He walked into ir’Marktaros’s yard, stepping through the thick grass and weeds so as not to compromise the tracks on the path. Irulan followed.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
He stopped and turned to her, his eyes cold and unfriendly. “Irulan Silverclaw, isn’t it?”
It was her turn to stop. How had he known that? She hadn’t introduced herself.
“Easy. You told me yourself,” he said, as if reading her thoughts, though she realized he was probably only reacting to the surprise on her face. She never had been very good at hiding her emotions. “The only murder Zoden witnessed—other than his own—was his brother’s. If your brother was accused of that murder, then you must be Javi Silverclaw’s sister, Irulan. Not to mention the silver-tipped claw on your left hand. Who else could you be?”
“Fine. You know my name. You know my stake in this case. So why won’t you tell me what else you know?”
“Also easy. You’re a suspect.”
Irulan’s jaw dropped before she could stop it. “I’m a what?”
D’Kundarak shrugged again. “Everyone’s a suspect … until they’re not.”
He turned and continued walking toward the porch, making more notes in his book as he went. Irulan resisted a momentary urge to run him through. Andri would never approve. Besides, the dwarf might well have uncovered information that would help her clear Javi’s name—information that would perish with him if she killed him now in a fit of annoyance. She would just have to figure out how to get him to spill it—then she could stab him.
“What was ir’Marktaros paying you?”
The dwarf had moved into the yard and was busy sketching something he saw amid the greenery. As Irulan approached, she saw what he was drawing—broken crossbow bolts littered about the yard.
He grunted, not bothering to look up at her as he finished his sketch and bent to retrieve the ruined bolts. He examined the quarrels of each before shoving them into his sack and scribbling more notes. She was just beginning to think he was ignoring her when he answered.
“More than you can afford.”
“Probably. But is it more than he can?” She pointed to Andri, who was rising from his spot on the bench next to ir’Marktaros’s neighbor.
That got the dwarf’s attention. He looked where she indicated, assessing the paladin’s fine armor and heirloom silver sword. Then he looked back at her, and she couldn’t miss the calculating glitter in his eye.
“You want to hire me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I think you have information I need, and I doubt I’m going to get it without paying for it. Besides, it looks like you’re out of a job, so … what do you say? Same rate as ir’Marktaros paid you. Deal?”
The dwarf regarded her outstretched hand for only a moment before reaching out to shake it.
“Deal.”
Irulan went to inform Andri about their new partner as d’Kundarak continued on into the house to look for more clues and gather whatever belongings he might have left there. As she approached the paladin, she saw he was in a heated discussion with an old priestess who wore the blue and yellow of the Sovereign Host. The robes hung off her gaunt frame, and her weathered skin and graying hair suggested a frailty belied by her angry expression.
“… and I’m telling you,” Andri was saying, “that I’ve been given the authority to override the prohibition against necromancy, by the Cardinals themselves.”
The woman spat on the ground. “I don’t give a damn about your letter,” she said. “I live here, in Aruldusk, where Maellas is the law. He has issued an edict that no one is to attempt to revive the murder victims, even those few of us who have a legitimate right to use such spells. If I go against him to do this for you, I might as well join this boy in his grave. The only reason I’m even here is because Zoden was one of ours, and I’ll not see you Flamers burn his body before his mother even gets to say her goodbyes.”
“If the Bishop attempts to have you punished for following my orders, the Keeper herself will have him censured.”
The priestess laughed. “Lot of good that will do me when I’m dead.”
Irulan could see that Andri was getting frustrated with the woman’s cynicism. If the paladin had summoned a priestess of the Host, knowing what Maellas’s reaction was going to be, he must believe it was the only way to get the answers they needed. But the Bishop had to be on his way here already. If they were going to do this, it had to be now.
“Excuse me, Old Mother,” she said. It was a shifter honorific for the wise women of their tribes, and she knew the priestess would recognize it, for she wore Balinor’s symbol about her neck—twin antlers, one brown and one red.
