Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar (14 page)

Pytor stared at Chardan, his heart in his throat. How did his old friend know—The answer came with that thought.
Old friend.
How could he keep a secret from someone he had regarded as a brother, with whom he had shared his most intimate thoughts? There was no hope for it. Another lie, piled up on top of the ones he had told already.

“I can’t hide anything from you, Chardan, you know that.”

“Then why am I sensing something you’re not telling me? It has to do with the children, doesn’t it, Pytor?”

“Most assuredly not,” Pytor answered, allowing the barest hint of hurt indignation to enter his voice. “Why would I lie to you?”

“I’m not sure. But I sense it. Those six children—when Durban was here, just last year if my notes are right, he said there might be the possibility of those six showing witch powers. Is that what you’re hiding from me, Pytor? Do they possess forbidden talents?”

Pytor simply stared. What could he say? What could he do?

“I’m sorry, my friend. I want to trust you . . . I’ve
always
trusted you in the past, but this is something I can’t led go based simply on our old friendship. I must go into your mind.”

“You have every right,” Pytor said, amazed his voice sounded steady. Behind Chardan, Sunshine lifted his head, blinked, and stretched. Wandering over to where Pytor and Chardan stood, the gold cat sat down next to Pytor, leaning up against him in a feline display of affection.

“This won’t hurt, and I’ll be brief as I can,” Chardan said, staring into Pytor’s eyes. “I’m sorry it’s come to this, but witch powers cannot be allowed. Even in those we love and care for. The Sunlord’s people must be pure and turn their faces from darkness.”

A dizzy sensation overwhelmed Pytor. He thought he was going to fall, but another portion of his mind assured him he still stood steady on his feet. But even more powerful than the thrust of Chardan’s mind in his, came the sudden warmth and comfort emanating from the gold cat leaning against his leg. Into his mind, blotting out the rummaging of Chardan’s, flowed a feeling of peacefulness, of affection, forgiveness, and, above all, of a love he could no more understand than fly. A barrier rose in his mind, a flaming bulwark erected between his innermost thoughts and Chardan’s probing. Nothing could hurt him now; nothing could hurt him ever. Wrapped in the hands of a power greater and more indescribable than anything he had ever experienced before, he was only dimly aware of the tears seeping from his eyes and spilling down his cheeks.

And, suddenly, he was released and stood fully back in the present day world.

“I’m sorry, old friend.” It was Chardan’s voice. The Black-robe reached out and steadied Pytor. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. Your mind is clear as sunshine. You’ve hidden nothing from me. Durban must have been mistaken, for you have no suspicions about the six children he mentioned. And I doubt you’d ever try to lie to me. The God knows you’ve never been good at it, even back in our childhood days.”

Pytor drew a deep breath. “You did what you had to, Chardan. You’re forgiven, if I have it in my power to forgive.”

The gold cat meowed softly, stretched again and wandered off to lie down in the shade.

 

Later, after evening service and lighting the night candle, Pytor sat in his room, only now feeling full strength returning after his ordeal. Chardan and his fellow Black-robes had left Two Trees immediately after Chardan had searched Pytor’s mind. Pytor hadn’t even lit the candles after dinner, preferring to remain in the warm darkness, his mind gone a total blank.

Suddenly, clearly as if seen in bright sunlight, he beheld his sister and the six children safely across the border; they had found Najan and the other people who had fled Karse in the face of growing persecution. They were safe! He had wagered mightily and, through what grace he dared not question, they had all won.

:You trusted in your Lord,:
the voice inside his head said softly.
:And, as such, you were rewarded. Remember—the God loves all his children, for he made them, each and every one.:

He heard a soft meow and turned to see Sunshine standing in a corner of his room. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Though no candle burned, the gold cat stood surrounded by a glory of light, a wondrous golden halo that cast shadows on the walls. And he grew in size, his coat changing to rich cream, and his face, legs and tail darkening to brick red. For a long moment, man and cat stared at each other, and Pytor could have sworn the cat smiled.

