Dragon Precinct (17 page)

“You stupid son of a goblin. Those glamours were
bad?
Are you out of your
mind?”

Markov shrugged. “I just pass on the stuff from Cap’n Max.”

“Dammit, I told you not to deal with Max no more!”

“He said he had good stuff.”

Paol opened his mouth, but Iaian overlaid him. “Much as I hate to break up this lovers’ quarrel, I’m gonna need
both
of you to come back to the castle with us. Sounds like we’ve got a whole lot to talk about.”

“How many times?” Paol was shaking his head and still staring at Markov. “How many goddamn times did I tell you not to deal with that piece of shit? Max’s stuff is
always
bad.
Always!
And you took
glamours
from him? What, did you
want
us to get caught?”

Iaian decided to throw caution to the wind and grab the larger man by the arm. “You coming along?”

Looking at Iaian’s hand like it was a diseased rat, Paol started to tense, then visibly deflated. “What’s the point? Brotherhood’ll probably change me into a rat-creature or somethin’ if I resist now.”

“Wouldn’t be much of a change, if you ask me. C’mon.” Iaian led the guard toward the door. “Hey, Grovis,” he called back to his still-doubled-over partner, “when you can breathe again, bring Markov with you.”

“I want—I want—” Grovis got out between wheezes, “I want that man—arrested.”

“Already doin’ that, boy. Just bring the other guy.”

Two more years,
Iaian thought as he led out Paol, who was still muttering about Markov’s stupidity to himself.

T
orin glanced around at the interrogation room. The lantern was full of kerosene and casting sufficiently ominous shadows in the corners of the room. Toward the back of the room sat a small wooden table that had dozens of initials, figures, and other odd characters carved into it. Two steady wooden chairs had been placed on one side of the table. Against the back wall, facing the door and the two comfortable seats, was one rickety chair with uneven legs and a back that was angled in such a way as to make one’s spine hurt after an hour or so. So many times Torin and Danthres had brought the dregs of Cliff’s End into this room, sat them on that chair, and pried confessions out of them.

Somehow he doubted that such would be the case here. But it was long past time that they got a straight answer out of Brother Genero, and they were not going to let him out of the room until they got it.

Danthres led the priest in a moment later. Torin noted that his robes had been laundered since Danthres interviewed him at the Dog and Duck, giving him a fresher look in general. However, Torin also noted that the freshness didn’t extend to his face—the priest had a haunted expression, and a look of genuine fear behind his eyes.

“Thank you for coming to see us, Brother,” Torin said with his most pleasant smile. “I apologize for our inability to see you last night, but things have been a bit hectic here. You understand, of course.”

Genero did not sound placated. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Lieutenant. You kept General Ubàrlig and me in those other rooms for
hours
. When the sergeant came to get us, we were told you’d gone home, and that we were not permitted to speak to each other. We were each brought to our rooms under guard. I don’t appreciate this treatment, Lieutenants.”

Indicating the uncomfortable chair, Torin said, “Have a seat, please, Brother.”

“Why were we kept under guard and not allowed access to each other?” Genero moved toward the table as he asked the question.

“For your own protection,” Torin said. “It was unavoidable, I’m afraid. You see, we had a break in the case that necessitated speaking to the Brotherhood of Wizards.”

Genero halted in his tracks just before he reached the other side of the table. “I beg your pardon?”

“The Brotherhood. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get an appointment to see their representative until this morning. A tiresome business, I can assure you—you know what bureaucracies are like.”

Genero now took the seat. “I’ve had very few dealings with the Brotherhood. They tend to frown on priests, especially those who use magic.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that.” Torin took the seat opposite him. Danthres, who had remained quiet, stood behind Torin, arms folded over her chest. “In any case, I’m sure you know how difficult structures like the Brotherhood—or like the priesthood—can be.”

“They can be, I suppose,” Genero said slowly. “I have, I confess, played very little role in the mainstream of the Temisan priesthood.”

Danthres finally spoke. “
That’s
hardly surprising. You gallivant around in armor, carry a sword—it’s a wonder they let you stay on at all.”

Now Genero grew defensive. “Every action I have ever taken has been with the full blessing of the bishopric. They have approved of my actions over the years, and support my—” He hesitated.

“Adventures?” Danthres prompted.

“For lack of a better word, yes,” Genero said weakly.

“Nasty business, adventures.” Torin leaned back and smiled. “I’ve had plenty in my day, and I have to say that they don’t track very well with spirituality.”

