Anthology - Realms of Mystery Part 8

Marrok was suddenly beside Artus. He lifted the hound, which didn't struggle in the least, and returned it to the other side of the threshold. As he closed the door on the whimpering animal, the n.o.bleman said, "He's getting on in years. Not much use as a watchdog, as you've witnessed." The door clicked shut. "Sentimental of me, but I couldn't bear to part with him."

Artus knew that it was the most truthful thing Marrok de Landoine had ever said to him.

The n.o.bleman proceeded to speculate in his usual disinterested fashion on how quickly Uther might be freed from prison now that they had proven Guigenor the murderer beyond any reasonable doubt. To Marrok's way of thinking, Artus had stumbled too close to the truth, making it necessary for the woman to try to silence him. "Of course I will honor my promise," Marrok concluded, refilling his snifter for thethird time. "We can hold the ceremony granting you full membership in the club tomorrow."

When Artus didn't reply, Marrok's expression turned serious.

"Is something troubling you, Cimber?"

"No, nothing," Artus replied much too quickly. Then he forced a smile. "It's always so obvious when something's bothering me, why deny it? I know it's customary for a new member to offer a gift to the society. I was worrying about what I might put together by tomorrow."

"Uther's freedom will be enough of a gift," Marrok replied. "And the soul of Count Leonska can rest easier, now that you've identified his killer."

"Of course," Artus said. "How can I come up with a better gift than justice?" He finally sat down on the ridiculously expensive couch. "You know, I think I'm ready for that drink now."

The Ceremony Hall presented a welcome contrast to the rest of the Stalwarts Club. It was stark and dignified. Actual candles lit its modest confines. Craftsmen, not djinn or golems, had woven the tapestries decorating the walls. The robes worn by the clubmen there had not been liberated from some sultan's wardrobe or pilfered from the depths of Ilades. They were simple garments honestly made, unadorned by jewels or excess of history. In the Ceremony Hall, that was enough.

The initiation ceremony, too, proved remarkably restrained. It was over almost before Artus realized it had begun. He had expected more ritual, more pomp. He would have felt cheated, had he not been so preoccupied with the presentation of his gift.

Until the ceremony was through, Uther kept the curious from peeking beneath the sheet draped over the long box containing Artus's offering. Once Artus was alone on the simple wooden dais at the head of the hall, ready to make his presentation, Hydel Pontifax and three other Stalwarts moved the still-concealed crate to the room's center. Uther gave a subtle tilt of his magnificent horns and took up his station by the door. The clubmen were too caught up in speculation about the gift's content to notice Sergeant Orsini of the city watch loitering impatiently on the other side of that same threshold.

"In return for the honor you've bestowed upon me," Artus began, in the words he'd been instructed to use, "I offer this n.o.ble society a gift of lasting value, a token by which you may forever gauge my worth as a member and my regard for you all."

No sooner had the final word been spoken than something rose up slowly from the box. The white sheet clung to it for a moment, cloaking a figure that was clearly human.

"I offer you justice," Artus said. "I offer you the murderer of Count Leonska."

The sheet slipped away to reveal Guigenor standing within the pine crate. Startled gasps and cries of outrage echoed through the hail. "Necromancy!" bellowed Sir Homnet Hawklin. "This is how you demonstrate your worth to us, you-you-weasel." There was no more d.a.m.ning word in Hawklin's vocabulary "Guigenor did not kill the count!" Artus shouted over the throng. "She was a victim to the same a.s.sa.s.sin, for the same reason!"

The dead woman stepped from the box. Her unblinking eyes scanned the crowd, searching for her murderer. When she found him, she stiffly raised one arm and pointed him out.

Marrok de Landoine did not attempt to escape. Neither did he utter a single word of protest. He simply stripped off his robe, revealing a finely tailored doublet, expensive custom-made breeches, and dragon-leather boots. As Sergeant Orsini approached, he presented his dagger, handle first, to the nearest Stalwart. "Please see that this is returned to the armory on my estate," he droned.

