The Heir of Jeragoth
Conversations

Philip and Iliard walked the grounds of stronghold in silence for a while. “Tell me about the battle,” Philip said finally. Iliard recounted his fight with the Assassin in as much detail as he could remember. When Iliard was finished with his tale, Philip stopped walking. “May I see your dagger?”

Iliard unsheathed and handed his dagger to his master. Philip lay the dagger across his palms and closed his eyes. He remained so for several minutes. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked unsettled. “There is…something…there, I can sense it, but I do not know its source. I will need to bring this to Terin Novar.”

Iliard bowed his head slightly. “Of course, Grandmaster.”

“She may want to speak to you about this,” Philip added.

Iliard nodded. “She may decide I am not the best person for this task.”

“What makes you say that?” Philip asked.

“That dagger is this only reason Alana is still alive. My decision to call on my brother for help nearly cost us all.”

Philip didn’t answer right away, although he did begin walking again. After a short time he said, “You and you brother were very close for a long time.”

“Yes,” Iliard replied. “We adventured together for almost seventy years. I never imagined I’d be doing anything else.”

“And so,” Philip continued, “being close to him again, seeing him almost daily, do you think perhaps some of that came back?”

“I…” Iliard stopped and turned to stare at Philip. “I went back to those days,” he said with a touch of wonder, “Whenever I was in trouble, I would call Bert and he would come. He would always get me out of any trouble I was in.” He turned away and started walking briskly. “Damn him,” he said, his voice thick with emotion, “Damn him.”

“Iliard, what happened between the two of you?” Philip asked.

Iliard clenched his fists. “He accused me of trying to cuckold him. After all these years, after all we’ve done together…after everything I did.” He paused, trying to regain his composure. “After I almost died.” His voice was hoarse. “He should know me better than that.” He shook his head. “I almost killed myself trying to get away from him.”

“I know,” Philip replied. “I was quite concerned, as was Leandra. You were so filled with pain that you resisted healing at first.”

Iliard accepted Philip’s assessment with a nod. “I don’t know if I can go back there. I don’t know if I have the strength.”

“Understandable,” Philip said. “Which is why I brought in someone who might have a bit better insight into your brother.”

They had, by this time, entered the vast and beautiful gardens of the stronghold. Iliard stopped and stared. “Mother?”

Kate came to Iliard and greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. “It’s good to see you on your feet again.”

Philip smiled. “I’ll leave you two alone now.”

After Philip left, Kate invited Iliard to sit beside her on a nearby stone bench. “I’ve always liked this place,” she said. “I come here when I need to think.”

“Mother, what’s this about?”

“Mostly it’s about you and the task you have accepted. It’s also a little bit about your brother and even some about your father.”

Iliard stiffened. “Father has nothing to do with this.”

“I would not be too sure about that,” she replied.

“I don’t understand,” he said.

“You know what your father was like?”

Iliard’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, he was a cruel bastard who whipped me every chance he could get.”

Kate winced. “I know. I should have done more to stop him. It was one of the reasons I started taking you on those little adventures when you were so young. But I was talking about what happened to him later, after you and Bertrand left.”

“He went insane and started hearing voices,” Iliard replied. “He tried to kill you and Elia because he thought she wasn’t his daughter. In the end, he threw himself off the south tower.”

Kate blinked away unexpected tears. “Yes, in the end the voices were too strong, even for him.”

When Iliard saw the look on her face, he took her hands in his. “Mother, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”

“It’s all right,” she said quietly, lightly brushing his cheek with her fingers, “It just surprises me sometimes, that it can still hurt so much after all these years. He wasn’t always like that you know. He was a great man, a good man, until the strain of running the barony became too much for him.”

“Wait,” Iliard said, “do you think that’s happening to Bert? Is he going mad?”

Kate shook her head. “Not in that way, no. But that sort of thing runs in the blood and can show itself in different ways.” She glanced at his left wrist before going on. “Even Gregory showed a bit of it—not in his liking of men over women, but in other ways. He became very reclusive as he grew older and yet he bitterly resented that you and Bert were free to go wherever you wanted. He deliberately didn’t father a child because of that.”

Iliard’s jaw dropped. “Don’t tell Bert. He’d find a way to resurrect him, just so he could kill him.”

A slight smile quirked up her lips. “I’m certainly not going to add to your brother’s burdens any more than I have to. He also doesn’t handle stress well. He becomes paranoid and unreasonable.”

