The Inquisitives [4] The Darkwood Mask (11 page)

“She seeks atonement for the things she has done. I offered to counsel her. I think she was drawn to Aureon specifically because he represents stability. Order. In her grief, she could only handle one god. The Nine together can seem imposing and faceless to outsiders.”

Tallis thought of the older woman, Mova, whom he knew Lenrik had met with several times before. The priest counseled many desperate people, day after day. He spent more time talking to them individually than he did preaching the tenets of the faith.

Tallis didn’t expect Haedrun to be among those desperate people. He envisioned the stern woman as
he
knew her. Lovely, dark-eyed Haedrun, who had lost her children to the claws of the undead, who had gained from her pain the courage of a soldier
twice her size. It seemed unthinkable that she would turn to the gods for salvation. Haedrun was the sort of woman who had saved herself. How well did Tallis really know Haedrun, after all? She was a remarkable, tragic woman, but he had difficulty counting treachery among her assets. How could she set him up for the Ebonspire crime? Or was someone else forcing her cooperation?

Lenrik continued. “She never mentioned the Red Watchers, though I could sense that she wanted to. She is trying to protect them—and me.”

“A familiar pattern,” Tallis said with a smile. “Would you know how to find her?”

The priest shook his head. “It is not appropriate for a priest to intrude in the personal lives of a Vassal unless invited to. I don’t know where she stays in this city.” His voice took on a scolding tone. “Now, if I’d
known
that the Red Watchers were giving you work again, I might have asked her anyway.”

Tallis clucked his tongue. “It’s enough that you let me confide in you like this.”

“The assassin concerns me most,” Lenrik said, rising. “I will consult the Archives of Aureon. I wonder if it was some manner of spell she was using, not a quality of the assassin herself. Spells that can make a person incorporeal are beyond the province of most magewrights and novice magicians. It sounds like you’re dealing with a wizard, and a well-studied one at that.”

Tallis let out a sigh. “Why not? Everything I ever knew seems to be changing.”

When she’d finally coaxed a fire in the hearth of her room, Soneste dropped heavily into a chair. She longed for the familiar comforts of her own apartment in Ivy Towers, but she resigned herself to the austere accommodations of the Seventh Watch. They were suitably spacious, certainly, with an adjoining closet and
washroom, but the wintry chill of Karrnath in Sypheros seeped through the very walls of her second floor room.

Wrapped in a heavy wool blanket, Soneste examined the small book she’d found hidden at the ambassador’s dwelling. It was Gamnon’s travel itinerary, which she confirmed by comparing the handwriting against his letters of credit. The last two weeks’ entries revealed that he’d been on holiday, touring the major cities of Khorvaire with his family. Setting out from Wroat by lightning rail, he’d visited Starilaskur, Passage, Fairhaven, and Thaliost before crossing Scions Sound by ship. In Rekkenmark, he’d resumed the rail line to Korth. Krona Peak, the capital of the Mror Holds, had been his planned final destination.

But fate had chosen Korth.

Gamnon had spent two days within each city. Notations listed meetings he’d arranged with various men, most of whom sounded like merchant lords. Aside from their political work, the noble ir’Daresh family had always had a hand in Breland’s metal industry. So the question remained, was trade a mere side project or was the ambassador’s family business in the fore? According to the information Thuranne had provided her, Gamnon and his immediate family were the last of his line. There were no surviving heirs of his estate. Who, then, would benefit from the end of the ir’Daresh family? Surely what holdings remained would be taken by the Brelish crown. The assassin would receive no vast revenue from this murder.

Unless one of the men in ir’Daresh’s business itinerary knew more. Any one of them could be connected to the murder. Of special note were the two names listed for Gamnon’s Korth visit: Vorik ir’Alanso and Lord Charoth Arkenen.

The Justice Ministry
Mol, the 9th of Sypheros, 998 YK

A
fter a night of restless sleep, Soneste woke early and forced herself into a meditative state. Veshtalan had taught her an exercise to focus the mind and quiet the world. To make use of the “gifts of the Great Light,” as he’d called her powers, her mind needed to be rested and well-ordered. Both were hard to come by this morning, especially with the cough Karrnath’s damnable climate had given her.

Opting to visit the Justice Ministry only after she got a sense of the city first, Soneste took to the streets. The killer’s trail was already more than a day cold. A couple of hours assessing the people and places of Korth wouldn’t make it much colder. If the killer was going to flee the city, he would already have done so. And if she had to follow him beyond the city, she would.

An icy drizzle loosed itself upon the streets only seconds after she left the inn. Donning her wide-brimmed hat, she cursed the Karrnathi weather. She didn’t travel by coach. Such conveyances muted the stimuli of the city—she wanted to see Korth as its everyday citizens did. While some streets were easily navigated, the lower districts wound their streets in confusing circles. Portions of the city had been damaged by siege weaponry during
the Last War, but some buildings and streets had been rebuilt, resulting in a curious mosaic of old and new.

Soneste asked for directions whenever she was unsure of her whereabouts. The somberly-clad citizens gave her Brelish colors a reproachful glare and sent her quickly on her way. By contrast, Sharn embraced such the diversity of native and foreign cultures. But if Soneste wanted to learn more, she’d have to blend in more.

The Justice Ministry occupied a series of tall, if unremarkable, buildings in the shadow of King’s Hill and the palace of Crownhome. What the architecture lacked in inspiration was offset by a panoply of military banners. The black, silver, and red of the Karrnathi flag were most prevalent, its wolf head embossed above the heavily-guarded gate.

