“I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you, Vangy. Naturally I’d expect the merchants to jump at the chance of ridding us of the dragon at the price of a human sacrifice. I, however, must consider the safety of all my people, even some poor, little adventuress.”
“This Alias claimed to be from Westgate, Your Highness,” Vangerdahast said, already putting her in the past tense.
“Even worse. How would it look to the outside world, foreign traders and travelers, if I simply turned over one of their own just to rid my realm of a dragon?”
“If it please Your Highness, there is something more you should know about this poor, little adventuress. Something to indicate a more sinister nature.”
Azoun tapped his foot impatiently. “Well?”
“Perhaps you should hear it from a firsthand witness,” Vangerdahast suggested, nodding toward the young man who stood in a corner, working hard at steadying his nerves with large snifters of brandy.
“Giogioni!” Azoun snapped. “What do you know about this Alias of Westgate?”
“Me?” Giogioni squeaked, turning toward Azoun.
“You,” the wizard insisted. “It would be best if His Highness heard it in your own words.”
“I suppose so,” Giogioni whispered, though he didn’t suppose so at all.
“Spit it out, boy,” Azoun ordered.
“She was at the wedding, Freffie’s, uh, Lord Frefford’s. She attacked me. Tried to kill me. Would have succeeded, too, if the crowd hadn’t gotten in her way.”
“What was this lady killer doing at the wedding of Lord Frefford and Sage Dimswart’s daughter?” Azoun asked.
“Dimswart said he was doing some research for her because she was under some curse,” Giogioni blurted.
“Dimswart would have to come up with an excuse,” Vangerdahast said.
Azoun wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Why would this woman try to kill you?”
“She thought I was you,” Giogioni answered with a gulp.
“What nonsense. You don’t look anything like me.”
“No, Your Highness,” Giogioni agreed.
“He does, however, do a remarkable impression of Your Highness’s voice,” Vangerdahast explained.
“He does? You do?”
Giogioni nodded weakly.
“Well, let’s hear it,” Azoun said.
Giogioni’s jaw dropped, and his face went pale.
“Come on, boy,” Azoun prompted him.
“If you please, Your Highness,” the Wyvernspur nobleman gulped, “I would rather n—”
“That’s an order!”
Giogioni gulped. “M-m-my Cormytes,” he began. “My people, as your king, as King Azoun, and as King Azoun IV, I must say that the need to raise your taxes is a result of the depravations of-of-of th-this d-dragon.”
“I don’t sound like that,” Azoun said, scowling.
“With respect, Your Highness,” Vangerdahast intervened, “you do.”
“I don’t stutter like that,” Azoun objected.
“No, Your Highness. Lord Giogioni’s stutter is a consequence of the shock he’s had. Ordinarily, his impression of you would be much better. Apparently, he was giving a performance at the wedding when he was attacked.”
“But he still doesn’t look like me.”
“No, but perhaps this Alias woman thought you were in disguise. You have been known to travel incognito. Any good assassin would know that. If she did indeed come from Westgate, there can be little question exactly who sent her.”
“No,” Azoun agreed, remembering the numerous threats made by the Fire Knives when he banished them from his kingdom. Their new headquarters was in Westgate.
There was a knock on the tower room door, and Vangerdahast left to answer it.
Azoun looked at Giogioni, who swayed slightly. Wyvernspur blood must be getting thin for one little dragon to upset him so, the king thought. “Better sit down, boy,” he said kindly. “Not there, that’s my chair,” Azoun corrected him before the young man sank onto His Majesty’s own royal, purple cushion.
Vangerdahast returned to the conference table. In his wake was a portly, balding man in a tavernkeeper’s apron.
“Who’s this?” Azoun asked.
The man bowed his head. “Phocius Green, Your Highness. Owner of the inn and tavern The Hidden Lady.”
Azoun shot a questioning glance over the barkeep’s head to Vangerdahast.
“The woman Alias stayed several evenings in The Hidden Lady,” the wizard explained.
“Oh. You came to tell us about her?” Azoun asked the barkeep.
“Begging Your Majesty’s pardon, but I was summoned.”
“Oh?” Azoun looked surprised.
Vangerdahast explained further. “Since I have been unable to track this Alias woman by magical means, a suspicious circumstance in and of itself, I summoned Goodman Green here. I knew the woman had stayed at his inn, because one of Your Majesty’s citizens reported her last week to the town guard. Apparently, he thought she was a Rashemen witch.”
“Mitcher Trollslayer,” the barkeep muttered.
“What made the man think that?” Azoun asked.
“She was branded with a bizarre tattoo,” the wizard explained. “A member of the Council of Mages went to the inn to register her, but the woman was unconscious, so the councilman let her be.”
“Please, Your Highness,” the barkeep interrupted. “She was no witch, just a sell-sword. She came in with so much iron on her she wouldn’t’ve been able to cast a light even if she were magic.”
“Where is she now?” His Majesty asked.
The barkeep shrugged. “She left nearly a ride ago, Your Highness.”
“When exactly?” Vangerdahast asked.
The barkeep thought for a moment. “The fifteenth, Your Lordship.”
“Eight days. Do you know which way she was heading?” the wizard asked.
The barkeep stiffened. He turned to address his answer to the king. “Please, Your Highness, you aren’t going to tell the dragon where she is, are you? She hasn’t done any harm. She’s just an adventuress with some bad luck.”
“What makes you think she has something to do with the dragon?” Azoun asked.
“Well, she fought it, now didn’t she?” the barkeep said. “Freed Olive Ruskettle, the famous bard. The bard herself told me.”
“That’s right,” Giogioni piped up from his chair. “She told us all about it at the wedding party. Ruskettle told us, that is. Wonderful bard.”
Having confirmed the barkeep’s story, Giogi went back to slurping His Majesty’s brandy and humming snatches of Ruskettle’s wedding song.
“Did you know about that, Vangy?” Azoun asked.
The royal wizard colored slightly. “No, Your Highness.”
Azoun turned to the barkeep. “For the time being we need to know where this Alias is. She may be nothing more than a sell-sword, but she could be something much more dangerous. We must know all about her. Now, which way was she heading?”
The barkeep sighed. “She and the bard and the Turmish mage said something about going to Westgate, then they said something about going to Yulash.”
“Yulash?” Azoun exclaimed. “How bizarre.”
“The two towns are in opposite directions,” the wizard pointed out. “Which way did they decide to go?”
The barkeep thought for a moment again. He remembered the Turmish mage listing all the reasons for going to Westgate. The barkeep was a loyal subject to his king, but he didn’t quite trust the wizard Vangerdahast. To him, Alias would always be the hidden lady and hence, like the name of his inn, good luck. She had looked so miserable the last night she’d stayed at his hostel. The barkeep was not keen on turning her over to the undoubtedly less than tender ministrations of the royal wizard.
“The lady wanted to go to Yulash,” he told Vangerdahast.