Authors: Hilari Bell
The door swung open and a guard pushed Master Kerratis into the room. The healer priest’s gaze flashed across the landholders’ faces. Fear dawned in his eyes, but his voice didn’t reveal it.
“What in the Bright Ones’ name is going on here? Who summoned me?”
“I summoned you.” Lord Brallorscourt stepped forward. “But as to what’s going on, we’re hoping you can tell us.” He held up one of the jars.
Master Kerratis stiffened. “It’s yellow vervallen. I
recommended it to help the Hierarch sleep. It’s quite harmless, I assure you. Is someone questioning my judgment as a healer?”
He was talking too much. Could the landholders hear the guilt, the terror under his arrogant words?
“I knew you were a feckless ass,” Chardane snarled. “Aye, I’m the one daring to question your sacred judgment. And it’s
green
vervallen, fool.”
“It can’t be!” Kerratis snatched the jar and peered inside. “The two look similar, but I can’t believe the herbalist who supplies it could make such a mistake. Even if he did, it’s not my fault. It was yellow vervallen I recommended.”
“What I’d like to know,” said Master Zachiros, “is why Timeon Lazur had these jars in his office.”
Surprise whisked over Kerratis’ face. “I have no idea. But if Master Lazur’s the one who had these jars, then perhaps you should question—”
A knock interrupted him, and a guard brought Master Lazur into the room. He looked around, wariness flickering in his expression for a second before he composed it.
Master Kerratis glared at him. Repudiation or warning?
“What’s going on?” Master Lazur asked calmly. “You sent for me?”
Lord Brallorscourt gestured to the jars. “Do you recognize these?”
“No. Should I?” Master Lazur barely glanced toward Jeriah, but Jeriah flinched at the grim promise in his eyes.
If this didn’t work, his family would be destroyed. But he’d known that when he started. He lifted his chin and stared back defiantly.
“Two of these jars were found in a cabinet in your office,” Lord Brallorscourt told him.
“I don’t know how that could be. I’ve never seen them before. What’s in them?”
“A drug, I’m afraid,” Master Zachiros interposed. “One that may have been responsible for the Hierarch’s tragic condition all these years.”
Master Lazur stiffened. He did it almost as well as Chardane. “Are you telling me that the Sunlord is being
drugged
? That his mind’s all right?”
“We can’t know that for certain,” said Master Zachiros. “But it might be. The problem is—”
“The problem,” Lord Brallorscourt interrupted, “is how jars of this drug came to be in your office.”
“I don’t know,” said Master Lazur truthfully. “I can only guess that one of my enemies planted them there. Who discovered the Hierarch was being drugged? That might be a clue.” He was careful not to look at Jeriah.
“My son Nevin, whose devotion to the Hierarch is well known, discovered it. But even if someone doubted his loyalty, he’s not old enough to be the author of a plot that began seven years ago.”
That startled the priest. His eyes flicked to Jeriah, then away. “In that case I can only suggest Master Kerratis might
know something. He’s responsible for the Hierarch’s physical well-being and orders all his medicines.”
“I recommended a mild sedative!” Master Kerratis’ face was crimson. “If something was substituted, I suggest you look to the man in whose cabinet the drug was found! I won’t be held responsible for this, I warn you!”
He glared at Master Lazur’s impassive face, and Jeriah held his breath. How could the priest look so calm? He was only a breath from destruction! Surely under that confident facade his nerves were shredding. Surely he could be driven to make some mistake.
Finally, Master Lazur stirred. “My apologies, gentlemen. I didn’t want to make accusations before I had proof. I’d already begun questioning the efficacy of this ‘medicine,’ and I took the jars to try to learn what it was. That’s why they were in my cabinet. I was trying to find an herbalist I could trust, and searching for evidence that Master Kerratis might have—”
“Oh, no you don’t!” Kerratis lunged for Master Lazur, but the guards caught his arms. “You’re not getting out of this! He came to
me
, masters, seven years ago. I’d been…It was a mistake. An indiscretion! But if it had become known, I’d have been finished. All my learning, my power, wasted! But Master Lazur came to me! He was the one who suggested a drug. He was the one who wanted him kept helpless but alive. He was the one who planned it all!”
Master Lazur shook his head sadly. “He seeks to save
himself by casting blame elsewhere.”
