better way of saying it. We just stood there for a moment looking each other in the eye. He had a knife in his hand. I saw the gleam.
Why aren't I calling out? Am I afraid? I should call out, I thought, but didn't. He was my father's man about my father's business. As awareness of that inhibition seeped into my mind, Sapphire eased away silently and was gone in less than a moment. There was something almost supernatural about his leaving. There, then gone, though I saw him move. Moments passed. A man had been murdered and I had done nothing about it.
I took a deep breath and let it out almost silently. Then another. I should call out, but I won't. Not yet. Maybe I should look first. See who it was. I stepped forward, movement giving assurance that I was acting and doing the right thing. That I had done the right thing. Why Sapphire had killed him could wait, but I would know in time.
I went forward and knelt by the body. It was one of Rastrian's men, as I had somehow known it would be. He was wearing no armor, and carried only a sheathed knife, but I recognized the style of clothing, casual and flamboyant. I took his face in one hand turned it one way and the other. I wasn't sure that I recognized him. It was at that moment, of course, kneeling by the dead body of one of his men, that Rastrian caught up to me. I heard footsteps heading my way, turned and saw him. Damn. Not good. Not good at all. I stood up, holding my hands out as he approached, showing they were clean of blood. “One of yours. Murdered. Not by me.”
He didn't speed up or slow down. No stranger to death, he came close enough to see, but carefully not close enough to be in range of a lunge.
“I'm going to show you my knife, just to reassure you.”
He nodded, looking down at his man and I drew the short blade free and showed him it was clean.
He looked at it. Nodded again. “Preth.”
“What?”
“His name was Preth. Joined us six months ago. Any idea who did it?”
“None.” I put the knife away. This was a problem. The threats I'd made. A dead body. Me standing over him. Not ideal. Not by a long way.
“I'm going to take him to your men. You come. Vouch for me. If the killer comes to light I'll see him dead.” I didn't wait but leaned over and grabbed an arm and his shirt front, pulling him up, then both arms under armpits, gripping tight, drew the body to his feet. Leaning and bending at the knee I let him fall over my shoulder, one hand sliding down his arm the other down his back. Gripping his arm I lifted, brought my right arm round and slid it between his wet legs to grip his calf. He smelled of shit and fresh piss. I'd not thought of it. Too late now. “Lead on.”
Keep things moving. I was thinking. Keep Rastrian moving before he starts thinking. We were right next to the mages, who might have a way to learn something of the killer. Get away from there. Dubaku! Damn. Dubaku. The shaman would surely be able, may be, may be able to call the man's spirit back but that was ok. That was ok, the man hadn't seen who was behind him. You don't grab a man by the neck and stab him in the kidneys after he has seen you. And if Dubaku could and did call the spirit I would be off the hook. Good. Dubaku was good.
“Could Dubaku call back his spirit? Maybe he saw who killed him?”
Rastrian turned only his head as he walked slightly ahead of me and to one side. “Maybe. I'll ask him.”
22
The crossbowmen had not been happy to see me dump one of their own in the center of their camp, the place where they gathered around two long fires to cook and eat and drink and talk and bind themselves together into a group.
Here. I think this is yours, I felt like saying. It was what I was doing, in fact, but it would have been a travesty.
Rastrian raised his hand high for silence as the hum of voices grew, and raised his voice. “We found him by the mages' wagons. We don't know anything yet. Where is Dubaku?”
He was behind us.
“Here.”
I had put the man down with some care, his compatriots gathering round, naming him, asking what the hell had happened to him. I'd moved his limbs gently into a less grotesque position. Then I had stepped back, letting them have him. And had nearly jumped out of my skin when Dubaku spoke at my elbow.
“Can you call his spirit? Ask him what happened?”
“I can. It will take time. I will need to be alone. Bring him to my tent.”
I watched the scene play out. The men picking him up, carrying him after Dubaku. Then I left, telling Rastrian I would be in my tent.
I didn't need to tell him our dinner was canceled.
23
Sapphire was waiting for me. I'd half expected it.
“Why?”
He had been sitting on my bed in the shadows thrown from the lamp on the table. He got up and faced me, his cold blue eyes like ice. He didn't speak.
“I could have you killed just on my word.”
He didn't respond in any way I could detect. His eyes were willing to sacrifice his own life, coldly and with calculation, as though it were nothing. And he was my father's servant. My father was a patron and no man's fool. I had no love for him and he none for me. Sapphire knew secrets that my father did not trust me with. He was here on my father's business and would tell me nothing. Part of me was outraged, and part of me understood entirely
“I am under instructions to discuss my mission with no one.”
His expression gave me nothing. He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched me and waited. I thought about it. He was willing to die for this. Or kill for it? Kill me, I mean. I already knew he would kill. So. It must be important.
“Tell me what you feel you can.”
I didn't think he was going to answer. Then he did. “He was an Alendi agent.”
I didn't say anything either. Sapphire was a spy. And an assassin. Sent by my father to track down and eliminate just this agent, or others? How did he know Preth was an Alendi spy? I decided to let it go for this moment. Let him go and think some more. Part of me knew I was doing this out of loyalty to my father and was surprised. I nodded acceptance of what he had said and he at once slipped his hand inside his shirt and came out with a letter which he passed to me. I opened it at once. It was from my father.
Trust Sapphire. He is on my business.
“Do you know the contents of this letter?”
“I was there when it was written.”
“Are there others?”
He did not answer. Eyes cold. Expression blank.
I nodded acceptance and stepped aside. He left without a word or a backward glance.
24
There was no way I could sleep.
“Where were you?”
Meran affected not to know what I meant.
