out of the fog, holding scythes in their gloved hands. Amhar’s lantern went flying into the weeds behind him.
The attackers slipped in and out of shifting cones of light as his lantern flickered out. Men shouted, and swords clashed. Amhar gripped his axe and clambered to his feet as another soldier fell backward into the ditch, a sword in his chest.
Scrambling out of the ditch, Amhar rushed the attackers, his axe raised. He swung wildly into the murky fog, but the figures were quick and dodged his blade. The blunt end of a scythe flew out of the darkness, striking him between the eyes. Reeling backward, Amhar felt himself lose consciousness.
But not before he saw the distinctive curve of a pointed ear above a dark mask covering part of a man’s face, limned in the faint moonlight.
He awoke to a misty morning. Even before he opened his eyes, he remembered where he was and what had happened. Traces of fog still clung to the lowlying areas, but as the sun appeared on the horizon, strong winds off the ocean cleansed the steely sky.
Amhar pushed himself off the ground. It was not a surprise to see the bodies strewn across the track, but the level of brutality was something more than he could fathom. He tried to count bodies, to determine how many had survived, but the road was littered with so many piecesrecognizable and otherwisethat he gave up.
Amhar made a cursory search of the empty cart. If there had been a tarp, he would have covered the bodies, or as much of them as he could. Shivering with cold and shock, he stumbled down the hill to the palace, blood soaking his uniform and fear soaking his heart.
CHAPTER FIVE
29 Kythorn, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR) The Marigold, the Coast of Chult
'You’re Amhar,” Harp said, for the third time.
“Will you let me finish?” Boult said. “I made my way back to theWinter Palace. A new regiment had arrived and was dragging corpses out into the courtyard. They’d been… it was horrible.” “How many were killed?” Harp asked. “Six guests, thirteen soldiers, and four children,” Boult recited tonelessly. “Three survivors. And me.”
“You’re Amhar.” Harp shook his head. “How did the attackers get into the palace in the first place?”
“The Inquiry said that the oldest boy, Daviel, stole away to see a village girl. He left a door in East Lion’s gate open.”
“Were you at the Inquiry?” Harp asked.
“In chains,” Boult said bitterly. “It was a farce, of course. Daviel’s body was found in the cellar. Why would the killer bring the body back to the palace?”
“A good question.” They both fell silent. The Children’s Massacre still weighed heavily on the hearts of Tethyr.
“You’re Amhar,” Harp said after a moment. “The infamous killer of children. Honestly, I don’t know how I missed it.”
Boult’s eyes narrowed to slits, and a dark look passed over his features.
“Oh come on! I’m not serious, Boult,” Harp said. “I know you’d never kill an innocent. But, you have to admit, it’s a pretty strange thing to ask me to get my head around.”
Harp wasn’t exaggerating. After the massacre at the Winter Palace, Amhar the dwarf became notorious throughout Tethyr and even beyond its borders. The name Amhar became synonymous with the worst sorts of crimes. Every unsolved murder in Tethyr was blamed on him and his network of underlings. Many dwarves suffered for their alleged connections to Amhar even after he was sent to the VankilaSlab.
Harp led the way through the dank hold to the square of dusty sunlight at the base of the ladder.
“If you weren’t even in the palace at the time of the massacre, how exactly did you end up blamed for it?” Harp asked as they weaved around the tools and ropes hanging from the ceiling.
“Cardew,” Boult said. “He blamed me, and everyone believed him.”
If Amhar the dwarf had become known as the Scourge of Tethyr after the tragedy, Cardew had emerged as the Hero of the Realm, savior of Ysabel, heir to the throne. He had ascended to a place of prominence in the Court of the Crimson Leaf and was said to carry Queen Anais’s personal mark of confidence.
“You must be the busiest dwarf alive,” Harp said, resting his foot on the lowest rung of the ladder and staring up at the square of blue sky above him. “You managed to sail with me on the Crane and direct your minions’ activities from the underworld at the same time? Pillaging, spreading plague, kidnappinghow do you find the time?”
“Don’t forget Ranyt,” Boult said sarcastically. “Amhar contracted a demon to plague that village. Oh, and supposedly I’ve trained a monster to sink ships in Lantan’s Rest.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Harp prodded.
“About Lantan?”
“About Amhar,” Harp said.
Boult hesitated. “Because you didn’t need to know. No one needed to know.” “Until now?”
“Like you pointed out, I owed you an explanation,” Boult said impatiently. “Especially since Cardew is involved. Are you planning on climbing out of the hold? Or shall I carry you up the ladder on my shoulders?”
But Harp didn’t move. “Why did you take the name Boult?”
Boult sighed and looked away. After a moment, he said, “He was another dwarf in Vankila. For ‘treason,’ when ‘treason’ meant interfering with some lordling’s trade.”
“Does he know you’re borrowing his name?” Harp said.
“He’s dead, idiot. I was the only one who saw the ogres kill him. When they asked, I told everyone the ogres had killed Amhar and from then on I was Boult.”
“That worked?” Harp asked.
“You remember how it was. We were so filthy we might as well have been made of mud. And no one looked at anyone else’s face for long. Put the two of us in a pack of dwarves and no one could have said which was which.”
“Didn’t you want to clear your name?”
“Didn’t you?” Boult said, glowering at Harp.
“Oh, I committed my crime, and I’d do it again. You, on the other hand, are innocent. I would think you’d want the truth to come out.”
“Amhar’s dead, as far as I’m concerned.”
“What does your family think?’
“He’s dead to them as well.” Boult gestured impatiently at the ladder, and Harp climbed one rung higher but stopped again.
“It’s as easy as walking!” Boult said. “One foot in front of the other and you’ll be topside in no time.”
“You told me you were in prison for desertion,” Harp said.
“I deserted the children.”
“In what way? You went out to protect”
“I’m done talking about it,” Boult interrupted. “You know as well as I do that Cardew being here is no coincidence. Everything happens for a reason.”
“I don’t believe that,” Harp replied and started climbing again. “Everything is coincidental. We’re just blind men stumbling around in the dark.”
“That’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, and you know it.”
“You’re right. We’re just hunks of meat being slowly boiled to death in the stewpot of existence.”
“You’re not as clever as you think you are,” Boult growled.
Harp grinned and turned back to Boult. “Nope, but I’m still smarter than your average foodstuff.”
“Tell me. If we’re not searching for Cardew, are we searching for his wife?” Boult asked.
The grin disappeared from Harp’s scarred face. “Avalor would like us to bring back her body. If there’s enough left to bring to back.”
Boult watched his friend climb up to the daylight. No man should have to talk about the woman he loved like
