Vergence (52 page)

“You have my oath,” Orim said.

“Very well then,” Sash said, bending to kiss Elouphe on his forehead. “Can you wait here, Elouphe? If anybody comes looking for me will you explain where I am. I’ll be back soon.”

“Yes, Sash,” Elouphe said.

“Coming with me?” Sash said to Addae and Ebryn.

Arrest

“I was told to bring you, not your friends,” Orim said.

“Were you told not to bring them?”

Orim turned back to the main gate with the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “I was not.”

On the other side of the entrance arch Orim stopped so abruptly that they all nearly collided with him. Crowded around the outer gate were nearly two dozen men dressed in militia uniforms.

“There she is — seize her!” a hard voice from their midst said.

Sash stopped next to Orim, and two men near the front of the militia group lurched towards her. Orim deflected the first with a shove, but the other managed to grab her arm.

Addae moved so fast it seemed his blade had leapt directly from the sheath to his hand, its razor sharp point stopping almost in contact with the skin at the base of the first militiaman's throat.

Orim swung the back of his axehead against the elbow of the man holding Sash, following the momentum of the blow, sweeping the blunt edge round in a tight loop against the underside of his jaw, and the second militiaman collapsed into the wall.

Orim stepped into the gap in front of Sash as the rest of the soldiers drew their weapons, and the man in front of Addae backed away until he was out of reach of the blade.

“Under my protection, she is,” Orim said. “I am ordered to bring her to Vittore. You will stand aside.”

The front rank of militiamen parted to reveal a young man dressed in an ornately decorated breastplate. He held a double-handed long sword in his right hand. Flanking him on either side stood a handful of men holding loaded crossbows. The expression on his face looked murderous, white-faced with teeth bared.

“Lord Bae,” Orim said. “You have no business here, and your men are blocking my path.”

“She slew my brother,” Bae shouted. “I will have blood for blood.”

“Vittore will question her and make a judgement. You are all in service to Vittore. You know who I am,” Orim said.

“Walk away, Ronyon. I'll put her to the question and Vittore will have all the answers he needs.”

Ebryn felt as if the ground shifted suddenly beneath his feet as something slipped past his ankles — like a flow of invisible sand tugging at him. He stepped in close beside Sash and started the preparation for summoning his most powerful shield, mouthing the words under his breath behind Orim's back. On the other side of Sash, Addae bent his knees in a shallow crouch, as a wild animal would when preparing to spring, his heavy blade held low behind him.

“Leave now or risk your lives,” Orim said.

As the crossbowmen aimed their weapons, Ebryn automatically formed the pattern to create a ward, but it refused to appear.

He felt multiple points of resistance from sevyric iron amongst the guards. At least a dozen were carrying sizeable chunks of the stuff. Ebryn could feel the patterns of resistance overlapping, each reinforcing the dampening effect of its neighbours, like blocks of stone resting together to form a wall.

He threw his will against the resistance, straining to hold the shape of his ward together in his mind as he extended to envelop the totality of each piece of the iron, searching for the weakest point connecting them.

And, like a wall, as he shifted one using his adapted form of folding, the whole collapsed in on itself. As the first piece of sevyric iron vanished it dragged the others with it, and at once his ward rippled into place across the breadth of the passage.

“Kill them all,” Bae shouted.

Crossbow bolts spattered uselessly against the outside of the ward just as something huge rushed forward from inside, crashing through the inside of his ward like a giant wave, and crushing it. Ebryn staggered as if struck, and everything blacked out for a heartbeat.

He found himself on one knee with small points of light popping in his vision, and a dull ringing in his ears. He gulped in a lungful of air, and tried unsuccessfully to push himself back to his feet, hearing howling, and cries of fear from ahead.

The remnants of his casting rolled out along the passageway, like a series of miniature ragged lightning storms, throwing out flickering discharges into the stone walls.

All the guards were gone.

Ebryn tried to focus his mind. He felt Sash next to him, with remnants of some power clinging to her as sharp and fresh as evergreen needles, making the hairs on his body stand on end. In front of him a roaring boiling mess centred on Orim.

Sash touched him lightly on the shoulder. “Ebryn? Are you hurt?”

He shook his head, although it cost him a sharp jabbing pain behind his eyes. He could hear real fear in her voice.

“No, I’m fine. I didn’t anchor my ward to anything.”

“What do you mean?” Sash asked.

“Something went through it from this side, broke it. If you don't attach a ward to something solid nearby, then part of the force goes back through the caster when it's hit by something,” Ebryn said as he clambered back to his feet. “Why did they run so quickly?”

Sash coloured a little. “I cast a mind glamour at them, to drive fear into them. I don't think they expected us to do anything. We surprised them.”

Orim turned to them, looking relaxed, almost amused. “You fought well.”

“Let us continue on before these men find their courage and return,” Addae said, as the militiaman at Orim's feet groaned and rolled over.

“Yes,” Orim said, casually kicking the downed man in the side of his head as he moved past. “Vittore is waiting.”

The palace turned out to be a long plain-looking structure on the far side of Vergence. The reception had an impressively long marble staircase that divided and curved outwards, then back over itself to the next level. A pair of cheg guards at the foot of the stairs watched them impassively as they ascended.

The rest of the building turned out to be a maze of hallways, and twisting corridors. Humourless looking white robed men moved briskly from room to room clutching ledgers and bundles of paper, but stood aside to let Orim pass. Ebryn's head still ached, but he couldn’t help feeling disappointed. He’d expected the ruler of Vergence to live in a grand palace, or at least a fine manor, on a scale and grandeur similar to the library.

They followed Orim to the third floor, along a high ceilinged passage, and past another pair of cheg guards.