“Huh, that’s certainly true.”

Kate turned to fully face him. “Iliard, I know he hurt you. I understand how you feel, believe me. But Bert loves you, he really does. He was so worried about you he nearly cried from relief when I told him you were alive.”

“You saw him? The last I heard he didn’t want you anywhere near Castle Candril ever again.”

Kate smiled, “He was more worried about you than anything else, so I think he forgot about being angry with me.” Besides,” she added with a slight smirk, “It turned out I was right about Mirasol after all.”

“Did Master Philip send you to him?” Iliard asked.

“Yes. He felt it would be best to have another Novadi there while you were recovering,” she replied.

“Recovering? How long have I been here?”

“Five days,” Kate replied.

Iliard’s eyes went wide. “Five days? Holy gods.”

“You came very close to dying,” Kate said with a frown. “It was an incredibly foolish thing you did.”

Iliard closed his eyes and bowed his head. “I know, I know. I just lost my mind. I couldn’t stay there anymore.”

Kate put her hand on Iliard’s. “I know. He was unreasonable, irrational, and wrong. He knows it too.”

“What do I do?” he asked. “I took an oath to protect Alana. But how can I live with him?”

Kate straightened up. “Iliard, you are my heir. One day you will wield the Jade Dragon. You need to learn to set aside your own feelings, even when it comes to your brother. You took an oath to protect Alana, that comes first and foremost. Everything else, including your and Bertrand’s feelings, comes a distant second.”

Iliard opened his mouth to argue, then snapped it shut when his gaze fell to the hilt of the Jade Dragon. The life of a Wielder was one of great responsibility. How could he take up the sword if he couldn’t control his own emotions? “Maybe I’m not the right person after all,” he said.

Kate made a sound of dismissal. “Of course you are. Everyone has a blind spot when it comes to the people they love the most. You are no different. You just have to learn how to handle yours.” When he didn’t answer, Kate stood and unsheathed the Jade Dragon. She stepped in front of him and held out the hilt, “Take it.”

Iliard started and drew back. “I cannot. It’s not mine to take.”

“It will be one day, Iliard. Take hold of the hilt.”

Still Iliard resisted. “Mother, it has not been passed to me yet.”

Kate stepped in closer to him. “You doubt your worthiness to be its wielder. Take hold of it and discover the truth.”

Iliard let out a long slow breath. He stood up and hesitantly grasped the jade-green hilt. The moment his fingers touched it, the sword sprang to life, the blade glimmering with an undulating green flame. “Hail, Wielder,” it said in rich tones that reverberated through him, “I am Atomalanthalus, guardian of the Jade Dragon. You have a high destiny before you. Many lives will be saved while you are its keeper.”

Iliard felt the power of the sword flow through him. It reached deep inside him, strengthened his resolve and removed his doubts. The power was strong, ancient, and immutable. From that brief contact he gained the understanding of what it meant to be a Wielder and knew with certainty that this was his path. He looked over at his mother, who smiled at him through tear-filled eyes. He bowed respectfully and offered the hilt to her. After she had sheathed the Jade Dragon, she asked, “Will you return to Candril?”

Iliard inclined his head. “I will.”

Kate nodded and smiled. “Good. Now, I should tell you what’s going on there.”

“Iliard, please come see me in my office.”

Iliard’s eyes went wide. “Yes, Terin Novar.”

“What is it?” Kate asked.

“Terin Novar wants to see me.”

Her brows went up. “Oh. I suppose we’ll have to finish our conversation later.”

Iliard nodded absently. “Yes,” and then disappeared.

#

Arianna held Iliard’s dagger in her hands. “Tell me about the battle,” she said peremptorily. He once again told all he could remember of his battle with the Tagoni Assassin. She stopped him when he spoke of feeling the warmth of the dagger in his hand. “What were you thinking about just before that?” she asked.

Iliard blinked. “I…” he paused, trying to remember. “I’m not sure, Terin Novar. It’s all become jumbled together.”

Arianna nodded. She put the dagger down on her desk and said to Iliard, “Please sit.”

Iliard took the proffered chair, the same one he had occupied a year before when he had accepted the task of protecting Alana. Arianna moved to stand behind him. “Close your eyes and recreate the battle, step by step. Bring in everything you can, sights, sounds, smells. Relax and open your mind to mine.”

