlander started forward, then halted mid-stride. He swiveled his head slowly and examined the sky, cursing himself for forgetting the Air Corps. Luckily, only one flyer was in evidence, and he was gliding toward the heart of the city. Teriya watched the dark figure for a moment then continued across the open yard. Twice he dropped to the ground and lay still as a random sound or hint of motion disturbed the dim silence. Despite his stature, Teriya knew that only direct light or close proximity would reveal him under the cover of his robe. Should that happen, the feyrhakin was quite prepared to deal with his unfortunate discoverer. By the time he'd reached the sto
ne wall of the keep, however, only the grass and wind knew of his passage.
He'd aimed for the base of Nikkolynda's tower, guided by the ever-present glow of light in the window high above. Teriya considered the irony that the wizard had provided a beacon for his own death and smiled. The curvature of the tower obscured his presence even better than he'd hoped. All that remained was to traverse the wall and confront the Prime Wizard.
Teriya opened a pouch and dipped his fingers in. He withdrew a handful of sand, which emanated a very slight yellow glow. Rubbing his hands together, he coated his fingers liberally with the stuff. Once finished he faced the wall and took a deep breath.
“A way is chosen,” he said, and reached forward.
When Teriya's fingers encountered the great stone bricks they sank in, as if the rock were made of soft clay. He curved his hand into a claw and scooped a small section of the wall away, dropping the mush in his hand to the grass below. It solidified as it fell and hit the ground with a soft thump. Teriya was already working at another hold, creating just enough of a ledge to get his fingers or toes in. When he had four such indentations in the wall, his thickly muscled arms tensed and he lifted himself away from the ground.
He worked slowly, cautious about both his precarious hold on the wall and the possibility of being spotted from below. Each handhold became a ledge for his toes as he levered his way upward. Supporting his weight with his legs, the Sandlander then reached above his head and dug a new spot for his fingers. In this manner he rose like a fly on the stone or, more appropriately, a shadow of a fly on the stone. He kept his head turned to one side, cheek pressed against the wall. There was no need to look up or down; he'd see the window when he arrived, and he already knew what lay below. One step at a time, the Sandlander inched toward Nikkolynda's window.
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