“Of course there is.”
“Before I decide,” Royce asked, “what are you doing here?”
“I was finishing another job, that’s all.”
“And what was this job?”
“Nothing sinister, I just made a sword for a guy.”
“All the way out here? Who is this person?”
“Lord Rufus somebody. I was hired to come here to make it. I was told he would meet me. Honest, no traps, no killings.”
“And how are you still alive? How did you get out of Melengar? How is it you haven’t been caught?”
“My employer is very powerful.”
“This Rufus guy?”
“No. I’m making the sword for him, but Rufus isn’t my employer.”
“So who is?”
Royce heard footfalls. Someone was running up the trail. Thinking it might be the dwarf’s associates, he slipped behind Magnus. He gripped his hair, pulled his head back, and prepared to slit his throat.
“Royce!” Tad Bothwick shouted up to them from down near the water.
“What is it, Tad?” he asked cautiously.
“Hadrian sent me. He says you should come back to the village right away, but that Esra should steer clear.”
“Why?” the wizard asked.
“Hadrian said to tell you that the Church of Nyphron just arrived.”
“The church?” Esrahaddon muttered. “Here?”
“Is there a Lord Rufus with them?” Royce asked.
“Could be. There’s a whole lot of fancy folk around. Must be at least one lord in the bunch.”
“Any idea why they’re here, Tad?”
“Nope.”
“You might want to make yourself scarce,” Royce told the wizard. “Someone might have mentioned your name. I’ll go see what’s happening. In the meantime”—he looked down at the dwarf—“it would appear your employer has just arrived. Your death sentence has been suspended. This kindly old man is going to watch you this afternoon, and you’re going to stay right here. Then later you’re going to show us where this tunnel is, and if you’re telling the truth about knowing, then you live. Anything short of that and you’re going over the falls in two pieces. Agreed? Good.” He looked back at the wizard. “Want me to tie him up or just hit him over the head with a rock?” Royce asked, panicking the dwarf again.
“Won’t be necessary. Magnus here looks like the honorable type. Besides, I can still manage a few surprisingly unpleasant things. Do you know what it is like to have live ants trapped inside your head?”
The dwarf did not move or speak. Royce searched him. He found a belt under his clothes with little hammers and some rock-shaping tools and a dagger. Royce looked at the dagger, surprised.
“I tried copying it,” the dwarf told him nervously. “It’s not very good; I was working from memory.”
Royce compared it to his own dagger. The two were very similar in design, though the blades were clearly different. Royce’s weapon was made of an almost translucent metal that shimmered in the light, while Magnus’s dagger seemed dull and heavy by comparison. The thief threw the dagger over the cliff.
“That’s a magnificent weapon you have,” the dwarf told him, mesmerized by the blade that a moment before had been at his throat. “It’s a Tur blade, isn’t it?”
Royce ignored him and spoke to Esrahaddon. “Keep an eye on him. I’ll be back later.”
Arista took her seat on the balcony above the entrance to the great hall of the manor house, along with the entourage of the archbishop, which included Sauly and Sentinel Luis Guy. It was a very small balcony, created of rough logs and thick ropes, where only a few could fit, but Bernice managed to squeeze her way in and remained standing just behind her. Bernice’s hovering out of sight was as irritating as a mosquito in the dark.
Arista had no idea what was going on—few people appeared to.
When they had arrived, everything was in chaos. The lord of the manor was apparently dead and the place was filled with peasants. They were promptly chased out. Luis Guy and his seret established order and assigned quarters based on rank. She was given a cramped but private room on the second level. It was a ghastly place, lacking even a single window. A bear rug lay on the floor, the head of a moose looked down at her from above the bed, and a coatrack made from deer antlers hung from the wall. Bernice was busy unpacking her clothes from the trunk when Sauly stopped by, insisting Arista join him on the balcony. At first, she thought the contest might be starting, but it was common knowledge it would begin at nightfall.
A trumpeter stepped up to the rail and blared a fanfare on his horn. Below, in the courtyard, a crowd formed. Men rushed over, some holding drinks or half-eaten meals. One man trotted up still buttoning his pants. The growing audience created a mass of heads and shoulders bunched together, all staring up at them.