A Cast of Stones (41 page)

One of the healers waved his arms. “Cots! And clear out the next ward. Get these men down and get as much water into them as you can.” A flood of pale-faced guards, some being carried, others shambling, came into the ward.

Errol levered himself out of bed, did his best to ignore the way the room swam when he moved. Leaning on his staff, he tugged the sleeve of the nearest healer. “Put one of them here.”

The man gave him a considering look, then called instructions. Two orderlies deposited a guard still wearing the red livery of his station into the bed. The man's eyes fluttered against flushed cheeks and he shook as if chilled.

“What happened?” Errol shouted to the healer who'd tended him, hunted for the man's name. “Healer Ian, what happened?”

Tall, with blond hair and a ruddy complexion, the healer snapped a quick instruction before answering. “Food poisoning. If we don't get water into these men, we're going to start losing them.”

Errol shouted to be heard above the clamor. “Bad food or poison in the food?”

Ian Thorsund shook his head.

Alarm surged through him. The enemy's noose around the island tightened inexorably. What could he do that they wouldn't expect?

Errol staggered his way through the press of incoming healers and sick and stepped out of the infirmary. At the entrance, six watchmen stepped away from the wall and formed a protective ring around him. The polished wood of his staff burdened him even without the weight of the knobblocks, and he used it as a walking stick. Its clack as he worked his way back to the conclave echoed hollowly. None of the king's guard patrolled the halls.

The sounds of strident voices, the sound of panic, splintered the air. What could he do? Lieutenant Garrigus, the officer he'd fought when he first arrived, headed the detail charged with keeping him safe in the hallways.

The hallways.

A flash of insight jolted him where he stood. He grabbed the shoulder of the nearest guard to steady himself and turned to Garrigus. “Lieutenant, I mean to search the rooms of Sarin Valon, and I won't be asking permission. If you have any objection, you're welcome to safeguard anything I remove from there until we can get it to the primus. Is this acceptable?”

A moment passed as they walked together. The lieutenant's
lips pursed in thought. At last he nodded. “As far as the watch is concerned, you have the authority of a captain. How are you regarded in the conclave?”

He laughed. “To Master Quinn, I am the newest and lowliest apprentice, an ignorant boy who asks too many questions. I have no authority in the conclave to commandeer the belongings of Sarin Valon.”

The lieutenant smiled, showing even, white teeth. “If trouble comes of it, I will simply say I was afraid of another beating if I disobeyed you.”

Errol smiled in surprise. “Thank you, though if it comes to it, I think you'll be hard-pressed to convince anyone of that. Right now, I'm doing well to keep moving.” As if to prove his point, sweat beaded on his forehead and his breathing became labored.

“Perhaps we should stop for a rest, Captain.”

“No. I must look at Sarin's room now, before the turmoil dies down.”

The trip from the infirmary to the second level of the conclave left him pale and shaking. He stumbled at the landing and only the lieutenant's quick grab of Errol's elbow kept him upright. Sarin's door was the third on the left, broad and carved of a deep red wood polished to almost mirror brightness. Errol's reflection looked back at him in lurid detail, giving him a deathly cast.

The door was locked.

“Force it,” Errol said.

The lieutenant nodded to one of his men, a thick-bodied Bellian that reminded Errol of Sven. The sharp retort of wood splintering sounded through the hallway, but no one came to investigate.

Sarin's rooms were large and spacious with a broad fireplace in the sitting room and a bedroom and library on one side. The other side held a private workroom.

In the middle of the sitting room, a large, irregular black stain marred the floor. Errol pointed to it. “Is that where they found the body?”

“Yes.”

Errol stared at the irregular discoloration on the floor as if it held the answer to his questions. “How many of the readers were killed in their rooms?”

The lieutenant squinted at him. “Only Sarin Valon.”

Errol faced the watchmen and pointed. “I want four guards at the door, swords ready. The lieutenant will accompany me throughout Sarin's quarters. If we find anything of import, we will leave and go directly to the primus.”

He forced his steps into the library. Books and scrolls filled the shelves. A thin layer of dust covered each volume. Errol examined a sampling of Valon's library, starting each at the beginning until he determined the subject matter. After half an hour he turned and led the way to the workroom.