The priestess turned, her demeanor relaxing somewhat. She no doubt thought Irulan was a follower of the Host like herself.
“Yes, daughter? How can I help you?”
“It’s really a question of how we can help you,” Irulan replied, wondering how Andri was going to react to her next words. She just hoped he’d hold his anger in check until after the priestess had done her work.
The woman’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
Irulan had seen Aruldusk’s small temple dedicated to the Host. Like the Garden District, it was a holdout for people who refused to give in to the Flame. And, as such, it was in a state of continual disrepair—the offerings of its poor worshippers were not nearly enough to pay for the building’s upkeep. She’d yet to meet a cleric who wouldn’t appreciate a large contribution, especially with a crumbling temple and a dwindling congregation. If this priestess wouldn’t help them in the name of the Silver Flame, she’d certainly do it in the name of the silver sovereign.
“We know that the Host has fallen on hard times in Aruldusk, with few worshippers and even fewer offerings. We’re prepared to make a sizeable … donation to the temple in exchange for your questioning the bard.”
Luckily, the woman was looking at her, and so didn’t see Andri’s expression.
“Are you trying to bribe me, daughter?” the priestess asked, her tone soft and dangerous.
“Of course not, Old Mother,” Irulan replied with a smile that showed the sharp tips of her teeth. “We merely want you to know we recognize the value of your service to the community.”
“Oh? And what would you say my service is worth?”
Irulan risked a quick glance at Andri, willing him not to erupt. She’d seen how much money he carried on him, over and above what he had access to through the Cardinal’s letter. The figure she had in mind shouldn’t set him back much.
She hoped.
“Five platinum dragons?”
She wasn’t sure who spluttered loudest, the priestess or Andri.
The priestess regained her composure first and turned back to Andri with a swish of gold and sapphire.
“That’s a lot of money,” she said, clearly tempted. “Is it worth that much to you, paladin?”
Andri spoke through clenched teeth, though the look he gave Irulan was murderous. “It is.”
“Very well, then. I will do this, to help bring Zoden’s murderer to justice, but I must have your word that you will accept the responsibility for violating Maellas’s edict.”
“Done.” With another angry look at Irulan, Andri reached toward his belt.
“Wait.” Irulan moved to interpose herself between the paladin and the crowd. Though they were far enough away from the throng that they didn’t need to worry that their conversation might be overheard, fishing in one’s pouch for coins was a universal gesture that didn’t require words to be interpreted. It was bad enough that they were going to defy the ban on necromancy, but if they were seen paying for it by half the citizens of Aruldusk, not even Jaela Daran would be able to save them.
When she was sure the exchange couldn’t be seen, she nodded to Andri to continue. He dug the dragons out and offered them to the priestess, who turned the silvery coins over reverently a few times before
pocketing them. Irulan wondered if the other woman had ever held that much money before. Irulan certainly never had, and likely never would, unless Andri decided to make her pay him back.
Which he probably would do once he found out she’d also hired the dwarf with his money. That, or string her up. Either way, it wasn’t going to be pleasant.
The priestess knelt beside Zoden’s corpse, pulling the scarlet cloak back to his waist. She drew a vial of dark red liquid from within her robes and drew a simplified skull on his lips, throat, and chest. Irulan was startled to realize it was a symbol of the Keeper, part of the Sovereign Host’s dark pantheon and the lord of death and decay. The priestess began a low chant in a language Irulan didn’t recognize, making arcane passes over the bard’s body. As the woman’s hands glowed faintly with a dark light, Irulan wondered just which one of the Sovereign gods this priestess actually worshipped. But then Zoden’s eyes snapped open and he drew a harsh, gasping breath, and Irulan took an involuntary step back. Her own aversion was echoed distantly by low murmuring from the crowd.
“Quickly,” the priestess said, gritting her teeth with the effort of the spell. “Ask your questions, but carefully. He will take everything you say literally and will respond in kind.”
“Zoden ir’Marktaros,” Andri said, his tone both solemn and full of distaste. “Tell me what happened to you.”
