The Scarecrow (Master of Malice Book 1) (26 page)

“Yet if you feel that to conceal your suspicions is to deny Aeyron the chance to deal with this in his own way, then I will support your decision. Do not underestimate how the love of his new lady could help him, either. By all accounts, Lirina has won his heart and he is determined to have her. She has transformed his life, and I, for one, am glad.”

Sullyan smiled. “As am I, Father. I must meet this lady. Will he bring her to Caer Vellet before they are formally betrothed?”

“I believe that is his plan. He wishes to visit her again to ask her father for her hand, and then, if she is agreeable, he will bring her here to show her what will be expected of her before asking for her decision. He has decided the Trade Fair in late winter would be a good time to introduce her to the Citadel, as it is a time of feasting and renewal. He feels it would also be a suitable time to broach his new regime. Many of our most influential nobles will attend the fair, and much will hinge on our people’s reaction to his plans and their acceptance of his bride. Our only disappointment is that neither Idrimar nor Ty will be here to meet her. They are both tied up with their own province and unable to attend the fair. It is a great pity, for their public support would have done much to smooth Lirina’s entry into our family, but Aeyron cannot wait any longer. And he wants to be very sure Lirina understands what her new life will entail before she gives him her answer.”

“Is that not a radical departure from Andaryan tradition, Father?” asked Sullyan.

Most noblemen of the realm—if not most of the male population of Andaryon—would take whatever woman pleased their eye and only concern themselves with getting an heir. Sullyan had changed Aeyron’s opinions as to the value of women, and he was determined to take a wife who wasn’t frightened to use her brain. Sullyan’s advice to “start a revolution,” given lightly and with the intention of distracting the two of them from imminent and cataclysmic demise, had been taken very firmly to heart.

Pharikian returned her look, glad for the lightening of the mood. “Aye, and you know very well how it has come about. Your seditious ideas have taken over my son completely. It will be entirely your fault if my new daughter-in-law turns out to be a tyrant in my own household.”

Sullyan laughed. The mere idea of anyone daring to bully Pharikian—or Aeyron, come to that—was unthinkable. But everyone would benefit from a woman who could share Aeyron’s ideals. Maybe a new era was dawning for the demon realm of Andaryon.

This pleasant speculation wasn’t helping her make up her mind. She must soon return to help the General organize Elias’s visit to Lerric, and the weighty reason behind it returned to sit on Sullyan’s shoulder like a brooding bird of prey.

“I will not tell Aeyron just yet,” she said. “You are right; our fears concerning the Baron are born of no more than unease brought on by the unconfirmed nature of his suicide. I would still be suspicious of him if his lifeless body lay before me. I will wait to see what, if anything, Mathias and Robin find in Bordenn. There is nothing to be gained by dredging up long-buried fears at this stage, and I would not burden Aeyron while he is so content with his life.”

She stood and approached her adopted father. Pharikian rose also and took her into his arms. They embraced warmly, each taking comfort from the other’s love.

She reluctantly released him. “I must go. I have much to do before Mathias and Robin leave.”

“Will you see Aeyron before you go?”

She shook her head. “I think not. Aeyron sees as clearly as you do. I would not be forced into a lie if he notices my uncertainty. But you can give him my love and tell him I am eager to meet his new bride.”

She left the Palace, returning through the streets of the lower town to the garrison horse lines. Drum whickered a soft welcome as she vaulted to his back. She saluted the guards and rode out onto the plain.

A
fter the Baron’s exile and the changes to the Loxton garrison, brigands in Loxton Forest largely ceased to be a problem. General Blaine spent some time in the city after the trial in order to help Elias come to terms with the betrayal of his wife, and the men he brought with him amused themselves by flushing the criminals from the woods and ensuring they didn’t return. Cal in particular had enjoyed that pastime.

Since that initial cleansing, Major Denny had continued to organize regular sweeps of Loxton Forest to discourage fresh footpads and vagrants, but it was so vast and impenetrable it was impossible to be sure they were all gone. While the forest was undeniably a safer place for travelers and reports of ambush were rare, over the past month or so bands of outlaws had resumed prowling the woodlands and waylaying nobles’ carriages. Although unwilling to commit a large body of men to deal with the problem, Vassa nevertheless wished to counter their threat.