And then, so swiftly Pytor could not comprehend it, Sunshine turned away and was gone.

:Vkandis watches over those whose hearts are pure,:
the voice said, fading off to a mere whisper.
:Never doubt that the Sunlord loves those who love and care for others! For that is why he made us all.:

T
HE living eyed me with emotions ranging from hope to dislike. Mouth agape, eyes wide, smallsword still sheathed at his hip, chest hacked to bloody ruin, the corpse stared up at the high ceiling with its painted scene of nymphs and deer. I stooped to see if his eyes still held the image of the man who’d cut him down. They didn’t. That trick has never worked for me, nor, so far as I know, for anyone.

Stout and balding, a man in his middle years like myself, Lord Baltes asked, “Are you learning anything, Master Selden?”

I straightened up. “It’s too early to say.”

Lanky and sharp-featured like so many members of the Keenspurs, Tregan snorted. “Surely it’s clear enough what happened. Venwell had the bad luck to blunder into the thief, who then had to kill him to make his escape.”

“Is that what your magic reveals?” I asked. A talent for wizardry ran in the Keenspur blood, and in addition to serving as his brother Baltes’ lieutenant, Tregan was house mage.

His mouth twisted. “No, actually. The signs are muddled. But it’s common sense, surely.”

“Maybe,” I said, inspecting a floral tapestry spoiled by eight long rust-brown streaks. The murderer had evidently used it to give his weapon a thorough wiping. “I’d like to see the room where the wedding gifts are on display.”

“What will that accomplish?” asked the sorcerer. “The killer took the ruby tiara. It isn’t there for you to examine anymore. We sent for you because Marissa claims you know your way around the stews and thieves’ dens down by Stranger’s Gate. You should be hurrying there—”

“You sent for him because he’s the one who caught the salamander and so kept the city from burning down, and the Greens and Blues from slaughtering one another,” Marissa said. Lithe and long-legged, she’d been the principal sword-teacher to the Green faction as I was for the Blues. “He has a knack for puzzling things out.”

“I hope so.” Baltes waved his hand. “The room is this way.” Tregan, Marissa, and I followed him, and an assortment of his kinsmen and servants traipsed along after us.

The remaining gifts—begemmed goblets, gold plates and trays, rings, bracelets, armor, glazed jars of spice and unguents, furs, and bolts of velvet and silk—glowed in the candlelight. Relatives, political allies, and trading partners had sent presents from as far away as Errold’s Grove.

I’d walked a warrior’s path my whole life long, first as a mercenary, then, primarily, as a master-of-arms, though I still occasionally rented out my blade if the job didn’t require actually riding off to war. So perhaps it was no surprise a splendidly crafted broadsword, with emeralds gleaming in the hilt and scabbard, caught my eye. I hankered to pick it up and try a cut or two, but that would have been gauche and inappropriate.

So I kept my mind on the task at hand, wandered about, inspected the heaps of gleaming treasure, and tried to think of something useful. “Are we certain,” I asked, “that only the tiara is missing?”

“Yes,” Baltes said.

“I need to confer with my colleague,” I said. “We’ll only be a moment.” Conscious once more of the animus with which so many of Baltes’ people regarded me, I led Marissa into the next room.

“What have you figured out?” she whispered, brushing back a strand of her short black hair.

“Nothing for certain.”

“Curse it, Selden, I’m the one who urged them to send for you. Don’t make me look a fool.”

“Believe me,” I said, “I want to unmask the killer and recover the bauble as much as you do, and not just because Baltes will reward me. To lay the feuds to rest for good.”

For years, the fifty noble houses of Mornedealth had divided themselves into factions of ten. Each of the five disliked the others, but the Greens and Blues, the most powerful, detested one another with extraordinary virulence. When the fire elemental’s depredations fanned their mutual hatred and suspicion, their enmity nearly plunged the city into outright civil war.

