“Take your companion!” Jaymes snapped, gesturing with his head toward the man with the wounded arm. “Leave here-now! I intend to have a private conference with your duke.”
“No-don’t leave me with him!” cried Thelgaard, aghast.
Unable to challenge Giantsmiter, the two officers, averting their eyes from their pleading lord, helped their wounded comrade to his feet, and bore him to the great doors. Jaymes followed, pushing them out then latching the door tightly again.
The warrior closed in on the duke, who stumbled backward until he was almost crouching in the fireplace. “Please-don’t kill me!” he begged, dropping to his knees.
The warrior squeezed the hilt of the sword, waiting until the flames died away. “I could kill you,” he said calmly. “Just like that.” He brought the blade down upon a nearby bench, splintering the heavy oak planks. Kicking the shards of wood aside he stood over the blubbering Thelgaard.
“I know!” cried the duke. “Please-don’t!”
“I’ll spare you if you tell me the truth,” Jaymes said, his voice low and level.
“I will-ask me anything!”
“Where are the green diamonds and the Compact of Freedom?” the warrior demanded, holding the tip of his mighty weapon close to the huge duke. “Where did you hide them?”
The look of utter confusion on Thelgaard’s face was almost convincing. Tears welled in his eyes, and he shook his head wildly. “I know of no such diamonds!” he gasped, his voice a craven whisper. “I haven’t seen the Compact since I signed it-two years ago! Please-I swear, I am telling you the truth!”
The warrior smashed the sword again into the stout table, hacking off the end of it. “Your wife, the duchess, just passed away mysteriously, didn’t she?” he said coldly, taking a step closer.
Thelgaard, for a moment, seemed to recover his composure. He stopped his wailing and looked at the Assassin with an expression of genuine grief. “I loved my dear wife, as is well known,” the duke said. “She perished in her sleep last night-Joli was merciful to spare her the sight of her city’s fall.”
“I don’t care about your city. I care about those green diamonds and that Compact. And about the men who took them when they killed Lord Lorimar. The men you sent to kill him,” Jaymes said.
“No! That’s a lie!” blubbered the huge duke.
Jaymes lifted Giantsmiter threateningly. “Tell me what you did with the stones and why you ordered Lorimar killed!”
“I don’t know anything about green diamonds-I’ve never seen them. And I don’t know why Lorimar was murdered! By Joli, I thought you killed him! That’s the truth!”
“Liar!” spat the swordsman. “Tell me! Those were your men who killed Lorimar, weren’t they? Did you send the badgeless knights to Lord Lorimar’s house, to steal the document, and the gemstones?”
“No!” cried Thelgaard. “I swear it upon a thousand gods!”
“The truth!” snarled Jaymes, bringing the blade down on the floor, shattering the flagstones in front of the cringing, kneeling duke.
That sudden violence seemed to help Thelgaard recover some of his composure. Still on his knees, he drew his bulky body upward and glared at Jaymes. His expression was calm, even peaceful.
“I swear upon upon the tomb of my wife that it wasn’t me.”
Jaymes was taken back. He had expected the man to lie, was fully prepared to kill him, but all his instincts told him that the terrified lord was telling the truth.
With a sudden retch, the duke toppled forward, vomiting violently, gasping and spewing until he was a sweating, shivering mess.
Jaymes turned and left him like that, a broken lord, kneeling in his own spew.
Lady Selinda found life in Palanthas as boring as ever. She spent a lot of time on the upper parapets of her father’s great palace, gazing at the mountains, the bay, the sky, and the clouds. Almost with fondness she thought of the desolate plains, the long ride that had brought her back home. No longer did she fear sea voyages-indeed, the notion of salt air and an ocean wind struck a romantic chord in her breast, as never it had done before.
Her father was more irascible than ever. His fury at the escape of the Assassin had remained at a fever pitch, and neither Captain Powell nor the regent’s daughter had been inclined to seek his company. Even his treasure room didn’t seem to soothe him. He ordered shades pulled over all the great glass windows, so the Golden Spire no longer gleamed over Palanthas. He was far too unpleasant about the whole topic for his daughter even to think about asking him why he rarely visited that once favorite refuge.
In her heart, she blamed the escape of Jaymes Markham for casting a vile spell on her father and the whole castle, and she knew that she had only herself to blame for that episode.
It was early in the evening, and Selinda was looking forward unenthusiastically to dining alone, when she was startled by a knock on the door of her private chambers.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“The one called the White Witch,” came the answer.
“Coryn!” Selinda threw open the door and embraced the enchantress, then quickly pulled her into the room and closed the door. “I have been hoping you would turn up sooner or later-though my father tells me you have been terribly busy this summer.”
“So, I understand, have you,” said the black-haired wizard, looking at her.
“Oh, Coryn-you know everything! So you know I captured the Assassin, and we were bringing him here, but he escaped.”
“Yes, I know you’ve met him. I have too.” Coryn looked closely at the princess. “Do you really think he killed Dara and her father?”
“He’s certainly capable of murder,” Selinda said, a little defensively. “He killed a brave knight of my escort, Sir Dupuy. Dragged him right over the edge of a cliff.”
“Well, then you would be interested to know they claim he has struck again. Another murder.”
“The Assassin has murdered someone else?” The princess felt a twinge of confusion and dismay. “Whom did he kill?”
Coryn shrugged, strangely noncommittal. “I didn’t say he murdered someone. I said, people claim that he did.”
“Who is claiming?” Selinda pressed? “Who was killed?”
“The Duchess Martha of Caergoth. Duke Crawford claims that the Assassin, identified by his burning sword Giantsmiter, came into his chambers and struck down his wife in her bed.”
“Lady Martha!” Selinda gasped. “But she was… harmless!” Only after a moment did she shake her head. “Wait, that doesn’t sound like him, not at all. He’s a dangerous killer, but why would he kill the wife of Duke Crawford? Was the duke hurt, also?”
“Strangely enough, no,” answered the mage. “He was present and witnessed the killing, but the Assassin did him no harm.”
“That makes no sense,” Selinda said.
“No, it doesn’t,” Coryn agreed. “But that’s what they are claiming. They’re tearing about Caergoth in a frenzy, looking for him.”
“It seems a bizarre mystery,” the princess admitted. “Why would the Assassin kill harmless Martha?”
“Why, indeed,” Coryn said, turning to leave. “I wanted to warn you. Be careful.”
“You too. Good bye,” said the noblewoman.
It was only an hour after the white wizard had gone, that Selinda found Captain Powell at the waterfront. The Palanthian flagship, Pride of Paladine, was tied to the wharf and was being provisioned and made ready to sail. She told the veteran knight what Coryn had told her.
“The duchess? Killed in her bed, in the palace?” Powell said, frowning.
“The duke was there, but unhurt.”
“It seems… it seems very unlikely indeed, my lady,” the captain observed cautiously.
“I think so also. Too strange.” In that instant, Selinda made up her mind. “Captain. I have a mind to return to Caergoth. Leaving as soon as possible and going by ship. Will you accompany me?”
“My lady princess, I would be delighted.”