It was quiet in Colonel Vassa’s office where he and Major Denny sat discussing how to respond this latest infestation of brigands. Their discussion was interrupted by the sound of someone yelling Denny’s name. Both men looked up as Captain Valustin burst into the office. Denny rose, putting out a hand to steady his subordinate as he skidded to a stop.

“Whoa, man, steady there. No need to burst the door down. What’s got you so rattled?”

Vassa stood also, his stern face draining of color. Denny knew an attack on the King during his tour of duty was Vassa’s worst nightmare. “What is it, man?” the Colonel barked.

Valustin swallowed, trying to recover his breath. “Major, Colonel, the Arch Patrio has been found murdered!”

Denny gasped and Vassa’s expression turned thunderous. “What? When did this happen? How did you hear of it? Details, man!”

“One of my men sent word to me, Colonel. He was off duty and out in the city. He heard a commotion in the Minster precincts and went to investigate. Some of the clerics were huddled together by the Minster door in obvious distress, and when he asked them what the matter was, they told him the Arch Patrio had been found in one of the supplicants’ cells with his throat slit.”

Denny loosed a barrack-room oath, but Valustin hadn’t finished. “One of the junior clerics went to find him around mid-morning, as no one had seen him since he had gone to the Minster to keep an appointment. The cleric found that His Immanence’s rooms had been ransacked and there was no sign of Lord Neremiah. So he raised the alarm and all the clerics turned out to search. They eventually found him in the Minster itself, lying across the table in one of the cells, bled dry from an awful gash in his throat.”

“Has anyone moved the body or disturbed his rooms?” Vassa demanded.

“No, sir. My man stayed on to make sure both the cell and His Immanence’s rooms were left alone, and then sent one of the clerics to me. I came straight to inform you. The cleric says it’s best to hurry, sir. He says as soon as the senior clerics gather their wits, they’ll try to get at the body for the Rite of Passing—and likely trample any evidence in the process.”

“Well done, Captain. Your man will be in line for a commendation for his quick thinking. Denny, get over there and begin an investigation. I’ll go to the King and let him know what’s happened.” Vassa turned back to Valustin. “Captain, was any more said about the appointment His Immanence had this morning? Do we know who he met?”

“Not yet, sir, but I’m sure we can find out.”

Vassa nodded. “Go with the major and do as he bids you. I’ll join you later once the King’s been informed.”

Denny sprinted for the garrison courtyard, yelling for their horses, Valustin on his heels. In short order they were galloping side by side through the city, scattering townsfolk who stared after them in surprise. Word of the murder had yet to get out, though Denny knew it wouldn’t take long. Drawing rein outside the Minster precincts, they dismounted and led their beasts toward the hitching post.

Valustin’s man was outside the doors to the Minster, keeping at bay a tight knot of clerics, all of whom seemed determined to damn him for his obstructiveness. Denny strode up to them and quietly but firmly requested they move. He was accosted by a small, thin, bearded man who turned sharp blue eyes on him.

“Major, this is sacrilege! Your man here won’t allow us access to our own Minster. His Immanence must receive his Rites of Passing. To leave him so unblessed is to profane his memory. I demand you let us pass.”

Denny regarded him. “I’m sorry, Patrio …?”

“
Senior
Patrio Roshan,” the man snapped.

“Patrio Roshan, I sincerely regret any inconvenience caused by this, but my man was quite right to deny you access to the Minster—and especially His Immanence’s body—at this time. I mean no disrespect, but if we are to stand any chance of apprehending the murderer, it’s vital nothing’s disturbed until we’ve conducted an examination. The King will agree with me when he arrives.”

“The King?” Roshan looked uncertain, but Denny wasn’t listening. Gesturing to Valustin, he sidled past the huddled clerics and entered the chilly Minster.

The awesome building with its air of quiet sanctity always had a profound effect on Owyn Denny. He loved attending services here and watching the clerics as they went about the offices of their faith. He loved the chanting of the choir and the crescendo of the paeans, which often had the building ringing like some celestial bell. The thought that someone had brought murder to this holy place filled him with a righteous rage.

Valustin at his heels, Denny made his way to the supplicants’ cells on the western side of the Minster. There were half a dozen, but the one he wanted was obvious. Smears of blood marked the floor and the door was open. He stepped inside and gasped in horror.