Within, Hyran ir’Tennet was nowhere to be found. While King Kaius III officially ruled the capital city, the Civic Minister was given the task of handling the day-to-day details. Soneste found that a legion of clerks and barristers within the Ministry hid him well.

“In the morning you may call on me at the Justice Ministry,” he’d said. So where was he? The only man with more authority in this city was the king, so she supposed it made sense that he would be difficult to track down.

All the while, her damp clothes and persistent cough magnified her impatience. Her coat of dyed sayda—commonly called Brelish blue—and her artful tongue made her feel like a barking fox among brooding wolves. The Karrns scowled whenever she made demands, but Soneste gradually made inroads. They acknowledged her at last—if only to get rid of her.

Soneste was introduced to a conspicuously stern man whom Hyran ir’Tennet had allegedly “given over” to meet with her until the Civic Minister himself was available. Whatever
that
meant.

The man was tall and quite older than she, with dark, hollow eyes. A few faint scars showed along his neck and one hand. He
wore a long sword, its pommel decorated with an
R
in filigree. An army officer, retired—but Soneste knew by his own unease in this environment that he wasn’t part of the Ministry. Something about him, the way his eyes studied her in turn, gnawed at her. He introduced himself as Major Jotrem Dalesek.

Soneste extended her hand. “A pleasure to meet you, Jotrem,” she said. His mouth twitched in irritation at her familiar address. Good. Then their dislike was mutual.

“Likewise, Miss Otänsin,” he responded, grasping her hand harder than necessary. His skin was frigid. Host, she thought, was
everyone
in this cursed country sculpted from ice? On his finger she saw a ring set with a polished black stone. Red colors swirled within. A fire opal?

“Come with me.” Jotrem led her to a private office belonging to some absent clerk. After a few awkward moments, Soneste tapped her fingernails on the leather folder Hyran had given her. She leaned upon the clerk’s desk as Jotrem moved to the window to stare out at the city.

“Forgive my bluntness,” she said, “but is it your job to stall me? I’m getting the impression I’m not wanted here.”

“Excuse me?”

“As the victims of the murder at hand were King Boranel’s subjects, he is under the impression that it is most certainly
his
—hence,
my
—business.”

Jotrem fixed her with a stare she couldn’t quite interpret—quiet outrage?—but it gradually fell away. “I’m doubtful that your king is yet aware of this event at all. But no, Miss Otänsin, I’m not here to stall you. In fact, I will be accompanying you on your investigation.”

Sovereign Host, she cursed silently. Jotrem was an inquisitive too.

Just what she needed now, a local investigator stepping on her toes. One more inquisitive was one too many for her. Always was. She didn’t relish partnering with another inquisitive again, much less a Karrn.

She stared mutely at Jotrem. At least
this
one was human. In Soneste’s experience, elvish blood usually carried with it an unbearable pride. Steeling her mind, she held her reaction in check and met Jotrem’s eyes without scowling. “Oh? I wasn’t informed of that, but I will certainly consider it.”

The Karrn’s lip twitched. “You don’t understand, Brelander. This isn’t merely—”

The door opened. Soneste felt relief at the sight of Hyran ir’Tennet. His company, while sleightly strained and soft-spoken the night before, was worlds better than this astringent veteran. Jotrem nodded to the Civic Minister, though both men seemed more suited to salutes, like soldiers on active duty.

“Good morning, Miss Otänsin, said Hyran. “I hope our weather hasn’t dampened your spirit yet. I see that you’ve met Major Dalesek.

“It hasn’t yet,” she replied, “and yes, I have. I thank you for the offer of his assistance, but I am better suited to this investigation alone.”

Hyran regarded both inquisitives then gestured politely at Jotrem. “I assure you, Major Dalesek will be a boon to your investigation. He can serve as your guide in this unfamiliar city and
assist
you with the peculiarities of our nation. This may help you to cut through the ministerial webs of life in Korth.

Soneste noticed a near-imperceptible grimace shift Jotrem’s face. Hyran had both established the partnership and relegated the older inquisitive to an inferior role within it. Clever man. She knew that she could try and dispute the Civic Minister’s decree, but she would have to send a message to Thuranne and thereby the King’s Citadel and then wait for a reply. A waste of time and energy. Perhaps she could handle Jotrem herself.

“I know that time is short and you have a man to identify,” Hyran said.

“Or woman,” Soneste said.

Hyran blinked. “Pardon?”

“The killer might be a woman,” she said.

Jotrem grunted. “It
is
a man, I assure you.”

Soneste shrugged, holding up the death report had given her. “Yes, my employer mentioned that there was a man identified at the scene, but I didn’t see him mentioned in the report.”

Hyran nodded, taking the folder from her and laying out the documents on the desk. “That is because he is merely a suspect at this time. The three Lions who came upon the scene witnessed him standing over the victims. They pursued him to the balcony, where he escaped.”

Soneste imagined the event, matching the three soldiers’ pursuit of the suspect with the carpet prints she’d studied last night. A perfect fit.

“One of the Lions, Sergeant Bratta, recognized the suspect—a thorn in the side of both the Justice Ministry and the garrison.”

“Tallis is his name,” Jotrem said with obvious venom. “A malcontent of the worst order, wanted for murder, theft, destruction of property, and treason. He’s a vigilante who styles himself a Karrnath loyalist, yet he continually breaks the king’s laws.”