Soneste’s stomach clenched. Korth, capital city of Karrnath. A new case. Urgent. Here she was, sitting in Thuranne’s office, probably the only one to hear about this right now. Silently, she wondered if Thuranne had considered anyone else? Maybe Roren-and why not? He was the veteran inquisitive around here.
But more than Thuranne she had chosen Soneste, she was afraid to ask how a crime in a faraway nation concerned Investigative Services, which by Thuranne’s own admission was just one of many agencies in Sharn and hardly the most prestigious. Why not involve House Tharashk itself? A far more powerful entity and one capable of employing magical divination.
Thuranne unrolled the second scroll. Sunlight from the window behind her made the parchment translucent. Soneste could see the seal of the Brelish crown, its authenticity notarized by House Sivis.
“This is a letter from the King’s Citadel, which came to me this morning, asking me to set someone on the Korth murder case. Now I could speculate why they sent this to me, but given the facts, I’d say the crown wants to avoid a messy political situation and they don’t want to involve the dragonmarked houses at all if they don’t have to. There are some members of the Citadel who know me, and they know that I seldom involve my own house.”
“Why not send Roren?” she asked.
“You know why. He’s getting on in years. I need someone younger, stronger.”
“What about Abraxis Wren? He loves going abroad.” Wren was a House Medani inquisitive she’d worked for when she’d first come to Sharn, a few years before joining Thuranne’s agency.
The half-orc rolled her eyes. “The Citadel came to me, not Wren or House Medani, and they asked for you, Soneste. You’ve really made a name for yourself now.” A ghost of a smile lit Thuranne’s face. “They know you’re not afraid to take on the political or the powerful.”
Soneste nodded, not amused, allowing the gravity of the half-orc’s words to settle in. “What do we know?” she said, resigned, but she already knew where this was going.
Things had finally begun to happen for her. Good things. Soneste had gone from the agency’s most promising inquisitive to its best, seemingly overnight. She’d earned this new case, of course, but going to grim Karrnath even if she left right that moment would take up valuable time, time that meant the difference between solving the case and failing miserably. Even a one-way trip by lightning rail would take days.
“Do you know the name ir’Daresh?” Thuranne asked.
Soneste didn’t, but the prefix “ir” always indicated a family of noble blood. She shook her head.
“Gamnon ir’Daresh is-was-a Brelish ambassador. He was killed on Karrnathi soil in the very shadow of Crownhome. Hence the political posture. Of course, Breland has many ambassadors and things happen from time to time. Gamnon wasn’t so important that we risk the attention of King Boranel just yet. But he wasn’t so minor that the murder is inconsequential. The motive is key here.”
“So all we need to do is determine who the killer is and why he did it? That’s it?”
“Yes. That’s it,” Thuranne said, a smile returning in full and bringing her orcish features to the fore. “We need to know how deep this goes. If you perceive the case to be a larger threat against Breland, then you send word back to me. The Dark Lanterns may get involved at that point, but if it’s just some local lunatic, identify him and let the Karrns apprehend him. He will most likely face Karrnathi … punishment. That will be decided between the Justice Ministry of Korth and the King’s Citadel.”
Even as Thuranne spoke, Soneste imagined a Brelish nobleman lying dead in a cold alley with fresh blood pooling between the cobbles, a dagger twisted into his gut by a passing assassin. Almost immediately, red and black-robed clerics flocked like vultures around the body in the imagined scene.
“Wait,” Soneste said. “This is Karrnath, we’re speaking of. Can’t their priests just … talk to the ambassador? Or what’s left of him?
Thuranne sucked her teeth. “Not with his head missing.”
“I … see,” said Soneste. “It’s that kind of case.”
“Even if it weren’t, you’d be smart to avoid that sort of magic in Karrn,” Thuranne said. “The Blood of Vol doesn’t rule the kingdom, but they’ve got their followers in a good number of places. Like as not, it would be a Cult priest doing the speaking. You don’t want to mix yourself up with them if you can help it.”
The Blood of Vol-a cult of nefarious reputation and the former national religion of Karrnath until King Kaius severed all political ties with the Cult. The king had never been able to dissolve all connections with the Cult of Vol, but it still thrived more in Karrnath than anywhere on Eberron. The Cultists placed far too much value on blood, bloodlines, and allegedly even revered the undead.
Soneste straightening in her chair. “All right. What else do we know?”
“Very little. Only a few details were provided in the letter. The Civic Minister, Hyran ir’Tennet, will provide you the rest. He did say that there is already one suspect, spotted at the scene.”
“I don’t suppose that would be Gamnon’s wife? A bit of revenge for some past indiscretion?” Soneste wondered if it could be that simple, a crime of passion. These were the easiest to reveal.
“No,” Thuranne answered. “As the murderer also killed Gamnon’s wife, their two children, four servants, and three city guards.”
Two children. Soneste felt cold. This was a slaughter, no simple murder. Her imagined crime scene relocated from a slum alley to a private room in some luxurious restaurant. If a professional killer was responsible, then he may have been hired by someone else. Assassins always complicated a case. Nothing was finished until you found the patron.
“And … their heads too?” Soneste asked, afraid to imagine it.
“No. Only Gamnon’s.”
Soneste sighed with relief. “Then a cleric needn’t speak to Gamnon himself. His family, the servants-any of them might be able to say what happened. We could bring a cleric of the Host and stay out of the Cult’s way.”
Thuranne shook her head. “It’s not that simple. The ir’Daresh family were respectable followers of the Silver Flame, and Maril ir’Daresh’s family has already forbidden any necromancy to be performed on her body, her children’s, or the servants-though the Host only knows how far they’ll get with that claim. You might be able to work around the family, but it would take too long.” Thuranne’s face softened. “Besides, put yourself in their place. Would you let Karrns raise a loved one’s corpse to get answers Sharn’s brightest young inquisitive could work out on her own?”
The question brought Soneste’s mother to mind. She pictured her staring out their third story apartment window in Starilaskur, still waiting for her father to return home from the war. Of course, he never would.
“Point taken,” Soneste said, wondering idly if the killer had targeted the ambassador’s family for this very convenience. “Where did the massacre take place?” she asked. Even as she spoke, Soneste felt an unmitigated loathing for the killer. She didn’t care if the children were Brelish or Karrns. No one had the right to harm a child-especially now, in a time of struggling peace. The haunted face of Shauranna Rokesko came to mind. The young aide had spent a week in her captor’s deranged presence before Soneste had led agents of the Watch to their hideout in the Cogs.
“The ambassador’s chambers in a tower known as the Ebonspire, a sort of hostel for prestigious visitors of the city.”
“Ebonspire. Sounds like a fun place.”
“Thank you, Soneste, for taking this. It might be easier than you think.”
Soneste nodded. “I’d better be on my way then. Do you know when the next run leaves?”
Thuranne made a curious face. “Well, the good news is you won’t have to take the lightning rail. The bad news is to you need to be there today.”