"Evidence," was all Orsini said as he s.n.a.t.c.hed up the dagger and slipped it into his belt. With vindictive glee, the Purple Dragon ordered an immediate and humiliating search of Marrok's person for hidden weapons or, more dangerous still, any bits of arcane matter he might use for a spell.

A crowd of clubmen had surrounded Artus, demanding the true story behind the murders. He explained it all as best he could.

"Count Leonska sealed his doom when he used his influence, and a significant part of the club'sliquor reserve, to gain his protege entrance into the Stalwarts," Artus began. "Marrok had been away on business at the time, unable to block Guigenor's ascendance to the rank of full member. Upon his return, he set about to ensure the count would foist no more upstarts upon the membership."

How Marrok had murdered Leonska remained a mystery to Artus, though no one had to stretch his imagination too far to picture the count drunkenly stumbling onto a blade or downing a snifter of poison.

What happened next the explorer could explain with more certainty.

"Marrok raised the count from the dead and put him to the task of incriminating Guigenor," Artus continued. "The count was sent back to the club, his wineskin filled with his own blood. He made his way to the Treaty Room, already dead, and set about laying clues-stabbing himself with the Zhentish dagger, splashing gore on the walls in the fashion of a Kozakuran a.s.sa.s.sination. . . . Marrok had already made certain those things tied the crime to Guigenor. He'd even arranged for her to meet her 'victim' at the crime scene."

"There really was a note," Pontifax said with a nod.

"And Guigenor really did manage to lose it," Artus offered. "It'll turn up somewhere in the club one of these days."

"So what happened to the wineskin?" someone asked from the crowd.

Artus shuddered. "Marrok must have ordered Leonska to get rid of that bit of evidence-so he ate it.

His teeth were all shattered from trying to chew up the stopper before swallowing it."

Pontifax cleared his throat sententiously. "It was a fiendishly clever plan," he announced. "You see, the undead are not magical, per se, so the Treaty Room had no effect upon the poor creature's actions.

There was also the added benefit of having Leonska's soul trapped in his corpse, which meant the watch could not raise it for questioning."

Artus stepped down from the dais. "Marrok really only needed me to uncover all the evidence he'd laid out. He killed Guigenor, too, and had her attack me to sew up the case-and maybe just murder me in the process." He plucked at his ceremonial robe. "Oghma knows he didn't really want to let me join his club. I probably would have turned up dead eventually if I hadn't figured this out."

Pontifax continued to expound upon the minutiae of their investigation, anchoring the crowd in place as Artus drifted away. He pa.s.sed the small group of priests who had already begun the task of freeing Guigenor's soul from her animate corpse. Artus only wished the priests had been able to do the same for Count Leonska, whose body had been burned the previous night. The man had surely been conscious of his fate to the end, staring at the flames of his pyre with the same lifeless expression with which he'd regarded Artus that day in the Treaty Room.

"There's a dog on Marrok's estate you'll want to have exorcised, too," Artus called to Sergeant Orsini. The soldier was finally leading Marrok away. "The thing's called Kezef. You'll find it in the workshop off the study."

"You'll do no such thing," Marrok snapped. He swept the Dragons with an imperious stare. "That hound will be waiting for me when I return home in a day or two, or I'll see the lot of you scrubbing gull droppings from the king's yacht."

The stunned expression on Artus's face drew a sneer from Marrok de Landoine. "I have influence rabble like you can never counter. Even if the charges are true- note, please, that I said 'if-I'll certainly never hang for them. Just look around if you doubt me."

Artus did just that as Sergeant Orsini hustled Marrok from the room.

For each person who looked upon the newest Stalwart with admiration and approval, there was another who glowered at him. More telling still, the most senior and influential members were the ones who offered Artus their undisguised animosity. A disdain for upstarts had not been a trait of Marrok's alone.

"You appear glum when you should be celebrating, Master Cimber," Uther said.

