Matt nodded “Could have been a short sword, like a Reman gladius, yes.”
“But you do not believe it,” Sir Orizhan pressed.
“No, I don’t,” Matt told him. “It’s much more like the hole a scissor blade would make, or maybe a paring knife, if you stuck it into the back of a straw doll and jabbed it around a little for good measure. It wouldn’t even be an inch long, of course, but on the real body…”
“Witchcraft!” Even the toughened sergeant shuddered.
“Or sorcery.” Matt nodded. “No way to defend yourself against it, is there? And all three of us know the man who went out the window was a sorcerer.”
“Then you must tell the king that his son was slain by one of his own countrymen!” Sir Orizhan exclaimed.
“Yes,” Matt said heavily, “and I don’t think he’s going to like that In fact, I don’t think he’s going to believe me at all.”
“You lie!” King Drustan cried, and Queen Petronille declared, “You seek to shield a man of your own!”
Their rage was frightening, but Matt felt a surge of anger at being called a liar. “If I had the man here, you couldn’t deny it”
“If you had him here, aye!” Drustan roared. “Lord Wizard, do you call yourself? When a peasant sorcerer can outdo you in magic? Or did you let him escape in order to shield your country from war?”
“Ask your own man.” Matt nodded at Sergeant Brock. “Ask him how I fought.”
“He wrought wonders,” the sergeant told the king. “It was pure bad luck that he lost, and good luck he lived.”
Matt flashed the man a look of surprised gratitude, but Drustan roared, “Bad luck for him, for he’ll die in battle on a Bretanglian lance!” He struck Brock backhanded.
“How dare you insult us by saying our son was slain by our own countryman!” Queen Petronille cried, white-faced and trembling.
“There can be no question of peace between our countries now!” Drustan shouted, and turned to Alisande. “We go back to Bretanglia at first light—to gather our armies, and march in vengeance!” He spun to Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock. “You have failed in your duty, knight and soldier! You were set to guard the prince, and he is dead! Do not think to come back to Bretanglia until you have found his murderer, or avenged his death!” He whirled back to Alisande. “Prepare your people for war, Your Majesty!” He made the words an insult. “Prepare for war—and defeat!”
Matt stood beside Alisande on the battlements, watching the Bretanglian royal family ride away from Bordestang surrounded by their entourage—knights, soldiers, servants, and ladies-in-waiting. “So the sorcerer gained what he wanted— war.”
“Not the sorcerer alone.” Alisande gazed after the departing party, saddened and troubled. “They came to seek an excuse for war, Drustan and Petronille both.”
Matt stared at her. “You don’t think they planned on their son being assassinated!”
“Of course not!” Alisande looked up, shocked that he could even think of such a thing. “They meant to rely on their own tempers and insults to provoke me into declaring war.” She turned to look after her erstwhile guests. “Nonetheless, my heart is heavy with their sorrow. I have a son now, and know how Petronille must grieve.”
“That heart is too good,” Matt said softly.
She looked up and found his eyes doting, and smiled, taking his hand. “You are a greater comfort than you know, husband, and I have need of such reassurance now.” She turned to look after the Bretanglians again. “Unpleasant though he may have been, Gaheris was my cousin, for so is his mother, though rather distant kin. I am overcome with guilt that he should have been slain in my capital.”
“You couldn’t prevent it,” Matt assured her, “if someone in their own party was planning it all along, and just waiting for this trip to set that plan into motion.”
Alisande turned to him with a frown. “Do you truly think so?”
“I do, but howls for me telling you about it inside? This spring wind is brisk, and a warm fire would be a great comfort, too, just now.”
Alisande smiled again and laid her arm on top of his. “Let us go down to the solar, by all means.” The huge clerestory windows justified the solar’s name, letting the sun bathe the room in early morning light. With a roaring fire to warm them outside and spiced cider to warm them inside, they could relax with Mart’s parents and mull over the nights events.
Alisande sat back with a sigh. “I confess it is a relief to have them gone, though that relief will be short-lived.”
“Yes, you must prepare for war,” Mama agreed, “though we hope you will not have to wage it.”
“An honest, open battle would be better than this skulking in shadows and stabbing men in their backs,” Papa huffed.
“Now, husband!” Mama reproved. “There has been only one man stabbed”
“Yes, but how many were waiting their turn?”
“Everyone in that inn has an alibi,” Matt said, “even the two who managed to slip away. Sir Orizhan and Sergeant Brock questioned them with me, and each one remembers who he was fighting when the prince was killed. Their stories check out—both opponents remember each other, and the only two whose foe wasn’t there, remember fighting one of the two men who escaped.”
“Rather convenient,” Papa sniffed “Who remembers fighting this man who went out the window?”
“No one. Boosts his chances of being the murderer.”
“At whose command?” Alisande said quietly.
Mama and Papa turned to her in surprise, then looked apprehensive. Mama said, “Surely you do not mean someone in his own family hired the killer!”
“It’s been known to happen,” Matt said with a smile of irony, “and I don’t see any great love lost between those siblings.”
“Petronille does not seem all that fond of either her eldest or her youngest,” Mama admitted. “Odd. The second child is usually the rebel, and rarely the favorite.”
“Considering what Brion is rebelling against, any mother would favor him,” Matt told her.
“Do Drustan and Petronille remember this sorcerer being with their party?” Alisande asked.
“I didn’t think I should mention the issue,” Matt said apologetically. “They were too upset.”
“Upset? They raged as soon as you told them the man had escaped,” Papa exclaimed, “and they kept raging! You had no chance to ask!”
“Well, I could have asked before I told them the bad news.”
“Without the culprit there? Do you think they would have said anything but ranting?”
“Thanks, Papa,” Matt said with a warm smile. He shrugged. “Anyway, why would a king or queen remember one soldier out of all the rest? I don’t expect he went along wearing sorcerer’s robes.”
“Surely this sergeant you speak of would remember,” Alisande said.
“He should,” Matt admitted, “but he saw the man’s face in the moonlight, too, and tells me he wasn’t one of their soldiers. Says he doesn’t remember him being with the entourage at all, in fact.”
Papa stared. “You don’t mean he was already in Bordestang, waiting for them to arrive!”
Matt sat still for a minute. Then he nodded slowly. “Now that you mention it, that’s a distinct possibility.”
“Perhaps not,” Mama offered. “If he is a sorcerer, as you say, he could have come at any time, or even been with them, but invisible.”
Matt threw up his hands. “Almost anything is possible, when you’re dealing with magic! Whenever he came over, though, I think he waited his chance, and when the princes went tavern-hopping, he stole Gaheris’ purse while he was, uh, distracted, and waited for the brawl to start. Then he pulled out a doll that already had a lock of Gaheris’ hair on it and stabbed it with a paring knife. Stabbed two or three times, just to make sure.”