In Shade and Shadow

intellect.

He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling a need to apologize for the intrusion, but that was a foolish impulse.

High-Tower rose to his feet. 'What have you learned?'

Rodian ignored the question, facing only the premin. 'I expected a more private meeting. Could we speak in your office?'

Her composure appeared to waver just slightly. 'Surely you can give us your report here.'

'I think you misunderstand,' he offered politely. 'I'm here to obtain information regarding the victims, not to make a report.'

'What can we possibly tell you that you do not already know?' she asked. 'They were attacked in an alley, not here. Would your time not be better spent looking for the murderer?'

Rodian didn't blink nor take offense. Even in his scant years as captain of the city guard, he'd faced such opposition before. Family and friends—even those of superior intellect—rarely understood how a victim's personal life had anything to do with a crime.

'Your office, Premin?' he repeated.

'My study, then,' High-Tower intervened.

'Yours is as high up as mine,' Sykion returned.

'But closer,' he added, then looked to Rodian. 'Will that do?'

Rodian nodded, though his attention had drifted elsewhere.

Domin il'Sänke remained silent where he sat. His dark brown eyes, nearly black in the alley, were just as observant now as then. Something about the foreigner's intense dusky features put Rodian on edge, as did the color of his robes—the midnight blue of the Order of Metaology.

Meddlers in the beliefs of others, dabblers in the arcane, who thought they understood a higher reality.

'You come, too,' Rodian said.

Il'Sänke cocked his head in acknowledgment, but Premin Sykion intervened in a smooth voice.

'Domin il'Sänke knows nothing of the young cathologers you found dead, as he is not of their order. He is here to provide me with additional understanding of what he observed last evening.'

'I insist,' Rodian returned, 'because he was there last night.' He looked quickly about the hall, scanning those present. 'Where's the young woman? I'll speak with her as well.'

'Wynn Hygeorht is resting,' the premin said. 'She is easily troubled and should never have been allowed to witness last night's tragedy.'

Sykion's steady gaze cast subtle reproach at High-Tower.

'Very well, later then,' Rodian said, stepping back. 'Which way?'

High-Tower's habitual scowl deepened, but the stout dwarf turned to lead.

They passed out of the hall's north side, walking in silence through long passages and one turn. When they reached an end door somewhere along the keep's rear, Rodian's best guess was that it opened into the castle's old north tower. They entered the tower's lower chamber.

To his surprise an inner wall had been constructed; the curving stairs ran upward between it and the outer wall. They climbed all the way to the third level, where High-Tower paused before a stout oak door. The domin pushed it open, waiting for others to enter.

Rodian stepped inside.

In older times the room had probably been weapons storage, when the keep housed the earliest royals and their armed forces. From Rodian's brief encounters with the domin, he expected the office to be a disorganized mess. He was not wrong.

The age-darkened old desk was nearly buried in books and papers, and even a few small wooden boxes. One hefty volume with a frayed cloth cover lay open atop the pile. A large cold lamp, its crystal still holding a dim glow, sat on one corner near an old mug filled with stained quills. Stacks of parchment or paper were piled on the floor below short oak bookcases, equally as aged as the desk.

Somewhat somber though not gloomy, the study's inner wall appeared to run flush with the tower's outer one beneath the rising stairs. Three sides of the room had narrow, paned windows set deep into its thick walls. These had once been arrow slits for archers to defend the keep. Through one Rodian had a clear western view of the city over the keep's wall and that of the inner bailey.

The dwarf likely expected perfect order from everyone—including himself—outside this room. But here he did as he pleased. Rodian knew the type.

Not wishing to been seen as herding the others, he stepped aside and waited as Sykion and High-Tower entered. Il'Sänke softly closed the door behind all of them.

'Only two chairs,' High-Tower grunted.

Rodian gestured for the premin to sit. He remained standing and pulled a small journal from his belt.

'Have you determined a cause of death?' Sykion asked.

Rodian was careful with his answer. 'A healer from the city's hospice examined the bodies this morning.' And he had specifically sought one outside of the guild's influence. 'His findings are not yet complete,' he added.

This was a half lie, and he didn't add that the healer could provide no conclusive findings. If the victims had died by some fast-acting poison, inhaled or absorbed through the skin, the healer found no such evidence. However, Rodian couldn't allow this interview to turn around, making him the one being interrogated.

'Does either young man have blood relatives in or near the city?' he asked.

'No,' the premin answered. 'Jeremy's family is from Faunier, but his parents have both passed over. Elias's family resides on the western coast, near the free town of Drist. I believe his father is a fisherman. We have already sent word of this tragedy.'

Rodian nodded and took a few notes. 'I'll need the names of the victims' friends and immediate acquaintances, anyone of close personal attachment, and what their daily routines involved and with whom. Particularly if there were any noted contentions, whether of a personal or professional nature. Also the whereabouts of all such individuals last night.'

The premin stared at him.

'This is routine, but necessary,' he assured her.

Her thin lips parted once and then closed as she turned her gaze on High-Tower.

The dwarf walked around behind his desk and dropped heavily into a wide chair suitable to his people's bulk. It seemed a bit calculated to make Rodian feel like an initiate or apprentice summoned for a private lecture. High-Tower huffed once.

'All apprentices and journeyors here are friends,' he growled. 'But they are too busy to be close… or sweethearts who form attachments. They are here to study—not chase each other about like goats in spring.' He cleared his throat. 'And they do not contend with each other, except in betterment of our pursuits. Proper debate is encouraged as the crucible from which we extract truth. You will get no such list of names here… as we cannot provide one.'

Rodian warmed with an edge of anger.

If these pretentious scholars thought they could stonewall him, they were seriously mistaken. When he took command of the Shyldfälches, he'd already solved four murders long considered unsolved by his predecessor. He hadn't climbed to his position by being easily waylaid.

'The names will help limit the investigation's scope,' he replied dispassionately

'Are you asking for alibis?' the premin demanded, though the barest hint of worry leaked into her reedy voice.

'Of course,' he replied. What had these people expected in a murder investigation? 'I assume all three of you were in residence last night?'

'This is outrageous!' High-Tower growled, loudly enough that it reverberated from the walls. 'Offensive insinuations… and a waste of time!'

'I could ask Lieutenant Garrogh to bring several men to gather this information,' Rodian said. 'Though that would be more time-consuming—and invasive—they will speak with everyone who lives here. No matter how long it takes. I would prefer to be… expedient.'