Strangely enough, that turned out to be a good thing, because it threw a scare into every noble with a particle of sense. In the aftermath, Pivar, a leader of the Blues, led a campaign to quell the factions. The forthcoming wedding represented the culmination of his efforts. When Baltes, a widower, married Pivar’s youngest daughter Lukinda, it ought to lay the rivalries to rest for good and all.

But only if the wedding came off as planned. On the surface, there was no reason why the murder and burglary, no matter how unfortunate, need prevent it. But my gut warned me that, if left unresolved, such an alarming, inexplicable calamity could bring the old malice and mistrust creeping back.

“So,” said Marissa, “what did you want to talk about?”

“First, tell me about Venwell. Did you train him?”

“Yes.”

“Was he an able, seasoned swordsman?”

“Very much so.”

I sighed. “I was afraid of that. Now I need to know how hard I can push these folk. I have things to say they won’t like. I won’t mean to denigrate their honor, but some may take it that way.”

She snorted. “Wonderful. Because they don’t like you.” Understandably so, I supposed, since for years, I made my living teaching Blues how to kill them. “I don’t know that you dare push them very hard at all.”

“Damn it, I have to do the job they brought me here to do. Will you back me up?”

She made a sour face. “Well, I did get you into this, even if I’m starting to regret it.”

“Let’s rejoin the others.”

“What do you have to tell us?” Baltes asked.

“Milord,” I said, “I’m no sage—far from it—but as Marissa told you, sometimes I have an eye for what’s odd about a particular situation. We have several oddities here. For starters, neither the sentries nor the watchdogs outside detected an intruder, nor have we found any sign of forced entry.”

“What of it?” Tregan asked. “As I understand it, there are thieves skillful enough to sneak into any house.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “But consider this also. Venwell died of cuts to the chest. He saw his killer. Yet he perished without even trying to draw his blade.”

“Perhaps,” Tregan said, “he froze.”

Marissa shook her head. “No. I schooled him too well.”

“It’s possible,” I said, feeling as if I were about to dive from a cliff, “he knew his slayer. If it was someone he trusted, that would explain why he took no alarm until it was too late, even though the killer had a naked sword in his hand. Similarly, if the culprit was someone who lives here in the mansion—or is currently a guest—he wouldn’t need to sneak past the guards and hounds, or break open a window or door.”

For a moment, everyone just gawked at me. Then a footman said, “But everybody liked Venwell.”

“That may be,” I replied, “but a thief still couldn’t afford to let him report that he’d seen him stealing the tiara.”

“Ridiculous,” Tregan spat. “Ours is a wealthy and honorable house. No one here would steal the gift.”

“Not even a servant?” I asked. “Or the least of your kin, perhaps burdened with gambling debts?”

“No,” Tregan said, “I don’t believe it.”

“Have you wondered,” I said, “why the thief took only a single article? A housebreaker could surely have carried away more. But if the murderer never left, if he needed to hide his plunder here in the mansion for the time being, he might have reckoned that the more he stole, the harder it would be to conceal. Or, if he’s a member of the household, it might have shamed him to take more than he reckoned he truly needed.”

Skinny and sharp-nosed like Tregan but younger, a Keenspur named Dremloc stepped forth from the mass of observers and planted himself in front of me.
Here it comes,
I thought. At least it looked as if he meant to deliver a formal challenge. I had a fair chance of surviving that, as I wouldn’t if he and all his outraged relations simply assailed me in a pack.

“You Blue bastard,” he said. “I say you’re a lia—”

But just before he could articulate that unforgivable word, Marissa sprang between us. She glared into his eyes, and he flinched. Since she’d trained him, he knew how deadly a combatant she was, and accordingly feared her more than he did me.

“Master Selden,” she said, “is under my protection. Is that clear?”

Dremloc scowled, but also inclined his head.

Baltes turned to me. “Do you have more to say?” he asked.

I had a nagging sense that I should. That I’d missed things a sharper eye and brain might have discerned. But it would have only have undermined his confidence in me to say so. “You’ve heard my conjectures, Milord. They point to an obvious course of action. Search the mansion, find the tiara, and hope its hiding place reveals who took it.”