Barb Hendee - In Shade and Shadow

Wynn was suddenly hesitant, especially when he looked down at her.

Domin il'Sänke's dark brown eyes held none of their habitual sly humor. They were hard and frightening. But she reached out and grasped the polished staff.

"Yes… I've been ready all along."

The following afternoon, Rodian barely listened as Garrogh went over the latest barracks issues to address among their own contingent. "And some of the men are complaining about the new cook," Garrogh went on. "Lúcan says she drinks. Should I look into it or just have her replaced?"

Rodian glanced up from his desk. After a nearly sleepless night, he hadn't heard most of what Garrogh was saying. He'd spent the day trying to occupy himself while waiting for the appointed royal physician to determine Miriam's official cause of death.

As for the other dead sage found in the alley, a journeyor named Dâgmund, the cause was obvious—head trauma. The young man was barely recognizable, his face caved in by a hunk of brick wall.

Rodian hoped this Suman physician might tell him something of use, at least more than the city ward's healer had concerning Jeremy and Elias. He still remembered the instant that tall black figure had broken a brick wall with only its cloth-wrapped hand. Who—or what—had killed those young sages? And he couldn't stop thinking about the last of the trio, the one named Nikolas Columsarn.

Any living witness was worth more than the word of a dozen Suman physicians, royally appointed or not. But it was too soon to know whether Nikolas would recover enough to answer questions.

"Should we stop for today?" No aGarrogh asked, dropping the stack of reports on the desk.

Rodian looked up. Two whitish stains stood out on the lieutenant's tunic from last night's seafood stew. He was suddenly disgusted with his second—with the entire lot of sages—but most of all, with the interference of Duchess Reine.

Garrogh must've mistaken his expression for frustration and leaned forward. "They say this Suman knows more about poisons than anyone."

Rodian glared at him. "And who are 'they'?"

His second in command shrugged, clearly having achieved the wrong effect. "A couple of the royal guards… just what I've heard."

"You've been talking to the Weardas?"

"A few asked about our progress," Garrogh said. "I wouldn't make much of it. With sages being murdered in alleys, the whole city is starting to talk."

Rodian sighed. Rumors were like a disease upon wisdom. And he would look like a fool for his failure. But if this physician was indeed an expert on toxins, why was he employed by the royal family? The Âreskynna had little to fear of being poisoned. They were beloved by all, with a few exceptions in their ancestry. Perhaps this foreigner had other skills they valued, like that strange and silent elf the duchess kept in her company.

A knock came at the door, and both Rodian and Garrogh sat upright, exchanging expectant glances.

"Come," Rodian called.

Guardsman Lúcan stuck his head in the door. "Captain, are you free? That Suman physician is asking for you."

Rodian ducked around his desk before Garrogh made it off his stool.

"Get a journal," he told his second, "and take notes."

He didn't wish to be distracted by doing so himself. An instant later they were out the door and hurrying down the twisting passageways toward the kitchens. The bodies had been temporarily stored in the cold cellar.

Rodian walked as quickly as he could without appearing anxious, slowing only as he passed through the large kitchens to the scullery beyond. Pulling open the heavy door to the cellar, he was down the stairs, boots clomping on the stone floor, before Garrogh even closed the upper entrance.

The physician stood with his back turned, leaning over a short chopping-block table.

Rodian had met him earlier that morning, but they'd exchanged few words. The man was slender, with dusky skin, dark hair, and a neatly trimmed goatee. He wore clean muslin robes of a sandy color, and a cloth wrap was held about his head by a twined braid of amber cord. He didn't look old enough to be an expert on anything.

Miriam's pallid body was laid out naked upon the chopping-block table, like some unskinned side of pork.

All Rodian could see around the physician's bulky robe were her head and shoulders and her thick calves and feet. Her eyes had been closed, but this did nothing to soften her twisted features locked in horror. Shots of ashen gray ran through the natural brown of her hair.

And then Rodian noticed a bloodied curved knife. It lay near where the Suman leaned a hand upon the table. But Rodian was too eager for answers to give it immediate thought.

"Well?" he demanded without a greeting, for he was tired of remaining polite.

The physician turned, exposing a clear view of the table, and Rodian's mouth went dry.

The girl's torso was split open from her throat to her privates. The skin across her chest and abdomen had been peeled back, exposing internal organs and ribs.

Behind Rodian, Garrogh whispered something under his breath.

"What have you done?" Rodian began, and then he went mute.

The Suman frowned, openly perplexed by his visitors' reactions. "I was told to make a thorough examination."

Rodian found his voice. "Yes, examination… not mutilation!"

This young girl had died horribly. She'd been violated enough in that alley. And now he'd unwittingly authorized this butchery.

"Without an internal assessment," the physician said coldly, "I cannot provide any dependable conclusions."

Rodian took three weak breaths, trying to regain his calm.

He was dealing with a Suman—like il'Sänke—who saw no connection between the body and the sentient spirit. Humans of all races, and dwarves and elves, were the highest of living beings in the eyes of Toiler, Maker, and Dreamer. Even the body—the vessel—was sacred. This Suman could never begin to comprehend such truth.

Rodian would have to go to temple and pray for this mistake of oversight.

"What have you learned?" he demanded. "How did she die?"

The physician wiped the girl's gore from his hands with dampened burlap. He stepped to the table's head, scowling down at Miriam's tormented face. About to speak, he stopped and leaned lower, as if inspecting some overlooked detail. Then he shook his head and began again in his thick accent.

"Upon initial examination, I felt certain the cause was poison. You must have noted the grayed flesh and lack of injury?"

Rodian didn't respond. He could only stare at Miriam's split flesh.

"I searched for methods of introduction," the Suman went on, "hoping to lift traces of any substance used. There are quick-acting compounds that can be introduced by breath, contact with the skin, or even through orifices other than the mouth."

"You found something?" Rodian asked, his anxiety building. "You must have."

Some gain had to be achieved for this atrocity.

"No," the physician answered.

Rodian forced his eyes to follow as the man pointed inside the girl's opened torso.

"Her lungs are whole and healthy," the Suman continued, "as is the lining of her throat. There are no signs of chemical or particulate damage to her internal organs. I found nothing in the nostrils or ears or anywhere upon her skin. Anything introduced to the eyes might have thinned in tears but would also have left traces for such a quick death."

The physician shook his head, huffing through his long beak of a nose, and his frown deepened.

"Then what?" Garrogh demanded, the journal and a shaft of writing charcoal in his hand.

"I do not know what killed her and caused such discoloration and discomfort. She simply died suddenly."