Denny had seen corpses many times, some made by his own hand. He was inured to death and gore in battle, but to see the effects of base and vicious murder, and to see it perpetrated upon a man of faith, was somehow disgusting and horrific. He placed a hand over his mouth.

His Immanence the Lord Neremiah had fallen over the table at which he sat. Its wooden surface was flooded and stained with his blood, which had gushed and then seeped from the jagged rip in his throat. The flesh was so ravaged it was as if some animal had gripped the skin and torn it loose. Denny spoke sternly but silently to his stomach and leaned closer. If a knife had caused this, it was a blade both toothed and notched. He wrinkled his nose, straightened, and turned to Valustin.

“What on earth’s that smell, Val?”

Valustin, who had also gone pale, shook his head, not trusting his voice. Denny looked around the cell, finding nothing that might have produced that stray whiff of charnel reek. He even sniffed lightly at Neremiah, aware the human body was capable of giving off some very strange odors when suddenly and violently killed. Yet there was no hint of the reek about the Arch Patrio’s person, and now it had gone from the air in the room.

Apart from the smears of blood on the floor, there was nothing else to see in the cell. The look of terror on Neremiah’s gray face told Denny nothing, nor was there cloth clutched in his fingers, nor any sign of the knife. Denny turned and left the cell, closing the door behind him and Valustin. As they returned down the nave toward the main doors, they heard voices outside. Denny recognized Vassa’s gruff tones and then Elias’s decisive voice, no doubt dealing with Roshan’s ire. Denny smiled. The cleric would get no further with either Vassa or Elias than he had with him.

Elias was indeed dealing with the irate senior cleric when Denny and Valustin emerged from the Minster’s doors. He noticed them immediately and raised his brows. Denny could see he was pale and wondered at it. He knew Elias hadn’t harbored much respect for the Arch Patrio, and he probably felt as outraged as Denny at the profaning of this holy place, but why he should look quite so troubled the major couldn’t guess.

“There are no clues as to the murderer’s identity as far as I can see, your Majesty,” he reported. “His throat has been savagely cut with a jagged or notched blade; death would have been swift but not painless.”

This bald statement, delivered with no finesse or concern for the feelings of the clerics, drew gasps of outrage and horror. Roshan stared at him in dislike, but Denny was in no mood for niceties. A murderer was abroad in his city and that was a personal affront. “Shall we investigate his room next?”

Elias waved a hand. “You go on, Major. Patrio Roshan has agreed to show you the way. I want to see the body. I’ll join you in a few minutes.”

Bowing his head, Denny left the Minster in the company of Valustin and Senior Patrio Roshan, who was still glowering as he guided them to Neremiah’s private chambers. Vassa went with the King, and the swordsman detailed by Valustin to guard the Minster doors stayed where he was. Until the King gave him leave, no one would enter the building.

“Who discovered the ransacking of His Immanence’s rooms, Patrio?” enquired Denny as they walked.

“It was one of the juniors, Cleric Yve,” Roshan answered, concern for the fate of his superior plain upon his face. As far as Denny was aware, there had never been a murder committed within the Minster before. He could well understand Roshan’s distress. “He’s very young and has only been with us a year. He was very agitated when he entered His Immanence’s rooms and saw the devastation. I thank all that’s holy he wasn’t the one to find the body. I believe he might never have recovered from the shock.”

“Who did discover the body?”

Roshan grimaced. “I did, Major. Yve ran to me when he couldn’t find His Immanence, and once I’d seen the room I called all the clerics and juniors together and we spread out to search the Minster and its precincts. Cleric Lahan and I drew the Minster itself, and he took the east side while I took the west. When I saw … well, you know what I saw … I called to Cleric Lahan and we rushed outside to tell the others, which is when your man came upon us. The rest you know.”

Roshan fell silent and Denny let him be. He would see for himself the damage done to Neremiah’s rooms; he needn’t trouble the man further. Denny and Valustin followed him into the cloistered enclosure where the clerics had their personal quarters. Simply built and austere, the sandy-colored stone lent an appearance of warmth to the cold functionality of the small, square houses. Roshan led the two men toward the far end of the quadrangle and pushed open a door. He stood back to let them enter and waited outside without being told.