The landholders’ expressions were full of doubt and confusion, and Jeriah’s heart sank.
It was going to fail.
It was going to fail, his family would be ruined, and Tobin would die.
“Seven years,” Master Zachiros mused. “I find it hard to believe any plot could remain secret so long. What motive would either Master Kerratis or Master Lazur have to do such a thing?”
“Is there another explanation?” Lord Brallorscourt snapped.
“Well, perhaps it’s a recent plot on the part of Master Lazur’s enemies, as he suggested. If you gave this drug to a man whose mind was already damaged, the effect might not be noticeable.”
“I’d have notice—” Nevin started to protest but his father’s hand clamped down on his shoulder, silencing him.
It was all coming to naught. Master Zachiros’ gentle logic would bring Jeriah’s whole scheme tumbling down. And then…
“Or it might be an accident,” the secretary continued. “If the herb seller confused some similar plant with the dangerous one—”
“Confused them consistently, for seven years?” asked Master Lazur. “I grant you, yellow verval—”
He stopped in midword, but it was too late.
“Truly, yellow vervallen looks much like green vervallen,” said Master Zachiros. “But it seems you did know what was
in those jars, Timeon. Without having found an herbalist to tell you.”
The room was still.
Master Lazur hesitated a second and tried again. “Someone mentioned the name of the drug while we spoke.”
“Not since you came in, Lazur.” Kerratis grinned savagely.
Master Zachiros shook his head. The landholders glared their condemnation. The frustrated fury on Lord Brallorscourt’s face needed no words.
Master Lazur took a deep breath. “The relocation is more important than anything else. No matter what happens to me, it
must
be completed.” His gaze darted to Brallorscourt, to Master Zachiros, to Chardane. The landholders knew a confession when they heard it and broke into clamorous exclamations, cursing Lazur for a traitor, calling for the guard.
“The relocation must continue or we’re all lost!” The guards grabbed him, dragging him out with Kerratis. The priest’s eyes sought desperately for someone who might understand. They fastened on Jeriah, and the desperation, the truth in those eyes held him, trapped, unable to look away. “Don’t let this stop the relocation! It can save the Realm!” He was speaking to Jeriah alone, now. Demanding. Begging. “All our lives, everything is at stake! Don’t let anything stop—” The door closed behind him.
Jeriah’s quaking nerves eased a little as the landholders
rushed about. Nevin was asking them to leave lest they wake the Hierarch. Master Zachiros was the first to depart; he had a lot to organize.
It had worked. Whatever the cost, it had worked. But how could a villain show such courage, such selflessness?
Could the relocation really fail because of this?
Jeriah shivered. Surely someone else would step in and take command. Make sure the Realm was saved.
Lord Brallorscourt was silent, no doubt reordering his own plans. He would still have his council seat, in spite of Master Lazur’s fall. And perhaps more power. He looked at Nevin, who was politely pushing the last of the landholders out of the room. He looked at Jeriah and stiffened, his eyes raking over him.
“Why is your hair wet?”
“M-my hair?”
“It’s still damp. It was wet when we came in. Why?”
“Ah, I’m sorry, my lord. I drank a little too much at the dance. When the Hierarch fell asleep, I began to get sleepy too, so I poured water over my head.”
It sounded plausible, didn’t it?
Brallorscourt began to pace. “I don’t believe in coincidence. I suppose this could be an accident. Perhaps the Bright Gods had a hand in it. But perhaps…”
“Father, what are you talking about?”
“Coincidence,” said Lord Brallorscourt, gazing at Jeriah. “Or not. But there’s one way to be sure.”
“Sure of what?” Nevin asked.
“Come with me, both of you. We’re going to the vault to check on some papers.”
Jeriah felt the blood drain from his face. Lord Brallorscourt saw it and smiled. “If the papers are there, then this is the Gods’ will and I won’t tamper with it. If they’re gone…I have a promise to keep.”
They had to wait for the Hierarch’s servants to arrive. Nevin refused to leave him unattended, and Lord Brallorscourt wanted his son to act as a witness—though to Nevin’s frustration, he refused to tell him what he was supposed to see.
Jeriah said nothing, but he prayed the servants would be out of the palace or drunk, anything to delay them. The goblins had just started working on the wall when he left—they couldn’t be finished by now. It seemed like an eternity had passed, but it was really little more than an hour.
