“They need to invent an easier way to get up and down in this place,” Aven grunted as he drew level with Relam.
“Not much further now,” Narin said, ignoring Aven’s complaint. “Then we see if we can get some answers.”
They continued climbing, right up to the very top level of the tower. There, in a small circular room ringed with cell doors, they found two members of the palace guard standing watch over the prisoners. They came quickly to attention as Relam and his men approached.
“Your highness,” the nearest guard said, bowing. “Welcome. The prisoners are in the first three cells here.”
“Kept separate?”
“Yes.”
“Good,” Relam turned to Narin. “If you will accompany me, captain, let’s get this started. Do you have the keys?” he asked the guard on duty.
The palace guard wordlessly held out a ring with three iron keys on it. Relam took it and went to the first cell door. Narin drew his sword and rattled it against the bars. “Stay back,” he warned the assassin. “You come running at the door I’ll knock you senseless and put you on the rack. Understand?”
“Yes,” came the faint reply.
“Good,” Narin muttered.
Relam fumbled with the keys for a moment, then found the right one and unlocked the cell door. Narin swung it open and led the way into the small, dingy cell, with his sword still drawn. Relam was about to follow when he heard a rush of feet approaching. Out of the darkness sprang one of the assassins, frantic and wild-eyed. He hurled himself onto Narin’s outstretched blade and gasped in surprise. Then, an almost giddy expression stole over his face and he collapsed, dead.
Chapter 11
“Well, that’s a new experience for me,” Narin said drily, withdrawing his sword with a wet squelching noise.
Relam shuddered as he looked down at the dead assassin, his eyes wide and staring, mouth still half-open with a strangely beatific smile. “Why would he do that?” Relam demanded, feeling betrayed and bewildered.
“He’s afraid,” Narin said shortly. “Whoever hired him has a good hold on him.”
“Who could he be so afraid of though?” Relam muttered. “Who is that powerful, has such a long reach that even in our most secure prison he is afraid?”
“Was afraid,” Narin corrected. “We’ll have to be more careful with the other two.”
“Is there some sort of problem in here?” one of the guards outside asked.
“Yes,” Narin said, stepping to the side so the guard could see. “One of our prisoners just committed suicide. Do you have a club or something that I could take to the next cell with me? Something without a sharp edge?”
“Demons above and below,” the guard muttered. “Why’d he do it?”
Neither Relam nor Narin honored the question with a response. Instead, they left the cell together. Narin handed his bloody sword to one of his men and snatched up a palace guard’s small round shield. “Let’s try door number two,” he said, gesturing for Relam to do the honors.
Relam carefully unlocked the second cell door. It swung open with a harsh grating sound. Immediately, Narin moved forward, the shield held out in front to repel any attempt by the cell’s occupant to deprive them of information. But this assassin had obviously just woken from a deep sleep. He blinked blearily at the two visitors, then his eyes snapped open and he shrank back against the wall.
“Good,” Narin muttered, lowering the shield ever so slightly. “Sit up, assassin. We have some questions for you.”
The assassin said nothing, merely stared up at them impassively.
“We’ll start with an easy one,” Relam began. “What’s your name?”
The assassin smiled contemptuously and closed his eyes, leaning back against the wall. Suddenly, Narin rushed forward grabbed the prisoner by his collar and slammed him against the stone wall of the cell. The assassin struggled and gasped in pain, the contemptuous expression replaced by one of utter fear.
“Your name?” Narin whispered menacingly, increasing the pressure.
“En-Enric,” the assassin gasped, trying to shove Narin away.
“Where are you from?” Narin demanded. “Who hired you? Who was your target?”
“I . . . I from Mizzran, the high lands,” the assassin gasped in broken common.
“The others?”
“Also,” the struggling man grunted.
“Also Mizzran?”
The assassin nodded fearfully.
“And who hired you?”
The prisoner clamped his mouth shut and shook his head.
“Wrong answer,” Narin said calmly.
“No, no, I speak!” the assassin cried as Narin began crushing him against the wall once more. “Never heard name, just took order from cloak man. He pay well, pay very, very well.”
“What currency?” Relam asked, hoping for a clue.
The question drew a blank look from the assassin. Narin repeated the question in a different language and the assassin nodded quickly, then replied in kind.
“Royals,” Narin said. “The cloaked man paid them with Sthan royals.”
“Not unexpected,” Relam muttered. “But disappointing, nonetheless.” The royal was the official currency of the Sthan Kingdom. In some places, other currencies were still accepted though, such as the tukek on the great plains or the mezan at the heights. Such currencies were easier to trace, since so few people used them anymore.
“And the target?”
“Royals,” the assassin spat, glaring at Relam.
“All of them or any in particular?”
The assassin shrugged. “All.”
Relam frowned. That wasn’t terribly helpful. It gave him no hint as to the motive of the cloaked man, no idea who was in the most danger or where the next attack would be aimed.
“The poison,” Relam said. “What was it?”
The assassin clamped his mouth shut once more.
“It really makes no difference,” Relam said, shrugging and turning away. “The king has recovered already and the other royals were hardly affected. I was just curious, that is all.”
“Don’t know,” the assassin said, smiling in a self-satisfied way.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Narin growled.
“Poison came
