“They’ll dry,” Skan said, with as much dignity as he could muster, given the undignified circumstances. “Drake is good at this feather-painting business. He used every trick there was to make sure I dry out properly. Don’t you remember how humid it used to get in the summer, when Ma’ar pounded the camp with thunderstorms?”
Aubri shook his head. “I think you’re going about this all wrong. Damned if I know why you want to play the Black Gryphon again. These people already think that you’re a murderer—now you’re dyeing yourself black and flying around at night? Are you trying to give them more reasons to point fingers at you?”
Skan growled under his breath, while he continued to fluff his body-feathers. Were they sticky? He didn’t think so, but until they were dry and he’d had the excess dye rinsed off, he couldn’t preen them to find out. “They’ll be pointing a lot worse than fingers at me if I’m flying around at night as a white gryphon,” he pointed out. “I’ve been shot at once already. If we’re going to help catch the real culprits, I’ve got to find out how they’re getting at their victims. Drake thinks they’re using magic, but I don’t think so, or at least, they’re not using magic all the time. I may not be the greatest mage in the world, but I can tell when someone has used magic and there’s no trace of it.”
“You can tell, when magic is working right, you mean,” Aubri countered. “Not even Snowstar is relying on what used to work anymore.”
Skan just leveled a look of extreme skepticism at him. “I think they’re somehow sneaking onto the Palace grounds, maybe in disguise, lingering for a while to watch several potential victims, then taking the first opportunity they see. Or else they already live in the Palace, and they’re either servants or nobles. I think they’re outsiders, Drake thinks they’re insiders.”
He and Amberdrake had hashed out every possible combination of ideas, and they both had their pet theories. Amberdrake thought the murderers were in the Court and using magic to transport themselves from their own rooms to those of the murder victims and back again. It would be a very nice theory, if anyone could find a trace of magic as powerful as a Gate or Pass-through, and if magic was working at all reliably. Skandranon thought they were disguising themselves as servants and sneaking into the Palace complex, then using perfectly ordinary tricks of thieves to climb into the rooms from the outside.
Which is a nice theory if every guard and every servant is conveniently blind and deaf at the time, is what he says. And I must admit there’s something rather odd about the idea, because why would a thief who’s that good waste his time on something like this? He’d be robbing the Palace bare, then taking the loot off to live in luxury somewhere. Granted, a lot of what he’d take is identifiable, but it’s not that hard to melt down gold.
“I don’t know, old bird,” Aubri said dubiously. “I think you’ve picked prey too heavy to carry.”
Skan only shrugged. “You can think whatever you want,” he replied tartly, “but I’ve made my decisions, and until evidence comes along to make me change my plans, I’m sticking to them.”
“You’d stick to anything with feathers that wet,” Aubri retorted.
“Except you, you filthy buzzard,” Skan snapped back. “You people put me in charge, and that is the way I am going to approach this.”
Judeth chuckled sardonically from the deeper shadows under a low-hanging cascade of flowering vines. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Skan, but you aren’t the one in charge. Amberdrake is.”
The words hit him like a pailful of cold water in the face. He almost dislocated his neck, whipping his head around to stare at her.
“Amberdrake is better at coordinating things than you are. You’re better at anything that requires action. Anyone who knows you both knows that.” Judeth shrugged. “Besides, Amberdrake can keep secrets. When have you ever been able to keep a secret?”
Skan just stared at her, unable to formulate a reply. “And further, when the evidence comes along that shows you’re being a foolhardy old feather-brain, risking your life like this, you’ll ignore it. We know you, Skan. We know what you’re like. That’s the other reason Amberdrake’s in charge.” She examined the leather trim on her black tunic with care, avoiding his eyes. “On the other hand, right now, stupid as it seems to me, he says you know what you’re doing and we might as well let you go ahead with it.”
Skandranon thought about pretending he hadn’t heard her, but that would only prove her point rather than refute it. She’s taking Drake as the leader here? Does Drake know this? How could he not? But he didn’t say anything to me.
He felt as if he’d been caught in an invisible whirlwind, in the middle of a cloudless sky. Why would Amberdrake do this? And why not even mention it to Skan?
Maybe he didn’t think he needed to. Skan had made no secret of the fact that he was tired of being the leader, of making all the decisions. But—it would have been nice if someone had asked him before they arbitrarily decided to give the job to Amberdrake.
“Drake is risking his life as much as I am mine,” he said stoutly, as he tried to rearrange his thoughts to cope with the new situation. No point in making an issue of it here and now, but later—
No, first deal with convincing them that I know what I’m doing. At least Drake is with me on this.
He waved his wings to emphasize his point. “Drake’s the one these people think is the real mastermind, if not the author of most of the murders. He’s in danger from anyone who decides to go back to the old ways of court assassinations. Shalaman told us that much.”
“But he’s staying mewed up in his quarters like a sensible person, not lurking in the gardens at night, trying to catch someone climbing in a window,” Aubri countered.
“That’s because he can’t,” Skan interrupted. “He never was a spy or a fighter, and I was both. And I can beat you, broadwinger, at any game you care to mention.”
Aubri shook his massive head, and clacked his beak at Skandranon. “You won’t catch me in that trap. I’m not in shape, and I’ll admit you are. That still doesn’t make the game you’re playing any saner.”
Skan sighed. He’d done his best to convey the urgency of their situation to the Silvers who’d arrived in the guise of diplomats. He thought he’d convinced Judeth, and she was really the only one he needed to convince, since the others were all her underlings. But Aubri was stubborn—
Aubri is old, said a small voice inside him, noting the weight at the keelbone, the slightly shabby plumage, the care with which the broadwinger moved. He’s older than you are, and he took a lot of damage in the war. Well, you did, too, but you were young when you took it, and the young heal fast and thoroughly. He’s old, and he’s as cautious as any old creature would be. He’s forgotten how intoxicating danger can be, and all he remembers is the pain of failure.
Not that Skan had forgotten the pain of failure—but he wasn’t willing to let his actions be dictated by it. Not when the safety of all the people in White Gryphon depended on it.
To his way of thinking, “token” warfare all too often became real warfare. If Shalaman’s casual description of the restless nature of his young fighters was at all accurate, Skan didn’t think that a “token” effort to displace the settlement would remain that way for long. The first time a Haighlei was hurt or killed in their “token” siege, all the rules would change. Shalaman would be far away, and commanders with a grudge to repay would be on the site.