Avarilous cleared his throat perfunctorily and, righting a chair, sat down. “Well, then. To begin, the political situation between the Five Kingdoms is, as usual, at a stalemate. But some people would like to change that, and here’s where things get interesting. Who gains if the trade pact is signed between Konigheim and Doegan?”
There was a minute stir, as if both Kreelan and Spielt had shifted positions slightly. Spielt’s hands, held stiffly up to his chest, caught a thread from his robe and began to twist it back and forth. Sirc’al shrugged. “They both gain. That’s why they want to sign it.”
“Correction.” Avarilous picked up an unbroken plate from the table nearest him and, placing the center on his forefinger, spun it. “The two kingdoms want to negotiate about it. Neither wants to sign anything.”
Spielt wet his lips. “That’s ridiculous.”
Avarilous’s eyes followed the spinning plate. “The Konigheim slave lords see negotiations over the pact as a chance to gain breathing space for their accumulation of naval resources, preparatory to an invasion of Doegan. The mage-king, on the other hand, sees an opportunity for a small step toward his eventual goal of unifying the Five Kingdoms under his rule. I suspect he planned to use the period of negotiation about the pact to infiltrate more spies and agents into Konigheim to undermine the council’s power.”
Abruptly he tossed the plate from his finger and caught it skillfully. “Edenvale, the Northrnen, and the Free Cities of Parsanic opposed the pact to different degrees. From their point of view, it’s essential to maintain the balance.”
Sirc’al spoke. “I see. So these two were working as agents of one of the other three kingdoms to sabotage negotiations and prevent the pact.”
Avarilous smiled tolerantly. “Not quite. It’s a bit more involved.” His eyes moved slowly from Ereelan to Spielt to the watch commander. “I’ve developed something of a nose for sniffing out treachery. And there’s a good deal of it here tonight.”
The Watch commander gave a short bark of laughter. “Yes, by Tempus, I should say so. These two soldiers of fortune were willing to cut each others’ throats simply in order to earn their pay.”
Avarilous shook his head. “Not quite. It’s true they were prepared to trade each others’ lives, but the motive was stronger than mere money. In fact, neither intended the other should leave the tavern alive.”
“Explain!” Sirc’al’s voice was sharp.
“Well, our friend Kreelan here, judging by his clothing, has passed himself off as a native of Tharkar. But if you look just where his neck meets his robe, you’ll see something else.
The Watch commander craned his head and stared in the flickering lamplight. “Gods be damned! Gills!”
“Yes, gills. The man’s from Doegan. On the other hand, looking at Spielt, we find something else a bit curious.”
With both hands raised, he stepped closer to the blond man. Then, with extreme delicacy, he plucked the scarf from the mercenary’s head. Light gleamed on a complex array of tattooed lines and swirls, surrounding a perfectly formed, lidless, golden eye set in the middle of the man’s forehead. It stared angrily at the rest of the room.
There was an audible gasp from the others. Sirc’al was the first to recover and gave vent to a burst of foul oaths invoking Umberlee and the blackest inhabitants of the deep. “A Konigheimer, by all the fiends!”
Avarilous smiled and mopped the sweat from his brow, using the scarf he had wrenched away from the disguised slaver.
The watch commander’s eyebrows were wrinkled in thought. “But wait a minute! Why in the name of the gods would Komgheim and Doegan want to break up the pact. They were the ones signing it.”
“Not signing it,” patiently corrected Avarilous. “Negotiating about signing it.” He sighed. “As long as discussions dragged on, both the Konigheim Council and the mageking benefited. Meanwhile both secretly planned to sabotage negotiations at the last minute. Each planned a murder of a member of its own delegation in a public place on neutral ground, so the other could be accused not only of murdering an innocent delegate, but so that the Free Cities could be drawn into the conflict on the side of whichever party’s delegate was killed.
“For that reason I’m quite sure Kreelan, as an agent of the mage-king, had orders to murder a Doegan delegate. Spielt, working for the Konigheim Council, was supposed to kill one of their representatives.” He sighed again. “It seems a bit ironic, really.”
He paused and the stillness seemed to grow thicker in the heavy night air. The landlord, long forgotten where he lay against the wall, stirred and bumped against a metal cup, knocking it over. The dull metal thump sounded loud.
Sirc’al, looking thoroughly confused, broke the silence. “So who was murdered? A Doeganer, or a Konigheimer?”
Avarilous turned and regarded the corpse with a touch of regret. “Well, now, that’s the odd thing. Neither.”
“Neither?” The overwrought commander was practically screaming. “How can you possibly say that? Both these scum provoked the fight in order to gain cover for their planned assassinations-I can work that out, thank you very much! One of them was successful before the other, both prepared to flee. Now you say neither completed his mission?”
Avarilous walked over to the fountain. Setting down his tankard, he reached in and, with an expression of distaste, grasped the corpse by the scruff of its jerkin. With a sudden heave he brought it out, dripping, onto the flag-stones. He cautiously turned it over with his foot so they could all see the face. Water ran from the fat seams, from the mouth and nose, and merged with the smeared blood on his cut throat. From the inside of his sodden clothing a small scarlet viper emerged, hissed angrily at the merchant, and wriggled quickly into the bushes.
One of the watch behind Sirc’al started and cried out, “Sir, that’s Sergeant Vilyous. Him that’s on the north gate. I spoke to him there yesterday.”
The commander’s eyes widened..“Vilyous! Whoever helped him out of this world did us all a favor. He’ll not be missed.” He chuckled and spoke to Spielt and Kreelan. “A fine pair of assassins you turned out to be! Couldn’t even kill one of the men you were aiming for.”
Spielt giggled. “Yes, Kreelan. I imagine if you get out of this, you’ll have a pretty time trying to explain things to the squid-master of Eldrinparr. He’ll turn you into fish bait.”
Kreelan scowled. “Come off it, Spielt! You bungled this completely. I wonder to what slave pit they send assassins who kill the wrong man.”
There was a moment of painful silence. The watchman holding the blade to Spielt’s throat gave a slight murmur of one whose arm muscles are beginning to ache intolerably. The sword in his hand shook, drawing a thin line of blood on Spielt’s neck muscles.
Sirc’al broke the pause. “Do you two mean to tell me,” he said ominously, “that neither of you killed this lout?”
Spielt said cautiously, “I mean to tell you that I didn’t.”
“Liar,” snarled Kreelan. “I never touched the fellow. I saw him fall while you were near him. Since I thought you were working for Doegan as well, I assumed you’d completed the mission and we should get out.”
“Wait a minute,” sputtered Spielt. “I thought you were employed by Konigheim.”
There was another silence while everyone digested the import of these words. It was broken by Avarilous casually moving toward the wooden doors that led outside, still holding a nearly full tankard of ale. Spielt’s eyes followed him. “There!” he shrieked. “There, commander! There’s the murderer!”
Slowly Sirc’al’s eyes swung toward Avarilous. “Who in the nine hells are you?
The merchant looked at him apologetically. “The Ulgarthan government rather prefers to see the political situation in the Five Kingdoms remain the same,” he observed. “I came here to make sure the balance was preserved. And the man was extremely rude to me when I entered the city.”