Iliard stilled for a startled moment. She hadn’t asked him to do that since the first time she met him as an apprentice candidate, some thirty years ago. Then he hadn’t even known he possessed psychic defenses. He also knew now that Terin Novar Arianna didn’t have to ask permission to enter his psyche—she asked out of courtesy. She was the only Novadi who could enter the thoughts of other Novadi at will.

He began to rebuild the battle scene, starting at the Sage Academy. The process was slow and laborious at first as he tried to carefully place every detail of every memory. He felt Arianna place her fingers lightly on his temples. Soon, his thoughts picked up speed until they blossomed in full. Now he wasn’t remembering the battle, he was reliving the battle. He was there again in Erienne’s bedroom, fighting the Assassin. He heard his own labored breathing, heard Alana screaming, felt once again the searing pain of the Tagoni’s talons as they tore through his flesh.

“I need Bert, he’ll help me. He always helps me. Blessed Asaeria, what was I thinking? He’s no match for her. We’re all going to die. I have failed. No, I cannot give up. There must be a way. I have to protect her. She will be someone special, someone great. I cannot fail her.”

“There it is,” he heard Arianna say as she removed her fingers. His heart was racing and he was drenched with sweat. Arianna stepped back from him. “I’m sorry I put you through that, but I had to know the source of the power.”

“What is it?” he asked, his voice low and rough.

She didn’t answer right away. Finally she said, “Let’s just say I need more information before I can tell you anything.” Iliard nodded and shifted in his seat, trying to release the tension in his body. It was only then that he realized he had a white-knuckle grip on the arms of the chair. With an effort he unclenched his hands. Arianna picked up Iliard’s dagger and handed it back to him. “This dagger has served you well. May it continue to do so.”

Iliard stood and found that his legs felt shaky. “Thank you, Terin Novar.” He sheathed the dagger and bowed his head. Without warning, his stomach rumbled in protest at being empty for so long. Iliard flushed.

Arianna laughed. “Philip should have fed you first before abandoning you to my tender mercies. But,” she continued, “before you leave there’s something I’d like to give you.” She went around behind her desk and brought out a long sword. She held it up and said, “This is Dar Chakendris. I removed it from its owner nearly three hundred years ago. I wielded it for quite a while, until I was given a different sword by someone dear to me. I’d like to pass it on to you. It seems you need a sword that can cut through mithril armor, and this one will certainly do that.” She then offered him the hilt of the sword.

It took Iliard a few moments to find his voice. “Terin Novar, you honor me.” He grasped the hilt of the sword and held it up to the light. One side of the blade was etched with runes from hilt to tip. The other side bore the image of a dragon, rearing up, ready to strike. A large, oval sapphire adorned the juncture of the hilt and the blade. He could feel the magic pulse through the sword, almost like a heartbeat. He looked over at Arianna and said, “I don’t know what to say.”

Arianna smiled. “No need to say anything. You have been given a difficult task, perhaps more difficult than any of us realized. It’s only right that you should be well equipped for the battle ahead.”

He felt his throat constrict. He swallowed hard. “Thank you, Terin Novar. I will wield it with honor.”

“I know you will,” she replied. “Now, go get something to eat.”

#

He was called Cranerock, although he was fairly certain that wasn’t the name his mother had given him some four hundred years ago. He had only vague memories of her that ended in fire and pain. He had been told that his father’s sire had been a demon of Arnitath and indeed, Cranerock could channel the power of the demon god if he so wished. Mostly however, he chose to work for wealthy men who valued their treasure and their skin. He was known all over Ranwar as the best man for intelligence, security and the occasional assassination.

Whenever someone hired Cranerock, he worked for them and them alone until they no longer needed him or they died. No one had died of unnatural causes under his watch in over two hundred years. The sting of that particular failure still troubled him from time to time.

His success had garnered him a fortune that would rival many a kingdom, yet he lived simply enough. For all his wealth, he lived a solitary existence. He would say it was by choice, but his physical appearance gave most people pause. He looked and indeed was mostly human, with short cropped jet-black hair, fair skin, and the fit body of an athlete. But upon closer inspection, even the casual observer noticed the pointed teeth and the jagged white ring inside jet black irises. When he used the power that was his legacy, his pupils glowed with the red fire of Arnitath. Friendships for him were few and far between.

