Eye of Truth

by Lindsay Buroker

  When Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow walked out into the courtyard, he looked the same as he had earlier in the day. Still scruffy, still dirty, his beard and hair still in need of a barber. Whatever he’d been doing in the hours since his elf buddy jumped Zenia and Rhi, it hadn’t been bathing.

  Zenia watched him as he walked across the flagstones toward her, Rhi, and the six watchmen they had brought into the courtyard. The castle’s guards had come out of the woodwork like termites when she’d tried to lead the watchmen’s two steam wagons inside, so they remained on the other side of the moat. She had envisioned a fight breaking out during which it would have been useful to have metal vehicles inside the castle to hide in and behind. Maybe the guards had envisioned that scenario too.

  Fortunately, Jevlain’s father, Zyndar Prime Heber Dharrow, hadn’t rushed out wearing armor and waving weapons. The rangy white-haired man had simply asked what they wanted, then called for his son. He hadn’t appeared surprised by Zenia’s appearance, so she assumed his son had warned him.

  Heber stood to the side now, forearms crossed over his chest. He wore patched and dirt-encrusted workman’s clothing, and Zenia had been surprised when he’d introduced himself. There was no sign of the silks and velvets so many of the zyndar favored.

  “Jev,” a woman blurted, making Jevlain pause before he reached Zenia.

  A plump, white-haired woman rushed down a set of stone stairs leading from a garden balcony overflowing with vining flowers and potted shrubs. She carried a wicker basket and hustled along remarkably quickly considering she looked to be in her eighties.

  “Were you going to leave without coming to see your grammy?” she demanded. “I baked for you. We were preparing a special dinner.” She waved toward an open doorway.

  The scents of cooking food had been wafting out of it since Zenia arrived, a simmering seafood stew, baking bread, and roasting eggplant. It did smell appealing.

  Jevlain winced. “I’m sorry, Grandmother.”

  He bent to hug her as she approached, a movement made clumsy by the basket in her arms. As soon as they broke the hug, she thrust it at him.

  “You can’t leave again without snacks. You must be famished after ten years away from home.”

  “We occasionally ate in Taziira.”

  “Bird food, I’m sure. Worse, elf food. Look how skinny you are. You must stay for dinner so I can fatten you up. And I’ll catch you up on all the news. The Dangledorts are getting married, you know. Second cousins marrying. It’s scandalous. So is the size of the wart I’ve developed. Do you want to see it? I’ve got something growing under my toenail too. I keep telling your father to bring a healer to attend me, but I can see I’ll have to take a horse into town myself. My butt gets terribly sore, though, when I have to sit in a saddle for more than an hour.”

  Zenia blinked slowly a few times at the randomness of the “news.” As the woman rattled on, Zenia decided she must have lost a few of the spokes in her wagon wheels over the years.

  Jevlain patted his grandmother on the back and glanced at Zenia, his expression surprisingly apologetic, as if to say he hadn’t intended to delay her further.

  Zenia folded her arms over her chest.

  Next to her, Rhi fingered her bo.

  “We’re not going to beat up any eighty-year-old grandmothers while we’re here,” Zenia whispered to her, though perhaps a little tap to her hip to prod her out of the way would be in order.

  “Actually, I was thinking of hooking that basket by the handle and claiming it for the temple,” Rhi said. “That looks like banana bread.”

  “I see something green. Everything’s probably wrapped in gort.”

  “Gort is fine if it’s sautéed and doused with cinnamon and honey.”

  “That sounds awful.”

  “It’s delicious, I assure you. All vegetables are tastier when smothered in honey.”

  “You’re an odd monk. Doesn’t one of the Codices command monks to eat healthful foods?”

  “The New Codex, yes, and I eat lots of healthful foods. I had a huge steaming pile of gort and fish this morning.”

  “Smothered in honey?”

  “It was a glaze, and it was only on the fish. There’s nothing in the Codices about honey. Unless one counts the maxim that it’s easier to steal honey from bees once you’ve blown smoke into their hive.”

  Heber Dharrow came over and helped Jevlain extricate himself from his grandmother’s attention, drawing her aside so his son could continue his walk toward Zenia.