Implements of every conceivable shape and size filled the space. Stone and wood blanks formed a neat stack against one wall. Errol took time to sort through some of them, curious. Wood and stone of types he had never before seen were mixed among more common types. A line of cabinets lined the opposite wall.

He tried one door after another. Without exception, they were all locked. “Lieutenant, would you open these cabinets? I doubt I have the strength for it at present.”

The sounds of splintering wood filled the apartment as Lieutenant Garrigus systematically forced the paneled doors. Errol stepped forward, raising himself on tiptoes to peer into the first cabinet.

His breath caught.

Never in his life or dreams had he seen so many lots together in one place. Why, in the first cabinet alone there must have been hundreds, stacked to fill the space like so much cordwood. Polished wood of a dozen varieties gleamed, mixed with shining stone spheres that reflected the light in glittering hues. He moved to the next cabinet. It was the same, and the one after, and the one after that.

Whatever Sarin's killer had been after, it hadn't been these lots.
Errol moved back to the first cabinet and cautiously extended his hand to select a lot from the top. He gave a small chuckle, envisioning the chaos that would ensue if he took one from the bottom of the pile. Lots would cascade from the cabinet in a clatter that would last for several minutes and take an hour to clean up.

He held the sphere, an orange-hued polished maple lot, up to the light. The perfection of it made the pine lots he'd carved for Naaman Ru seem coarse in comparison. Conscious of Garrigus watching him, he assayed an attempt at conversation. “Amazing, aren't they?”

The lieutenant shrugged. “One looks much like another to me, a child's toy.”

Errol laughed at that. “I used to play stones in my village, but we never had anything as perfect as these.” He would have said more, but at that moment, the light caught on letters, and he stopped, his mouth open and his words dying on his tongue.

Sarin had sought the versis. Quinn had said so; old, eccentric Quinn, who looked upon Errol as just another apprentice; Quinn, who had no reason to lie.

Errol continued to turn the lot, looking for any other writing, testing his suspicions.
There.
He turned abruptly. “Lieutenant, find something we can use to transport lots. Something large. I have the feeling there will be others.”

Garrigus's presence receded from Errol's awareness. Only the cabinets and their contents existed for him now. He took the next lot and held it to the light, his movements quick and precise. Two words gleamed, the same two words as before. He tossed the lot to the surprised lieutenant, who entered the room holding a large cloth square that looked to have been cut from Sarin's sheets. Before the lot landed in Garrigus's hand he'd already selected another, his heart racing and his mouth dry.

Again.

His hands shook as he pulled a fourth lot from the stack. The same two words gleamed on the polished surface as before.

Liam's name.

And his own.

His feet told him to run, find Martin, Luis, and Cruk and tell them of his find. Even now his unseen enemy might know Errol stood in Sarin's apartment. He hoped four guards would be enough to discourage attack.

He rushed to the second cabinet and grabbed a pair of lots. Turning them as fast as he dared, he searched for whatever words lay there.

When he saw them, a fist closed about his heart.
Callowford. Berea.
He thrust the lots at the lieutenant. “Here. We must hurry.”

Garrigus's dark brows rose in surprise. “Why?”

“We're in danger. From the moment we entered this room.” Sweat stung his eyes, and he cudgeled his mind for a decision. He longed, oh, how he longed, to remain and plumb the depth of Sarin's knowledge.

But to stay meant death.

They would have to leave, but should he take all the watchmen with him to keep safe or leave behind a guard to watch over the room and its contents? No, whoever he left behind would be dead in minutes.

Errol threw himself at the cabinets, his mind made up. He grabbed handfuls of lots from each of them and thrust them at the lieutenant. His hair stood on end, and he found himself sniffing the air, testing for the smell of filth and corruption.

He pointed toward the door. “Let's go, quickly.”

As they crossed the threshold back into the hallway, Garrigus tapped him on the shoulder and nodded back toward Sarin's rooms. “Should I leave a man to guard the door?”

Errol shook his head. “Only if you mean for him to die. We're not safe here. What's the most direct route back to the barracks?”

Garrigus jerked his head to the left. “This way.”

Errol turned to the four men accompanying them. “Which two of you are the fastest runners?”

The four exchanged glances and then two hands went up. “Soldiers Kernan and Torani,” Garrigus said.

