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  “Draft a message for me to sign,” Rak said. It was one of Ioli’s duties to write messages, orders and reports for him because Rak’s messages tended to be terse to the point of being almost incomprehensible. He had once famously sent off a report on a huge battle with a slaver army of three hundred men that read only, “cleared out a slaver’s nest, no survivors.”

  Ioli moved to his desk and took out parchment and a pen. He checked the nib, dipped it in the ink and started to write.

  Meanwhile, Rak stood as well, but only to indulge his desire to pace. What he really needed was more information than Vrathis had let slip. “I think I need to go into the city,” he said slowly. “The murder occurred there, so presumably, the answers I seek are there as well.”

  Ioli looked up from the parchment and licked his lips before his hands came back up, fingers twisting through the symbols of words. “You should question the beasts. The rats, the cats, anything that was about when the murder occurred.”

  “A very good idea,” Rak concurred, smiling. He is starting to think like a Thezi. Excellent. He wasn’t about to tell the young man that he’d already planned on doing just that. It would serve no purpose when Rak’s goal was to further Ioli’s training. “And good thinking. The animals of the city are the one ally we have that no Koilathan would think to take into account. I will go into the city tonight. For now, I am going to speak with Captain Jisten. Perhaps he has heard something.”

  * * * *

  Ever since Rak had arrived in this land, Jisten had been there for him, a steadfast source of information, support and comfort. Although the man was the captain of the palace guard, he was also a Valer, a member of a race of semi-nomadic herders who hailed from the high mountain valleys of Loftos. Historically, the Valers both supported and protected the Loftoni race, a fact that had become more than theoretical to Rak over the past half year. Jisten was his Valer; they shared an unbreakable racial bond nearly as deep as the soul bond that linked Rak to his dragon, Scorth.

  The events of the summer, however, had driven a wedge between them, not that Rak blamed Jisten in the least for this. Because of him, Jisten had been captured, raped and tortured. The Valer still suffered the effects of the abuse he’d endured whether he’d admit it or not. Rak was uncertain of how to help his friend; he was no expert on such matters though his own past was that of a sex slave. Or perhaps that was the problem. As a slave, he’d learned very early how to separate what was done to his body from what affected his heart and soul. He just couldn’t understand why Jisten had such a hard time dealing with a simple physical act. It’s not as if his users had left visible scars to mark him. Rak had scars. Lots of scars. Jisten... didn’t.

  He turned over this ongoing source of tension as he strode toward Jisten’s office. Between the rape, the imprisonment and the loss of their babies, sometimes Rak thought the real wonder was that Jisten was speaking to him at all. He ducked into the guard barracks and turned to his right, but Jisten’s office door was closed. He concentrated, casting out his senses briefly. There was a mastigi, a winged lizard, on the other side of the door, and it was willing to share its senses with Rak. It took only a moment to verify that Jisten wasn’t there. Rak relaxed his mental grip on the mastigi, thanked it absently and turned away. He wasn’t concerned; Jisten often wasn’t in his office. He was sure he’d find the man before too long.

  Stepping back outside, he glanced skyward. Scorth was in the air, flying high over the palace and heading west. A small flight of colorful wyvern surrounded the large, black dragon. Happy hunting, he sent.

  I’m sure my dinner will be more palatable than yours, the dragon replied.

  Rak was briefly tempted to call Scorth back so that he could go hunting with the dragon. Half-raw, half-flame-roasted venison sounded much better than dinner with the court.

  The courtiers’ hostility was a palpable force. The gossipers had been at play this day, and given the expressions of the nobles who watched them enter the great hall, the dark servants had already been tried and convicted in the court of opinion. Rak gritted his teeth and walked into the hall regardless. To do otherwise would be as good as admitting his guilt.

  Beside him, Ioli stiffened as someone hissed, “Murderers,” from the safety of the hostile crowd.

  “Do nothing. Say nothing. Do not confirm their beliefs,” murmured Rak in Okyran.

  More accusations came forth the further into the hall they walked. “Murderers.”

  “Demons.”

  “Evil ones.”

  “Monsters.”

  Rak ignored them all, keeping his cool by keeping his will focused. He forced his mind to recite one of the more complicated chants, blocking out the comments flung at him. Reaching the high table and the king, Rak had to force his mind out of the complexities of the melodic line.

  “Grave rumors abound this evening,” the king proclaimed. “Had you anything to do with the murder of that lady?”

  King Owain was a handsome man just past his prime. His full beard, and wavy, long blond hair, neatly braided, showed much silver, lending the dark-blue-eyed monarch an air of wisdom and experience. His powerfully built shoulders and chest strained against the emerald-green fabric of his tunic, his belly showed only the barest paunch. Try as Rak might, however, he couldn’t see any of this man in himself, for all that the man was supposed to be his father. A father I never knew, he thought, who wants me to sit on a throne I never wanted. His half-brother, Jethain, was welcome to the throne and all that it entailed. He had enough responsibility on his own plate already. Besides, his vows to Zotien forbade him from inheriting.

