The Complete Twilight Reign Ebook Collection (389 page)

Parain laughed abruptly, a high nervous giggle that broke off as soon as Daken glowered at him. His darkening mood didn’t stop Sallin from joining in to the laughter however and Daken’s nostrils started to fill with the hot smell of rage.

‘You came to save her!’ Sallin explained, beckoning forward his men. ‘Unfortunately for you, we’re the only ones who can save you from her!’

The old man started towards him, sword raised. ‘The mirror didn’t matter for our ceremony – it was only the vessel to be broken when we banished her from the Land! Some damn-fool white-eye will do just as well, I assure you.’

Daken moved without replying, his axe flashing through the air to chop through the nearest man’s sword arm. On the backswing he turned and buried the weapon into the next, barrelling on to batter another aside and find himself within reach of Sallin.

With the deftness of his kind the white-eye brought his axe around to catch Sallin’s rapier with it, hooking the thin weapon and twisting it out of the way. Always moving he dragged the old man closer to him and smashed his forehead into the knight’s nose, feeling the crunch and spurt of blood on impact.

He turned and tossed the wailing knight towards the next attacker, bowling that one over while he freed his axe again. The rest hung back a moment, spreading out around the hall – seven, eight of them, all looking nervous but all armed.

A scratching sensation like a cat’s claws began to work at his chest and stomach, but Daken ignored it. The laughter echoed in his ears, Sallin’s and a girl’s mingling to further enrage the blood-crazed white-eye. One of the knights advanced a cautious step and something snapped inside Daken. The white-eye howled and charged.

Outside, at the broken stretch of wall where one torch was burning low, faint sparks of blue light began to prickle the night air. In response, on the other side of the warding, the darkness seemed to fold inward upon itself and from the boiling mass of night a figure stepped forward. His yellow eyes flashed as a cruel smile crossed his face. Taller now, his skin was smooth and pale – unnatural and timeless under the weak moonlight.

‘Litania, my little trickster,’ the God said softly. ‘Did the nasty men mistreat you?’

A girlish laugh broke the night air. ‘I think they’re paying for it now, Father. And all I wanted to do was play; these mortals have a poor sense of humour.’

‘Yet you’ve marked the white-eye? His kind are unlikely to change that opinion.’

‘Oh Father,’ Litania trilled, ‘but I like this one and I’ve always wanted a pet. Can I keep it? Please?’

The case I present to you now is not one I was involved in myself. Rather, I hardly touched upon events and did nothing myself, but it remains an undeniable curiosity. The pertinence I leave to your fancy.

I had been retired several years when, one morning, my son-in-law arrived at my door in perplexed mood. The city was enjoying the last few weeks of a fine and gentle summer as it eased its way into autumn. The season had been peaceful and balmy, free from scandal and mystery for a change. That summer, to place it in the reader’s mind, was the last-but-two before the shadow of war came to Narkang. Not long enough for me to forget the vital details, but I fully admit the words are my own rendering.

As Brandt was admitted to the veranda I noticed immediately the state he was in. Normally meticulous in his appearance, Brandt’s hair was unkempt, his clothes dirty and crumpled, while his eyes betrayed a lack of sleep.

‘My boy, whatever is the matter?’ I exclaimed upon seeing him this way. ‘Come sit down. Danc, fetch some wine and food.’

While my manservant bustled out I directed Brandt – by then Commander Brandt Toquin of the City Watch – to a seat, and prised the bundle of papers from his grip to set them down on a table.

‘Sir …’ he began, in his distraction slipping back into the routine of my assistant that began when he was but fourteen winters.

‘Ah Brandt, enough of that! You forget your station’s higher than mine ever was. Take a moment to breath there. I’m in no rush, and I expect this case will wait another minute.’

He looked up and nodded. Straightening his jacket and smoothing back his hair restored some of the composure that characterised the man in my eyes. I settled myself back into my chair and started things off as I saw them, affording him time to get his thoughts in order.