Errol pointed to the first man. “I want you to lead us back to the barracks. Stay fifty paces in front. If you see anyone in a cowl, yell a warning and run back to us. Don't fight; just run. Understand?”

The man's face went stiff at the mention of running, but he nodded.

Errol turned to the second man. “You'll trail us by the same amount. If anything comes up behind us, yell and join us. Six swords are better than four.”

The two men moved out, and Errol tasted sweat as he waited for Kernan to take his position. A moment and a wave from the lead man later, they started. He knew it was crazy, but he couldn't seem to keep from smelling the air. Torani watched him, his face impassive as they opened up the distance behind.

Kernan rounded a distant corner, and Errol strained his ears listening for echoes of flight or conflict.

Nothing.

He found himself walking on the balls of his feet and wondering how long he would be able to run before he collapsed from exhaustion. They turned the corner to see Kernan ahead of them, walking with the calm assurance of one of the watch, checking each cross corridor as he came to the intersection, before moving on.

Errol exhaled and rolled his shoulders to ease the cramp between them. Perhaps he'd been worried about nothing.

“FLY!”

Torani's scream filled his ears. Footsteps pounding stone sounded behind him.

And the snarls of ferrals.

Errol forced his legs into motion. Fresh sweat burst from him, stinging his eyes. Abruptly, the sounds behind him grew louder and he turned to see Torani flying, his cloak billowing behind.

And then, twenty paces behind, came a wave of ferrals, low and running on all fours.

“How . . . far to the . . . exit?” Errol panted. He could barely breathe.

“Two more hallways,” the lieutenant said.

A scream of defiance sounded from behind.

Errol stumbled as he looked over his shoulder. Torani had turned, swinging wildly with his sword, trying to slow the tide of ferrals, attempting to hold them at bay.

Selling his life dear.

The ferrals bayed and howled as they swarmed Torani under, but yips of pain mixed with the snarls, and the wave slowed.

The lieutenant tapped a man as they ran, and he slowed to take up a rearguard.

“No,” Errol said. “We fight together. Do you hear me, Garrigus?”

The man paused, looked at Garrigus. The lieutenant jerked his thumb back behind them and with a curt nod, the soldier dropped back.

“Our orders come from Captain Reynald. Keep you safe at all cost,” Garrigus said.

They ran on. Tears blurred his vision as the sound of whistling steel and snapping jaws came to him. Garrigus tapped another guard, and again, one of the watch drifted back to slow the attack.

They rounded a corner. There at the far end of the hall, a broad set of stairs led to the exit. Errol stumbled. Hands on either side of him held him up, propelled him forward.

Another watchman's defiant screams filled the hall until they cut off in a bubbling gasp.

He half fell, half ran down the stairs, making for the courtyard. Kernan waited for them at the bottom. As they passed through the door, Garrigus signaled the last two soldiers. They exited, then turned to hold the door closed, bracing it with their shoulders.

“Guards!” Garrigus screamed. “Guards!”

They ran on, the lieutenant screaming for the rest of the watch the whole way.

By ones and twos, black-garbed watchmen and red-liveried palace guards joined them, drawn by the alarm. With curt gestures, Garrigus dispatched the men to assist Kernan and posted a ring of steel a dozen strong around Errol.

Errol drew breath against the spots swimming in his vision. “Sarin's rooms,” he said to the lieutenant. “We must have them.” Then he passed out.

 30 
Secrets

H
E WOKE
not in the infirmary but in Luis's rooms. A whiff of acrid smoke drifted through the window. Questions filled him. He swung out of bed and stumbled into the sitting room to find Martin, Luis, and Cruk looking at him.

“The lots?” he asked.

“Safe,” Luis said, “so far as the ones you took.” The planes of his face hardened until they could have been stone. “Someone or something fired Sarin's rooms during the attack.”

A string of curses spilled from Errol. All that effort wasted. And three of the watch sacrificed so that he could escape. He filled a goblet with water and drained it. For some reason, he couldn't seem to get enough to drink these days. He regarded the men he set out with a few months ago, time in which he'd learned to be suspicious. Why were all three of them there? And where was Liam? Illustra's future king needed to be kept under lock and key until Rodran died. Martin should be with the Judica, and Cruk should be hunting the ferrals, finding their hiding place and their master.