  Rhi let out a wistful sigh. Because Heber had claimed the basket and it wouldn’t be coming with them?

  “I’m sorry, Inquisitor Cham,” Jevlain said, bowing when he stopped in front of her. “I hadn’t meant for our earlier conversation to be interrupted, but I see that you’re diligent in performing your duty and have located me again. Would you care to stay for dinner? My grandmother would be delighted.”

  Rhi cast a hopeful look at Zenia.

  “No,” Zenia said without looking at her.

  “Then I won’t feel bad that I didn’t bathe and shave,” Jevlain said.

  “We don’t require it for questioning sessions.”

  “So happy to hear that my armpit odor won’t upset your interrogation.”

  “We’re professionals.” Zenia closed her mouth, irritated that she’d allowed herself to be drawn into bantering with him. She traded jokes with Rhi, but Rhi was her friend and colleague. This man was a suspect and perhaps a criminal. Maybe even worse if he spent time with elves. “Where is your elf colleague?”

  Rhi gripped her bo at this reminder, and she looked around the courtyard anew, eyeing the doors and windows.

  “Elf?” Jevlain asked mildly, arching his eyebrows.

  As if he didn’t know.

  “What elf?” Heber left the grandmother’s side and stepped forward, his hands balling into fists. His gaze skewered Jevlain.

  Zenia almost would have called the expression hostile, and that surprised her. Her father was an ass she’d only spoken with once, but she’d assumed relatives who actually lived together would have better relationships.

  “Elf?” the watch sergeant Zenia and her team had met out front asked. “We captured an elf and a dwarf with Zyndar Dharrow.” He pointed to Jevlain.

  Heber’s eyes grew even harsher as he glared at his son.

  “Captured, Sergeant?” Jevlain asked, not looking at his father. “I must object to your verb choice. We came willingly with you. In fact, you called it an escort.”

  “What were you doing with an elf?” Heber asked his son. “It had better be a prisoner you took to be your manservant.”

  “I’ll show you, ma’am,” the sergeant told Zenia and hurried toward the drawbridge and the wagons parked outside.

  Zenia didn’t follow him. She didn’t want to take her eyes off Jevlain. Just because he’d come out at his father’s beckoning didn’t mean he intended to come with her peacefully. His elf buddy might be waiting outside the castle walls to spring another ambush. Her temple throbbed at the memory of the last one.

  “Go check,” Zenia told Rhi when the watch sergeant paused in the gateway and looked back at them.

  “And leave you without a bodyguard?” Rhi protested. “You’re in hostile territory.”

  Jevlain raised his brows again. “I didn’t know a discussion of armpit odor signified impending hostilities.”

  “Funny,” Zenia said flatly.

  He bowed.

  Heber crossed his arms over his chest again, his eyes closed to slits as he watched the proceedings. He was glaring at just about everyone, but he especially looked like he wanted to drag his son aside for questioning. The grandmother had stopped speaking, but she held a concerned hand over her mouth as she listened.

  “Rhi.” Zenia tilted her head toward the watch sergeant.

  She didn’t like to order Rhi around, but Rhi was assigned to work for her.

  “Fine, but if his armpits assail you, don’t blame me.�
� Rhi stalked out of the courtyard.

  Jevlain lifted his arm and turned his nose. The watchmen shifted, hands twitching toward weapons. Jevlain only sniffed and lowered his arm.

  “I do believe that she and her bo would be powerless to halt such an assailing,” Jevlain said.

  Zenia didn’t know what to make of his humor—people didn’t joke with inquisitors—but she found it suspicious. Maybe he wanted her off guard so she wouldn’t be ready when the elf attacked.

  Rhi walked back in. “They’re gone.”

  “The elf and the dwarf the watch supposedly captured?” Zenia turned her flat stare on a corporal—the sergeant hadn’t come back in.

  The corporal spread his arms and gave her an I-don’t-know-anything-about-it look.

  “Oh, I believe they were there at one point,” Rhi said. “There are two watchmen tied up in the back of the wagon.”

