Foerris swallows. “No, ser.”
“Find out everything you can about him from his squad and the others. I’ll expect a report before we leave.”
“Yes, ser.”
Once the clearly shaken undercaptain has left, Rhamuel turns back to Lerial. “Why would anyone send a wizard assassin here? No one even knew you were coming to Afrit then…”
“But they knew you’d pass through here.”
“It would have had to have been planned almost a season ago … Three eightdays ago, but why a wizard assassin … and why did he just try to leave, rather than kill someone?”
“He must have had a reason,” muses Lerial.
An urgent pounding on the door halts the conversation.
“Arms-Commander, ser!”
Lerial recognizes Norstaan’s voice … and the near-panic in it. He can also sense that there is no one else with the undercaptain, except for the two guards and the Mirror Lancers who were already outside.
“What is it?”
“Someone’s killed Subcommander Valatyr!”
“Frig!”
That is the first expletive Lerial recalls hearing from Rhamuel.
“Come in and tell me. Now!”
Norstaan enters, then lurches to a stop as he sees the body on the floor. He looks from Rhamuel to Lerial and then back to the arms-commander.
“He attacked the Mirror Lancers,” declares Rhamuel. “We’ll talk about that later. What happened to Subcommander Valatyr?”
“His neck was slashed … but … his sword hand was burned. His blade was on the floor.” Norstaan shakes his head.
“The subcommander was an outstanding blade, then, wasn’t he?” asks Lerial.
Both Norstaan and Rhamuel nod.
“The assassin had to know that. He probably tried to kill Valatyr just with a blade, and when that didn’t work, he likely tried a firebolt. The subcommander probably parried the firebolt, but some of it ran down the blade and burned his hand. That distracted him just enough. The assassin was very good with a blade from what little I saw.”
“How did you find out that the subcommander had been killed?” demands Rhamuel.
“I heard people in the courtyard and saw lights near the stable … and the stable door was open, but no one could tell me anything … The overcaptain wasn’t in his quarters. I didn’t want to bother you, sir. So I went to the subcommander’s room. I called for him, but he didn’t answer. I tried the door. It wasn’t bolted, and when I opened it … I saw him lying on the floor. I thought he might have fallen at first. Then I saw the blood. He was cold. I ran up here.”
“Set guards around his room. Don’t have anyone else enter,” orders Rhamuel. “We’ll be there in a few moments.”
Norstaan looks at the body.
“He’s likely the one who killed the subcommander. Overcaptain Lerial tried to stop him from leaving the way station. He attacked the overcaptain. The overcaptain killed him in trying to capture him. Go and post those guards.”
“Yes, ser.”
Norstaan does not so much leave as flee.
Once he and Rhamuel are alone, Lerial says slowly, “I think you have your answer. Valatyr was your closest and most trustworthy advisor, wasn’t he? You were never the target. He was.”
After several moments, Rhamuel shakes his head. “It makes sense. Too much sense. It was all planned in advance. Whoever did it had no idea you’d be returning with me.” A grim smile crosses his lips. “You had men watching for someone leaving, didn’t you?”
“I did. I thought someone might try to get word of my presence to Swartheld before we reached the city. I didn’t think that would be good for either of us.” But it was mostly for self-protection. Rhamuel may guess that, Lerial knows, but what he has said is true, nonetheless.
“We know a little more because you stopped the assassin,” says Rhamuel, almost testily, “but not much.”
“I didn’t know he had that much chaos in him. A shoulder wound wouldn’t have killed a normal assassin. And you know that whoever sent him has golds and is well placed. Otherwise, they couldn’t have gotten him into the replacements with the right uniform and training.”
“That limits the possibilities to a mere score,” replies the arms-commander dryly.
“Whoever it is has also lost a valuable assassin. One that valuable might be missed, and that could tell you more about who hired him.”
“True. We can think about this more later. We need to see to the subcommander.” Rhamuel sits on the edge of his bed and pulls on his boots, then rises. “Are you going to keep carrying both blades?”
“You ought to keep the assassin’s blade … and not show it to anyone yet.”
Rhamuel nods. “Put it on the desk. It will be safe enough here with guards in place.”