"They'd have to have Imphallian operatives, then."
"No," Irrial said slowly. "Not operatives. Co-conspirators. This feels very much like a political maneuver, albeit a bloody one."
And then she and Corvis turned to each other, the understanding that dawned on their features enough to light up the room.
"Yarrick," they both said at once.
"He wasn't just a collaborator," Corvis continued. "He was a part of this-whatever this is."
Even Ellowaine appeared to have gotten sucked into the discussion. "If you're right," she said, "if there is some sort of cross-border conspiracy, it couldn't just be a local Guildsman, no matter how potent. It'd have to go a lot higher."
"So what would the Guilds have to gain," Seilloah mused, "by cooperating with a Cephiran invasion?"
"Not all the Guilds," Corvis interjected. "I'm starting to think that's what some of these murders were about: Silence anyone who knows about what's going on but isn't willing to go along with it."
"And in the process," Ellowaine said, "provide a distraction in the form of the vicious 'Terror of the East.' Actually pretty neat, when you think about it." Then, at their expressions, "I know less about this than you do. I'm just speculating."
"And why," Corvis said, dark, suddenly suspicious, "might that be?"
The chair creaked as she shrugged. "Something to do while you've got me stuck here."
"I don't think so." Fists and jaw clenched as one. "You're stalling."
Seilloah bounded to the window, peering between the uneven boards. "There's a squad of soldiers clearing people off the street!" she hissed.
Ellowaine smiled brightly beneath their withering glares. "Oops," she said.
"I can see the spell," Seilloah whispered, studying their prisoner, "now that I know to look. Someone's been watching us through her, Corvis. They've known we were here since she opened her eyes. Arhylla damn it all, I thought I felt something! I should've made sure…"
Corvis nodded bleakly. "Let's get the hell out of here before they've finished assembling, then."
"We're not just going to leave her, are we?" Irrial demanded. Corvis actually flinched, startled at the bloodlust in the baroness's tone-until it struck him just how she must feel about an Imphallian siding with Rahariem's oppressors.
It was, however, a moot point. Even as he considered Ellowaine, still uncertain as to what he'd do with her, she rose from the chair. Shredded ropes fell from about her chafed wrists, and Corvis saw just a glimpse of a second needle clutched in one fist.
And as clearly as if she'd explained it to him, he understood. Of course. One in each braid.
He lunged, but she was already moving. Blood welled up beneath the ropes that wrapped her calves, but the chair legs snapped as she twisted. With her captors mere inches behind, she hit the boarded window at a dead sprint. Corvis was certain that some of the snapping he heard must have been bone as well as wood, but it didn't stop her. He watched, his lopsided expression settling somewhere between enraged and impressed, as she landed in a shower of splinters, rolled awkwardly across the street, and limped into the nearest alley, dragging a clearly broken leg behind. Just before vanishing into the shadows, she paused long enough to cast an obscene gesture back at the shattered window.
"Can we go after her?" Irrial asked.
"Not unless you want to face the entire Cephiran invasion force on our way out of here. If we leave now," he added with a sickly grin, "we'll probably only have to dodge about half of it."
"Where are we going?" Seilloah asked, leaping into Corvis's arms as he headed for the flimsy stairs.
"For now, anywhere that's not here. After that?" He shrugged, checking his headlong dash just enough to prevent the stairs from collapsing beneath him. "If this conspiracy really does involve some of the Guilds, we'll have to go to them to find out, won't we?"
"Not Mecepheum again!" Irrial protested.
"Unless we come up with a better idea." He hit the ground floor and began to run, hoping they could clear the street, hoping they could reach the horses, and the gate…
Hoping against hope that they could, indeed, come up with a better idea.
Chapter Seventeen
JASSION CROSSED THE ENTRYWAY at a deliberate pace, Talon at the ready. The thick carpeting muffled any incidental sounds he might have made, while the sundry tapestries, drapes, and patterns hanging on every available inch of wall throttled to death any potential echoes. Across the room and perhaps two strides back, Mellorin crept in a low crouch, heavy dagger clutched in her fist, a fearsome anticipation writ large on her face.
And behind them, emitting frustrated sighs like a depressed bellows and making no effort at stealth whatsoever, Kaleb followed.
"I'm telling you," he said, giving Jassion a violent start just as the baron had been reaching for the knob on the room's far door, "he's not here."
Jassion glared, and even Mellorin couldn't help but cast the sorcerer an exasperated look. "Will you be quiet?" the baron hissed.
"I rather doubt it. I haven't so far."
"Kaleb…," Mellorin began, then visibly flinched, wilting at the sorcerer's glare.
They'd been passing through Vorringar when they heard the rumors: muttered tales that Rebaine had targeted the Weavers' Guild of Kevrireun for his latest rampage. Not merely the local Guildmistress, but most of her lieutenants, had been slaughtered in a quartet of vicious attacks-three by axe, one when his entire bedchamber was engulfed in roaring flames. And several times, those rumors claimed, passersby had spotted a towering figure in black-and-bone, lurking nearby immediately after the carnage.
It was-Jassion had been utterly convinced-the break they were waiting for. "People wouldn't just make up stories like this," he'd insisted. "One murder, perhaps, but four?" Even Kaleb's failure to detect Rebaine's presence using Mellorin as a focus for his spell hadn't convinced him otherwise.
"Isn't it possible," the baron had asked, "that he's found a way to block your 'blood divination' even once you've gotten close?"
"With his mastery of magic? I seriously doubt it."
"But it can be done?"
"Anything can be-"
"Then we go."
So they'd gone, traveling several days to the small and slowly dying city of Kevrireun. Missing stones marred the uneven streets; the buildings peeled and sagged like rotting fruit. Carelessly throwing both money and rank around him, Jassion either bribed or cowed witnesses, guards, even government officials into providing every detail of the murders.
Yes, m'lord, Rebaine had been spotted at two of the scenes.
No, sir, he'd never attacked his victims in large groups.
Yes, the victims were all members of the Weavers' Guild.
Most of the remaining Guildsmen were now barricaded in their homes, protected by Kevrireun's ragtag militia. Embran Laphert, now the highest-ranking survivor, had closed down the Guildhouse and told everyone to go home-or into hiding-until further notice.
Despite Kaleb's continual protestations, Jassion had determined that investigating the Guildhouse itself was their next step. "Perhaps," he'd argued, "we can find some hint as to why Rebaine chose these poor fools as his latest targets." Mellorin, though not so quick to dismiss Kaleb's arguments, was sufficiently swept up in her uncle's enthusiasm. Once she'd agreed to go, the sorcerer had grudgingly followed.
Now they stood within the foyer of the Weavers' Guild Hall, one of the few such institutions left in Kevrireun. Jassion once more reached for the door, hurling it open and dashing into the hallway beyond. Kaleb irritably circled the room, examining the various tapestries-Mount Derattus doesn't actually look like that, he noted while passing one particular landscape.