The Inquisitives [4] The Darkwood Mask (38 page)

Traveler, he screamed silently, free me from this! He wished he were a priest that he could call down divine wrath upon his
tormentors. The woman’s face came close. He knew her face was pretty, but he wanted nothing more than to tear the flesh from her skull, flay her skin and burn it!

“Fortunately for Gan,” she said, “I have some ’lily with me to make it all better again.” She held a small vial before his eye. His field of vision has blurred, but Gan could see, could
smell
in his very mind, the unmistakable iridescence of that divine nectar. It swished in slow motion inside its hateful glass prison.

Inches from his face, and endlessly out of reach.

What he’d just seen surprised Tallis to no end. Soneste had subjected the changeling to incomprehensible agonies with just the flick of her wrist. Now she held out an illegal drug which she’d pulled from some hidden pocket. At any other time, he might have asked her about it, might have made some witty remark. He’d thought of her as a straight arrow of the law, with only a few colorful fletchings to make her interesting.

But now? He felt only a grim contentment at this turn of events.

Gan fixed his good eye upon the forbidden liquid. His body jerked reflexively toward the dreamlily, but he couldn’t break from Tallis’s grip and certainly not the warforged’s.

“Give it!” Gan pleaded, his voice raw from screaming.

Even Verdax seemed subdued at last. He watched with wide, red-glowing eyes.

“No,” Soneste answered. “Not until you’ve satisfied us. We need answers, and when we have them, this ’lily is yours. I promise.”

Gan opened his mouth again. “First the dream—”

“And I promise you will have not a drop until you’ve talked.” Soneste sat cross-legged on the floor as if hunkering down for a long wait. She tucked the vial into her shirt pocket. “So you’d better get your head together. It’s going to hurt, but you’re going to do it.”

“My name is … Gan,” the changeling yielded.

“We’re past that.” Tallis prodded him with the butt of the knife. “Who do you work for?”

“Lord Charoth.”

Soneste met Tallis’s eyes. “It
is
him,” she said. “All of this! But I don’t understand his gain, and I don’t think we have sufficient evidence to prove it yet.”

Aegis shifted his weight forward, steadily crushing the changeling’s ankles in his grip. “Did you kill them?” he demanded in a pitiless voice.

“N-no!”

“The nimblewright,” Tallis prompted. “Charoth commands it?”

“No. He doesn’t.”

“This is too slow, Gan,” Soneste said. “You’re just going to have to wait longer, I suppose.” She folded her hands together on her lap.

The changeling opened and closed his eye as if trying to collect his thoughts amidst a haze of pain. “A woman, a priestess,” he rasped. “She commands it. She’s a Seeker. She … she is working
with
Charoth in this.”

Tallis stayed quiet, but he could feel his hatred smoldering. The former Cannith lord had joined with the Blood of Vol.

“What about the contract?” Soneste asked. “The receipt that Lady Erice gave me? It states that the Malovyn family has control of the nimblewright.”

“False,” Gan said. “Planted. Charoth has eyes in many places, you have no idea. He has contingencies. He is far too smart for you. For all of you. For me.”

“Lady Erice works for him, too?”

“No. When we went to the Tower, their divinations revealed my race. When I separated from you I sent word to one of Charoth’s servants. He
owns
members of the Twelve. He pulls strings in the Justice Ministry and the White Lions.”

“And Jotrem?” Soneste asked. “The Civic Minister? What of them?”

“No. Charoth chooses lesser knowns, those who will not be noticed.”

“What’s the plan, then?” Tallis asked. “What’s he doing? Why have this priestess help him kill a Brelish ambassador?”

“I … I don’t know why. By the gods, I swear it! He doesn’t tell any of us everything. I only do my job, to do what he tells me.”

“What
is
your job?” Soneste demanded.

Sweat soaked through the uniform Gan wore. It ran into his eye. He blinked to flush it out. “To follow you. To report what you’d learned. You’re just one loose end, Brelish. When the time was right, I was to bring the White Lions in to apprehend Tallis. All the evidence was in place. Planted, as I said. He has eyes and hands everywhere.”

“You joined up with me outside the Ministry,” Soneste cut in. “Before we went to Charoth’s factory, right?” She mused to herself for a moment. “Jotrem had called me Brelander, but
you
knew the correct term. Jotrem didn’t mind this cold weather, but you did. You’re not from Karrnath.”

Gan tried to nod. “Yes. I do spy work for him. I’m from Sharn, like you. Once.”

“You
were his valet!” she said triumphantly. “You knew that bugbear at the factory, didn’t you? Because you both work for Charoth.”

“Rhazan.”

Soneste sat upright, her eyes staring beyond them all. Then she closed her eyes as if searching her own memory. Even with the lids closed, he could see her eyes moving left to right, as if she were perusing a book. The Brelish truly possessed powers he didn’t rightly understand.

“Tell me about this priestess,” Tallis said. How did they know about Lenrik, and their friendship? How
long
had he known? “Who is she?”

“Lady Mova. She came one day from Atur, from the Crimson Monastery. She knows your work, Tallis. What you do against her faith.”

Oh, Aureon
. Tallis remembered overhearing Lenrik’s conversation with Mova, the worried old woman who claimed to have lost her son in the war and constantly sought spiritual affirmation from Lenrik. She’d been the most troubled of the priest’s flock, but she was a bloody Seeker, worming her way in close to him. Now Tallis’s oldest friend was dead because of her.