Artus shrugged. "I'm not all that certain I want to belong to this club anymore."

"Nonsense." The butler regarded the frowning, sulking Stalwarts with his slitted yellow eyes, then turned back to Artus. "They may not welcome you with open arms, but they will most a.s.suredly offer you respect. You've brought down one of their own-whether he swings for his crimes or no.""They hate me for it."

"Perhaps," Uther said. "But they fear you for it, too. Fear is a useful thing when dealing with powerful men and women. To be honest, it's the reason I am just a bit pleased they think me capable of murder."

"And you're not?" Artus asked. He hesitated before he spoke again, but when he did, he said something to Uther few would have dared. "I thought lawyers-especially FitzKevraid clan barristers-were capable of anything."

The look that comment engendered on Uther's horrible features was truly unsettling. A smile spread across his black lips. Then quietly, deeply, the butler began to laugh.

Thieves' Justice

Mary H. Herbert

Spring was coming to Rashemen-eventually. That night, early in the month of Ches, spring's presence had not yet been detected in the frost-bound capital city of Immilmar. The snow in the streets and on the buildings had been there for months, layer after layer of hard-packed ice, dirt, soot, and frozen debris. The air was still bitterly cold, and icicles hung like prison bars from the eaves of many buildings.

Teza wiped her face and hurriedly pulled her wolf-fur collar up closer to her nose and mouth.

Muttering to herself, she left the Guardian Witch Inn behind and marched up the street, paying no attention to her direction or the people around her. The streets were quiet, for most people had already sought the warmth and light of well-lit hearths. The many inns were doing a rollicking business, but most of the shop fronts and the city markets were closed.

The young woman gritted her teeth and stamped into the gathering darkness. Mask take that wizardess, she fumed. It was not fair that the one person in all the East that she considered her best friend had to be so stubbornly honest. Why couldn't Kanlara look past Teza's profession to what lay within the horse thief's heart and mind?

Resentment flared anew in Teza's thoughts. What right did Kanlara have to tell her what she should not do? Who made her the guardian of Teza's integrity? Kanlara's rigidity and her lack of faith in her friend had p.r.i.c.ked the horse thief's hide one time too many.

Teza frowned at the night sky. Last autumn, tolerance had been easy for both of them. At the risk of her own life, Teza had freed Kanlara from a wizard's spell that had trapped her in the shape of a book for over thirty years. Kanlara, overjoyed at her freedom, had been grateful and ready to embrace the world. Teza took Kanlara to her home and into her life. To the delight of them both, a fast friendship had formed. But in the ensuing months, winter had locked them into constant close proximity and forced them to delay their plans to travel beyond Rashemen's borders. Little differences blew up into heated arguments, and the subject of Teza's profession threatened to cause an irreparable rift.

As if on cue Teza's palms began to itch, a sure sign she had not stolen a good horse in days.

Belatedly, she slowed and took her bearings. She was in an area of large workshops and houses just to the east of the center of the city. The grim fortress of the Huhrong's citadel lay behind her, its iron and steel walls pockmarked with pools of torchlight. Ahead and to the north lay the houses of the wealthier merchants and many of the city's n.o.bles.

It wasn't the houses that drew Teza, however. She had tried her hand at burglary and did not like it.

She preferred the subtlety of picking pockets or the excitement of horse theft. Even in winter there were places to find crowds with full purses and stables with interesting horses. One of her favorite spots was an inn and livery on the eastern road to Muiptan. It was often frequented by merchants, travelers, and traders, and their many beasts of burden, and it was not always well guarded.

Teza picked up her pace and continued east. The snow crunched under her boots and the biting wind drove in from Lake Ashane, the icy Lake of Tears. She hunched her shoulders against the cold and plowed on, not hearing a faint voice that called behind her.She pa.s.sed over a low stone bridge that spanned a small but swift river that still resisted the grip of the freezing wind. Several minutes later she saw the bulk of the Red Stallion Inn hunched back into a thick stand of evergreens. The timbered walls were lit with lanterns and lamplight blazed from every window. Smoke rolled from the inn's several chimneys and the smell of cooking food wafted into the dark. Teza noted all the activity with satisfaction. The inn was busy this night, which meant there were probably good pickings in the stable.

