Richard Meyers: Murder in Halruaa

Pryce directed his words at her with quiet conviction. “A haunt’s statement is sacrosanct,” he informed her. “As are, I imagine, his actions. So I have no choice but to state categorically that you are, and were, ‘behind’ Darlington Blade metaphorically, physically, and actually quite literally.”

Dearlyn looked at Pryce as if he had suddenly turned into a death knight. “Youyou can’t be serious!”

“I’m sorry, Dearlyn,” he apologized sincerely. “But it had to be you. There is no one else.”

“B-But why?” she cried. “How can it possibly be me?”

“Because,” Pryce said, “you were the only one with the proper magic to accomplish it.”

Had they been frozen in time, there would have been no less movement from the others. Only Dearlyn Ambersong’s face moved. Her mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. Her forehead became a sea of creases. Her eyes wavered and shook, her mind unable to accept the depth of his betrayal.

The sky took that moment to split open with thunder. The sudden sharp crack shook everyone. Karkober even let out a small shriek. Dearlyn may have said, “Do you know what you’ve done?” but Pryce couldn’t be sure.

“Magic?” Lymwich declared. “What magic?”

Pryce didn’t take his eyes off Dearlyn Ambersong. “Don’t you see? It had to be her. The haunt fell on her. She was the only one with no alibi. She was the only one allowed free, unattended travel throughout the city. She is truly the one ‘behind’ Darlington Bladephysically in the workshop, but also during her father’s entire life.”

“She killed her own father?” Matthaunin asked incredulously.

Only then did Pryce take his eyes off her. “No,” he explained. “Gamor Turkal killed Geerling Ambersong. She killed Gamor.”

It was the inquisitrix’s turn to be flabbergasted. “Gamor?” Lymwich exclaimed. “You must be joking!” “Gheevy said you wouldn’t believe it,” Pryce mused philosophically, “but the one positive thing I remember anyone in Lallor saying about Turkal was that he had an incredible memory. I didn’t realize why that stuck in my mind until now. He must have been memorizing everything Geerling had been teaching me.”

“Nonsense!” Lymwich cried.

“Unlikely,” Witterstaet agreed.

Pryce whirled on Hartov. “Asche! You said Gamor contacted you. How did he accomplish that?” “What do you mean?”

“Did he send a messenger, come in person, or what?” “Why, no. He came to me… in a vision!” “Like dust taking form in a shaft of light… his face… talking to you?” “Why, yes.”

Pryce turned back, his arms out. “You see? Magic. He was using unique Ambersong magic. And he had conceived of a way to steal the Ambersong legacy with the help of people he knew back in Merrickarta, which is where he came from. Only Geerling must have found out. But when he confronted Gamor, just before I arrived for a rendezvous, Gamor surprised him. Even with magical knowledge, the only way someone like Turkal could have killed someone like Geerling was through what is known in the lexicon as ‘a lucky shot’”

He turned back to Dearlyn sadly. “But Gamor wasn’t the only one taking advantage of Geerling’s magical studies, was he? You, too, had been soaking up what you felt was rightfully yours, quite possibly following Gamor, your father, or both to eavesdrop on the lessons in magic. So you were there to witness what Gamor had done, and then you gave him a shot of your own.”

“How can you even think that?” Dearlyn cried.

Pryce rolled right on. “But you couldn’t just contact the authorities after you killed your father’s murderernot without revealing your own illegal knowledge. Inquisitrix Lymwich would have been overjoyed to enfeeble you for such an offense.”

Dearlyn flashed a look of anger at the inquisitrix, who stiffened, then stared back at Pryce with pure hatred. ‘You have destroyed me. Don’t you know that?” Dearlyn asked.

“As you destroyed Gamor?” he responded. ‘You had to make it look like a suicide, so you made it appear that Turkal had hanged himself.”

“Blade, really!” a shocked Witterstaet piped in.

“Matthaunin, divide thirty by half and add ten,” Pryce snapped with irritation. ‘Tell me your answer when this is all over!” Covington quickly returned his attention to Dearlyn Ambersong. “You used your ill-gotten magic to lift Gamor’s already dead body, but I’m sure you knotted the rope around his neck yourself!”

“How can you be so sure?” Lymwich growled skeptically.

Pryce looked this way and that, stopping only when he saw Dearlyn’s staff leaning against the first mast. He leapt over and grabbed it. “How many times have you thrust this in my face?” he demanded, shaking it at her. “And each time I knew I had seen something that bothered me… ”

He grabbed the horsehair covering and pulled it back to reveal the garden implements attached to the end by leather thongs. “Gardening tools indeed! This is nothing more than your way to carry a concealed weapon. But that’s not what betrayed you. Each of those tools is tied to the staff by a very interesting knot…the exact same knot that attached the rope around Gamor Turkal’s neck. 1”

Lightning flashed down to strike the central mast, dancing in spider-webbed sparks all the way down to the deck. The thunder that followed a split second later was deafening.

“Captain!” Turzihubbard cried.

“Don’t panic!” Scottpeter called back. “The masts act as lightning rods. The entire craft is grounded. We’ve been through storms like this before. Just a few more minutes and it all should be over.”

The others began to look up at the storm clouds nervously. Pryce quickly pressed his advantage. “You always felt that you came second in your father’s life,” he accused Dearlyn. “You didn’t really want his magical artifacts, which is why you never tried to block our moving of the Ambersong legacy to Mount Talath. No, you wanted your father’s respect and his love. And ultimately you murdered out of love!”

“But what about Fullmer?” Lymwich called over the continuing thunder. “Wasn’t he killed to prevent his robbery of the workshop?”

“Yes,” Pryce answered, “but not because his killer wanted the spells for herself. She killed him to protect her family’s good name. Had Fullmer, Turkal, and Hartov gotten away with their thievery, the name of Ambersong would have been forever besmirched… especially if his stolen magic was ever used against Lallor or Halruaa.”

“But Fullmer wasn’t killed with magic!” Witterstaet said.

“Killed, no,” Pryce explained. “But moved into the workshop, yes!” He turned to explain to Turzihubbard. “Sadly, a locked room mystery is essentially pointless in Lallor… there are too many magicians who can easily accomplish the feat!” He turned back to Dearlyn, pointing her own horsehair staff at her. “You were the only one left besides me with the magical knowledge necessary to circumvent the workshop’s special door. You couldn’t gain entry yourself, but you could magically move a dying body into the room!”

At that moment, the first fat bead of rain slapped into the deck. A rapid-fire barrage of lightning and thunder sent the suspects scurrying. Pryce stood his ground, however, and shouted the rest over the noise of the storm. “Luckily for you, your father’s own haunt overwhelmed any echo of your magic. Even if Witterstaet had perceived its shadow, it’s likely that he would have recognized it only as Ambersong magic, not Dearlyn Ambersong magic!”

At the mention of her name, Dearlyn suddenly grabbed the shank of the staff and tore it from Pryce’s grip. In a split second, she had it whirled around and pointing directly at Covington’s heart.