The White Gryphon

“I think he knows about the visitors taking the blame for the murders,” Noyoki said, suddenly switching topics. “I think it pleases him. Perhaps these people were his enemies.”

“Perhaps they were his jailers!” Kanshin retorted sharply. “Never forget what this man does, Noyoki! Never forget that Hadanelith is mad, and he could decide he wants to do it to you! We may turn the tiger upon the tracks of our foes, but the tiger can decide to turn back again and seek us instead!”

“Yes,” Noyoki replied with an odd and disquieting smile. “And that is what makes the game all the more interesting, is it not?”

Madness must be contagious, for he surely is mad! Kanshin thought with astonishment.

“I am not mad, Kanshin,” Noyoki said, in another uncanny answer to words left unspoken. “I am simply interested in a challenge, and Hadanelith presents such a challenge. If it is possible, I should like to tame him to my hand as I have tamed the lion and the pard.”

Kanshin shrugged. “On your head be it,” he replied. “I am interested only in getting rid of him once our tasks for him have been completed. If you choose to take him into your own household, I simply ask that you take him as far away from me as possible.”

“Perhaps I will,” Noyoki observed, stretching like a well-fed and very lazy cat. “And with that, I shall take my leave of you; I will bring you the information on the next of Hadanelith’s playfellows tomorrow.”

Kanshin bowed him out to the street and stood in the doorframe, watching his back as he disappeared into the swirling crowds. He is not a fool, but he is foolhardy, the thief thought as he closed the door and retreated into the perfumed safety of his own home and away from the noisome babble and stenches of the streets. Too foolhardy for me. Once this set of jobs is over, I am retiring, far away from here. He had just the place in mind too; a lake big enough to be considered an inland sea. Such recklessness is like teasing a lion; you never get a second chance to learn how much is too much.

He retreated deeply into the depths of his home, past rooms that only opened when he had picked a complicated lock, and which relocked themselves when the door closed. He took himself to the farthest of those rooms, a place where Hadanelith did not go and where, hopefully, he could not go.

The trouble was, the madman learned at a terrible speed. There was no reason why he could not learn to master all those locks, as he had already mastered the language and the thief’s tricks that Kanshin had taught him.

Kanshin flung himself down on a couch, and laid his right arm across his eyes. How long would the madman remain “safe?” That was a good question.

He only wished he had an answer.

Skandranon was making some decisions as he marched toward the Audience Chamber under armed guard for the third time in a week. For one thing, he was getting damned tired of taking the blame for someone else’s murders! Especially when the law-keepers didn’t seem to him to be making much of an effort to find the real culprit!

His control over his temper had improved over the past several years, but he was just about to lose all that hard-won control. He felt the hackles on the back of his neck rising, despite a conscious effort to make them lie flat.

How can they even pretend that I’m still a suspect? he growled to himself. I’ve been under guard for two of the three killings! After the second, they should have removed my guard, not doubled it!

The situation was uncomfortable enough for him personally, but by now it was obvious that someone, probably someone in Shalaman’s own court, was trying to discredit the Kaled’a’in. We should be uniting to find the culprit, he seethed. They should have asked me to bring in the other mages from White Gryphon, mages who might know other techniques to get at the truth! Instead—here I am, being hauled up in front of the King again!

These murders were jeopardizing everything he had worked for since Urtho’s death, threatening to put the Kaled’a’in in the position having to make an untenable choice—abandon the city and rebuild elsewhere, where the arm of the Haighlei did not reach, or stand and fight for what they had built so far, against a vastly superior force.

By the time they reached the Audience Chamber, Skan was so angry he was just about ready to disembowel something.

So instead of parading meekly into the chamber as he had the past two times, this time he shouldered his guards aside and pushed his way up to King Shalaman. The courtiers quickly leaped aside when they saw the look on his face, the parted beak, the raised hackles, the anger in his eyes. The King’s bodyguards instinctively stepped forward when the last of the courtiers jumped out of his way, leaving nothing between him and Shalaman but those two guards. But Skan waited for Leyuet and the escort to catch up—which didn’t take long—and then he opened his beak and let the words pour out.

Leyuet was babbling, trying to keep up with his own flowing torrents of words. Skan ignored him, in part