‘So let me guess the facts I can. There has been a death, possibly more than one since single deaths are generally simpler. You’ve hardly slept so I assume the victim held office, rank or title – title being the most likely. You look like you’re being harried by your superiors and that won’t happen often to a brother of Suzerain Toquin. Lastly, you’ve a puzzle that requires a different direction, so this was no jealous lover or assassination.’

Brandt smiled and nodded, helping himself to the rosehip tea I’d been drinking before speaking.

‘I’d be impressed if that one-handed crony of yours hadn’t been at the watch-house yesterday. But you’re right; there is something I need a twisted mind for.’

At that I joined his smile. His superiors on the City Council had often commented that my company over his formative years had produced rather less of the tractable public servant some had once hoped for. During one well-publicised argument with the Council, my influence had been described as that of a ‘twisted mind’.

‘We have two dead, early two nights past. A marshal named Tirelir Calath and his wife, who happens to be niece to Count Antern. You can imagine that the Watch is rather anxious to find more answers than we have currently.’

I sat back with a sigh, my world feeling a little darker and colder. I had scant love for Count Antern, but a great deal of respect. His niece was an attractive and gracious woman as far as I could remember. The two were recently married and children expected soon; a union born purely of love and one I had found a joy to behold on the single occasion I had seen the couple together.

‘I know little of the marshal, other than his family is from Inchets. They’re wealthy, but I don’t believe Marshal Calath is a man of politics or trade – a man with less conflict in his life would be hard to find.’

It was, in part, a lie. I had met the marshal on numerous occasions, though only ever in passing. We were both members of a private gentleman’s club, one that Calath used only infrequently and such time as he did spend there was passed in the extensive library. I knew some of his activities, many of the club members being academics who gossip worse than watchmen, but nothing that seemed applicable to murder.

‘Well we can find no evidence of a suitor for the Lady Calath – Lady Meranna – no evidence of very much, to tell the truth. At present we don’t even know how the killer entered the house. There is something I think you’ll recognise, but perhaps you should read these reports first.’

As he spoke, Brandt reached over and gave the papers sitting on my side table a sharp tap. Scratching the stubble on my chin I picked up the first of the stained pages that harked back to my days of servitude for the city. It was a constant source of private amusement and public embarrassment that our records were always in a bad state. Food, drink, sweat, blood; we had presented to the court evidence with a whole range of trappings and clearly things had not changed much since my dismissal.

‘That one is the murder report,’ said Brandt, indicating the ink-spattered page I had taken. ‘The others are in order underneath so you might want to read it last.’

As directed, I slipped the sheet to the back of the pile and peered at the one revealed. Noticing the effort this required, Brandt took the reports from my unresisting hand and declared he would read them aloud. I was happy to accede since Danc was standing at the door with razor and towel in hand and a maid had appeared with some breakfast for Brandt. I relaxed while the world progressed about me.

‘Firstly some background information about the marshal,’ Brandt began after a reviving swallow of wine, ‘furnished by your good friend the count. Marshal Calath was well thought of by those who knew him; a man of intellect and scholarship, whose leg was malformed and twisted from a difficult birth. It is said that he was a shy child who became bookish because he could not join in with the other children, but quickly he came to love the pursuits when he realised he could excel and leave others his age in his wake.

‘Calath became prominent as a historian before turning his hand to theology and the … ah, unnatural aspects of the Land most particularly. The stranger worlds of necromancy, daemonology, cults, local Aspects, these things appear to have been particularly fascinating to a crippled youth. When Calath’s father realised just how intelligent his son was he employed the best tutors in the city, but the younger Calath outstripped their teachings by his twentieth winter.

‘This, ah, episode, took place some three months ago, a minor matter perhaps but telling to what happened more recently perhaps. It seems the marshal had been taken ill after working late, some sort of fit the doctor believed. Ah, here it is …

‘“I was summoned to the house of Marshal Calath in the early hours of the morning by a stablehand. Upon reaching the house I perceived a gloom upon the place. The servants spoke in low anxious voices and glanced nervously about themselves. When I questioned one I was informed several had heard distant, whispering laughter echo through the house; so evil and portentous in tone that they feared to investigate. A terrible cry had followed not long after a second instance of laughter – they believed that to be the marshal’s voice crying out with such horror that they were spurred to action.

