Like a shifter.
“Maybe not,” said Irulan, “but considering he was the only witness to the murder my brother was falsely accused of committing, what happened to him is.”
She walked after him, careful not to disturb the footprints. They led to an open gate and up a short path toward a large house.
“Wait,” she said, holding out a hand to stop the dwarf from stepping on another set of tracks, even fainter than the first. She bent down to get a closer look.
“There are only boot prints leading into the yard.”
“So the shifter came in another way,” d’Kundarak replied, shrugging.
“Maybe. Let me see your foot.”
“What?”
“This is ir’Marktaros’s house, right? I assume you’ve been here recently?”
“Of course,” the dwarf said, an interested gleam in his eye. He grasped where she was leading and lifted his foot so she could examine the sole of his boot.
“Look. There are three sets of boot prints here. Three different sizes. One set clearly belongs to ir’Marktaros-they’re the ones leading to the body. These are yours”-she pointed out the smaller set of prints to the dwarf, aware that he would likely only see them as a vague broken outline, obscured as they were by more recent tracks. “That leaves this set, which leads into the yard from back there”-she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder towards the house across the street-“unaccounted for.”
“A guest?” the inquisitive mused, but Irulan shook her head.
“Not unless he’s still in there-the tracks lead in, but they don’t come back out. Your tracks come in and out, Zoden’s do, too, but these don’t. One set of booted prints in, one set of clawed prints out.”
The dwarf had put his foot down and was looking up at the front of the house.
“Looks like Zoden also acquired a new statue while I was gone,” he said, mostly to himself.
Irulan followed his gaze to see a gray stone wolf in the open doorway, glaring reproachfully out at them.
“Some sort of familiar?” she wondered aloud, but d’Kundarak shook his head.
“A canary.”
At her puzzled look, he explained. “Dwarves sometimes use them in unfamiliar tunnels to make sure the air is good. You send them in first, and if they come back out alive, you know you’re safe. If they don’t, you find another way, and buy yourself a new canary.”
Irulan nodded and turned her attention back to the wolf. The sight of it reminded her of the wounds on the dwarf’s arm. They could have been made by a wolf. Or by whatever-whoever-had killed the bard.
“So, where were you last night, if you weren’t with Zoden?”
“Following a lead.”
“Looks like the lead fought back.”
D’Kundarak snorted. “You could say that,” he replied, unconsciously rubbing his arm.
Irulan abruptly placed the odor that hung about him like an old lover. She’d smelled it before in the Reaches-not this exact scent, but one very similar, and she was certain of its origin.
Not a wolf. A cat, and a big one.
Where could the dwarf have been that he’d come back smelling like a tiger’s chew-toy? Only one place-the House Vadalis compound.
And if he was following a lead there, then maybe he had a suspect-one that wasn’t a shifter.
But if the murderer wasn’t a shifter, then who was Ostra trying to protect? Because he had to be protecting someone, didn’t he? Why else would the shifter leader have sent her and Andri into a trap?
By Tira’s Sword, none of this made any sense! Just thinking about it was starting to give her a headache. If she didn’t get some answers soon, she thought her head might explode.
She’d start with the dwarf. He had to know something. It would just be a matter of convincing him to share.
“So who won? You or the cat?”
He didn’t even blink. “I did.”
He walked into ir’Marktaros’s yard, stepping through the thick grass and weeds so as not to compromise the tracks on the path. Irulan followed.
“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”
He stopped and turned to her, his eyes cold and unfriendly. “Irulan Silverclaw, isn’t it?”
It was her turn to stop. How had he known that? She hadn’t introduced herself.
“Easy. You told me yourself,” he said, as if reading her thoughts, though she realized he was probably only reacting to the surprise on her face. She never had been very good at hiding her emotions. “The only murder Zoden witnessed-other than his own-was his brother’s. If your brother was accused of that murder, then you must be Javi Silverclaw’s sister, Irulan. Not to mention the silver-tipped claw on your left hand. Who else could you be?”
“Fine. You know my name. You know my stake in this case. So why won’t you tell me what else you know?”
“Also easy. You’re a suspect.”
Irulan’s jaw dropped before she could stop it. “I’m a what?”
D’Kundarak shrugged again. “Everyone’s a suspect … until they’re not.”
He turned and continued walking toward the porch, making more notes in his book as he went. Irulan resisted a momentary urge to run him through. Andri would never approve. Besides, the dwarf might well have uncovered information that would help her clear Javi’s name-information that would perish with him if she killed him now in a fit of annoyance. She would just have to figure out how to get him to spill it-then she could stab him.
“What was ir’Marktaros paying you?”
The dwarf had moved into the yard and was busy sketching something he saw amid the greenery. As Irulan approached, she saw what he was drawing-broken crossbow bolts littered about the yard.
He grunted, not bothering to look up at her as he finished his sketch and bent to retrieve the ruined bolts. He examined the quarrels of each before shoving them into his sack and scribbling more notes. She was just beginning to think he was ignoring her when he answered.
“More than you can afford.”
“Probably. But is it more than he can?” She pointed to Andri, who was rising from his spot on the bench next to ir’Marktaros’s neighbor.
That got the dwarf’s attention. He looked where she indicated, assessing the paladin’s fine armor and heirloom silver sword. Then he looked back at her, and she couldn’t miss the calculating glitter in his eye.
“You want to hire me.”
It wasn’t a question.
“I think you have information I need, and I doubt I’m going to get it without paying for it. Besides, it looks like you’re out of a job, so … what do you say? Same rate as ir’Marktaros paid you. Deal?”
The dwarf regarded her outstretched hand for only a moment before reaching out to shake it.
“Deal.”
Irulan went to inform Andri about their new partner as d’Kundarak continued on into the house to look for more clues and gather whatever belongings he might have left there. As she approached the paladin, she saw he was in a heated discussion with an old priestess who wore the blue and yellow of the Sovereign Host. The robes hung off her gaunt frame, and her weathered skin and graying hair suggested a frailty belied by her angry expression.
“… and I’m telling you,” Andri was saying, “that I’ve been given the authority to override the prohibition against necromancy, by the Cardinals themselves.”
The woman spat on the ground. “I don’t give a damn about your letter,” she said. “I live here, in Aruldusk, where Maellas is the law. He has issued an edict that no one is to attempt to revive the murder victims, even those few of us who have a legitimate right to use such spells. If I go against him to do this for you, I might as well join this boy in his grave. The only reason I’m even here is because Zoden was one of ours, and I’ll not see you Flamers burn his body before his mother even gets to say her goodbyes.”