Roland Green: Knights of the Crown

Silgor and the sell-sword were transparently playing the game of one angry, one mild, and less well than some watchmen Pirvan had encountered. He chose not to laugh.

“You do not need to take half the night explaining, Silgor. We do not have that much time, whether I go with you or not.”

“Turn, fugitive,” the second man growled, “and you won’t see sunrise.”

“Who will arrange that?” Pirvan said. “You? And which ten knights will help you?”

The sword started out again. Silgor did not try to restrain the man. Pirvan took two steps backward, made sure that he had his back to a solid wall, then did laugh.

“Silgor, I learned the angry-mild game at my mother’s knee, or as close to it as matters for now. If you think you’ll do anything but waste time by playing it, you’re not the man you were only a month ago. That would be a sad blow to the thieves, enough to make me think of retiring.”

Silgor had the grace to smile. His head jerked at the swordsman, and the blade vanished again. The other two men looked outright relieved.

“Very well. I will ask you a question. Will you answer truthfully?”

“Is the answer under bond, oath, and spell of silence?”

“Will the first two be enough?”

“From you, Silgor, I suppose so.”

“Flattery also can waste time, my friend.” Silgor took a breath. “Did you, two days ago, perform night work at the Encuintras estate? And was the fruit of your work-?”

“That’s two questions, Silgor.”

“Stop quibbling, Pirvan.” Another deep breath. “Did you perform the night work of which I just spoke?”

“Yes.”

“It was not work well done. Do you-oh, forgive me. One question only. But-now will you come with us?”

Pirvan nodded. He doubted that anything much would come of it, but he doubted (and regretted) more that his meeting with Reida seemed unlikely to come about.

* * * * *

Haimya was so long silent after Lady Eskaia had finished her narrative that the merchant princess felt an urge to shout in her guard’s face or shake her.

She resisted both. Neither would cause Haimya to alter her judgment of what Eskaia had done. Either risked a quarrel. A quarrel with her most trusted-nay, very nearly only-friend at this, of all times, would be folly.

If the truth about the stolen jewels ever came to her father’s ears, he might be angry. If he heard of her quarreling with Haimya, he would be furious. Disinheriting her as a witling not to be trusted with her share of her inheritance was not beyond probability.

Haimya at last picked up the wine jug and filled both their cups, then emptied hers with the stiff wrist and busy throat of one who badly needs a drink. The silence returned for a moment, then Haimya frowned.

“Is Tarothin a mage, foresworn to the towers?” Haimya asked.

“He is neutral,” Eskaia replied.

“He says he is neutral,” Haimya corrected. “That’s a claim anyone can make, at least to those unable to test it.”

“I have had some of the cleric’s training. Or have you forgotten that?”

“Not in the least. But consider that one trained in high sorcery can conceal much from even a full cleric with many years of training.”

“Very well,” Eskaia said briskly. “Supposing that he cannot be completely trusted, what do you suggest? A messenger, telling him to do nothing until they have had a chance to reply to my request for the thief’s name?”

“Better yet, tell him to do nothing until you explicitly command him to do so.”

“He will not care for such a sign of distrust, I fear.”

“If his vanity is that swollen, perhaps you need to dismiss him completely and find another to do the work.”

“Haimya, what are the odds of finding another wizard willing, able, and trustworthy? Especially after word spreads of the fate of the first one?”

Haimya was silent. Eskaia decided to press whatever advantage she had.

“For that kind of message, perhaps you should be the messenger yourself. You have more authority. Also, the fewer who know of Tarothin’s existence, the better.”

Haimya smiled. “Go on like this, my lady, and you will be a finished intriguer before you are wed.”

Eskaia was not sure that was entirely a compliment. But she would let it pass, since the danger of a quarrel with Haimya was gone.

* * * * *

The witnesses to Pirvan’s description of his night work at the Encuintras estate were Silgor and three others. Pirvan knew two of these: Cresponis, a retired pirate, and Yanitzia, one of the few women to rise high enough for such duties. The last man was a stranger to Pirvan, clearly near eighty, and with the piercing eyes of a very senior cleric of good. He almost certainly was no such thing, but his presence here made a gut-twisting occasion no easier.

Pirvan at least managed to tell his story without his voice shaking, and if his knees were shaking, his listeners had the decency not to mention it. He wished their decency had extended to at least a “Thank you” when he was done. Instead came a silence that soon had the consistency and palatability of congealed goose fat.

It was Yanitzia who broke it. “You had absolutely no knowledge of the importance of the jewels when you chose to remove some of them?” she asked.

“I have said it was work of opportunity,” Pirvan replied. “Isn’t that saying the same thing?”

“Perhaps I should make my question clearer,” the woman said, then looked at the ceiling.

Don’t take all night about it, was Pirvan’s thought.

At last the woman looked down. “You had no idea these jewels were part of Lady Eskaia’s dowry?”

“No, although if I had known, I might still have taken them. Encuintras can certainly afford more than a pocketful of jewels to dower their daughter.”

“What did you think they were?” Silgor asked. A yawn garbled his question. Pirvan smiled thinly. Silgor might not agree with him, but at least he agreed with the idea of ending this matter before they fell asleep.

“I thought it might be gifts from friends or even lovers. Or perhaps she was saving them, to pay for her flight from a betrothal she rejected or a husband who mistreated her. Need I say that such is not unknown?”

Whatever answer might have come, Pirvan never learned. The earthquake came first.

At least it felt like an earthquake while it lasted There was only time enough for Pirvan to take a deep breath and leap for the nearest archway. From what he had learned in his travels, that was the safest place when the earth shook, if one could not reach the outdoors.

Silgor and his friends had not blindfolded Pirvan, so the thief had, as a matter of habit, memorized his route from the alley to the cellar door where he’d gone underground, then the twisting tunnels and corridors leading to this chamber. They were a long way from daylight.

Then the swaying of the walls and the thud of falling timber and stone ended as abruptly as they had begun. Pirvan pulled his neckcloth up over his mouth to keep out the dust, and realized that this had been a most peculiar earthquake. The walls had swayed, but he could recall no movement in the ground under him.

There would be time enough later (if there was a later) to consider such mysteries of nature. Right now he was hearing through the dust and the odd rattle and crash sounds that his honor obliged him to answer. Voices were crying out not far off, men and at least one woman in fear or pain.

“We had best put this aside until we have rescued our friends,” he said. He had to inhale after these words, and that brought on a coughing fit.

Yanitzia was coughing, too, but managed to squeeze out the words, “What friends?”