“Was it a shifter who killed you?” Irulan asked, almost at the same time, garnering another glare from the paladin.
Zoden seemed not to hear her. “I was murdered. My neck broken. But not before I stabbed him, in the leg. The sword and the arrows didn’t hurt him, but my cloak pin did.”
“Your cloak pin?” Andri asked, clearly puzzled by the corpse’s response. “Why would your cloak pin hurt him, when your weapons didn’t?”
“It was made of silver.”
Irulan’s eyes widened.
“Who killed—” Andri began, but Irulan overrode him.
“What killed you?”
Zoden’s eyes moved in their sockets to focus on her. “A werewolf.”
“What color was its fur?” Irulan asked, ignoring Andri’s signal to stop.
“Light. Maybe white. Or yellow.” “Irulan.”
“Did it—”
“Irulan!”
Satisfied that he’d gotten her attention, Andri made a sharp slashing gesture across his throat and then resumed his own line of questioning.
“Zoden, do you know—” he began, but it was too late. Maellas had arrived, with Xanin in tow. Or perhaps it was the other way around.
“Enough! How dare you defy the Bishop’s edict!” Xanin was fuming, a regular fountain of self-righteous vitriol, but Maellas just looked … tired. “Guards, seize them!”
In the whirlwind of activity and motion that followed, Irulan was dimly aware of several things. The guards taking her and Andri’s weapons and binding their arms. Greddark being arrested along with them, having apparently returned sometime during the interrogation; guilty by association. And Zoden, still talking, not answering Andri’s last half-asked question, but rambling on incoherently as the priestess was dragged away by soldiers and began to lose control of her spell.
“Zodal … is that you? I’m sorry I got you killed, little brother, but I’ve made it up to you now. Now you can be at peace. Now we both can.”
The light dimmed in Zoden’s eyes as the last vestiges of the priestess’s spell faded, but he was able to whisper one last, relieved word.
“Finally.”
Their incarceration didn’t last long. Instead of ushering them to the dungeons, the Bishop, his Ancillary, Margil Ravadanci, and two dozen members of the city watch escorted them to the East Gate, accompanied by a crowd of curious onlookers eager to see the blasphemers punished.
At the gate, the Bishop had his men release them, returning their weapons and their horse. Andri’s trunk was even waiting there for them, fetched by two quick guards from the Golden Galifar.
Walking stiffly, Maellas took his place between them and the gate. The morning sun limned his figure with golden light and made his white-blonde hair shine like a halo. Irulan had no doubt the elf had chosen the position for just that reason. No one could say the clergy of the Silver Flame weren’t consummate showmen. Then Xanin joined him, spoiling the effect.
“Andri Aeyliros of Flamekeep, Irulan Silverclaw of Aruldusk,” the Ancillary Bishop paused for the barest moment, and Ravadanci leaned over to whisper in his ear, “Greddark d’Kundarak of Sigilstar and Vidora Altaner of Aruldusk, for crimes against the—”
“No!” Andri interjected. “Not the priestess. She acted under duress, and cannot be held responsible for flouting the law.”
One of the soldiers made as if to cuff him across the mouth for his impertinence, but the Bishop’s aide held up a hand to stop him.
“You threatened her?” Ravadanci asked, forestalling Xanin’s angry response with another whisper.
“I … encouraged her,” the paladin replied, his unwillingness to lie leaving him with very few options. Irulan hid a wince. Andri’s integrity was going to get the priestess punished right along with them.
The aide turned to the priestess. “Is this true?”
Vidora Altaner wisely did not share Andri’s compunctions.
“Yes, my lady. He had the city guard drag me from my temple and told me he’d have me arrested or worse if I didn’t do what he wanted.” The gray-haired woman threw herself into the embellishment. “I would never have gone against His Excellency’s edict if this one hadn’t threatened me, but what could I do? He is a great paladin, claiming authority from the very Cardinals themselves, and I am simply a weak cleric who—”
“That’s enough,” Ravadanci interrupted the woman before she could overplay her part. After another whispered exchange with Xanin and Maellas, she gestured to the guards. “Vidora Altaner, you are free to go. These men will see you back to your temple.”
