Eraina frowned at him.
“You can’t deny how it looks, Eraina,” he said. “We’ve become entangled in something that is no longer our affair.”
“None of our affair? We came seeking a killer, and we found one! The trail is still warm. Llaine Grove died for what he knew about Ashrem d’Cannith’s work. This is obviously the same suspect. Why would we return to Korth now that things are only beginning to make sense?”
“Because nothing makes sense, Eraina!” Galas snapped, gesturing wildly as he turned away from her. “Your desperate need for vengeance is forming patterns where there are none. If you wish to hunt random murderers, we could spend the rest of our lives in Wroat and find our fill of them, but I’ve seen nothing to prove that this is the suspect we seek. Perhaps your friend Jamus discovered the book wasn’t what we wanted, tried to fence it, and died when the deal went bad. Perhaps his partner turned on him. Perhaps d’Cannith killed Roland himself and burned his own house down to cover his tracks. We could speculate forever, Eraina, but it’s all too random. You dealt with a thief, and things went poorly. Roland’s death was regrettable, but it is not our concern.”
“Jamus Roland was not just a thief. He deserves better than to be abandoned by us.”
“Jamus Roland,” Galas said, “was not our client. We owe him nothing. Baron d’Deneith will be upset enough that we became involved with the Canniths without his knowledge. Best that we cut our losses, withdraw before our involvement is detected, and wait for another opportunity for justice.”
“An opportunity which may never come,” Eraina said. “I cannot believe after two years that you would give up so easily. Do you forget your vows so easily, Marshal? Or does your fear that we will fail again cripple you from any decisive action?”
Galas turned to face Eraina again. His mouth opened, then closed with a click. His face grew dark red as his temper began to build.
“Perhaps a compromise is not out of the question,” Killian said, stepping between them.
“What?” Galas demanded, too filled with rage to say anything else.
“You have already determined that this investigation has struck an impasse,” Killian answered. “We are to return to Korth and continue our research into the case. In the meantime, with no other leads, what harm could it do to allow Eraina to investigate her friend’s murder? If, by chance, she should be correct and it somehow bears connection to our investigation, then we can only benefit. If there is no connection, we can at least foster good relations with Wroat for aiding them in resolving what must appear to be a truly baffling crime.”
“A Sentinel Marshal does not take leave to conduct independent investigations,” Galas said.
“Why?” Eraina demanded. “Is justice our cause only so long as there is profit?”
“Guard your tongue, Eraina,” Galas said. “Simply because you bear the Deneith name, do not assume I will not report such insubordination to our superiors.”
“Galas, Eraina, please!” Killian said, holding restraining hands toward them both. “We are friends! Comrades in arms. Such arguments accomplish nothing. Galas, I realize our duties to House Deneith are your primary concern, but recognize Eraina’s position as well. She is a Spear of Boldrei. You cannot possibly expect that she would leave a comrade’s murder to the City Watch when she has it within her power to put things right.”
Galas closed his eyes and did not speak for a long moment. When he regained his composure, he looked at Eraina sternly. “Eraina, I cannot spare the resources to aid you,” he said. “I do not intend to send you into such a dangerous investigation alone. You … are worth too much to us.”
“I am never alone, Galas,” she said, one hand moving to the amulet about her throat.
“Stubborn paladins,” Galas said. He grumbled a chain of curses under his breath. “So be it! I hope you give the Hearth-mother as many headaches as you’ve given me.”
Eraina smiled wryly. “Thank you,” she said.
“Thank Killian,” he answered, climbing into his saddle. Galas looked pointedly away from her, studying the road north intently.
Eraina bowed to Killian. The soft-spoken marshal returned the gesture silently and mounted beside his commanding officer.
“We’ll be expecting regular reports, Eraina,” Galas said, still looking at the road. “Weekly ciphered speaker posts.”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
“Come back to us alive, Eraina,” he said softly, still looking away. “May your goddess take good care of you.”
“And you as well, sir,” she answered.
Galas gave a final sharp salute and rode away. Killian did the same, though he shared an apologetic smile before he left. Eraina watched them go in silence. Then, with a heavy sigh, she returned to the matter at hand. She looked back at the looming airship tower and ran through the facts in her mind.
Jamus Roland was no saint, but he was a man of his word and he knew better than to lie to a paladin. He had promised Eraina that he would help her trap the killer she had been following. He would not betray her. Of Jamus’s partner, Seren, she knew little. It was possible that Seren might have betrayed Jamus and fled with the book.
But why burn Dalan d’Cannith’s home? Why did the Lhazaarite stranger murder three guards and let another escape? It was obviously sloppy and hardly seemed to fit the pattern she and her fellow Marshals had been following thus far. Either Galas was right and this entire messy affair was entirely unrelated to their quarry, or all of this was a distraction. She frowned as she turned over the details. It wasn’t entirely inconceivable that Roland would have invited a potential killer into his tutelage. The old thief had always been a rather spotty judge of character, especially where pretty young girls were concerned.
Such thoughts began to draw back memories, and with memories came undesired emotion. Eraina cast such distractions aside. She needed answers. She stepped into the tower, seeking focus as she searched for clues. She saw little other than dust. The stairs were well-traveled; she counted several sets of footprints beside those of Galas and Killian. The rest of the tower had fallen into disrepair. She moved to the top of the winding spiral staircase, the butt of her short spear thumping the stairs ahead of her. Her right hand rested on the hilt of her sword out of habit, though she was fairly certain the other two Marshals would have left no threats behind. She stepped out onto the bridge atop the tower, wind whipping around her with a low, keening whistle. Eraina extended one hand to steady herself as she looked down at the river. She wobbled on her feet and prayed to Boldrei for strength. Paladins were said to be without fear. For the most part that was true, but heights made her a little nervous.
Eraina stepped out farther onto the bridge. The cargo crane hung at an odd angle, and upon closer inspection she saw that it was long broken. Whoever came here had not been smuggling or taking on supplies, at least not in any great volume. They came specifically for their passengers and left just as quickly. She stepped back toward the safety of the doorway and pondered. Far below, she saw her steed had shied away from the door. The animal tossed its head and shifted weight from foot to foot. Eraina frowned at the horse’s odd behavior. She cocked her head, listening more closely. A faint wooden creak sounded on the stairs below.
Eraina drew her sword and whispered a brief prayer to Boldrei. A sensation of quiet strength issued through her arm and into her spear. She slid her mailed sleeve up over her left forearm, revealing the swirling dragonmark pattern that extended from her wrist to elbow. She concentrated and felt its power flare as well, surrounding her body with a shimmering protective aura that quickly faded from view. Thus strengthened by her goddess and protected by her House, Eraina d’Deneith stepped into the stairwell.