“Outside his chamber they found the lady of the house desperately attempting to open the door, but unable to turn the handle. The housekeeper had her set of keys so these they tried, but discovered it was not locked – rather secured from within.

“The stablehand and coachman were fetched and together they put their shoulders to the door. The task was not easily accomplished, but with the urgings of Lady Calath they succeeded, doing considerable damage to the door and frame in the process. Once admitted they discovered a scene of complete disorder. Papers were scattered over the floor and the long mirror that stood in the centre of the room had shattered. The marshal himself was slumped unconscious on the floor. He appeared unharmed, but they could not rouse him and I was called.

“What they could not explain when I arrived was how the door was secured. There was no sort of bar or bolt to fasten it – only the lock that the housekeeper swears was open and inspection of the damage bore the assessment out – and nothing had been dragged to block the passage of the door inwards.

“The presumption was that the marshal fell at the door and prevented its opening. When I made a cursory examination however I could find no bruising or other injury one would have expected, considering the force required to damage the door as they had. The nature of his injury was mysterious. I could find no wound save cuts to his knuckles where he had apparently broken the mirror. His breathing was shallow and laboured, his pulse weak but constant with no sign of fever. I tried to rouse him with smelling salts but he was caught in a state deeper than some mere faint.

“The marshal’s condition appeared to be stable. I concluded he would only benefit from rest and instructed his lady wife to massage his head to encourage the flow of blood. I could only presume his injury was one born of the imagination, something I knew to be powerful for I had on more than one occasion been privileged to hear the ghost stories of his own devising.

As the first rays of dawn touched his bed the marshal began to stir. Evidently he had been greatly disquieted by his experience, but I knew my place well enough not to intrude on a wife’s work. As soon as I was sure he was well enough, I took my leave.”’

‘Well, what more?’ I asked, taking advantage of the fact that Danc’s blade was currently not at my throat.

‘That’s all the good doctor says in his statement. He didn’t dawdle in the house and paid no attention to what the marshal said as he was roused. We have to rely on the testimony of the manservant, one Imah Veser, for the next part, but I found him to have little imagination and a distinct fondness for his master so I believe it’s faithfully told.’

‘Good, but wait. I believe you need the attentions of this razor more than I. Danc can read the next passage while you become presentable for my wife.’

Brandt acceded to this, knowing that my wife’s fondly sharp tongue would delight in his appearance. He took the mirror and blade offered by my man with a smile, propping the mirror against a vase and touching it slightly to the left in search of the best light. As a nobleman he had grown up with people to do such things for him – as a watchman he preferred to wield himself any blade at his throat.

Danc made his way around the table and took the seat I had indicated to him, much accustomed to reading and writing on my behalf now that age and past injuries make the two difficult.

‘“My master awoke with a pale and shaken appearance, but the presence of Lady Calath seemed to calm him and he relaxed under her touch. While I attended him and helped him dress, my lady gently questioned him on what had happened. He seemed unwilling to speak freely in my presence, which I found strange if you don’t mind me observing. I’ve been with him for years now, since long before he married, and believe myself trusted entirely regarding all of his business and personal affairs. What he did say was confusing. I think his dreams must have been unpleasant since he spoke of taking fright at his reflection. I overhead something of ‘a face in the mirror that was not his own’, which made me think that he had seen a face at the window though I cannot see how an intruder could have scaled the wall.”’

‘That’s true,’ interjected Brandt with a flourish of the razor. ‘We investigated the entire building after the murder. It would have taken a man with unnatural skill to climb the blank face and peer in. The servants also remembered the drapes being closed and the window fastened on the night of the murder, despite the warm evening.’