When the door closes, Rhamuel looks at Lerial. “I’m waiting.”
“We have a dead ranker who isn’t a ranker at all. He was at least a minor wizard. Perhaps I’m overly cautious, ser, but when rankers who are not dispatch riders—or even if they are—try to slip out at third glass of the morning with a dispatch case, alone, without escorts, I tend to ask why. So do my men. And when such a ranker refuses even his name, I get more suspicious. And when he turns out to be a wizard with a cupridium blade that isn’t of Mirror Lancer or Afritan Guard forging, that’s worse.” He goes on to explain what else happened in the stable. “The worst part is that I have no idea what was in the dispatch case. I didn’t expect a wizard … or one that would use chaos to destroy the case.”
Rhamuel takes the single candleholder from the bedside table and carries it over to the body. He looks carefully, then straightens and shakes his head. “I’ve never seen him.”
“Neither have I. Nor have I seen a blade like this.” Lerial extends the blade carefully, presenting the hilt to Rhamuel.
The arms-commander lifts it. “Lighter than it looks. What’s so important about it?” He returns the weapon to Lerial.
“It’s difficult for a chaos-wizard to handle an iron blade, and the more powerful the wizard, the harder it is. That’s why Magi’i who used weapons once all bore cupridium blades. They’re almost impossible to forge because they require a strong ordermage and a skilled swordsmith. There are still a number in Cigoerne, but this isn’t like any weapon I’ve ever seen. It’s an assassin’s blade, but made for a wizard who’s an assassin, and it wasn’t forged in Cigoerne. There can’t be many of those.”
“If he is a wizard…” Rhamuel shakes his head. “How did he die? I only see a blot of red on his shoulder.”
“I put an iron-cored blade into his shoulder. That killed him. It likely unbalanced the order and chaos in his body.” That isn’t entirely accurate, Lerial knows, but it’s close enough for the circumstances.
“I noticed Undercaptain Kusyl appeared somewhat … charred.”
“He was holding the dispatch case when the wizard threw a small chaos-bolt and burned it.”
“He didn’t use chaos on you? He burned a case and let you take him down with a blade?”
“I can parry a small chaos-bolt with the blade,” Lerial says blandly, even as he marvels at what happened. “He was less successful with me.”
“Considerably less.” Rhamuel’s voice is dry. “None of this makes sense. Perhaps the way-station undercaptain can enlighten us.” He walks to the door and opens it slightly. “Send for Undercaptain Foerris. I want him here immediately.”
“Yes, ser.”
Rhamuel closes the door and walks to the narrow table desk, where he lifts a striker and, after several attempts, lights the lamp there. He sets the striker back on a brass plate that serves as its holder, then looks at Lerial. “What exactly did he say?”
“I asked him his name, and he replied that he answered only to Squad Leader Phoraan or Afritan officers.”
“I can’t imagine a ranker responding like that.”
“Neither could I,” replies Lerial.
“Did he know who you are?”
“He obviously knew I wasn’t an Afritan officer, but more than that … I don’t think so. He looked very surprised when I parried his firebolt. That was when he jumped back and used a small firebolt on the dispatch case.”
“What color was it?”
“Black.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m certain. Why?”
“All Afritan Guard dispatch cases are crimson with a black slash.”
For several moments, neither speaks.
“Undercaptain Foerris is here, ser.”
“Have him come in.” Rhamuel’s voice is cool.
The door opens, and an officer somewhat shorter than Lerial enters. Foerris is neither fresh-faced nor a grizzled veteran, but an undercaptain only a few years older than Lerial, slightly round-faced and soft in the middle, most likely a younger son of a prosperous merchant. His eyes widen as he beholds the body on the floor. “He broke in here?”
“No,” replies Rhamuel. “He attacked Overcaptain Lerial when the overcaptain asked him why he was taking a mount and trying to leave the way station. Is he one of yours?”
“Yes, ser. That’s Yussyl. I don’t understand…”
“What do you know about him?” asks Rhamuel.
“He came with the replacements three eightdays ago. He did his duties with all the others. I talked to him once or twice. He’s better spoken … he was … than many rankers, but it takes all kinds, and we don’t ask about their past.” After a pause, Foerris ventures, “Might I ask … ser?”
“He tried to sneak out of the way station less than a glass ago, and when Overcaptain Lerial’s men asked why he was leaving in the middle of the night, he tried to escape. He attacked the overcaptain. The overcaptain had to kill him.” Rhamuel looks at the undercaptain. “Can you explain any of this?”