  “You know more of this crime than I do. I had not known that the victim was a lady. I had not even known that the victim was female. I most certainly did not have anything to do with this murder, nor did my assistant. As your own guard can tell you, at the time of this murder, we were on the roof of the tallest tower of your palace, watching the stars.”

  “Yes, they did confirm that alibi for us,” said Owain. “However, it has also been pointed out that you have no need of assistance to first leave and then return to the roof.”

  “Your Majesty, I am the first to admit that I have wings. After all, they are not only attached to my back, they are difficult to conceal. But having wings does not mean that I can fly.” Rak spread his wings, stretching them out as he gestured to the thin membranes. The indirect light from the gaslights along the walls were enough to cause them to glow in rich jewel tones.

  “I do not have enough wing surface for true flight. I can glide, yes, but having gotten off the roof, the only way that I could have gotten back on the roof is by climbing up a set of stairs, just like everyone else. Also, look at how colorful my wings are. They stand out against the sky, Your Majesty. Any light sets them aglow, so that if I had glided over the walls and into the city, it would have been obvious. And my dragon would have been even more obvious than my wings are, as well you know.”

  “You could have darkened your wings,” suggested Lord Peneron.

  He swung a little to face the oldest of the king’s councilors. “Even supposing that I did that, your grace, darkening my wings does not answer the question of how I got back up to the roof without being seen. It cannot have escaped your notice that the entire palace is constructed of a pale granite block. I would stand out in the lights spaced upon the walls.” The problem Rak saw with his argument was that he wouldn’t be able to prove to the Koilathans that he couldn’t fly. The only proof that they were likely to accept was one that would prove fatal to Rak when he failed to fly out of the situation.

  Growing annoyed by the skepticism he sensed from the courtiers, Rak turned and addressed the king once more, “Sire, as I told the Commander of the Watch earlier, if you are accusing me, stop chasing your tail and just state your intentions. And I demand my right to see the actual evidence that you have for your accusation. If you cannot provide such evidence, you are not acting on fact but opinion.”

  The lords
appeared startled by Rak’s demand for proof. Owain smiled a little, and then, he asked, “How are such crimes dealt with in your land?”

  “We do not start by accusing the nearest sun worshippers in the area. Instead, we use the evidence of the scene to track the killer. There is an aura to such a place while the blood is still fresh. The kapnolagia and thansymia are brought in. They track down every person who was at the place where the killing occurred. The hounds bring them to us, whereupon a truth-seeking is performed. Any member of the Brethren can perform this ritual. The results of the truth-seeking are used to determine guilt. Since the truth-seeking comes from the God, it cannot be mistaken. It is very similar to what the justicers do.”

  Owain laced his fingers together, his expression that of a man who was trying very hard to not laugh. “I think our city watch might have some difficulty in accepting your assistance in this case. And as far as I know, there is no direct evidence against you. If you did not commit this murder, however, you might consider asking the justicers to clear you.” He motioned them to the seats.

  Rak kept his face expressionless as he sat down. He wasn’t at all sure that he was willing to submit to another examination by the justicers. He did not have pleasant memories of the Koilathan Hall of Justice where he had been briefly held—as a slave—the past summer.

  Chapter Four: Arguments

  Okthεra Atεlio, Thamεros Fεngari

  8th day, 2nd week, Thameros’ moon

  After the obligatory meal with the court, Rak headed to the stable to check on his steeds. Murders or no, some duties could not be neglected. Halfway to his goal, Rak ran into the queen. He had to check his stride to avoid making the run-in a literal thing.

  Jezaia glanced at him with wide, almost frightened eyes that didn’t fool him for a moment. “Araken. It’s... it’s been a long time.”

  “Your Majesty.” Rak inclined his head, striving to be polite to the woman who had wet-nursed him. Although he was told that she had saved his life after his mother’s death, he suspected her motives. She had been a minor noble, but as his wet-nurse, she had all the access she needed. Her ploy had worked, since she was now the queen and her son was the heir to the throne.

  According to the servants he had spoken to, Jezaia had never cared for him, and once she’d delivered a healthy son of her own, she had not made any effort to hide that fact. Their current antipathy was mutual; they’d already had several run-ins over the course of the past half year. The surprise was seeing her now; she’d taken to a policy of strictly avoiding him. “I trust that you are well?”

  “How is it,” she wondered aloud, “that you dare to show your face in our court after what you’ve done?”

  “And what is it that you think that I have done?” Not that he couldn’t guess what she thought; it just suited him to feign ignorance.

  “Your father always favored you, even in the face of evidence of wrongdoing. I see that this policy has continued. But you won’t get away with it this time. I’ll see you brought low if it’s the last thing I do.” The queen’s smile didn’t touch her eyes, which regarded him coldly, glittering with malice.

  “I wish you the best of luck in your venture, Your Majesty.” His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her, but he didn’t give her any chance to respond. Taking a wide step to one side, he swept past her, leaving her sputtering in his wake.

  Changing his mind about destination, Rak detoured to the palace guard barracks. It was after sunset, so Captain Jisten should be off duty now.

  Rak found Jisten, still in his office, with papers spread out on his desk. The captain hastily swept them into a pile and covered them when Rak appeared in the doorway.

