Devlor returned to Laffon. He invited several others to join
them. Then one or two more. Before long, the younger Bastorran was at the centre of quite a group, amusing them with his fund of anecdotes and stories of clan exploits.
Two floors above, his uncle had secured his study door and was sitting at the desk. When he took the envelope from his pocket, he noticed something odd about it. It bore a wax stamp, but the wax was flat and unadorned. There was no imperial seal, as Devlor had told him. Puzzled, he reached for a paper knife and slit open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of vellum. He unfolded it and found that it was completely blank.
It was unlike his nephew to play stupid tricks on him. He felt there had to be some kind of mistake. Perhaps Devlor had accidentally given him the wrong envelope. But why he should be carrying around a sealed envelope containing a blank sheet of paper was beyond Ivak’s understanding. There was nothing for it but to go back downstairs and get it sorted out.
As he rose from his chair he heard a faint noise behind him, and started to turn.
He almost managed it.
Downstairs, Devlor was finishing an elaborate tale about a paladin campaign from a century before when Meakin appeared at his shoulder and politely coughed.
‘Yes?’
‘It’s almost midnight, sir.’
‘Nearly time to toast our guest. Uncle’s the one for that.’ He looked about the room. ‘Where is he?’
‘I’m afraid I’ve no idea, sir.’
‘Ah, I remember. He said he was going up to his study. Probably engrossed in some paperwork or something and forgot about his guests. That’d be typical of Uncle Ivak.’
‘Would you like me to go for him, sir?’
‘No, don’t worry yourself, Meakin. I’ll pop up there myself.
You all keep yourselves amused,’ he told the guests, ‘charge your glasses, and I’ll be back down with him in a minute.’ He headed for the stairs, walking casually and exchanging smiles with everyone he passed.
When he got to the first landing, and was sure he couldn’t be seen, he flew up the steps two at a time. Arriving at the study door he rapped on it and called his uncle’s name, just to be sure the meld had done her job. There was no reply so he got out his spare key and let himself in.
Kordenza
had
done her job, and a thorough one at that. His uncle was slumped over his desk. He had multiple stab wounds in his back and there was blood everywhere. There was no question that he was dead. Devlor went over, snatched the envelope and blank sheet of vellum, which were speckled with crimson, and stuffed them in his pocket.
Items of furniture had been overturned, and various bits of bric-a-brac were scattered around. The meld had made it look as though there had been a fight, as instructed. He moved to the alcove, where the curtain had been left open, and saw that the door beyond was smashed. Way down at the bottom of the back stairs lay the body of the guard. So far, so good.
Now it was his turn, and there was no time to waste. He unsheathed the ceremonial sword he wore, and which he’d had sharpened to a razor keenness the day before. Steeling himself, he ran it swiftly across the outside of his left thigh, cutting through uniform fabric and skin. Blood began to flow. Changing hands, he did the same with his right arm. Then he gulped a breath, raised the blade to his cheek and slashed it. Not deep enough to leave a scar, but sufficient to draw blood copiously. He was proud of not crying out when he did it.
After a quick look around to make sure everything seemed right, he ran to the door.
‘Murder!’
he yelled from the landing.
‘Help! Murder! Call out the guard!’
Within seconds there was a thunderous sound on the stairs as a mob ascended.
He slumped against the doorframe, sword dangling from his fingers, blood dripping from his wounds and streaming down his face.
Meakin appeared, with Laffon close behind. Following them came a mix of guests and paladins, weapons drawn.
‘Sir!’
his aide exclaimed. ‘What happened?’
‘Murder,’ Devlor croaked, letting the sword fall from his grasp. ‘In there. Murder.’
Laffon plunged into the study, three paladins at his heels.
Meakin stayed with his master. ‘You’re hurt, sir. Let me see.’
‘I don’t…think it’s…too…bad.’
‘Let’s get you sat down, sir.’ He steered Devlor to a high-backed chair standing against the landing wall, and carefully began tearing the cloth away to expose the wounds.
Laffon reappeared. ‘What happened?’
‘When I…got up here, the door was…locked. No…reply. Fortunately I had a key. Found…Uncle Ivak.’
‘Take it easy, sir,’ Meakin said.
‘No. Must…catch him.’
‘Who?’ Laffon asked. A number of shocked, white faces were staring down at Devlor now.
‘We fought. I got in…a couple of…blows, I think. But he…took me…unawares. Must go…after him.’
‘Three men have just gone down those back stairs in pursuit,’ Laffon told him. ‘And it looks like there’s another dead man at the bottom of them.’
‘The…guard. Poor devil.’
‘But who
was
it, Bastorran? Who did this?’
‘Caldason. The outlaw…Reeth Caldason.’
‘He did this?’
‘Yes, and nearly did for…me, too.’
‘I don’t think these wounds are too serious, sir,’ Meakin reported, dabbing with a cloth. ‘Lots of blood, but not too deep, thank the gods.’
‘I’ll be…all right. Just a…shock.’
‘Was he alone?’ Laffon said.
‘Far as I could…tell, yes.’ Bastorran’s breathing was more regular, and a little colour was coming back to his cheeks.
‘Funny thing, someone battering their way in like that. You’d think your uncle would have been alerted and put up a fight, or raised the alarm.’
‘Perhaps Caldason did have somebody…with him. But I only…saw him.’
‘Well, it’s a damn audacious thing to do.’
‘That’s what these people…are, Commissioner. Brazen. Reckless. And they’ve taken my…uncle, the bastards.’
‘If this just happened, hopefully they haven’t got far. We could catch them yet.’
‘You know what this…is about, don’t you, Laffon? Rukanis. It’s revenge for that damn
traitor
.’
‘The timing certainly seems indicative.’ He stared at him. ‘You sure you’re going to be all right?’
‘I’ll be fine. I’ve taken worse knocks than this.’ He was calming. ‘But suppose this is part of a…general uprising? The first blow of many?’
‘I suppose we should be alive to that possibility. You’re the Clan High Chief now, Bastorran. What do you want to do?’
‘Come down hard on them.
Really
hard. Make them pay. Do I have your backing?’
Laffon glanced at the open study door. ‘You do.’
