Before the servant returned with the mage, a man pushed his way through the snow up to the eparch's residence. He stared at the body at the base of the stairs. "Phaos!" he exclaimed in a rural accent. "I was going to ask if you folks knew what became of poor Glykas, but now I see for my own self. Some o' them militia bastards done for him, sure as sure."
Both guards growled. Rhavas and Zautzes kept them from doing anything more than growl. The fat's in the fire now, Rhavas thought gloomily. Glykas was dead, the other peasant refugees knew it, and they had no trouble at all figuring out who'd killed him. What would they do for revenge?
"Should have let us knock him over the head, too, most honorable sir," one of the militiamen said as the peasant floundered off through the snow. "That would've kept things quiet a while longer."
"You chucklehead," Zautzes said in a deadly voice. "I'm going to do you the biggest favor I ever did: I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. But if Koubatzes tells me you had anything to do with this, you'll end up envying this dead bastard here."
Rhavas thought he was taking a chance. If his guards did know something about the killing, they were liable to turn on him now—and on the prelate as well. But they just stood there muttering to themselves. To Rhavas, that was evidence, if not proof, of their innocence.
The servant and Koubatzes took a long time coming back. Zautzes muttered and fumed while he waited. Rhavas was more philosophical. With all the snow on the ground, anybody needed a long time to get anywhere. At last the mage followed Zautzes' man back to the residence. Koubatzes carried his sorcerous paraphernalia in a leather sack.
He nodded greetings to the eparch and the prelate. "A murder, is it?" he said crisply, and then, looking down at Glykas' corpse, "Well, so it is."
"What can you tell us about it?" Rhavas asked. "If you can find out who did the deed and why, that may help keep the city quiet. We need to punish the guilty here, and we need to be seen to be punishing the guilty. If no one has any doubt we are doing what needs to be done, that will help keep the lid on. We can hope it will, anyhow."
"I understand," Koubatzes said. "I'll do what I can. Don't know how much that will be, not till I have a go." He opened the leather sack and started muttering to himself: "Marigold, pennyroyal, and mistletoe." He took dried leaves and flowers—Rhavas supposed they were the plants he named—and set them in dead Glykas' mouth. Zautzes' guards muttered, too, in disgust. Koubatzes took no notice of them. He found another leaf and set it on his own tongue. Indistinctly, he said, "Sage."
Chanting with the herb in his mouth couldn't have been easy, but he managed. Perhaps the charm he was using was specially adapted to the circumstances. His passes were, as usual, swift and sure. Watching him work, Rhavas couldn't imagine him failing—and yet he had, and dreadfully, against the Khamorth.
The spell ended. Koubatzes stood in front of Glykas' body. He did not seem a happy man. "Well?" Rhavas asked, though he did not think all would be well.
"Well, very holy sir, magecraft won't tell anyone much about this business, I'm afraid," the wizard answered. "Whoever did the deed cast a spell on the body afterward, to shield it against magical investigation. If I'd come across the body just after it died, I might have got around the spell. When he's been lying out in the snow for the good god only knows how long . . ." He shook his head and spread his hands. "Sorry, but no."
"Wouldn't the snow preserve him, the way it would a fish?" Zautzes asked.
"I'm afraid not, most honorable sir," Koubatzes replied. "The longer ago that spell was laid, the longer it had to cling, and the snow hasn't got anything to do with that."
"How are we supposed to catch the killer, then?" Rhavas asked.
"Usual way, I would say," Koubatzes answered. "Find out who didn't like him, find out who owed him money and to whom he was in debt, find out if his woman was unfaithful, find out if some drunken fool is boasting of breaking his head in the wineshops. No magic to any of that, but it usually works well enough, even if it takes a bit of time."
"We'll do it," Zautzes said. "Yes, we'll do it, all right, but I was hoping you could make things quick and easy." The corners of his wide mouth turned down. "Nothing these days is quick or easy, worse luck." Koubatzes only shrugged and spread his hands again.
Rhavas said, "I don't know whether finding Glykas' killer will be easy or not. I do know it had better be quick. If it isn't, we'll have a war inside this city. That would be bad enough any time. With the Khamorth outside . . ." He didn't go on.
Zautzes looked unhappier still, like a frog that had swallowed a bee and was suddenly repenting of the decision. The prospect of civil strife didn't seem to bother Koubatzes—but then, his features were less mobile than the eparch's. He bowed to Zautzes and Rhavas in turn, then started back along the path he and Zautzes' servant had broken.
"I don't suppose you're interested in talking about the ration now, are you?" Zautzes said plaintively.
"Most honorable sir, I would say you'd be a fool to cut it. You would do better to wait till the fuss over this murder dies down—if it does," Rhavas replied. "If you catch the killer, then you have some hope of reducing it without stirring the city against you. Some."
"I wish I could tell you you were wrong, very holy sir. As things are . . ." As things were, Zautzes' sigh sent a cloud of fog into the chilly air.
Rhavas felt like sighing, too. Glykas' body tempted him to despair. Some folk said despair was the only unforgivable sin, the sin that opened a man's soul to Skotos' cold and greedy hand. He remembered saying it himself, in fact. Maybe it was true. But he'd never before seen folly on a scale to match this.
After bowing to Zautzes, he started back across the square toward the temple and his residence next door. As he slogged through the snow, he wondered if it concealed other corpses. He almost hoped a dead militiaman lay under it. Then, at least, dishonors would be even. Both sides in Skopentzana would have equal reason to feel ashamed—or, if the dark god had hold of them, to feel proud.
He saw no signs of other bodies. Since that meant no other Videssians had died, he supposed he should have been glad. And he was glad—in a way. But he would also have been glad, or at least relieved, to see the scales balance.
Just before he got to his residence, the light dimmed. He looked up in surprise. Sunset still came early, but not this early. And indeed, the sun hadn't set. Grayish yellow clouds had covered it, though, and were getting darker and thicker every moment. Another storm was coming. Rhavas grimaced. Hadn't Skopentzana already gone through enough?
He wondered whether Phos was trying to see how much the city could endure. The good god was piling things on thick. But Phos could send troubles when and as he wished. It was up to mankind to endure.
"Trouble, very holy sir?" Matzoukes asked when Rhavas came inside.
Rhavas didn't ask how the young priest knew; his own face had to be as grim as the growing storm outside. "Trouble?" he echoed. "You might say so. Yes, you just might say so." In a few words, he told the other man what had happened in the central square.
Matzoukes sketched Phos' sun-sign. "That's . . . dreadful, very holy sir!"
"It is indeed. The exact word, in fact, for I am filled with dread," Rhavas replied. "I think all of Skopentzana should be filled with dread. All of Skopentzana, I fear, cares very little for my opinion. The most I can hope for is that we do not fly at one another's throats."
"Surely it can't be as bad as that, very holy sir," the other priest said.
"It can be that bad. It can be worse. It can be, and I am afraid it is," Rhavas said. Shaking his head, Matzoukes left the room, as if he didn't even want to imagine such a thing.