  Jevlain regarded the revelation blandly.

  His father continued to watch his son, looking like he wanted to question him. Or throttle him.

  Jevlain glanced at him but only for a second. “Shall we go, Inquisitor? I’m ready for your questions. I’m hoping you’ll be able to use your magic—or toenail-removing tools—to see that I’m innocent of your accusations.”

  “If you’re innocent of the theft, then you have nothing to fear.”

  Judging by Jevlain’s wry twist of the lips, he didn’t believe that.

  Heber grumbled under his breath, then turned and stalked away. Zenia didn’t catch all the words, but she thought it was something about how zyndar hadn’t been accused of crimes in his day.

  Well, his day was over.

  “Hand your weapons to one of the watchmen, Zyndar,” Zenia said.

  Jevlain’s eyebrows disappeared under his shaggy bangs. “What?”

  Zenia pointed exaggeratedly at the sword and pistol on his hip—he’d left his rifle and pack somewhere since she’d seen him last—then pointed at the corporal. She had made the mistake of letting him keep his weapons before. Even though he hadn’t been the one to attack her, she had no doubt he’d conspired with the elf and commanded him to do so. And since she expected to see that elf again… she wouldn’t make it easy for Jevlain to join in against her and her team.

  “You’re under arrest,” she said to the consternated expression on his face. “Prisoners don’t get to retain their weapons.”

  “I thought I was just being brought in for questioning.”

  “Hand over your weapons.” This time, Zenia drew upon her gem and added magical compulsion to the words.

  His fingers twitched toward them but stopped. His jaw clenched.

  “Corporal,” Zenia said. “Remove Zyndar Dharrow’s weapons.”

  “Uh.” The watchman hesitated, looking back and forth between her and the steely-eyed Jevlain. His last glance toward her took in her long blue robe. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He walked warily toward Jevlain, and Zenia felt smug satisfaction that the corporal had decided he would rather not irk her than a zyndar. She did her best to keep the emotion off her face, since inquisitors were supposed to be too wise and mature to feel smug.

  Rhi watched Jevlain as the corporal stopped next to him. Would her prisoner object?

  Jevlain looked like he wanted to. A hint of that arrogant zyndar indignation came through the dirt and beard growth on his face. But he lifted his arms so the corporal could remove his weapons belt.

  The corporal wobbled slightly and wrinkled his nose. If those armpits were bad enough to affect a sturdy watchman, Zenia decided she wouldn’t put her nostrils anywhere near them.

  As soon as the corporal backed away and Jevlain lowered his arms, Zenia said, “This way,” and strode out of the courtyard. She glanced back to make sure Jevlain did not dawdle.

  He didn’t. He strode beside her, matching her pace.

  His quick willingness to depart made her believe his elf friend was indeed waiting somewhere to spring a trap.

  When he turned toward the back of one of the wagons, Zenia raised her hand. “Sit up front on the bench with the driver. I’ll ride beside you. So we can talk.”

  She nodded toward the two horses that she and Rhi had ridden out to the castle. She hadn’t wanted to be stuck on one of the steam wagons if she needed to chase someone into the hills. The vehicles could match a horse’s speed on a flat and groomed road, but they couldn’t tear off into pastures and forests.

  “So we can talk or so you can watch me?” Jevlain asked as Rhi mounted her horse.

  “Given that people riding in the backs of those wagons have a propensity for being tied up, I’d think you would be glad to ride out here in the open air.” Zenia nodded toward the sky. The sun was setting, painting the sea orange below them, and she hoped they could make it back to the temple before darkness fell.

  “I would have been willing to take the risk, but if you want to start our talk now, I’m willing. Perhaps you can find me innocent, and I can return to the castle tonight.” Jevlain sent a pensive look over his shoulder at the towering structure.

  Zenia was surprised he was eager to return to his father’s frostiness.

  “We’ll see,” she said, though she had no intention of trying to use her interrogation magic on him on the road. It took concentration, and with the dwarf and elf unaccounted for, she dared not let her attention stray for long.