The servant came in all too soon. They descended to the vaults, Lord Brallorscourt clasping Jeriah’s arm. Nevin was babbling about the possibility that the Hierarch might recover, happier than Jeriah had ever seen him.
Jeriah’s mind spun. He should try to delay them, but anything he did would confirm Lord Brallorscourt’s suspicion. Would that be worse than catching the goblins with Master Lazur’s notes in their hands? Delay them how? His plan was in shambles.
Three pairs of guards were stationed in the wine cellar—and they weren’t there to guard the wine. As they passed
the spring room door, Jeriah remembered his muddy clothes lying on the floor inside. Damning evidence. As damning as the evidence Lord Brallorscourt held against his father?
There was a slight delay outside the vault as the keys were fetched. Did the goblins know they were there? How thick was this door?
“Lord Brallorscourt.” Jeriah spoke as loudly as he dared. “I don’t know why you need me. Surely Nevin can witness whatever this is.”
“I wouldn’t dream of doing this without you, Jeriah Rovan. Do you mind being here?”
“Of course not, my lord.” He could say nothing else, but perhaps that was enough to give the goblins time to escape. Perhaps…
A guard trotted up with the keys. As the door swung open, Jeriah’s eyes flashed around the room. No goblins, thank the Bright Gods! The vault’s floor had been sunk deeper than the rest of this level to provide more space for the racks and shelves that lined its walls. The greatest treasures in the Realm were here, disappointingly concealed in crates and chests.
Jeriah didn’t care if the floor was carpeted with gold—nothing mattered except the gaping black hole halfway up one wall. The goblins hadn’t had time to close their entrance! It was partially concealed, near the edge of a set of shelves, but someone was bound to notice it soon.
It can’t end like this! Not now!
Lord Brallorscourt went down the four narrow steps and over to a small chest at the opposite side of the room.
Jeriah strolled to the opening, forcing himself to walk slowly despite his screaming nerves. Cogswhallop’s grim eyes met his—the goblin had been sliding the stone back into place, but he didn’t dare move now. Jeriah turned and leaned against the wall, blocking the hole with his body.
Lord Brallorscourt had opened the chest and was sorting through some documents. “They’re here.” Astonishment was clear in his voice. “They all seem to be here.”
“What’s all there?” Nevin asked. “Never mind. Since it’s there, can we go?”
Lord Brallorscourt turned to Jeriah, who tried to control his expression. He didn’t think he succeeded. The cool draft against his back felt like the breath of a tomb.
Lord Brallorscourt looked at the papers, then back at Jeriah. “Very well. You can relax, Rovanscourt.”
“Thank…I don’t know what you mean, sir.” Jeriah was surprised he got the words out without stammering. His teeth were trying to chatter. He clenched them shut and followed the others out of the vault without a backward glance.
“What were those papers?” Nevin asked his father. “Can you tell me now?”
“Just some notes Master Lazur will no longer be needing. They’ll go to the justices.” Malice flickered in the glance he cast Jeriah, but no real enmity. “They’ll probably destroy them when they’re through. A traitor’s papers.”
Emotion began to return, and Jeriah fought down an impulse to laugh hysterically. He wondered if the justices would realize that some of those documents were copies. He doubted it. Master Hispontic struck him as a very careful forger.
It was nearly dawn before Jeriah was free to seek his own bed. And he’d be rising again shortly, for Master Zachiros had promised to get Senna out of the cells “as soon as I can manage it.”
After leaving the secretary, Jeriah had gone back to the ravine to make certain Koryn had found her way out. She’d either done so or she was both hiding and refusing to answer his calls. And angry though he knew she’d be, Jeriah thought Koryn was more likely to rage than retreat. Though if she never wanted to speak to him again, Jeriah could hardly blame her.
The sky was a shade lighter in the east, and birds were beginning to twitter when Jeriah left the ravine and made his way back to the palace. But as he circled around the terrace toward the corridor that led to his room, a gray lump that had settled on one of the planters stirred, and a white face turned toward him.
“Koryn!” In the paling torchlight the shadows under her eyes looked like bruises, and scratches showed red on her skin. Marks
he
had put there.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Do you have the slightest idea what you’ve done this night?”