I turned my gaze there, but all that was there was a dirty mark on the marble. I shrugged and enquired what was so interesting, and Salonius’ voice was quiet and a little shaky as he replied. He told me of the language the priests of the northern tribes use; the symbols they carve in their holy rocks; he told me of the symbol before us. What would look like a swirl of dirty marks on the wall to the layman bellowed a word in the secret tongue of the northerners, and that word was ‘Betrayer’.
I began to argue over what could just as easily be coincidence and actual dirt, but two things stopped me: logic and magic. This was one of the most frequented corridors in the palace of the marshal and there would be no dirty mark of that size here. And, in the presence of Cernus, in whom I now had no doubt, what would normally seem irrelevant or coincidental suddenly took on a new light.
Salonius and I walked slowly and thoughtfully, our argument forgotten.
Chapter Eleven
Varro and Salonius were deep in hushed conversation when they arrived in the corridor outside Catilina’s room. Two black-clad guardsmen stood at attention outside. Varro held his hand up to Salonius and their conversation halted for a moment as the captain addressed the guardsmen.
“Varro and Salonius of the Fourth to see the lady and her doctor.”
The man saluted. “Just a moment, sir.”
While the second guard watched the two of them carefully, the first knocked quietly.
“Yes?” Came a testy male voice from within.
The guard announced the two visitors, and Varro distinctly heard Scortius swearing and Catilina berating him for it. After a brief whispered conversation, the lady spoke clearly.
“Send them in!”
The guardsman opened the door and, stepping to one side, saluted smartly. Varro gave him a sloppy, half-hearted salute that he knew would irritate the man and sauntered in with Salonius hard on his heels. Catilina was sitting upright in her bed, fully clothed, as Scortius arranged what was clearly her medicine on the table close by.
“How are you?” the Captain asked with concern.
She smiled lightly and stretched her right arm out behind her. It swung back until it was out to the side, but as it passed straight and moved behind her, she bit her lip and Varro could clearly see the pain it was causing her.
“Oh, I’ll live, Varro. Actually it’s not really that bad.”
Varro glanced across at Scortius, who nodded absently. Without taking his eyes off the medicines before him, he muttered “Young lad did a good job.” Pushing the collection of small parcels towards Catilina, the doctor stood.
“I’ll get out of your way.”
Varro waved his hand.
“Actually, it was you I wanted to see first, Scortius.”
The doctor shook his head.
“Sorry, Varro. I’ve been researching every text I can find, and experimenting with everything I can think of, but I’ve found no solution so far.”
Varro waved this aside, but Scortius went on “Don’t give up, though. Mercurias is here… the Emperor’s chief physician, and he’s helping me research. He’s even brought some eastern works on the subject.”
Varro continued to wave at him.
“That’s not what I need to see you about. I’ve got a fresh damn wound!”
As Varro took a seat and removed his tunic, Scortius walked over to him with a look of interest. Catilina frowned.
“What happened?”
Varro growled and began to peel the fresh dressing from his neck.
“Cristus gets to us, even here.”
“What?” Catilina swung her legs over the side of the bed.
“Petrus.” Varro paused and sighed. “They got Petrus. A Pelasian assassin. Nearly got me too.”
Salonius leaned toward the doctor and said quietly “He’s just had some of your last-resort intense medicine. Thought you’d want to know before you give him anything else.”
Scortius nodded and Salonius returned his attention to Catilina, who was now on her feet, her exquisite face full of concern.
“Not a Pelasian, Varro.”
The captain shook his head and winced at the pain.
“I’m pretty sure he was a Pelasian. Dressed all in black, using a Pelasian weapon, quick and quiet, and gone before I could pin him down.”
Catilina shook her head defiantly.
“I don’t care, Varro, it wasn’t a Pelasian. No Pelasians ever come inside Vengen except as ambassadors.”
Varro grumbled.
“It’s not as secure as you think. Pelasians can get anywhere. It’s what they do!”
“Not here,” she repeated with infuriating calm. “When Prince Ashar signed his treaties with the Emperor, one of the stipulations of freeing the borders was that Pelasian assassins would never violate certain locations, and the fortresses of the marshals are on that list.”
Varro growled.
“I think you’re being a little naive, Catilina. Ouch!”
He glared at Scortius, who merely tutted and turned the patient’s head away again.
Catilina bridled.
“No Pelasian would break that accord. You know how they are about Ashar; he’s more than a God to them.”
Varro frowned. “You’re right, of course.” He turned to Salonius. “I think we’ve got a problem.”
The young man nodded.
“Someone masquerading as a Pelasian to lay the blame with them,” he grumbled.
“Not just that,” Varro growled. “That someone was within the Palace. That means he’s one of our own again. Maybe a Pelasian could sneak in to Vengen. They train all their lives to do things like that. But if it’s not a Pelasian assassin, then it’s realistically got to be someone who was already in the military compound of Vengen. And that makes it ninety per cent sure he’s a soldier! Either Cristus has friends in the First, the Fifth or the Eleventh, or among Sabian’s own men, or…”
Salonius’ face hardened. “Or Sergeant Corda brought traitors from the Fourth with him!”
The two shared a look.
“Betrayer” they said in unison.
Catilina walked a few steps and then crouched in front of Varro.
“We have to go see my father straight away.”
Varro nodded.
“I agree, but just let Scortius finish here first.”
Beside him, the doctor sighed as he cleaned the wound.
Varro, Salonius and Catilina arrived at the office of the marshal just as the great bell in the tower at the edge of the complex tolled eleven times. Salonius had been sceptical that the marshal would be available to see them, but Catilina had assured him that Sabian would still be in his office, deeply involved in his work.
The two guards outside the door moved into a defensive posture as the three figures emerged from the corridor, though as soon as they identified the marshal’s daughter, they stood to attention and saluted.
“I take it my father is in?” Catilina asked, idly drumming the fingers of her left hand on the back of her right hand, which rested in a sling to aid the healing of her shoulder wound.
One of the guards cleared his throat.
“The marshal is unavailable, I’m afraid, ma’am, even to yourself. We have strict instructions for total privacy.”
Catilina glared at him, and the guard shuffled nervously.
“You will announce me this instant or by morning you will find yourself cleaning latrines on a border post. Do you understand me?”
The guard risked a glance at his counterpart, who stared rigidly ahead with an air of relief.
“Erm… The marshal gave orders…”
Catilina smiled a horribly vengeful smile at him and walked across to the door. The guard fumbled with his sword and dithered, unsure of where he stood in these circumstances. The young lady twisted the handle on the door and swept in regally without a further glance at the guards. As Varro and Salonius followed her in, the captain patted the guard on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry. They’ll both have too much on their plate shortly to even think about you.”