Errol said nothing. He'd learned to hold his tongue as well. If
he asked why they all happened to be together, he would doubtless receive a very long answer that would be totally unhelpful. They wanted something from him, something more than to simply serve as bait. They must.

He refilled the goblet, stalling, thinking. “They attacked us barely an hour after I left the infirmary for Sarin's rooms.”

The three nodded but didn't speak. Oh, yes, they wanted something from him. He'd be lucky if he survived. He faced Luis. “Is it possible to cast someone's thoughts or ideas if they haven't had them yet?”

The secondus shook his head. “No. And it is forbidden to try. The church does not allow divination.”

“That wouldn't trouble him. Sarin is somewhere close by,” Errol said.

Luis shook his head. “Sarin is dead.”

“No. I read his lots. Sarin is the one who tracked me, and I think he found a way to create a versis.” He waved Luis's objection away. They could argue about it later. “I decided to search Sarin's room on impulse. If they can't cast my thoughts before I have them, then they're close, very close.” He turned to Martin. “Where's Liam? He's in danger.”

Martin adjusted his bulk in the large, high-backed chair. “Liam returned from the chase a few hours ago. He's safe, but he lost the trail of the ferrals.”

“Where are the lots I took from Sarin's room?”

At a nod from Luis, Cruk went to a large oak cabinet and retrieved a thin-walled crate filled with the lots from Sarin's cabinets. He placed it on the table with a clunk in front of Errol.

Cruk, Martin, and Luis all looked at him with interest, but did they trust him? “What oath can I take to convince you that what I'm about to tell you of these lots is the simple truth?”

Luis hung his head, trying to hide a shamefaced look. Cruk pursed his lips, but whatever emotions lurked behind the expression, Errol couldn't tell. He sat with his arms folded, a weapon to be used or directed at its target.

Martin smiled; his mouth quirked to one side in a rueful grin. “You surpass us, Errol. I believe you will give us the truth, though we cannot reciprocate if you ask.”

So, it was as he suspected. “What oath can you give me that I can trust?”

The priest-now-benefice nodded. “I swear that what we do is in the best interest of the kingdom and its people.”

Errol snorted. “Am I included in those people, Martin? Are you doing what is in my best interest?”

Tension spiked in the room. Cruk's hand lay closer to his hilt now.

Martin sighed. “We all must make sacrifices, Errol.”

Errol laughed, but the sound became harsh in an instant as something welled up from deep within him and hot, angry tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. “I thought you were my friends. Was I ever anything more than an expendable pawn for you to use to put Liam on the throne?”

Luis and Martin turned away. Only Cruk held his gaze. “No, boy, you weren't.”

For some reason this honest blow sobered Errol's emotions.

Cruk stood. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Do you think you're the only one who's expendable?” He moved his hand in a circle taking them all in. “We are all expendable, all of us pawns against the enemy. If Martin tells me Liam must take the throne when Rodran dies or else the kingdom is lost, then everyone else becomes secondary.” He moved forward, put his hand on his shoulder. “And I am your friend.”

Errol turned away, found Luis gazing at him. “He's right,” the secondus said. “We are your friends. You are like an unexpected jewel, Errol, an omne of the conclave and an honorary captain of the watch. Do not think less of yourself because the kingdom's interests must take priority over yours and ours. Brave men have sacrificed themselves so that you could live. You are a great weapon against the enemy.”

He turned to Martin. The old priest's brown eyes were like
chips of dark slate under his sable eyebrows. He possessed steel enough in his backbone for a dozen of the watch. The hermit who had once lived along the Sprata had been left behind. “I can't give you what you most want, Errol. I wish to Deas I could.”

“And what is it you think I most want?”

Martin pulled at the muscles of his jaw. “You are looking for family, Errol. I've seen the way you look at people, boy, the way you catalog their faces, recording the details of their countenance just before you lift a hand to touch your nose or your lips or any of the other features you possess.” He turned his head slowly to look at Cruk. “Luis, Cruk, and I came too late to your village. You were already an orphan by the time we arrived. We never knew what Warrel said to you as he lay dying.

“We don't know who your father is, who your parents are.”

The priest's observation struck too deep for response. Errol grabbed a lot from the box and thrust it against the light, knowing what he would see as he did so. He'd read this lot in Sarin's apartments. “This one has two names on it, Liam's and mine.”