  “Yes, S’Rak?” Jisten asked politely “Did you just get up? Want to get something to eat?” The captain stood up, and although his motive might have been to prevent Rak from seeing his papers, Rak had the definite sense that Jisten was trying to rush Rak out of his office.

  “Have you learned anything new about the murder?” Rak asked, leaning against the doorframe. “I... yes, I am hungry.”

  “Let’s go; let’s go, then,” Jisten said and practically pushed Rak out the door.

  Rak hadn’t eaten more than two bites at the court dinner. But he wondered what Jisten had in there that he didn’t want Rak to see. Ignoring Jisten’s efforts to shoo him out, Rak sidestepped the man and studied the office. He saw the cover of a restricted book on Jisten’s desk. The typically distorted illustration of Zotien and Katzrevia was a common error in the sun kingdoms. Rak recognized this particular illustration; he had seen it before, but where?

  “What is it? Come on,” Jisten urged. “Let’s go.”

  Rak stared at the cover, frowning. “I know that book.”

  “Do you? It’s restricted,” Jisten said nonchalantly. “On loan from a friend.”

  Rak rubbed his head. “I see. It’s inaccurate. The picture. It’s not right. I’ve seen it before...”

  “How is it inaccurate?” Jisten asked too quickly.

  Rak paced up to the desk and set a pair of fingers on the book. Nothing happened, which actually caused him mild surprise. “Maybe I was mistaken,” he murmured, still peering at the illustration suspiciously. He shook his head. “Jisten, you’ve met the Storm Lord. How can you think that He would be this... submissive... to His enemy?”

  “How else is it inaccurate?” Jisten motioned for him to come, and this time, Rak cooperated, turning his back on the book and exiting the office as he detailed how very wrong that illustration was.

  “There are similarities between the book and the murder scene but some differences, too. Perhaps the differences are the corrected mistakes,” Jisten mused as they walked toward the stable.

  Rak glanced at the captain. “What?” The only mistakes he’d spoken of were those of the illustration.

  Jisten shrugged.

  “Jisten, if this is about the murder... I promise you, no book you can find here will give you an accurate picture of my service.”

  “Why not?” Jisten asked.

  “Because,” said Rak patiently, “the sun kingdoms have ignored Okyro for the past three thousand years. The only books you will find have been written by drunken sun priests with an axe to grind, or worse, by chaos mages trying to hide their teachings in the guise of history.”

  “Hmmm,” Jisten said. “The Valers haven’t ignored the Lord of Night.”

  “True. If you bring me a book written by a Valer on the subject of my service, I would be happy to render an opinion on its accuracy. But, please, for the love of all the gods, don’t base your opinions of my service on that book.”

  “S’Rak... I was there when you demanded a human sacrifice to raise power. You murdered that old man, willing or otherwise, it doesn’t matter, it was your hand on the knife.” Jisten’s tone was cold and angry. “It’s not a huge leap to think that what you’ve done once, you’d do again.”

  “As I have told you before, there are very specific rules and requirements for that rite. Since you recall those events in Agerith so clearly, you should also recall that both the sacrificial volunteer and the priest performing the ritual must undergo a full three-night ritual of purification. Furthermore, the sacrifice must occur on the altar of night for any power to be raised.”

  “Hmmm,” Jisten demurred.

  Rak sighed. He could tell that Jisten didn’t believe him any more than Vrathis had. “What would it take to convince you?”

  “I don’t know. A solid alibi?” Jisten bit his lip.

  Rak flinched. Then, he said very quietly, “I invited you to come. If I had intended to commit murder, would I have tried to get you to join me on the roof?”

  “You know that I don’t believe in astrology. You’ve spent all summer trying to convert me.”

  “So? Does that change my point?”

  “You knew I’d refuse when you asked me,” snapped Jisten.

  Rak tried to hide his hurt. “I thought maybe... but it does not matter, does it. You ar
e convinced I did this thing, to this nameless person I do not even know...”

  Several noblewomen in a group made signs to ward off evil as Rak passed, and one whispered, “Murdering demon...”

  “I am not a demon,” Rak snarled, turning on them. “Or a murderer. Leave us be!”

  Jisten frowned at Rak’s sharp tone. “They’re afraid. One of their own has been murdered. One who was kind and tried to be kind to you.”

  “What are you talking about?” Rak asked, irritated. “They have tried and convicted me entirely on opinion, without a fact among them. Or a thought.”

  “Contrary to your opinion, these so-called sunnies do think. There is evidence,” Jisten snapped.

  “Evidence?” snorted Rak. “Really? Let me see it! They are very like that vapid creature you are so fond of. What is her name? Kazia? The idiot who feeds pink frosting to her horse? At least she is open about her vapid thoughtlessness. The rest of them are sly and underhanded about it.”

  Jisten’s face went stony at Rak’s criticism of Kazia. “You never liked Kazia! And now she’s dead! Brutally murdered in the night!”

  Rak’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at Jisten. “Kazia?” he whispered. “Sweet night, no wonder you are convinced I did it.”