Tonight was one of his rare evenings off. His employer had just finished some nasty business in which Cranerock was instrumental. Now he needed an evening to himself. He liked this particular bar. It was always very dirty and always very busy. A lot of bad business went on here. On any given night if you listened closely, you could hear several assassination deals, people sales and forbidden trade arrangements. Most people came to this bar when they needed a public enough place to meet to guarantee their safety, but still sufficiently ill-reputed to discourage eavesdropping. Using magic or Mendari craft to detect lies was sufficient grounds for murder. Cranerock came here to relax.

He made it known he didn’t spy here. Most people didn’t know who he was just by looking at him, unless they got too close. Most people left him alone. He almost never spoke. He had enough dirt on the bartender to keep him quiet. Cranerock usually just came in and sat down at an empty table somewhere. He never had to ask for anything. All service was his before it was anyone else’s in the bar.

Cranerock sat at a table against the back wall, well away from the door and sipped his deep purple brandy. He had tipped off the bartender as to its location in return for always being able to drink it here for free. It was made in a particularly remote valley in the mountains of Pendor in which the sun shone for only a few hours a day even at the height of summer. This bar was the only place you could get it in Relothere.

The frigid air outside blasted those closest to the door each time some new thug entered. They stared balefully at the arrivals. The bitter winter wind made people as likely to come here for warmth as for murder. The door opened this time to let in a bear, or possibly an ogre covered in bear furs. Only the Wizard who came in with the walking wall of furs, gave any indication that the other creature was a man. The people closest to the door got their usual nasty glare ready, until they saw how high up they had to look to deliver it.

The Wizard didn’t seem as eager to keep his appearance hidden. Cranerock recognized him instantly. It was Arch Wizard Esras Thander Lord Faraday. That meant that the bear was High Baron Bertrand Candril. Although his face was still covered by his large hood, he looked right at Cranerock without even scanning the room. Cranerock dearly wanted to ask him how he knew exactly where he would be sitting.

The two men approached the table where Cranerock sat and stood waiting. Several people nearby stopped or lowered their conversations. “Please sit down gentlemen,” Cranerock said. He was careful not to say the Baron’s name. They sat and the baron remained covered. “I assure you, baron, all the people who know you on sight already know you are here.” Cranerock smiled a closed mouthed smile. He saved his open mouthed smile for special occasions.

The hooded man lifted his big hands to lower his hood revealing a large head of shaggy hair and a grizzled unkempt beard. The bartender came over to take their order.

“I believe it’s Barked Grange Stout for you, baron?” Cranerock asked. “And for you, Lord Wizard, I believe it’s Elevian Mountain pressed brandy?”

“That’s right,” Baron Candril said. His voice was gruff, like the sound of a man who had just awakened. His eyes, though, were sharply focused. The bartender placed the drinks on the table and walked away.

“You should call in your other men out of the cold, Baron,” Cranerock said. “There’s no need for them to be uncomfortable on a winter’s night in Relothere.”

“Esras is enough,” Bertrand responded, then continued, “We’ve come on business.”

Cranerock sighed. He enjoyed idle banter from time to time, a true conversation that wasn’t laden with betrayal and portent. He was hoping Baron Candril’s legendary lack of outward emotion, excepting only anger, which he displayed frequently, would allow for some plain talk. Alas, no. It was to be straight to business. Still, Cranerock thought he’d try one last time to keep the conversation light.

“My Lord Baron, surely you must know I am not for hire. I hope you have not traveled half way around Ranwar just for that.” The bartender arrived at the table again with food for the two men, the baron’s plate about twice the size and piled twice as high as the Wizard’s.

“Can we talk somewhere private?” Bertrand asked without taking his eyes off of Cranerock. Twenty or so people were doing their best not to look like they were listening intently.

“Nobody here has any care about what you are going to say, despite their apparent interest,” Cranerock said, his eyes flicking to the least covert of listeners. They hastily looked away and rejoined their own huddled conversations.

“It’s not what I’m going to say that needs to be in private.” Bertrand answered, completely emotionlessly. It didn’t sound like a threat. It didn’t sound like a promise of riches, reward or harm. Damn, Cranerock thought. How did he do that? It was the chance to speak to Bertrand in person that interested Cranerock most, much more than the imminent job offer. No one had ever managed to fathom Bertrand’s emotions or intent from his outward display. Cranerock hoped to be the first.

“Dear Baron, can’t I at least finish my Elevian?” Cranerock supplicated. Bertrand seemed to acquiesce but didn’t speak again as he ate his meal and drank his stout. Cranerock was disappointed. Faraday would have to do for some idle banter.

