The blood-stink in the nursery was as bad as it had been in Jamar Rokat's office. Sandry told herself to be grateful that the bodies had been removed, but long splashes and puddles of blood told their own nightmare story. The pool of it in the crib was the hardest to bear.
By the time they were finished, long shadows told her that night was coming on. Sandry was so weary she could hardly see as they left the house for what she devoutly hoped would be the last time.
Wulfric beckoned to Oama and Kwaben, who had spent the afternoon at the barrier, helping to keep out the curious. "Take her home," he told them as they brought the horses. "She's done good service for the realm today." He helped her up behind Kwaben, Oama would lead the horse Sandry was too exhausted to ride. "Don't you worry, Lady Sandry," Wulfric said. "Soon as I extract that blood from the unmagic, we'll be on these murdering animals like red on roses." He grinned fiercely and patted Kwaben's horse on the rump, sending them on their way.
Sandry napped during the ride to Duke's Citadel, but the clatter of metal on stone woke her. They were passing through the tunnel that was the short cut between the Arsenal and the palace. The noise did not end or even, lessen once they rode through the outer curtain wall, which confused her. She looked, around, bleary-eyed. Each of the baileys was ringed with torches, and there seemed to be an incredible traffic of wagons and, people on horseback She expected it to get quieter as they passed, through the protective walls, but instead the noise grew. The innermost courtyard, before the main residence was littered with animals, people, and bag gage. She even, heard babies crying.
"Kwaben?" she asked, peering around the Guardsman's back. "Where did all these people come from?"
He dismounted. When she slid from her seat, she staggered and would have fallen if Kwaben hadn't scooped her up in his arms. "I'm fine, you know," she told him sleepily.
She thought she saw a trace of a smile on his normally expressionless face. "You just can't stand up, my lady."
"What is this?" demanded Erdogun's familiar voice. "Is she ill? Make way, you people!"
Sandry roused. Here came her uncle with the baron. They were frowning. "Its all right, Uncle," Sandry assured the duke. "I've been working magic, and I'm a little tired. Didn't you get my note?"
"I got it,” the duke said grimly. "Bring her inside," he ordered Kwaben. Turning, he bellowed, "Take these people in, now! Their goods may come later, but get them into quarters! Once they're in, put that barricade up!"
Two colonels, one in the uniform of the Dukes Guard, one in the uniform of the Provost's Guard, rode up to the duke and saluted. "We're ready, your grace," the Duke's Guard said.
"Then go to the city and relieve the day watches in the Mire and East District," the duke commanded. "My orders remain the same. I want those districts turned out for anyone who might be these killers. A house-to-house search, understood? Your people are under the authority of the coop commanders in each subdistrict. If we need additional help, send for it. Make sure watches are put on the sewers, in case they try to escape that way. Now go!"
"You see what kind of mischief he gets up to, when you're not here?" Erdogun muttered to Sandry.
She tried to sit up in Kwaben's hold. "Uncle," she said, raising her voice, "this does not look like resting to me."
He came back and laid a hand on her arm. "I will rest once these Rokats are safely housed in the inner keep," he told her. "It's the oldest part of the Citadel, one that's been spelled and respelled for protection for eight hundred years. Once I wake the magics, they will be safe until these murderers are caught."
"Whenever that may be," grumbled the baron.
"Uncle?" Sandry asked. She was afraid of what she would hear, but she had to know. "The—the mans head? Fariji Rokat’s?"
The duke knew exactly what she meant. "Fountain Square," he replied quietly. “It was left on top of the memorial sundial."
The healer examined Alzena's wound carefully, her watery eyes nervous. "Very clean," she said, drawing vials from her bag. "No splinters, any dirt washed out by blood. No sense taking a chance, of course."
She drew the cork from a thin glass vial and tapped a measure of powder first onto the wound in the left side of Alzena's calf, then the right. The powder foamed and hissed as Alzena's head jerked. She bit down hard on the leather strap in her mouth, smothering a scream.
"Well, that will do its work." The healer took a roll of linen from her kit and began to wrap Alzena's calf, keeping a watchful eye on Nurhar. She could not see the mage, hidden by his spells in the corner, but something was making her nervous. "All done," said the healer, tying the bandage off. "Give the medicine five days, then remove the bandage. I'll have my fee now—three gold majas, you promised."
Alzena clenched her hands in the bedclothes. The woman knew they were illegal, and had demanded a price to match it.
Nurhar tapped Alzenas shoulder. "Is it well?" he asked. He could be asking about her leg, though he was not. She gave her head a tiny shake, and tugged the leather moneybag from her pocket. Her sword lay just under the blanket at her side like a promise.
Nurhar upended the bag in the healer's palm and fifteen gold astrels dropped out. "Count it," he advised. "You brought someone as guard?" The healer nodded. "There's a gold astrel in it for the guard if you can help us to Fortunate Wharf."
"Call him up. The man in green with the red cap," said the healer, too intent on the gold in her hand to use common sense.
Nurhar summoned him. The man hesitated at the doorstep, but entered when he saw Alzena facedown on the bed, the healer counting a heap of gold coins, and the gold coin that Nurhar offered him.
Nurhar was fast, nearly as fast as Alzena. The guard was dead in the moment between the closing of the door and his taking the coin. The healer started to turn when she heard him drop. Alzena flung the blanket aside as she rolled, brought out her sword, and beheaded the woman. She felt nothing but mild disgust now they would have to wash the coins.
"Get rid of them," Nurhar told the mage, who came out of the shelter of his spells. "Someplace where they won't be found."
"Salt," whispered the mage. His olive skin was ashen; he trembled. "I need a dose. My head's all woozy."
"Get rid of them"
ordered Nurhar. He went to sit by Alzena as the mage began to chant.
"Boots," whispered Alzena. The pain in her leg was fading. The healer's powder was doing its work. Her groping hand found one boot: she tugged it onto her good leg.
Nurhar reached for the other and dragged it to him. "What's this?" he asked, frowning. A dark stain ran down the leather into the crack where sole met upper. He glanced at Alzena, at her bootless foot. "Not blood?" he whispered. "You bled outside your boot?"
"So?" she demanded.
"So?"
he cried, lurching to his feet. "Have you lost your mind? You left blood somewhere! They'll track us!"
Somehow it hadn't seemed important. It still didn't. "They have to find it first," she said, yanking the boot on.
The air in the room flexed, making her stomach lurch. They looked at the bodies, to find them gone. Only the blood of their victims remained, and the gold. "You have to get us out of here," Nurhar told the mage, sweat gleaming on his forehead. "She left tracks in her own blood for the harriers to find."
"If they find them," Alzena murmured.
"You promised salt," whispered the mage. He turned his gaze on Alzena. When had all the white vanished from his eyes? Now it was like staring into two vast pits. She turned dizzy, as if she might fall, when she met his gaze. Slowly she turned her head away.