Genero had folded his hands on the top of the table, and was now smiling serenely. “Then you’ve obviously had the wrong kinds of adventures, Lieutenant.”

Laughing, Torin said, “Quite possibly, yes.”

“What did we need to be protected from?”

Feigning ignorance, Torin asked, “What?”

“You said that Bogg and Ubàrlig and I were kept separate for our own protection. I have to confess that I find the entire concept ludicrous. Collectively, the three of us have faced threats that would drive most people mad, or kill them—or both. I very much doubt there is any protection we could possibly require from you. So my question to you, Lieutenant, is from what are you protecting us?”

Danthres said, “It isn’t necessary for us to tell you that, Brother. You see, we’re the Castle Guard. According to the Lord and Lady’s edict, that gives us broad discretionary powers over those who walk within the boundaries of the demesne when we’re in the midst of an investigation.” She unfolded her arms and bent over, placing her hands on the table. “Which, in practical terms, means we can do whatever the hell we want.”

Before Genero could respond to that, Torin spoke up. “As it happens, however, we
can
tell you in this case. You see, our latest information indicates that you’re each in grave danger—and
not
from an old devotee of the Elf Queen.”

“From whom, a wizard?” Genero asked, now taking the seat.

“Good guess,” Danthres said snidely.

Now Genero turned his serene smile upon Danthres. Torin observed, however, that the fear behind his eyes was still there. “It was a logical deduction,” the priest said, “given that you had to speak to the Brotherhood. However, I can’t imagine who it might be. I’ve met many wizards in my time, as have the rest of us, but the only ones we ever ran afoul of are quite dead.”

“Are you sure of that?” Danthres asked.

“Of course I’m sure. Ask anyone, they’ll tell you that Chalmraik the Foul, Mitos, and Hwang are all dead. I’ve stood over the corpses of all three, and dedicated their souls to Temisa’s mercies—though I doubt She was all that merciful with any of them, especially Chalmraik.”

Torin regarded Genero with a serious expression. “I’ve heard that, if a wizard was powerful enough, he could resurrect himself.”

“And where did you hear that?” Genero asked with a certain disdain.

“Oh, here and there. Do you believe that to be the case?”

“I do know that Chalmraik faked his own death years ago, but beyond that…” He shrugged.

“Interesting. So you don’t believe that wizards can resurrect themselves?”

“I have to confess, I’ve never given it much thought.”

Danthres started to pace across the room. “It’s funny that you say what you said.”

Genero smiled. “That I’ve never given it much thought?”

“No, before—that if you ‘ask anyone,’ they’ll tell you that Chalmraik’s dead. The same morning that we found your friend Brightblade’s body, two men got into a fight on the docks.”

“I daresay that sort of thing happens fairly regularly.”

Danthres actually almost smiled at that. “Well, not that often in daylight. Do you know what these two men were fighting over?”

“A woman, presumably, or money,” Genero said with a level of cynicism worthy of a member of the Guard. “I have found over the years that those are the most common reasons for men to brawl.”

“Another good guess, but no.” She stopped pacing and turned to face the priest once more. “They had both booked passage on the same boat, each with the stated goal of killing Chalmraik the Foul, who had resurrected himself and was plotting to try to take over the world again. But each of these men, armed with a sword blessed with the Runes of Tyrac—”

“The runes of what?” Genero asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Tyrac,” Torin repeated helpfully. “It’s an old scam that is generally pulled on strong, stupid types who want to live lives emulating that of—well, of you,” he said with a smile, “and your friends. Both these men were convinced that they were destined to stop Chalmraik. For that matter, a teenager was arrested yesterday for opening a magical portal in his backyard. When they brought him in, he said he was studying magic clandestinely in order to protect his family from Chalmraik now that he was back from the dead.”

“These rumors don’t just start of their own accord,” Danthres said. “All these people thinking Chalmraik is alive, and we have to wonder if maybe they’re not onto something.”

“I doubt they are.” Genero now looked down at the floor.

“Now why do you say that?” Danthres asked. “You just said that you’ve faced three wizards and lived to tell the tale. That’s no small accomplishment. You know how powerful they are, what they’re capable of. Do you
really
think that they can’t bring themselves back from the dead?”

“As I said, I haven’t given it any thought.” The priest spoke in a tight voice. “What is the point of this questioning?”

“I believe I told you,” Danthres said, “that we’re under no obligation to explain ourselves to you when you’re part of our investigation.”

“That may be true, but I also know that the three of us are guests of the Lord and Lady. I suspect that if I complain to them, they might take issue with the way you have been treating us. Honestly, Lieutenant, I don’t see a vague, unconfirmed threat from a dead wizard is a good enough reason to keep the three of us from even speaking to each other.”

