Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

Diani pondered that for a moment, one long, slender finger tapping on the arm of her throne.

“Eradication is such a strong word, cousin,” she said, her tone carefully neutral. “And even if it did apply to the victims, it can hardly be true of the shifters-the Church has not sought their extermination since the Purge.”

“Not officially,” Zoden said, but knew he was losing her. Her next words only confirmed that suspicion.

“In any case, what would you have me do, cousin? Maellas is the Bishop of Aruldusk, and I am only its queen. I have no authority to gainsay him, even were I inclined to do so.”

“To Dolurrh with Maellas!” Zoden raged, rising from his chair. He saw Otherro’s face blanch at the insult, and heard the paladin’s sword clear its scabbard, but he didn’t care. He’d exhausted his own limited resources in Aruldusk, nearly earning himself a cell next to the shifter accused of killing Zodal for his trouble. Diani and her connections were his last hope.

“My brother is dead! Murdered right in front of me! His blood is still on my cloak!” He tore the scarlet fabric from his shoulders and flung it to the ground. “He’s dead, and no one is doing anything to find his real killer, and it should have been me!”

As he spoke the words he’d been holding back since he’d woken in Zodal’s room the morning after the murder, head pounding, his clothes and his brother’s bed splattered with blood and vomit, he realized the truth. Zodal had never been the target-quiet, serious Zodal who looked exactly like him but was his opposite in almost every way. Zodal, who never had a bad word to say about anyone and would never criticize even the most deserving person, let alone the most powerful man in the entire city. The murderer hadn’t been after Zodal. The killer had been after him .

And he had run away like some craven kobold out of one of his own overwritten ballads, leaving his brother to the fate that should have been his .

“It should have been me,” he repeated and discovered to his horror that he was crying.

Diani was standing now, too, one hand on Otherro’s arm, keeping the paladin from skewering Zoden where he stood.

“I’m sorry, Zoden,” she said sadly, unshed tears sparkling in her own eyes. “I truly am.”

She turned to Dzarro.

“I think it would be best if you escorted my cousin back to his rooms and helped him gather his things.”

The dwarf’s eye narrowed almost imperceptibly, and then he nodded. Shouldering his axe, he bent down to retrieve Zoden’s cloak and hat, then led the weeping bard from the hall. Behind them, Diani sank back into her throne and finished the rest of her wine in one long draught.

Dzarro said nothing until they reached the small suite of rooms Zoden had been given during his all-too-brief stay. Once there, he paused and looked both ways to make sure the corridor was empty before opening the door and shoving Zoden through it. Stepping in after him, Silvervein closed and barred the door, then listened intently for a few moments. Apparently satisfied with what he heard-or didn’t-the dwarf turned to Zoden.

“You can stop the waterworks now, boy. Show’s over.”

“Wha … what?” Zoden asked, bewildered.

The dwarf walked over and dumped Zoden’s cloak and hat on a chair before pouring himself a glass of wine from a decanter perched on an ornate side table. He drained the glass in one quick gulp, then let out a deep sigh of satisfaction.

“Ah, that’s better. I thought my tongue was going to shrivel up and fall out of my mouth, watching you and Her Majesty slamming back the good stuff like a couple of fresh recruits.”

“What?” Zoden asked again. He was thoroughly confused now, as much by the dwarf’s words as by his sudden change of demeanor.

Dzarro grunted. “I said you could drop the act, boy. Ain’t none of Otherro’s lackeys here to see it.”

“Otherro?” Zoden repeated, but he thought he was beginning to understand.

“Onatar’s Holy Hammer!” the dwarf swore, exasperated. “She said you were an actor, not a fool!”

She?

Diani .

“That whole meeting was … staged?”

But for whose benefit? Otherro’s?

No.

The Church’s.

Otherro was a paladin of the Silver Flame, and loyal to the Council of Cardinals. Whatever his personal feelings for Diani, he would have to report what he’d heard in her chambers today.

So why have Otherro there at all? Surely he didn’t attend every private audience the Queen gave?

Suddenly it all clicked into place.

The paladin had to be there, precisely so he could give a report to the Cardinals. A report stating the Diani had refused aid to the Arulduskan Throneholders, and effectively clearing her of any involvement in their activities.

Plausible deniability.

Brilliant.

And, more importantly, it meant that she intended to help him, after all.

Dzarro gave him a sardonic grin. “There. I knew no relative of my lady’s could be that dim, no matter how distant the connection.

“Now, listen. I can’t spend too long here or Otherro might begin to wonder. He’s a good man, and I like him well enough, but he hasn’t figured out where his heart is yet, and until he does, we can’t risk rousing his curiosity. So. The Queen can’t give you any overt help-you know that-but rest assured that she shares your concerns and will be looking into the situation. However, she has asked me to recommend an inquisitive who might be able to help you uncover the truth behind your brother’s murder. And if, in so doing, you should happen to learn anything about the Bishop or the Church that Her Majesty might be able to use to her advantage … well, I’m certain she’d be grateful. Very grateful. And a queen’s gratitude might do wonders for improving the lot of the ir’Marktaros family, might it not?”

At Zoden’s mute nod, the dwarf’s grin grew wide enough that his lone eye was almost lost in the cavern between cheek and brow.

“Excellent. I’ve taken the liberty of contacting an old associate of mine who operates out of Sigilstar. Be on the next rail south-there will be a ticket waiting for you-and go straight to his office. He’ll be expecting you.”

With that, the dwarf handed over a small placard. Then he clapped Zoden on the back.

“Olladra’s luck, boy.”

As Dzarro Silvervein let himself out of the room, Zoden turned the card over and read aloud the words printed on the other side.

“Greddark d’Kundarak, Security Specialist, Artificer, and Master Inquisitive. Court of Leaves, Sigilstar.”

As the words echoed through the small sitting room, Zoden began to wonder just what he was getting himself into.

Mol, Therendor 16, 998 YK

As the creature reared back, Irulan rocked forward on the balls of her feet, ready to dodge to either side when its head descended. But the charge never came. Instead, the six-legged monstrosity opened its mouth wide, revealing rows of wicked-looking teeth, and an explosion of pure sound erupted from its throat like a divine roar. Irulan had only an instant to react, throwing herself to one side in an effort to avoid the blast.

By the Flame! Not only did the thing look like some crazy magebred cross between a dragon and a hound, it actually was , combining the most dangerous features of both-the breath weapon of a great wyrm with a dog’s unflagging tenacity.

She rolled away, but not fast enough. The wave hit the side of her head, and a sudden stabbing pain shot through her ear. Irulan fell to her knees, her heartbeat thundering inside her skull. She clutched at her head, and her left hand came away slick with blood.