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Casuel lifted his chin defiantly at the faint distaste in the other man’s face. “And a rational man of good family and disciplined habits.”
Proven Triss laced long fingers with work-hardened joints together. “So what happened?”
“I really have no idea,” Casuel protested. “We got separated in the crowd. I’d been telling him to stay close—” he reached for his glass and took another sip of water. “Then I saw the commotion by the portico. When I got through the mob, I saw Temar had been stabbed.” He appealed to the expressionless Zelet. “You saw that for yourself.”.
“The doorkeeper reckoned someone smashed the lad’s head against the stonework deliberately,” Zelet said to Triss.
The proven man ran a pensive finger along a fine cicatrice beneath his cheekbone. “If this was some cutpurse losing his head and using a knife that’s straightforward enough. We’ve sent word to every barracks, and with Raeponin’s grace someone’ll string the cur up on the nearest gibbet before he uses his blade again.” He turned to me. “But who’d want to dash your boy’s brains out? If this is some private quarrel, some personal grudge, it’s D’Olbriot’s right and duty to deal with it. Tor Kanselin shouldn’t interfere.”
“Why would some cutpurse stab him?” Zelet’s dark eyes bored into Casuel. “In that crowd he could’ve taken the lad’s money and been gone before you drew breath. Why break the lad’s head? Do you know more than you’re saying, master wizard?”
“Your companion certainly seems apprehensive,” Triss remarked to me.
“The sight of blood distresses me,” Casuel’s eyes darted between the two men, making him look more weaselly than ever. “I’m a mage and a scholar, no swordsman.”
What to do for the best, I wondered. “It’s just possible that an enemy already known to the Sieur D’Olbriot might have attacked D’Alse
“Who?” demanded Zelet.
“Blond men, shorter than common height, enemies of the Empire from across the Ocean,” I began.
“Then it was them ransacked D’Alse
“Yellow-haired men?” Zelet’s dark eyes were fixed on me. “Mountain Men?”
“Not as such, though perhaps they were once of the same blood,” I said slowly. “Elietimm they call themselves, Men of the Ice. They live on islands far out in the northern ocean and they’ve ambitions to better themselves by kicking the colonists out of Kellarin or maybe even grabbing land in Dalasor.”
“How would killing Esquire D’Alse
“He’s the closest thing Kellarin has to a leader.” I’d been thinking about that. “There were precious few nobles on the original sailing, just D’Alse
“What happens if someone gets a blade through his heart next time?” asked Zelet with frank curiosity.
I shrugged. “I don’t know, and I don’t suppose anyone else does. But the Elietimm will take full advantage of any confusion, Daste
“But you don’t know this was these Elietimm,” Proven Triss reminded me.
“Who else could it be?” cried Casuel. “They use knives all the time, lurking in corners to leave i
“Did anyone see anything out of the ordinary?” I asked.
Zelet shook his head, acknowledging my grimace of frustration. “The streets were packed like a market stockyard.”
“Of course no one saw anything! Elietimm use enchantments to baffle and deceive.” Casuel turned on me with a weak man’s fury born of fear. “You should’ve pursued them in Bremilayne when you had the chance! They got away! They followed us here! Saedrin’s stones, it could have been me with a knife in my back—”
He threw out a hand in emphasis, sending the tray crashing to the ground where jug and glasses broke into glittering shards, the water spreading dark on the pale gravel. Zelet grunted with faint disdain as he knelt to pick up the pieces.
“Permit me,” said Casuel tightly. The mage snapped his fingers and emerald light flared in every drop of water. The shattered glass glowed golden along each broken edge and the fragments slid noiselessly over each other, fitting themselves into their remembered places. Whole, the jug righted itself as a tracery of magelight glowed with a furnace intensity that seared the eye before suddenly blinking into nothingness. Trickles of spilled water were gathering themselves around the base and rolled into a glistening braid that twisted up and around the swollen belly of the jug. The water reached up and poured itself back over the lip, swirling into an aquamarine spiral, bubbles of green fire sparking from the surface. Casuel plucked a newly mended glass from the floor, refilled it with surprisingly steady hands, and toasted the two liveried men. “Perhaps the reality of my magic will make you take the possibility of Elietimm sorcery more seriously.”
Triss and Zelet looked steadily at the mage without answering.
“I’ll see you back at the D’Olbriot residence, Chosen Tathel.” With a tide of colour rising from his collar, Casuel got to his feet. “I expect your full report since I have a duty to keep the Archmage informed.”
Triss nodded to Zelet. “Get Master Devoir a carriage. If there are knives with a purpose out there, I don’t want a second D’Olbriot guest stabbed on my watch.”
I stood too, ready to be dismissed, but Proven Triss waved me back into my seat as Zelet escorted Casuel away. “I’m not asking you to break confidences, but there are all ma
“The Elietimm have a style of magic all their own.” I picked my words carefully, thinking rational probably described Proven Triss’s philosophy as well as his character. “It’s not fire and lightning but tangling the wits inside your head. But wise women among the colonists can match it; one’s here with D’Alse
“If they’re in the city at all,” commented Triss.
“Do you recall Esquire Robel D’Olbriot being attacked the year before last?” I said slowly. “That was the work of those whore-begotten Elietimm.”
Triss scowled. “I heard they didn’t even kill him cleanly.”