No merchant in Heredon wore so many runes of power. This man was a soldier, an assassin. Iome felt certain.
But mere feelings were not proof. In the South, where blood metal was mined, merchants could purchase the precious metals used to make forcibles more easily, then purchase endowments from the poor.
Though Iome doubted that this man was a merchant, his overabundance of endowments alone could not convict him.
Chemoise stared deep into the prisoner's eyes, then slapped his face, just once.
Afterward, the two young women went to the King's Keep. King Sylvarresta was in the informal audience chamber on the first story. He sat on a bench in the corner, talking softly with Iome's mother, a rather somber Chancellor Rodderman, and a terrified Guildmaster Hollicks.
Fresh rushes had been strewn over the floorboards, mixed with balm and pennyroyal. Three hounds sat before the empty hearth. A cleaning girl was polishing the unused tongs and pokers, Iome's Days immediately crossed the room, went to stand out of the way with the King's Days, and the Queen's.
As Iome entered the hall, her father glanced up expectantly. Sylvarresta was not a vain man. He wore no crown, and his only ring was a signet, which he kept chained to his neck. He preferred to be called “Lord” rather than King. But one could see he was a king when one looked into his gray eyes.
Guildmaster Hollicks, though, was another matter. He wore gaudy clothes—a shirt with false sleeves, parti-colored pants, a vest and half cape with cowl, in a rainbow of complementary colors. He was Master of the Dyers' Guild; his clothes advertised his wares. Beyond this penchant for gaudy attire, Hollicks was not a bad man. He showed uncommonly good sense, and would have been likable, if not for the way his unsightly black nose hairs formed half his mustache.
“Ah,” King Sylvarresta said on seeing Iome, “I'd thought you might be someone else. Have you seen any of the foresters this morning? Were they in the bailey?”
“No, milord,” Iome answered.
The King nodded thoughtfully at this news, then said softly to Chemoise, “My condolences. It is a sad day for us all. Your betrothed was admired—a promising soldier.”
Chemoise nodded, her face suddenly pale again. She curtsied. “Thank you, milord.”
“You won't let this assassin get away with murder, will you?” Iome asked. “You should have killed him by now!”
“You see,” Hollicks blurted in his high voice, “you're all leaping to conclusions. You have no proof that this was anything other than an unfortunate, drunken brawl!”
King Sylvarresta strode to the door to the hall, looked into the courtyard a moment, then closed the door, shutting them all in.
The room suddenly became dark, shadowed, for only two small windows with wooden shutters stood open.
King Sylvarresta strode across the room, head bent in thought. “Despite Your pleas for leniency, Master Hollicks, I know this man is a spy.”
Hollicks feigned an expression of incredulity. “You have proof?” he asked, as if he held serious doubts.
“While you were off entertaining your whining cronies,” King Sylvarresta said, “I had Captain Derrow track the man's scent. One of my far-seers spotted this same man yesterday just after dawn. He'd been on a roof in town, and we feared he'd been counting guards to the Dedicates' Keep. We tried to catch him then, but lost him in the market.
“Now he shows up again today. It is no coincidence. Derrow said the man had not been within a hostel all night. Instead, he followed Dreys from outside the gates by climbing the Outer Wall. He killed Dreys because he was searching for this...” Sylvarresta pulled out a slim tome bound in tan-colored lambskin. “It's a book, a very strange book.”
Hollicks frowned at that news. It was bad enough to have the trader accused of spying. He didn't wish to see any damning evidence mount against the man.
“So,” Hollicks said, “is that your proof? A drunken man is wont to do strange things, you know. Why, my stablemaster, Wallis, climbs our apple trees every time the liquor has him. The fact that Dreys had a book means nothing.”
Lord Sylvarresta shook his head woefully. “No, the book has a note in it, addressed to me, from the Emir of Tuulistan. He is blind, you know. His castle was taken by Raj Ahten, and the Wolf Lord forced the Emir to give an endowment of sight. Yet the Emir wrote the story of his life, and sent it to me.”
“He wrote his own chronicles?” Iome asked, wondering why anyone, much less a blind man, would bother when the Days watched their every move, and wrote the chronicles after their deaths.
“Is there news of battles in it?” Hollicks asked. “Does it describe anything of import?”
“Many battles,” the King said. “The Emir tells how Raj Ahten broke his defenses and took neighboring castles. I've only had time to glance at the book, but it may prove important. Important enough that Raj Ahten's spy felt he needed to kill Dreys to retrieve the book.”
“But—the Southerner's papers are in order!” Hollicks objected. “He has a dozen letters of commends from various merchants in his pouch. He has loans to repay! He is a merchant, I tell you! You still have no proof against him!”
And he has more endowments than any merchant you've ever seen,”
Sylvarresta said, “and they are a warrior's mix in proportion.” Hollicks seemed deflated by this.
Iome s father mused, “You know, twenty years ago, when I went south to court Lady Sylvarresta in Jomateel, I once played chess with Raj Ahten himself.” Sylvarresta glanced at his wife, put a comforting hand on Hollicks' shoulder.
Iome's mother stirred uncomfortably. She did not like being reminded that she was the Wolf Lord's cousin.
“Do you know how he opened?” King Sylvarresta asked.
“King's pawn to king four?” Hollicks guessed, choosing the most common opening.
“No. King's knight to king's wizard three. An unusual opening.”
“Is this significant?” Hollicks asked.
“It is how he played the game. He left his pawns at home, and attacked with his knights, wizards, castles, queen—even brought out his king. Rather than seeking to control the center of the board, he attacked with pieces he felt could seize control even at the far corners.”
King Sylvarresta waited for the merchant to grasp the import of what he was saying, but Hollicks seemed oblivious. The King put it more simply: “That spice merchant in the dungeon—he is one of Raj Ahten's knights. The calluses inside his thumb come from years of sword practice.”
Hollicks considered this. “Surely you don't believe Raj Ahten will come here?”
“Oh, he's coming,” Sylvarresta said. “That's why we've sent a thousand knights, plus squires and archers, to fortify Castle Dreis.” Iome's father failed to mention that seventeen kings of Rofehavan planned to meet in two months, to discuss strategies should Raj Ahten invade. Apparently her father felt it was not the merchant's business.
Iome's mother, Queen Venetta Sylvarresta, could have told some tales to frighten Master Hollicks.
Iome's mother once told Iome how her cousin “Young Ahten,” at the age of eight, had visited her father's keep. Venetta's father had thrown the boy a feast, inviting all the captains of the King's Guard, various counselors, and important merchants to the extravaganza. When the tables were laid out, piled with roast peacocks and puddings and wine, Venetta's father invited young Raj Ahten to speak. The boy then stood, turned and addressed Venetta's father, asking, “Is this feast not in my honor, a gift to me?”
Venetta's father had answered, “Indeed, it is all in your honor.”
The boy then indicated the hundred guests with a sweep of his hand, and said, “If this is my feast, then send these people away. I will not have them eating my dinner.”
Appalled, the guests departed in outrage, leaving the boy with more food than he could consume in a year.