Danthres barked a laugh. “That’s where you and I differ, Brother—I don’t see four murders as vague or unconfirmed.”

“You know what I mean,” the priest said dismissively.

“No, truly, I don’t. And I don’t see why you feel the need to hide behind the Lord and Lady now.”

“I am not hiding—I’ve never hidden from a single thing in my life.” He smiled, and Torin thought it a rueful one. “If I did, I never would have taken my oath to Temisa in the first place.”

Danthres looked at Torin. “
I
think he’s hiding behind the Lord and Lady, do you think he’s hiding behind them, Torin?”

“Most definitely.” Torin nodded his agreement.

“Now what reason would you have to do that, I wonder?” Danthres asked.

Genero stood up quickly, anger now making his face and mostly bald head start to turn a shade of red similar to that of his robes. “Possibly because you are abusing your authority as members of the Castle Guard! We have been
nothing
but cooperative with you since Gan’s death, and you have rewarded us—”

“Sit down, Brother Genero,” Danthres said in a low voice.

“I refuse to—”

Danthres moved around to the other side of the table and stood face-to-face with the priest. Since Genero was half a head shorter than Danthres, that meant she looked down on him with one of her fiercer expressions. “Sit. Down.”

For a moment, Torin wondered if Genero was going to challenge her. If he did, he would be the first person in this room to do so.

Then, after they stared at each other for several seconds—during which Genero’s color faded back to normal—he sat back down.

However, Danthres continued to stand in the same spot, now looming over him. “Frankly, Brother, I don’t give a damn whether or not you tell the Lord and Lady that you’ve been mistreated, because it doesn’t matter to me. What
does
matter to me is that four people are dead.” She started to walk back toward the door. “If you want to go out and tell them that we’ve been mean to you, then you go right ahead. Maybe it’ll cause problems for me down the line, but I don’t give a shit, because
four people are dead
. That may not mean anything to you—”

Now Genero slammed his hand down on the table, his face turning the red color again. “It means
everything
to me! They were my dearest friends—and, as you insist on reminding me, four of them are
dead
. What’s more, they were here at
my
instigation—in a way, I’m responsible for this, and I will not stand for—”

“Our finding the killer?” Torin said gently. “Our doing our jobs?”

That brought the priest up short.

Danthres stepped in, then. “You see, Brother, that’s all that matters to me. The Lord and Lady may scream and wail, Captain Osric may give me a hard time, I may get called into some aristocrat’s office and have my head handed to me, and I don’t give a damn about
any
of it, because ultimately the important thing is that four people are dead, and I have the task of bringing their killer to justice.” She pulled her earth-colored cloak halfway around her person. “This is my badge of office, and it means that I have been given a responsibility that’s as important to me as I presume your responsibility to Temisa is to you—and as important as you
claim
your friendship with Brightblade and the others is. Torin and I”—and now she cast a glance over at Torin—“we speak for those who cannot speak for themselves. And we do not take kindly to those who obstruct us in our pursuit of that.”

Genero shook his head. “That is a very pretty speech, Lieutenant, but wholly irrelevant.”

Danthres barked a nasty laugh. “Really?”

“I have done nothing to obstruct your investigation, and neither have any of my comrades.”

“On the contrary,” Torin said, “you’ve done nothing but. When Lieutenant Tresyllione interviewed you, you expressed surprise that Mr. Brightblade might have been murdered. When we interviewed General Ubàrlig, he pointed us in the direction of an old follower of the Elf Queen.”

“How is that unhelpful?” Genero asked, sounding incredulous.

“It’s a lie.” Danthres sat down on the desk, leaning over Genero in such a way that getting up would be awkward for him. “You
are
responsible for the deaths, aren’t you, Genero?”

“Only insofar as I suggested this trip.”

“You didn’t ‘suggest’ anything,” Danthres said. “You gathered them all up in order to fight one last foe. You brought them together in order to face Chalmraik, and Chalmraik killed them.”

“That’s ridiculous!” But even as he spoke, Torin saw the fear move to the front of his eyes. “You’re actually putting stock in rumors about wizards’ ability to resurrect themselves and the gossip of madmen on quests?”

“No.” Torin stood up. “We’re putting stock in our magical examiner, who told us in detail how Chalmraik came back from the dead once before, and in the testimony of one of your party.”

Genero blinked. “What?”

Danthres smiled sweetly. “Bogg told us all about your quest last night.”