“So, Master Wizard Faraday, when are you ever going to reach fifth order?” Cranerock asked as he sipped his brandy.

“Soon, I expect. Lately, I have been a bit slowed by current events,” Faraday responded. If Bertrand had felt Faraday had given away any secrets with that pronouncement, he didn’t show it. It didn’t matter, though, as Cranerock already knew to what the Wizard was referring. He also knew how much the baron wanted to keep the entire event a secret. He didn’t press the point.

After the baron and Faraday were finished eating, all three stood up and Cranerock showed them to a large private room. He motioned for them to sit and closed the door behind them. Bertrand sat first. Cranerock sat on the edge of a bench opposite him. Faraday chose to stand.

As soon as the door was closed and he and Cranerock were seated, Bertrand said without preamble, “I know you’re not for hire right now. I want you to come to me first when next you are for hire.”

“I do not do that,” Cranerock replied. He was all business now, the pleasant expression gone. He stared blankly back at the baron.

“I can make it worth your while,” Bertrand countered.

“I do not entertain such offers,” Cranerock replied, completely without emotion.

Bertrand was talking to a completely different person now. He was glad for that. He was more interested in seeing the real Cranerock, not the pretty face he put on for politics. “I’ll give you any amount of gold you can name to entertain my offer.” he countered. Other than Bertrand’s glaring eyes, his face was expressionless.

“You’ll give me gold just to say I’ll listen to your offer to get me to come to you when I am next for hire?” Cranerock’s surprise got the better of him. “How many payments is that?

Faraday replied, “We are up to three so far.”

“You’ll give me any amount of gold just to have me listen to an offer?” Cranerock repeated. “I know you’re wealthy, but no one, not even the legendary Candril family, is that wealthy.”

“Try me,” Bertrand said without smiling. Cranerock desperately wished he could read the baron’s face. He considered, briefly, resorting to Mendari craft.

“All right, then,” Cranerock said, curious in spite of himself. He thought of a suitably large number, something he could buy a small country with. “Twenty million gold.” He smiled slightly and raised an eyebrow. This was pointless but fun.

With a wave of his hand, Faraday conjured ten chests and opened them with a second wave.

“Here’s forty million in adamantium,” Bertrand said without taking his eyes off Cranerock. He watched as Cranerock’s eyes flicked over the chests full of adamantium.

“You have my attention,” Cranerock said, his eyes lingering over one chest a moment more before returning to Bertrand’s. Cranerock’s face now held an expression of disbelief and awe—something it hadn’t held for two hundred years.

“I’ll give you ten times that amount on the day you come work for me plus another million gold pieces every year thereafter,” Bertrand said flatly.

“It’s true, then, what they say about the Candril fortune,” Cranerock said, still not recovered from the sight of all that adamantium.

Bertrand smiled slightly, “You don’t know the half of it.” Cranerock thought it looked rather like the smile that came with one’s acceptance of inescapable doom, than smug victory. Bertrand stood up and the Wizard Faraday moved in close behind him. “When you’re next for hire, please come see me.” Bertrand said as he stood there, looking all the bear again. I’m easy to find.” Faraday placed his hand on his baron’s shoulder and the two of them teleported out, leaving Cranerock alone in the room to stare at the ten overfull chests and wonder how he was going to move them.

#

The three moons were hidden by clouds and the night was pitch black, just the way he liked it. The only light came from a tavern across the street. The Priest of Arnitath pulled his dark cloak close around him. It would not do to be recognized. Candril City was not a safe place for his kind—yet. His informant slipped into the shadows next to him. “This had better be important,” he said impatiently.

“I have a message of the utmost importance to Warder Meterius,” the man whispered.

“How dare you speak his name in this place,” the Priest hissed. “I could have you brought to the altar for this.” The Priest felt a shudder go through the man and it pleased him.

“Excellency,” the man pleaded, “Forgive me. I forgot myself because the news I have is of such great significance.”

“It had better be,” the Priest said coldly.

“Excellency,” the man began, “A Tagonic Assassin tried to kill Baron Candril’s illegitimate daughter.”

There was a long silence. The informant shifted uneasily, fearing he had said something truly unforgivable. Finally, the Priest spoke. “Are you absolutely certain?”

“Yes, Excellency,” the man said in relief. “Iliard Candril almost died fighting the Assassin.”

“A Novadi warrior protecting a bastard child,” the Priest pondered. “Why?”

“I don’t know Excellency, but I am going to find out.”

