Douglas Niles - Realms of Valor

And the traps and wards might be hidden anywhere in the room. The wall behind the bed was decorated with a bronze mural of barrel-chested fighting men grappling in various death-duels. The metal reverberated with a low, rhythmic thump, not unlike the beating of a human heart. A sunken bath with rapidly churning scented waters lay a few steps away. On the walls, between paintings of startling elegance, weapons of arcane origins were mounted. Any of these might prove to be far more than the trappings of wealth.

Myrmeen frowned, fell back upon the bed, and tried to go back to sleep. She had been burdened by nightmares that were already beginning to fade, and she worried that the effects of the restless night she had endured would plague her the entire day. If she could get an hour or two of proper rest, she might be able to face the day without yawning in some dignitary's face.

The dreams were of her troubled childhood, her disastrous first marriage, and the death of her second, beloved husband, Haverstrom Lhal. She knew that she should be used to the nightmares, but they disturbed her with renewed power each day. She was no longer certain they would ever leave her alone.

A warm, comforting wave eased through her body as she settled upon the bed, her bare back exposed to reveal the network of scars she had gained in her days as an adventurer. Suddenly she felt a hand gripping her shoulder, as hard and cold as bronze. She snapped instantly awake and turned to look at the mural behind her. The warriors were locked in their familiar poses.

Shaking her head, Myrmeen untangled herself from the twisted mass of sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she faced the sunlight, the shards of gold within her dark blue eyes sparkled.

The phoenix sculpture by her bed trembled and delivered another message: "It is time, milady. The delegation has arrived. I, for one, do not envy you. On the other hand, all I have to worry about is getting a good night's sleep. Fare thee well, and enjoy the delegation."

"Another delegation," Myrmeen muttered. "Kill me now." A knock came at the door. "One moment!"

Myrmeen reached to a spot in midair, as if she were pulling apart an invisible set of curtains. A shining rift appeared in the air, and, from that opening, a sparkling black gown leaped over her shoulders, slimming itself about her thin waist, generous breasts, and perfectly proportioned hips. Her headdress followed, along with her gloves, jewelry, and shoes. Another mage had given her this gift-a beautiful dresser that existed half in this plane of existence, half in another. She could also use the dimensional rift to make a hasty retreat from her quarters if the Citadel were overrun by attackers. The amorous sorcerer had assured her that only she could open or close the gate.

"Enter!" she called.

The door opened, and Myrmeen turned to face Evon Stralana, Arabel's minister of defense. The tall, wiry, dark-haired man seemed quite troubled. His already pale skin had gone pure white.

"The delegation," Myrmeen said, smiling. "I'm late."

"It's not that," he said gravely.

Her stance changed suddenly. This was no trivial matter, she sensed. Something was terribly wrong, something that had broken through Stralana's cool, reserved shell.

'Tell me," Myrmeen snapped.

"There's been a murder."

"Who was killed?"

"A merchant. Penn Othmann. I don't believe I've ever seen his name on your appointment schedule."

"No, the name doesn't sound familiar." She waited. There had to be more. Stralana wouldn't have been this concerned over a murder. Arabel was a large city and violent death was not uncommon. "What else?"

"The body was found in the gardens."

Her hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms with enough force to draw blood. "Was the man killed there, or was the body dropped there?"

"He died in the gardens."

Myrmeen felt her skin grow cold. "What about the guards?"

"They were found this morning, ensorcelled but unharmed. They have no memory of what occurred."

"The spells protecting the gardens?"

"Stripped away."

"I want to see."

"Yes," Stralana said. "I thought you might."

The fiery tongue of sunlight darted between the leaves high above the central gardens near the Citadel. Gazebos, rose-entangled archways, and topiary renditions of various gods and demigods surrounded the two figures who stood at the center of the gardens, where Othmann's head had been discovered. Soldiers had been posted to keep out the curious.

"By all the denizens of Hades," Myrmeen whispered as she turned to Stralana. "There are pieces of this man strewn from one end of the garden to the other. Whoever- or whatever-did this obviously hated him with a passion."

"Yes," Stralana said flatly.

As she studied the carnage, Myrmeen began to shake; the gardens had once been a private retreat for her and her husband. "I want to know who did this."

"I understand. Procedures have been followed, but the body resists all forms of divination and spirit magic. His soul has taken flight and cannot be reached."

“Then other means must be applied. Have our hunters gone over the tracks?"

"Of course. They claim the murderer-or murderers- covered any traces they may have left behind. It's impossible to tell how many were here, if they were men or women, if they were even human."

Myrmeen frowned. "He was a merchant you say?"

"Yes. He sold artifacts. Some magical, some not, His shop was near Elhazir's Exotica."

"I've heard several of the cleaning staff talk of Elhazir's. They display the fake jewelry they find there proudly, as if it were the real thing. Elhazir sells copies of my best dresses. She peddles trinkets she claims were blessed by the gods with fearsome power." Myrmeen paused. "Was Othmann in competition with Elhazir? Could this have been a case of professional rivalry?"

Stralana shook his head. "I sincerely doubt it. As with everything else, the magic items Elhazir sells are cheap fakes. Othmann sold genuine objects of power." The minister cleared his throat and added, "On a related matter, several youths came upon the open door to Othmann's shop during the night. They went in, unaware that a series of magical wards had been set in place. Two of the boys were burned, but not fatally. Another was reduced to the mental level of infancy, and still another was transformed into a pale, brittle creature for whom the slightest movement could result in shattered bones and ruptured organs.

"That's how we came to know Othmann was missing. We had been trying to locate him to ascertain the nature of the shop's wards, so that the mages hired by the parents of the children could have the spells countermanded. We also wanted to know why he had left the door open in such an enticing fashion. The boys had been wrong to go inside, but they had practically been invited.

"One of the guardsmen who had been given Othmann's description was also one of the first men to arrive at the gardens this morning. That's how the victim was identified so quickly." Stralana gestured to a guard standing apart from the others. "I've asked the lad to wait until you're done here, in case you wish to speak with him." When Myrmeen shook her head, he shrugged and continued.

"I sent two of our finest sorcerers around to Othmann's shop the moment we had the body identified, along with several of our investigators. Elhazir was upon them very quickly. She was filled with questions, and when she learned that Othmann was dead, she seemed genuinely grieved. The woman told our agents much of what we needed to know-that Othmann specialized in high-priced artifacts, magical and otherwise. His shop was open by appointment only. Elhazir gave him referrals whenever it became obvious that her clients knew what they wanted and would not be tricked by her fast tongue. In return for sending him clients, Othmann gave her a healthy commission."