They seized him roughly, propelling him outside. Kiya and the couriers again tried to intervene, but they were held off by a hedge of sword points.
The whole camp was boiling. Swarms of angry soldiers stormed this way and that, blindly seeking the murderer of their commander. Unlucky peasants were pummeled and questioned. When Tol appeared, the Seascapers converged on him, howling for his head.
He was taken to the hut where he’d last seen the warden. Enkian was laid out on the ground and covered with a cloth. Tol recognized the captain of the guard, kneeling beside his fallen leader, as well as the gray-robed priest, Jarabee. The cleric looked deeply shocked and, to Tol’s eye, quite ill.
“We have the killer!” cried one of the men who held Tol’s arms.
The grieving captain paled visibly. “Release Lord Tolandruth!” he snapped. “I saw the warden after Lord Tolandruth left him. Lord Enkian ordered more wine. Someone stabbed him before I returned.”
The captain shouted for Corporal Thanehill, who’d guided Tol to Kiya. Thanehill, near the rear of the angry mob, came forward. When asked whether the general had ever left his sight, Thanehill admitted he had not.
The hands gripping Tol slowly let go. The mob of soldiers dispersed reluctantly, their thirst for revenge unslaked, their anger unresolved. Kiya shoved her way through to Tol’s side. Soon only Tol, Kiya, the six couriers, the captain of the guard, and Jarabee remained standing over the slain warden.
“Who is second-in-command?” Tol asked.
“I am,” said the captain. “Havoc is my name. Havoc Tumult, nephew to Lord Enkian.”
Tol clasped the captain’s arm. “I regret your uncle’s death. He was a loyal sword of the emperor.”
He explained that the supposed Pakin plot, which had caused Enkian to bring his forces, was all a fabrication.
“But why?” Havoc asked. “And what shall we do now, my lord?”
With no answer for the first question, Tol replied to the second. “You must lead the Army of the Seascapes home, Captain. I will see to it justice is done for your uncle.”
The word of the famous Lord Tolandruth was good enough for young Havoc. He saluted then departed to instruct the officers. Jarabee followed him. The young priest had been silent throughout the confrontation, his gaze fixed on his murdered lord.
Standing in the center of the agitated camp, Tol sighed. “I’m wrestling with enemies made of smoke!” he muttered to Kiya. “There’s nothing to grasp!”
She shrugged. “We survived, Husband. That’s victory enough for now.”
Tol sent the couriers to find horses. He wanted to be back in Daltigoth before dawn. This camp, where Enkian Tumult had died, was in no wise a safe place to remain.
By methods of his own, the assassin appeared before his master.
“It is done, Your Highness. Lord Enkian is dead,” he reported, bowing his head low.
“Good. Was the farmer blamed, as I wished?”
The assassin’s downy cheek twitched. “Not-ah, no, great prince.”
Nazramin leaned forward into the firelight. At his feet, his great wolfhounds sensed his anger and growled low in their throats.
“And why not?”
“It was Enkian’s own doing, Highness. He called for wine after Lord Tolandruth left, and so was seen alive. Still, I thought it best to slay him at once, for the good of Your Highness’s cause.”
For a heart-stopping moment, Nazramin regarded the assassin with a narrow-eyed gaze. Finally, he sank back into his deep chair and said dismissively, “It’s as well. Enkian would have revealed my part in the plot soon enough.”
Jarabee bowed, legs shaking slightly. He asked, “Shall I return to the Seascapes, Highness? Or may I remain in the city as your loyal servant?”
Though he tried to conceal it, his desire to take the disgraced Mandes’s position was apparent.
“Neither,” Nazramin told him, and yawned. The prince raised a finger. Both hounds leaped to their feet, fangs bared.
Jarabee’s heart skipped a beat. “No, great prince! Please!” he cried, voice shrill.
An expectant smile lifted Nazramin’s thin lips. His upraised finger twitched slightly.
Jarabee turned and ran, sandals flapping. Iron-limbed wolfhounds sprang. The terrified priest threw the one spell he had at the ready. The nearer dog dropped to the floor, paralyzed, but there was no time to cast again. The second dog tore out Jarabee’s throat before he could scream.
Chapter 16
Lord Enkian’s murder was never solved. The common assumption was that the young priest Jarabee had something to do with it, because Jarabee disappeared the same night Enkian died and was never seen again. No motive was ever discovered as to why he would want to harm his lord, but Enkian was notoriously close-fisted, and many assumed the two men had quarreled over Jarabee’s pay.
With the problem of Enkian’s army resolved, peace seemed to have returned at last. Mandes was gone, the succession was settled, and the first tribute from Tarsis did much to bolster the imperial coffers.
For the household at Villa Rumbold, life went on, even as great changes stirred the companions living there. First, Egrin and his retinue returned to Juramona. It was harvest time back home, and that meant taxes had to be collected. Ten days after Enkian’s death, Tol gave the Juramona men a farewell banquet the night before they were scheduled to depart. It turned out to be a rather muted affair, but it ended with an eye-opening revelation for Tol.
The household was gathered around the long dining table. Egrin filled a mug with the best beer in Daltigoth and handed it to Tol. “To the victor over Tarsis,” he declared.
Tol downed a hearty swallow. “That seems a hundred years ago.”
“You’re much too young to talk like that,” Egrin replied genially. “Wait until you’ve outlived all your enemies, then you’ll miss them.”
Kiya said, “Why should anyone miss their enemies?” She’d grown morose since Miya had left the villa to become Elicarno’s wife.
“For a warrior, life is measured by the enemies you best.” Egrin swirled the remnants of beer in his own mug, watching the foam break on the glazed clay sides. “Or by those who best you.”
Tol arched an eyebrow. “Oho! Are there any foes you’ve never defeated, Egrin?”
“Certainly I’m not invincible. No one is.”
A fresh platter of ribs arrived from the kitchen. Egrin’s men eagerly took the steaming platter from the servants hired for the banquet. Kiya growled a warning that some ribs had better make their way to her end of the table.
“Husband was won all his battles,” she said, when the platter finally reached her. “Monsters, pirates, soldiers-it’s all the same to him.”
Tol insisted he had enemies still. He thought of Mandes, who had disappeared, but particularly of Prince Nazramin, an utterly untouchable foe.
Egrin brought up the question that had begun to dominate Tol’s thoughts of late: What were his plans, now the war was over and the crown rested securely on the emperor’s brow?
Tol had no idea and said so. Egrin spoke of the pirates still active in the southern and western seas, saying Tol might summon Darpo and the fleet and deal with the brigands. Kiya countered with the Silvanesti outposts making incursions into the South Plains, the sparsely populated territory east of the Great Green.
Her comment ignited a long discussion about the elves and their capabilities. Since their plot to arm the forest tribes and block Ergoth’s eastward expansion had been foiled a decade earlier, the Silvanesti had remained remarkably quiet. That alone was grounds to suspect mischief, Egrin intoned darkly. Long-lived and incredibly