  As she mounted up and the two steam wagons rolled away from the castle, Zenia looked at the pond, the pastures, and the countryside that stretched away for miles, seeking places where one might set an ambush. Copses of trees dotted the land behind the castle, but the wagons wouldn’t head in that direction. There weren’t any dense forests along the road back, either, unless one counted the mangroves that lined the Jade River. The road did pass within a half mile of them later on, so she would be vigilant. It would be twilight by then, and elves reputedly had excellent night vision.

  As the caravan descended toward the highway, Zenia watched Jevlain as often as she did the surrounding land. Though she didn’t want to risk being distracted, she occasionally drew on a trickle of magic to try to get a feel for his thoughts, to see if he expected his friends to jump her and the watchmen.

  He seemed more resigned than anticipatory. She mulled on that. Was it possible he didn’t have anything planned? He likely could have escaped through some secret passage under the castle if he’d wanted to avoid her.

  “Why did you run to your family grounds, Zyndar?” she asked. “You must have known it would be the first place I would look for you.”

  Earlier, she’d assumed he would go to get help from his father, but now that she’d seen the two men interacting—or not interacting—she doubted they had a strong relationship.

  “You can call me Jev.” He shifted on the hard metal bench he shared with the wagon driver. The stack puffed black smoke behind them.

  She opened her mouth to tell him to answer her question but paused. She couldn’t remember a zyndar ever telling her to use his first name. Was he attempting to win leniency with the offer? And maybe he’d meant to soften her attitude toward him with his humor. She couldn’t imagine that a zyndar would otherwise invite familiarity from someone who’d grown up a lowly commoner.

  “Answer my question, Zyndar Dharrow,” she said firmly to let him know that no matter what he wanted, she was not interested in developing familiarity with him. She’d only started thinking of him by first name because it had been confusing when his father, who would also be addressed as Zyndar Dharrow, had been around.

  Rhi, who was riding on her other side, shook her head as she listened. No doubt, she thought Zenia should trade witty banter with the man and then invite him over for the reading of plays.

  “I was looking for something.” Jevlain tilted his head and looked at her. “Your artifact, in fact.”

  “The artifact you claimed to know nothing about?”

  “I still know nothing about it, but I thought… I’m not sure if I’m circling the right
tree at all. Can you tell me more about why your Order thinks I have it? They don’t truly think I stole it, do they?” Though he was speaking casually, his shoulders stiffened at that last question, and he sounded genuinely affronted. “Is it more that they think it may have come into my possession? Did it make its way overseas and to the Taziir continent where it might have ended up in my hands?”

  He was asking reasonable questions, and Zenia was embarrassed to admit she didn’t know the answers. Archmage Sazshen had said he took the artifact and would know where it was. Zenia hadn’t had a reason to question her. It was normal for her to be assigned missions without in-depth explanations. She was typically expected to learn any extra information she needed along the way.

  “I—”

  “Is that smoke?” the driver next to Jevlain asked, half standing to peer into the twilight sky ahead.

  “Yes,” Jevlain said.

  “I see it too,” Rhi said as Zenia located the spot.

  Ominous black plumes rose from one of the villages ahead and to the right of the highway, plumes far larger than those coming from the stacks of the steam wagons.

  “There’s not a smelter or anything there,” Rhi added. “That looks like trouble.”

  “Conveniently timed trouble.” Zenia frowned at Jevlain.

  He pointed at the road ahead of them. A horse had appeared around a bend, its rider slapping its flanks with a crop to encourage greater speed. The beast was already galloping, heading straight toward the wagons.

  “Rock golems!” the rider yelled, spotting the watchmen. “Two rock golems are smashing our village. We need help!”

  “I knew it,” Zenia snarled, her frown turning to an outright scowl. She was tempted to yank out the pistol holstered inside her robe and jam it to Jevlain’s temple. “You’ve got the dwarf helping now too.”

  “Cutter?” Jevlain shook his head. “He can carve gems and bring out natural magic, yes, but I’ve never seen him summon stone creatures.”

  Zenia had to nudge her horse into a gallop to keep up, for the sergeant of the watch ordered his wagon drivers to pick up speed and race toward the village.