The priestess bowed her head in thanks, not even glancing at Andri as she made good her escape from whatever fate still awaited them. Though Irulan doubted Altaner would really get off that easily, now that she knew Zoden’s killer had been a lycanthrope and not a shifter. Making that information public would bring all the previous arrests—and Maellas’s judgment—into question, something the prelate would surely not allow. Then again, if the priestess was actually a secret disciple of the Dark Six, she’d have her own reasons for keeping silent. No, Irulan decided, Altaner would probably be just fine.
An observation, unfortunately, that did not apply to the rest of them. As the Ancillary Bishop resumed his proclamation, Irulan wondered if Andri would try to get the dwarf excused as well, but the paladin made no further protests as Xanin pronounced their sentence. Maellas said nothing, merely shaking his head sadly.
“Andri Aeyliros, Irulan Silverclaw, and Greddark d’Kundarak, for crimes against the Silver Flame—namely blasphemy, necromancy, and keeping a soul from its rightful place within the peace of the Flame—I do hereby banish you forthwith and forevermore from the city of Aruldusk. Should you be found within these walls without the benefit of a pardon, you will be executed on sight. May the Flame take pity on your wayward souls.”
With that, he etched the sign of the Flame in the air before him and the crowd responded in kind, as if at Mass. He ordered the guards to escort them out of the city, but before they could do so, Maellas walked over to stand in front of Andri, moving slowly. He looked at the paladin with tears in his eyes. More showmanship, Irulan thought, but to be honest, she wasn’t really sure. She wondered, for the first time, if she’d been wrong about the elf Bishop—perhaps her anger should have been directed at Xanin this whole time.
“Oh, Andri,” Maellas said softly, his voice heavy with disappointment. “Why? Why would you defy my edict and pull that poor soul away from the Flame? Do you truly hate me that much for what happened to your father?”
Andri opened his mouth, then shook his head once and closed it agai
n without saying anything. The Bishop sighed and stepped back, motioning to the guards. They conducted the exiles and their mount outside of the gates, depositing Andri’s trunk roughly on the ground and slamming the massive iron and wooden doors closed behind them.
“Well, that was fun,” d’Kundarak said, to no one in particular.
Andri stared at him curiously. “How is it that you did not tell the Ancillary Bishop that you were not with us?” he asked, seemingly glad of the distraction.
Irulan wondered what Maellas had meant about Andri’s father. She resolved to ask him about it, but as Greddark looked pointedly in her direction, she thought now might not be the best time to do so.
“Um, Andri? About that … I hired him, before we got arrested.”
“Hired him.” The paladin’s tone was flat.
“He’s already been working on the case for ir’Marktaros and has information we don’t. How better to get to the bottom of this case then by combining our efforts?” She gave him a wide smile, hoping he wouldn’t castigate her in front of the dwarf.
Andri didn’t respond, instead taking a deep breath and looking off towards the tents. She thought he might be counting to ten, as her mother had often done when either she or Javi tried her patience once too often in a day. Thinking of her mother and brother brought an unexpected rush of grief and she blinked back sudden tears. She knew d’Kundarak could help them with their investigation, and hiring him had been the right thing to do. If Andri didn’t agree, she was prepared to argue the point.
She didn’t have to. Andri appeared to make his decision and turned to hold his hand out to the dwarf.
“Good to have you along,” he said.
D’Kundarak shook the proffered hand. “Likewise.”
“Well. At least the guards had the courtesy to put us out the right gate,” Andri remarked as he hefted his trunk and began to drag it along the ground. Greddark picked up the other handle without prompting, sticking Irulan with leading the horse.
“Why do you say that?” the dwarf asked, the weight of the paladin’s trunk not fazing him.
The Inquisitives [3] Legacy of the Wolves Page 17