Vittore sat in the middle of a small room surrounded by floor to ceiling book cases. Every corner seemed to be taken up by shelves, each crammed to overflowing with hefty tomes, and bundled manuscripts.

He wasn't what Ebryn had been expecting. A large man, deep through the chest, with a pallid, fleshy appearance, he wore plain dark clothing which increased the apparent bulk of his ample frame, but gave no clue to his position or rank.

Ebryn found himself staring. Apart from the handful of scribes, functionaries and cheg guards they had encountered on the way in, there was nothing about the man to indicate they were in the presence of one of the most powerful rulers in any of the many worlds.

For a moment, Ebryn wondered if Orim had involved them in some kind of elaborate ruse.

As they entered the room Vittore looked up. “Ah, Orim … please come in and close the door.”

He had an unremarkable face, almost bland, and showed nothing of what he thought, but his eyes were like two shards of razor-sharp flint.

“I see you brought companions with you Miss Enash. “Vittore said, raising one eyebrow fractionally at Orim.

“I couldn’t keep them away,” Orim said. “We met young Lord Bae as we set out. He is investigating this matter himself and insisted on a private interview with this young lady.”

“Were there any casualties?” Vittore said.

Orim shrugged. “No harm came to Bae.”

“Good. So to the business at hand — Miss Enash, I must ask you some questions about what passed between you and Lord Muro last night. Can I have your oath as a Senesellan you will give me the truth? ”

“If I choose to answer your question you have my word I will answer truthfully,” Sash said. She stood facing Vittore squarely with her hands on her hips.

“Then I will do you the courtesy of going directly to the heart of the matter, if you have no objection? I'm sure we all have better things to be doing with our time.”

Sash nodded.

“Good. Let's start with yesterday evening. Can you tell me what you did in the evening?”

“Yes. I went to the Ulpitorian ambassador's dance, with Lord Muro.”

“And why did you do that?” Vittore asked.

“I like dancing,” Sash said, “and he invited me to a dance.”

“So you knew Lord Muro?”

“No, not until he invited me.”

Vittore looked at Orim, who seemed to be stifling a grin.

“I assume you arrived at the dance without any incidents, as other witnesses have reported seeing you there together … dancing, and then you left together. It looks like you were the last person to see Lord Muro alive.”

“Well, obviously I wasn't,” Sash said.

“What do you mean?” Vittore asked.

“The last person to see him alive would have been whoever killed him.”

Vittore nodded, his face unreadable. “Would you mind telling us what happened after you left the dance together?”

“We left before the dance finished. Lord Muro said he wanted to walk back through the city, rather than take a symor—”

“And you ended up at a small ornamental pond, which is where his body was found in the early morning — at least the remnants of the body. What happened at the pond?”

Sash glanced at Ebryn. For the first time since they'd arrived she betrayed a hint of uncertainty. “Lord Muro tried to force me—”

“That's how you got the bruise,” Ebryn said, feeling like he'd swallowed something indigestible.

“Yes, he hit me.”

“I assume he wasn't successful?” Vittore asked.

“No,” Sash said. “He tried to grab me, but I escaped, and he slipped.”

As she finished, shouting erupted outside the room, followed by a loud thump against the door. It swung open to reveal Lord Bae, struggling red-faced with a balding grey-robed man who seemed to be trying to hold him back.

“You cannot see Lord Vittore — you have no appointment,” the grey-robed man said.

Bae threw off the restraining arm, and pushed his way into the room.

“Thank you, Clay, you may let Lord Bae pass,” Vittore said. “My goodness, Bae, you are irrepressible today — oh, how unfortunate — did my guards mistreat you on the way in?”

Bae looked dishevelled. His belt, along with his scabbard, sword and knife were missing.

“I’ve come about that woman. I want justice for my brother,” Bae shouted.

“As do we all,” Vittore said. “I had just finished hearing what Miss Enash had to say about the events of last night, when you decided to join us.”

Bae glared at Sash. “What punishment will she receive then, I demand blood, as is my right.”

“Miss Enash was not the one who killed your brother, Bae. The only harm she did him was to his pride, and she has said when she left him your brother was alive.”

Bae's face reddened again. “You believe her lies?”

“Miss Enash is Senesellan,” Vittore said. “She is less likely to break her word than a Haeldran.”

Bae stared at them, the colour of his face deepening, his eyes finding Ebryn. “I see how it is. You're all in this together. I should have known. That's how you got past his sevyric iron.”

“If he'd annoyed me enough to want him dead, I assure you he'd have been charred to the bone, not eviscerated,” Vittore said pointedly. “I'm satisfied we have an idea of events leading up to your brother's murder, no doubt at the hands of one of those low-lives he spent his time with. As a caster clearly had some hand in it, I'll be asking Nee Daelith to investigate.”

As if acting on some unseen cue from Vittore, Orim moved to usher Bae out.

“No, you can't,” Bae said.

“Orim will arrange a symor for you and your friends,” Vittore said to Sash. “I apologise, if you found any of this distressing. Given all those involved, I felt it would be better that I establish the details of this matter myself.”

“You haven't hear the last of this, I promise you,” Bae said, almost spitting the words out as Orim manoeuvred him from the room.

Following behind Addae and Sash, Ebryn stopped short at the door. In an alcove next to the doorway rested three heads. For a moment, he mistook them for real heads, then realised they must be copies, near-perfect models made in their likeness. They were positioned to be visible only when he faced directly at the door.

On the left, looking back at him, a lifelike representation of Lord Conant, complete with spotted pale skin and wispy white hair. The second head wore Master Spetimane's features, and the last Master Yale's.

He turned to Vittore, confused. “What are these?”

Vittore looked up from his desk. “That's what Orim and I have been wondering. Do you know who these faces belong to?”