Tallis mastered himself, for Lenrik’s sake, knowing this wasn’t yet the time for vengeance.

“And Gamnon’s head …?”

“I don’t know. Her doing, I suppose,” Gan answered, “with the nimblewright as her means.” Tallis wanted to drive the knife into the changeling’s face for his nonchalant tone.

“And Haedrun?” he asked, gripping Gan’s head with both hands, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“She was … the means to involve you, I think, but I guess she served her purpose.” Gan tried to shake his head. “I didn’t make these choices. I’m a victim, like you.”

Aegis released one of Gan’s ankles, made a fist with his thick metal fingers, and slammed it down into the changeling’s knee. Tallis heard the crack of the soft, flat bone of his kneecap. Gan screamed and tried in vain to reach it with his hands.

“Do not speak of victims!” the warforged shouted.

“Aegis, no.” It satisfied Tallis to see Gan’s pain, even so. “We need him awake. Too much like will put him into shock.”

Soneste opened her eyes at last. “Tallis, there is more to all this, something bigger in all of this. Remember, before we went to the cathedral? The White Lions were running through the street, responding to something. Something else going on.”

Aegis swiveled its helmlike head to look at her. “Yes. There was an incident at the Orien station while you were examining the priest’s quarters, an attack on the incoming rail from Rekkenmark. Prince Halix was aboard. Many guards were summoned to see to his safety. I believe he was secured.”

“A diversion!” Soneste said. “Just like the ambassador’s murder. And you and Lenrik. This whole city is in tumult, but
none of it is the real threat. It’s
all
just distraction!” Soneste withdrew the dreamlily from her pocket and unstoppered it. “Gan, what is Charoth doing?”

Despite his renewed agony, his eye fixed upon the vial in her hand. “Charoth and Mova. Working together on … something. For a long time. I don’t know what it is, I swear it!”

“Then what do you know about these diversions?” she asked. “You said Charoth has people within the Justice Ministry and among the White Lions. Where else?”

“I will say … but you must give it to me! Promise me!”

Tallis thought about what he knew of Charoth. The nobleman was supposed to be a mercantile lord, a man of industry, a chief player in Korth’s exports production. Tallis knew the man’s business often called for subterfuge—what noble’s didn’t? Charoth had once tried to hire him, after all. Could all this be the result of the wizard’s pride, revenge for declining his offer?

No, Soneste was right. There was more. Tallis hadn’t realized the depth of the man’s ambition. It couldn’t be about wealth. There were plenty of rich men in town, so what did Charoth want?

“I promised you already, Gan,” Soneste said. “When we’re satisfied that you’ve told us all you can, this is yours.”

“Charoth has people in the Justice Ministry, the Twelve, the White Lions, even the Sivis notaries, but he spent the last year getting his best into Kaius’s court, in Korth and in Rekkenmark. I would know, I’ve … I’ve trained them. They are
my
kind.”

“Changelings?” Soneste asked. “What is their mission? What can they possibly hope to do under such heavy guard? They cannot possibly threaten the king.”

Tallis looked to Gan. Was he—was Charoth—utterly mad? There was no place more impregnable than Crownhome! Tallis had laughed off every offer ever made to him to infiltrate the king’s palace, no matter the gold, and beneath his survivalist veneer, it was simply against his will to do so. It was the home of his king. Tallis wouldn’t dare.

Gan coughed, a harsh rasping sound. “When the time was right …” He tried to steady his voice. “Their … only task was to impersonate the prince and princess of Breland. They are good at what they do.”

Formulation
Wir, the 11th of Sypheros, 998 YK

“Y
our man is late,” the old priestess said.

Charoth looked through the transparent wall of his office to the factory room below, watching his daytime workers leave one by one. Only a select few remained at their stations to maintain the tanks. The magewrights he’d hired to repair the outer wall of the western tank bordered on incompetent, but they’d patched it up well enough. Not that it mattered at the moment. He certainly wouldn’t need them tonight.

“Do not bring up the Night Shift until the rest have departed,” he told his foreman, who had stood waiting for the order. The work day had ended, but Charoth’s true work lay before him. “Once they are here, admit none into the factory. Any who intrude, the fire.”

Charoth looked absently to the furnace that adjoined the two heating tanks, necessary to keep the glass in a liquid state. The fire elemental bound there was very powerful; Charoth had hired the best Zil binders gold could buy. Living creatures fed into the mouth of the furnace were inevitably subject to the elemental’s ancient wrath and were incinerated within seconds—a convenient
method of disposal for when enemies, rivals, or liabilities needed removing.

“Yes, my lord.” The foreman exited the office.

“Did you hear what I said, Charoth?” The priestess stepped into his view, demanding his attention. Her ceremonial red and black robes swayed with each step.

“It is inappropriate for my employees to see you here dressed like that.” He didn’t bother to point. When she did not answer, he forced a shrug. “I must assume that trouble has befallen Gan or that he is otherwise detained. What is done is done, Lady.”

“I will send the construct to fetch him.”

“No.” Charoth leaned his hands against the desk as if weary. “I will not risk giving up any of our defenses now. All resources
must
remain. The nimblewright stays with us.” He gestured to the factory doors through the wall. “When all have departed, the doors will be sealed. My sentries will have to suffice.”

“So be it,” Mova said. “But I am anxious to begin.”

Charoth nodded his head, then placed his gloved hands upon the surface of the glass table and looked to the withered shape in the adjoining throne. Without turning to the hulking shadow in the corner of the room, he spoke.

“Master Rhazan, it is time.”