Ghassan bowed his head and lowered his eyes.
“How do you account for the unexplained deaths and disappearances within your order?” the prince demanded.
“I cannot, Imperial Highness ... as yet,” Ghassan answered. “But I assure you that I ... we ... will uncover the truth.”
It was a careful half lie. He could account for such deaths—or most of them—and he dared to raise his eyes a little.
The prince still watched him and briefly flipped his right fingers upward without raising that hand.
Ghassan, tall for his people, rose to his feet but remained silent as he waited upon the prince.
“Untrue, great one!” Aweli-Jama suddenly challenged.
The high premin took two steps closer to the dais’s right side and bowed his head to the prince. But his next words were for Ghassan.
“You know more ... a good deal more!”
As head of Cathology in the Suman branch, Aweli-Jama was elderly, though not too much so. He was reminiscent of a lean and wizened “vizier” pulled from ancient folktales that predated unification and the birth of the empire.
Ghassan remained composed, looking only to the prince. “If I may beg a question, my prince, about the emperor?”
Prince Ounyal’am eyed him coldly. “My father is ... tired ... and has left this matter to my discretion. Now, is your high premin correct? What is this I hear of a hidden sect among the metaologers, including you ... Domin? Is it true that all involved but you are dead?”
Ghassan’s composure began to fracture from within, though he kept his expression and posture relaxed and poised. Who else had been speaking to the prince—or worse, the emperor?
Aweli-Jama would never openly admit to a loss of control inside his guild branch. Although the high premin and all of the premin council had had no knowledge of the sect, let alone its purpose, Aweli-Jama was responsible for all in his branch. He would bear much blame for what had happened, whether he had known or not.
Ghassan would not expose the worst—the unknown part of a nightmare his brethren had faced in their end.
An undead, as invisible as a thought, had escaped them and its captivity. It had killed all of his sect but him, or so it was thought. He had been away when this had happened, and now a monster of a past age was loose among the people ... within the people.
Ghassan quietly scanned the chamber and all of those present.
The “specter,” for lack of any better term, could not survive daylight without a living host, but so many days and nights had passed since its escape. Deaths in the night throughout the city attested to its survival, but who among the people was not who he or she appeared to be?
It could be anyone while hiding in flesh during daylight.
It could be in this very highest of chambers throughout the land.
The prince let out a heavy sigh, pulling Ghassan’s attention.
“Your premin has demanded a list of your sect’s members,” the prince went on, “those dead and those who might have fled into hiding, like yourself. Yet you remain silent on this. It is a matter of time before an account of those who cannot be found would comprise such a list. Why do you not shorten the effort?”
Ghassan’s tension grew. The answer was why he would not speak—because not all of his brethren might be dead. Of the bodies he had found and left in their hidden sanctuary, upon returning from tracking Wynn Hygeorht into a lost dwarven seatt ...
One was missing.
“I am waiting for your answer, Domin,” the prince added sharply.
As of yet, Counselor a’Yamin had not spoken, but he listened attentively to every word.
Ghassan tried to calculate a reply to the prince ... even as he called up symbols, signs, and sigils in his mind’s eye and surrounded them with glowing geometric shapes.
The great doors behind him slammed open.
Before he dared to look back, still holding the patterns shaped in his thoughts, he saw the prince’s eyes widen under a brow creasing in annoyance. It was impudent for anyone to interrupt a specially convened audience of judgment.
When Ghassan dared to look, he was at loss for what he saw.
A contingent of city guards flanked by imperial ones marched through the wide main doors flung open. The lead pair, with swords drawn, dragged in two manacled and gagged prisoners, a man and woman. Of the two, it was the woman who had her arms spread wide and chained to a steel bar spreading out from below her shoulders. A steel cage followed, rolled in after them, and contained a snarling silver-gray wolf too large for its kind. And lastly came a young girl with wide, frightened eyes, and, though she was gagged, her hands were tied in front. She was nearly lifted off her feet as the guards holding her upper arms propelled her in.
But the caged animal caught Ghassan’s attention most of all.
Along with its open growls and stiffened hackles, it glowered at everyone in the chamber. What fixated Ghassan most of all were its narrowed eyes. Above its wrinkled jowls and exposed teeth, those eyes sparked like gems ... like pale sapphires.
“What is the meaning of this?” Domin Aweli-Jama demanded. “The imperial prince is in private counsel with the guild!”
The contingent never slowed. From among them, one broad-shouldered man wearing the gold sash of the imperial guard quickly bowed once and hurried up to kneel before the dais. The prince stepped forward, though he barely lowered his head as he listened.
Ghassan was close enough to hear pieces of the guard’s rapid whispers.
“Marauders ... murdered ... one Captain Samara ... his crew of the Bashair.”
Imperial Prince Ounyal’am sighed once through his nose, as if he had been interrupted by something he could not ignore. Giving Ghassan no notice for the moment, he straightened in studying the prisoners, and Ghassan carefully turned his head enough to follow the prince’s gaze.
In addition to the city and imperial guards, there were two Lhoin’na—a man and woman—standing back near the open doors. He had rarely seen any with such bright blond hair. Their attire was unremarkable, but both carried swords that he recognized by their hilts.
They were Shé’ith, guardians of the Lhoin’na’s territory, but they were not at all dressed like such. This pair looked more like wanderers, and their clothing did not appear cut properly for them.
A disgusting man with a protruding belly and greasy hair pushed between them into sight.
Still on one knee, the guard before the prince spun around. “My imperial highness, these two of the Shé’ith have been tracking the offenders since they left Drist, and this captain”—he gestured to the foul-looking man—“assisted them in arranging capture.” The guard spun back, bowing his head. “Forgive the intrusion, I beg you, but since this involved official guardians of another nation, I felt obligated to bring this to your attention.”
The prince said nothing and only lowered his eyes slightly, perhaps in looking at the man and woman tossed to the floor in their bondage.
Ghassan thought he saw the prince’s eyes widen slightly, but before he could turn and follow that gaze ...
“Lock them away,” said Counselor a’Yamin quietly, “and turn them over to my jurisdiction.” His voice was as clear as his eyes.
“The counselor is correct. Lock them away, Imperial One!” Aweli-Jama begged. “They may be more dangerous than mere murderers and marauders. Please.... Lock them away!”
Ghassan disliked his high premin, but he had never seen Aweli-Jama turn so quickly emotional and with such urgency. Did he know something more about these prisoners ... or did he simply wish to turn attention upon a guild branch tainted with conspiracy somewhere else?
“Forgive me, my sovereign.”