Niall One Hand ran a fine establishment that included the convenience of large corrals for livestock and beasts of burden and warm stables for the finer mounts of his guests. Teza, not wishing to abuse a good source, only visited Niall's place rarely to remove a few of the finer steeds from customers who could well afford it. Fortunately, Niall bad no idea who raided his stable, so Teza was able to return the favor sometimes by bringing him stock to sell or pa.s.sing a good deal his way. She liked Niall's easy wit and his flexible sense of honesty.

She turned away from the light and warmth and worked her way through the trees toward the stables. As quiet as a snowcat she slipped through the night to the back of the large barn. The building was timber, built on a stone and earth foundation, and it could house twenty horses or thirty ponies in a double row of stalls. A set of double doors opened onto the inn's courtyard, but there was also a smaller groom's door that opened from the back into the alley between the stalls. This door was usually kept locked-a fact that rarely bothered Teza-but this night it was also guarded.

Teza hesitated. The presence of the guard was unusual, but the fact that he wore the emblem of the clan family, Vrul, seemed strange. Most of the Vrul lived in Mulptan. Not that it really mattered. The Vrul were well known in Rashemen for their fine taste in horses.

It took the horse thief just a moment to slip back her hood, loosen her long dark braid, and find the small bag she always wore. Within, among the other tools of her trade, were the circles of fabric permeated with a quick-acting sedative. Very useful for unsuspecting guards.

She stumbled out of the trees close to the inn and ambled, in her best drunken fashion, toward the guard by the door. He watched her approach with some amus.e.m.e.nt.

"Sir, I was looking for the outhouse," she slurred, stumbling closer. "Do you know where it is?"

He lifted his hand to point, his head turning naturally in that direction, and in that instant Teza leaped forward and pressed the fabric to his nose. He took one gasp and fell like a stricken roth.

Teza solicitously dragged him into the barn where he would not freeze. As she hoped, the grooms were in the inn and the stable was empty of humans. One by one she began a rapid inspection of the stalls' inhabitants.

"Teza!" a whispered voice called to her from the door.

Teza and the horse she was patting leaped sideways as one and crashed into the wooden part.i.tion.

"Kanlara!" Teza snarled. "What are you doing here?"

The wizardess, cloaked and booted, strode forward, her face pinched with cold and annoyance. "I followed you," she said. "I wanted to apologize, but I couldn't catch up with you. I had a feeling you were going to do something like this."

"Of course I am!" Teza stormed out of the stall and into the next where a creamy white mare rolled her eyes nervously. "I told you from the beginning I was a horse thief. It's what I am."

"But it's not what you can be!" Kanlara insisted. "You are intelligent, strong, and beautiful. You could be anything you set your mind to."

Teza made a rude noise of disbelief. Those words, coming from a woman with exquisitely beautiful features, long red hair, jewel-green eyes, and the advantage of being wizard-trained, did not carry a great deal of weight with an untalented street rat. There were some realities of life Kanlara had never had to face-like starvation and loneliness and poverty.

Teza had learned to be a thief to survive and now it was all she knew. She threw her hands up.

"You want me to change. You want us to leave Immilmar. You want a new wizard's staff and spell components. Well, all of that takes money. How do you propose we get it? You are forbidden to practice magic while you are in the jurisdiction of the Rashemi witches and the only jobs the Rashemaar will give an outlander are menial. . . they barely pay for our room. So that leaves me."She realized her voice was rising with every word, and she quickly lowered it so as not to draw outside interest. "I can't sew. I hate serving in taverns. I have no learning or talent. I cannot be a witch, and I won't be a berserker. There is little left for someone like me in Immilmar. How can I make you understand?" She ended her tirade and leaned against the mare, breathing heavily.

