The White Gryphon

He was a kestra’chern, adept with costume and drama; he was confident that he could look like a dozen people, all very different from each other—and there were an unspecified number of new “diplomats” from White Gryphon who had just arrived. “Poor, mad Amberdrake” could stay locked in his suite. Someone else would join Judeth’s people. Someone taller than Amberdrake, with austere tastes, funereal leather clothing, and a forbidding demeanor, whose slicked-back, dark hair (there were more uses for feather-dye than dyeing feathers) never escaped the mathematically-precise tail at the back of his neck. A personal bodyguard appointed for Skandranon— And he is going to love that! The King’s two guards only manhandled him as long as they were all in sight of the courtiers. The moment that the doors closed on his private rooms, they released him with apologies.

He thanked them—and handed over the knife with a wink. “I’d rather you gentlemen had this—just in case someone asks what you did with it! I’m a dangerous fellow, you know, and you shouldn’t leave me in possession of a weapon!”

They both grinned—showing very white, even teeth in extremely black faces; unlike most of the folk of Shalaman’s land, their skin tone was a true black, with a bluish cast to it. “Thank you,” said the taller of the two. “It would be like that idiot of a Chamberlain to ask that, in front of the Court!”

Amberdrake looked from one friendly face to the other, as something occurred to him. “You seem very— accommodating—to someone who’s been accused of murder.”

The tall one shrugged. “Here is our logic. The Emperor must believe that you are innocent, or why go through all this? If he believes that you are innocent, he must have brought in his Truthsayer, and for some reason, doubtless a reason that seems good to him, he has not made that public. That is enough for me.”

The shorter fellow tossed the “confiscated” knife from hand to hand for a moment, before sheathing it in his belt. “Also—we have seen what was done to those women,” the man pointed out. “And we have seen the rooms. Now, this might have been done by a mage—but you are not a mage, or you would have gotten rid of them in much subtler ways. It would have been much easier to have them drop over dead with no sign upon them. It might have been done by someone who was both a skilled thief and a skilled torturer, and while as a kestra’chern you have the knowledge to be a torturer, it takes a lifetime to learn the craft of the kestra’chern. Therefore, unless you are much, much older than you look, you could not also have become a skilled thief. It might have been done by several people working together—but there has never, during these murders, been a time when three out of the four of you have not had witnesses to prove where you were. I believe in my Emperor, and I believe in the power of the Truthsayer, but I also believe in logic.”

Amberdrake had listened to this well-reasoned discourse with astonishment. This was a bodyguard?

“You have thought of all that, and you are only a bodyguard?” he blurted. “The gods forbid I should encounter a scholar!” The man laughed aloud.

“Not only a bodyguard, good kestra’chern Amberdrake,” he said, with a little bow. “Also the son of King Sulemeth, the Emperor of Ghandai. This is my brother.” He indicated the other guard, who bowed also. “This is how Shalaman and every other Haighlei Emperor preserves the peace among us and our lands—they all have sons who are their neighbors’ personal bodyguards, as well as daughters who are Healers, Household Priestesses, Wives, or Consorts.”

“But I thought—” Amberdrake began, confused, “I thought Shalaman had no wife, no children.”

“Shalaman does not yet have sons and daughters by a Chief Wife and Consort,” the man corrected with a smile, “But he does have them by the ten Priestess Year-Wives of the first decade of his reign, and that is sufficient to the purpose. Year-Sons and Year-Daughters can inherit if there is no heir by a Chief Wife.”

“It is not wise to contemplate violence when your potential foe’s sons are the men guarding your back, but this is neither the best time or place for a discussion of our customs. Now, let us leave you to your rest.”

“Indeed.” Amberdrake came back to his mission with a start. “Thank you for being so civilized.”

The taller guard smiled again. “At first, you were thought to be barbarians. We who are at Shalaman’s side are also his voices in matters that would be improper for him to speak of. All I can say is that you are not barbaric —you are civilized, only different. The time of Change is upon us all—even the Emperor.”

Winterhart stormed into the bathing room just as he was putting the finishing touches on his disguise.

“You! You beast! You miserable dog!” she said, picking up the first thing that came to hand—which fortunately was a dish of soap and not the feather-dye. “You bastardl” She flung it at him; he ducked, and it smashed against the wall.

The single act of destruction seemed to run all of her rage out of her. “How could you?” she wailed, turning from anger to tears in a heartbeat. He froze in dismay; he’d thought she understood back there! “How could you say those things? How could—”

“I could say them because I didn’t mean them!” he cried, as her distress spilled over into him. “Oh ke’chara, how could you think I meant any of that?”

“But the things about—you know I’m sensitive about—” she dissolved into sobs, and he dropped everything he was holding to take her in his arms—leaving behind more shards of glass and pottery in his wake.