He put the wooden sphere to one side, grabbed another. In his peripheral vision he saw Luis and Martin go pale.

“That's not supposed to be possible,” Luis said.

“This one says the same.” He grabbed another. “And this.” A dark stone, nearly black, came to his hand next and he rotated it slowly against the light. Luis had recovered enough self-possession to fetch pen and paper to record what Errol saw.

“This one says
Yes
,” Errol said. “And this one,
No
.”

A dozen more lots composed of different stone and wood reflected the same, either
Yes
or
No
.

Martin touched Luis on the shoulder. “What does it mean?”

Luis shook his head in doubt. “I don't know. Sarin was brilliant but erratic.” He pulled a frown. “Enoch says Sarin changed. He became secretive, staying in his rooms constantly toward the end, coming out only once or twice a week for more blanks before going back in.”

Errol saw a pair of lots he recognized toward the bottom of the pile and pulled them out. “This one says
Callowford.
” He rolled it across the table toward Luis with a negligent flip of his wrist. “And this one,
Windridge
.” A push and it joined the other one.

Luis looked at him, stricken. “Sarin,” he whispered.

They went through the lots one at a time. Errol read the words written there and Luis wrote them down. By the time they'd finished, every city and village Errol and Liam had traveled through filled the list. Luis no longer doubted.

Sarin lived.

“How did you know, Errol?” Martin asked.

Errol shrugged. “I didn't. I thought Sarin had created a versis and been killed for it. Then we went inside his apartments and I saw the bloodstains on the floor, and I began to suspect.”

“What did that have to do with anything?” Cruk asked.

“Lieutenant Garrigus told me Sarin was the only reader killed in his room. All the rest after him were taken unawares in the hallway. Even Sarin would have enough sense to lock his door. And his face was missing. They identified his body by the rings on his fingers. I think Sarin lured someone to his apartments where the ferrals were waiting. Then he slipped out of the city.”

“But he has to be close. It makes sense now. Morin knew where to send the ferrals because Sarin knew about the primus's secret hallway.”

Cruk breathed an oath. “They mean to attack the palace. Most of the guards are still in the infirmary.”

Luis bolted from his chair. The legs rattled on the floor. “Come, Errol. We must get to the primus. We will marshal the resources of the conclave and track Sarin down, sector by sector, and building by building.” He chewed his words, biting them off in staccato bursts. “We will find that traitor and his
ferrals.”

“He'll know we're coming,” Errol said.

Luis stopped at the door. “The conclave is still two hundred
strong. We will know where he is inside the hour. It's time to show your power, Errol.”

Martin and Cruk turned to follow.

The conclave assembled in the expansive workroom. Primus Sten stood leaning on his staff before the blue-robed mass of readers, snapping out commands in crisp tones. A large map of the city covered one wall, showing each section and even each building in detail. Next to it an equally impressive drawing depicted the entire island. The primus took a stick of chalk and divided the city map into quarters and with whiplike precision assigned buildings to each of the readers.

One fellow, short and thick-bodied with dark hair and a beard, called for Enoch's attention from the second row. “Primus, it will take hours to cast Sarin's hiding place.”

A smile wreathed Enoch's face and he nodded assent to the reader's concern. “Then we best be about it. Quickly, gentlemen, quickly.”

The men attacked a small mountain of pine cubes with their knives, and the whispers of steel against wood filled the room.

In ten minutes, a blank for every building in the city had been carved and polished. The lots were deposited in a large barrel turned on its side and mounted on an axis. Slowly, so as not to damage the wooden spheres, a reader turned the barrel. The noise of hundreds of lots banging against the sides filled the hall with thunder.

The primus turned and beckoned him with one hand. “Errol, come make the draw.”

Every eye watched him as he stepped to the now-still drum and unbolted the small door built into its side. He reached in and pulled the first lot to come against his hand.

In a clear voice that could be heard throughout the hall the primus commanded him, “Read it, Errol.”

The bearded reader's voice cut in. “He didn't carve any of the lots; he can't possibly read it.”

The head of the conclave surveyed the waiting readers, obviously savoring the moment. “Ah, but he can.”

Excited whispers filled the hall as Errol turned the lot, searching for the words he knew to be there. “Watch barracks,” he said.