"I am trying to understand," Kanlara replied sadly. "But please stop before something happens to you. I couldn't bear to lose you. You are the only family I have."

Something in Kanlara's tone rang true to Teza. Nonplused, she left the mare's stall and walked into the next without looking.

To Kanlara, the stall looked empty. But Teza found more than she bargained for. Her foot caught on something solid and heavy on the stall floor, and she stumbled forward into the manger. "By Mask!

What is that?" she gasped. She squatted down and pushed the straw off a dark form.

Kanlara hurried in and the two women knelt together in the straw. They carefully rolled the form over onto its back. The strong smell of fresh blood filled their nostrils. Their hands slipped in the warm, dark fluid that covered the man's neck and chest.

"Oh, G.o.ds, he's been stabbed," Kanlara cried. "We must get some help. Run to the inn and have someone summon the guards."

"What?" Teza yanked her hands away and frantically wiped them on cleaner straw. "The guards,"

she hissed, appalled at the very suggestion. "Don't be a fool. We have to get out of here, now!"

Kanlara stiffened. "There's been a crime committed," she said firmly. "We have to report it."

"Like the Abyss we do. One look at us, sneaking around where we don't belong, blood all over our hands, and they'll arrest us without a blink." She grabbed her friend's arm to pull her to her feet. "Come on!"

Kanlara yanked free. "Don't be ridiculous, Teza. There is nothing here to tie us to this. We simply found the body."

"You are so naive. I have lived in the thieves' world all my life. I know how this will look to the Elders. We must go...now!"

A sudden call outside the door brought Teza to her feet like a panicked horse. "Kanlara," she begged, "please! He's a fyrra, a lord. Look at his clothes. We are riffraff to him, and the guards are not well known for their far-reaching intelligence. They will convict us on the spot."

Footsteps crunched on the snow outside.

"Kanlara, come on!" Teza cried one last time.

The wizardess stood still, staring down at the dead man, then she lifted her eyes to Teza's. Before either could react, someone pushed open the wide front door. Lanternlight spilled into the stable.

Teza's will broke. Like a fox bolting for cover she whipped around the stall door and fled silently into the shadows and out the back door. She did not hesitate a step until she was well back into the trees. Belatedly, she slowed. She turned, against all her instincts, and angled toward the road and the front of the inn. Through the trees she could hear the uproar of voices and the blare of a horn as a guard signaled to his captain.

The sounds of authority approaching and the noise of the angry crowd were more than Teza wanted to face. Let Kanlara handle it. She could explain far better than Teza. The guard would question her and let her go. Teza decided to go home and wait. Kanlara would surely be along soon.

But she wasn't.

By midmorning the next day, Kanlara still had not returned and Teza had paced and worried to the point of nausea. As angry as Kanlara probably was, if she was able, she would have come back by that time.

Just before noon Teza tied her hair into a tight braid, piled it up on her head, and pulled a loose fur hat over the whole thing. She dressed in a pair of men's pants and boots and strapped a dagger to her side. Her smooth cheeks were dusted with a shadow of charcoal dust and, to finish off her disguise, she added a false mustache carefully crafted from horse hair. It was a disguise she had used successfully before and one few in Immilmar had seen. With luck it would get her safely where she wanted to go.

Teza hurried outdoors and strode just a few short blocks to the communal longhouse. The morningwas overcast; the air cold and biting. Quite a few citizens were out on their daily business, and quite a few more were heading in the same direction as Teza, for the daily kohrtar, or charging of criminals, at the loughouse.

The squat longhouse sat on a short hill overlooking one of the main roads leading to the busy docks on the Lake of Tears. It was a large, if rather plain building used by the citizens of Immilmar for all the meetings of the Elders who ran the city, as well as gatherings of various guilds and parties. Every day at noon, or when needed, the Elders held the kohrtar to charge suspects of crimes and to hold trials for those already charged.