So Tallis was opposed to both the Blood of Vol and the undead they spawned. Was there a connection between Gamnon and the Blood of Vol? The ambassador had been one of the Purified, a follower of the Silver Flame, but the Silver Flame sought to eradicate evil, and it was commonly known the Silver Flame considered the Blood of Vol to be just that. Soneste had to find the connection. If Tallis opposed the Blood of Vol, and followers of the Silver Flame opposed the Blood of Vol, why would Tallis kill Gamnon?
Chapter EIGHT
Mol, the 9th of Sypheros, 998 YK
They stood outside the gates of the Justice Ministry. Jotrem seemed impervious to the cold, dressed in a single insulated layer in the same drab colors as his countrymen. Soneste fastened her coat tightly and fished for her gloves.
She decided that Lord Charoth was likelier to have knowledge of Ambassador ir’Daresh, and she wanted to speak to him without Jotrem’s unwelcome glare at her back. Since he had been assigned to assist her investigation, she decided to use this to her advantage. She asked him to seek out Vorik ir’Alanso or a representative of his family to learn what appointment the ambassador had missed with the clothier.
Jotrem resisted, as Soneste knew he would, so she turned to her own method of persuasion.
“Listen, Jotrem,” she said. “Together you and I will seem an interrogation party. I want to keep this Lord Charoth at ease. Perhaps he may speak more candidly to an attractive young woman, no?”
This she punctuated with a smile and a mental stab, calling upon the talents she’d honed in Veshtalan’s presence not so long ago. She imagined the older inquisitive’s mind as a door made of stiff clay, then she pressed against it with fingertips of her will. She couldn’t peer beyond that barrier, but she could leave an impression of her choice in the clay. A seed of attraction, Veshtalan had called this particular power.
She heard the quiet whistle that heralded her power-a gentle sound with no definitive source-but amidst the bustle of the crowds Jotrem would not know its origin.
“I don’t know,” he muttered, then furrowed his brow in mild confusion. “I suppose … that makes sense.”
“Visit the tailoring house,” she suggested, encouraging the seed she knew was germinating within him. She indicated her blue coat and its Brelish design. “Perhaps you could find some local garments for me while you’re there, to help me blend in?”
Soneste didn’t mention that her coat had been partially woven with illusionary threads. Shiftweave clothing could alter its color and shape with a word from its wearer.
“Of course,” he said, his expression unsure. Soneste tried not to smile, knowing that in that moment, the Karrn was finding himself inexplicably attracted to women’s clothes. “We will … meet here at fourth watch, then.”
“Watch?”
Jotrem shook his head. “We measure the day in watches. Every fourth hour is another watch. Fourth watch is noon. There are six watches in each day.”
“Give me an hour more,” she said.
Jotrem nodded and walked away, intent on his curious errand. Soneste allowed herself to smile at last.
Now she needed to find Charoth’s estate or his place of business. It was simply a matter of asking around. She turned to leave then froze as she saw two White Lions dragging a manacled captive toward the open gates of the Ministry. He was dark haired, like most Karrns, and wore a leather jerkin. For a moment, she wondered if they’d actually found Tallis. His appearance nearly matched Sergeant Bratta’s description of the Ebonspire suspect: clad in black, with an unruly, if athletic bearing. He looked like a soldier gone rogue.
The man struggled, uttering curses unfamiliar to Soneste. She approached cautiously as a White Lion sergeant stopped them.
“Report,” he said.
One of the Lions renewed his grip on the captive’s arm. “This piece of human swine accosted a merchant when the merchant refused to sell to him.”
“Lower rabble,” the other added with disgust and patted a small scabbard on his belt. “When we intervened, he displayed this blade and said he’d stick us if we ‘laid a hand upon him.’ ”
The sergeant looked the disheveled man in the eyes. “Is this true? Did you resist arrest?”
“Go to Khyber, white kitty,” the man cursed, spitting in the sergeant’s face.
The White Lion nodded stolidly. He drew the confiscated knife from the other soldier’s belt without wiping his face.
“You do not refute the crime and are therefore guilty,” he said in a loud voice, “so let’s not waste the magistrate’s time, eh?”
He pulled one side of the rogue’s jerkin aside and slashed the long blade across the man’s stomach. Soneste’s own stomach tightened as the man screamed. Citizens on the street quickened their paces, none lingering to watch. The two soldiers let the man drop.
With his wrists manacled, the captive couldn’t even try to stanch the bleeding. As he writhed upon the cobbles, the soldiers watched for several long seconds. Then the sergeant stabbed the criminal again, this time at the base of the neck. His pain ended.
“Another one for the corpse collectors,” the sergeant said, an order as much as a declaration.
Soneste turned away, nauseated. The watch in Sharn may have been unapologetically corrupt, but they weren’t quite so free to exact judgment on a whim. Was this the Code of Kaius?
Soneste was directed to Charoth’s estate in short order. A few crowns and sovereigns dispensed into the appropriate hands even gave her some local perspective on the so-called “Masked Wizard.” He was a peasant hero in the Low District, a bogeyman among the merchants of Korth, and a mage of mysterious power. There were even rumors that the mask he wore gave him prophetic, divinatory, or vitalic powers.
Her stomach was still soured by the brutality of Karrnathi law, but now that she approached the suspect’s house, she felt more composed. Whether in the halls of Morgrave University or the alleys of Sharn’s Lower City-or indeed, the streets of a foreign city-this was what she did for a living.
Lord Charoth had elected not to return to his family estate in Highcourt Ward when he returned to Korth two years ago-only one of many times he’d spurned House Cannith. Instead, he had purchased a crumbling manor in the Community Ward and rebuilt it to his liking. The former residents had been a well-to-do family whose every scion had perished in the Last War, vacating the estate for the Masked Wizard’s convenience.
The first thing Soneste noticed was the gloom around Charoth’s estate. Despite the late morning hour, the sky was exceedingly dark. Cold fire lanterns lit even the major street junctions in the Low District Ward, but here they were markedly absent.
The house itself matched the city’s symmetrical architecture, with smooth stone walls adorned only at its edges, sills, and eaves. The ground level was broad, but further in it rose only three stories high, dwarfed by the tower blocks on either side of the estate. None could say that the mansion lacked grandeur for its height, though. The whole structure presented a regal, throne-like appearance. The locals had taken to calling it the Murder House, and now she understood why. There was a profusion of rain spouts carved to resemble crows, and the silver-painted cornices which ran beneath every roof possessed a featherlike design.
Lovely, Soneste thought.
A razor-edged fence framed the estate like a row of stylized iron glaives, conjoined by a pair of black gates that swung gently open at Soneste’s approach. Did they open for all, or was someone watching? She looked to the dark windows above, saw no one, then stopped when the short path circled around a dry fountain. A vulture-headed stone demon towered at its center, glowering at her from its frozen perch. The statue’s eyes, inlaid spheres of glass, were ensorceled with a crimson light-the only exterior illumination around the manor.