“And the Tagoni? What of her?”

“Dead, Excellency.”

The Priest smiled in the darkness. “At least the Novadi are good for something.” After a short pause he asked, “Where is the child now?”

“She and her mother have been brought to the castle and are well protected. Master Iliard is also living at the castle.”

“The mystery deepens,” the Priest said thoughtfully. “A High Baron brings his bastard child and mistress to live in his castle with his wife and legitimate son and asks his Novadi brother to protect them. A strange thing indeed.” He paused again. Finally he said, “Find out all you can, but be careful. You must not be discovered. Take your time. Patience is your ally.”

“Yes, Excellency,” the man replied.

“You have done well this night. You will be greatly rewarded should this bear fruit.”

The man bowed deeply. “Thank you Excellency. I will not fail you.”

“See that you do not.”

#

Erienne tucked the blanket around her daughter’s sleeping form. With a sad smile, she bent down and brushed a light kiss on her cheek. She walked over to the open window and stared out with unseeing eyes. How long before Bertrand had no use for her? Already, just a week after bringing her to the castle, he was more distant. She tried to tell herself that it was just because he was worried about Iliard, but her heart knew better. She wished with all her heart that she could go back to the time before the Assassin came. A tear traced a slow path down her cheek.

The sound of the bedroom door opening startled her. Standing in the doorway was a pretty young maidservant holding a pile of bath towels. She looked surprised to see Erienne standing there. She curtsied hastily, “I’m sorry I didn’t knock, Milady. I thought no one was here.”

Erienne hastily wiped her face with the back of her hand. “It’s all right. Please don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll just put these away and be on my way,” the servant said. She hurried off to put away the towels while Erienne turned back to the window.

A few moments later, Erienne heard the servant walk out of the bathing chamber, but she didn’t hear the bedroom door close. Curious, she turned to find the young woman standing in the middle of the bedroom looking uncertain. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“I…well,” the maidservant hesitated.

“It’s all right,” Erienne said, “Please tell me.”

“Well, Milady,” the servant replied, “I was wondering why you were crying. I saw you standing there and you looked so sad. I just felt like I had to say something.”

Erienne felt her throat constrict. “That’s so kind of you,” she said. “And please call me Erienne.”

“My name is Senet,” the young woman answered. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Erienne shook her head. “Not really. I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do. But it is nice to talk to someone,” she added with a smile.

“I know what you mean,” Senet replied. “The castle is so big. It can get very lonely.”

Erienne nodded. “Yes, yes it can.” She lapsed into silence.

“I guess I should go,” Senet said. “I have some rooms to straighten up. It was nice to meet you.”

“It was nice to meet you too,” Erienne said. “I…maybe we can talk again some time.”

Senet smiled. ’I’d like that. Maybe we could be friends.”

Erienne brightened. “I would like that very much.”

“Well, goodbye for now, Mil…Erienne,” Senet said with a smile.

Erienne went over to the maidservant and took her hands. “Goodbye Senet. I’m so glad I met you.”

“I’m glad too,” Senet said as she let go of Erienne’s hands. “I’ll try to come back later tonight.”

“That would be wonderful,” Erienne said as she walked her to the door. “Goodbye until later.”

When the door closed behind her, Senet leaned against it for a moment. Her face lost all expression for a moment and then gained a new smile of an entirely different sort.

#

Foreign Minister Assumka made his way slowly up the winding staircase to the archive room. The whole affair with Baron Candril’s mistress still puzzled him and he hoped he could find some clue as to why a Novadi master was protecting the Baron’s bastard child. Maybe there was some reference in the family’s past that would point to such a necessity.

After he unlocked the heavy wooden door, Assumka stood in the doorway and breathed in the smell of the archive room—a combination of parchment, leather, and age—and smiled. He was getting old and he did not get up here as often as he used to.

The sound of rustling parchment surprised him and drew his attention to the back of the room. Someone in a long, black hooded cloak was in the process of unrolling one of the scrolls. “Who are you and how did you get in here?” he asked angrily. The stranger carefully put the scroll down and turned in Assumka’s direction. “Answer me, damn you,” Assumka insisted, “How did you get in here? I have the only key.”

Foreign Minister Assumka never saw the dagger that pierced his heart. As the old man’s body slumped to the floor, his murderer picked up the scroll and continued to read. When he was finished, he walked over to Assumka, pulled the dagger from his body and disappeared.

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