Dragon Precinct (18 page)

“
That
was why we had to involve the Brotherhood.”

Leaning back in his chair, Genero muttered something in a language Torin did not recognize, but suspected was an ancient Velessan dialect—he did catch the word
Temisa
as part of it.

“Would you care to explain why you left that rather vital piece of information out of your answers to Lieutenant Tresyllione’s questions after Mr. Brightblade died?” Torin asked formally.

“It was for—” Genero cut himself off.

Then he laughed.

Icily, Danthres asked, “Would you mind sharing the joke, Brother?”

“I’m sorry.” The priest quickly got ahold of himself. “Truly, it is
not
funny, but I couldn’t help myself.” He let out a long breath. “You see I was about to say that we did it for your protection.”

Torin now understood Genero’s jocular instinct, as he now shared it, but restrained himself, instead throwing the priest’s earlier question right back at him: “What do we need to be protected from?”

“Chalmraik.” Genero’s face became grave. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with here, Lieutenants. We, at least, have faced Chalmraik before—we know what he’s capable of.”

“Everyone in Flingaria knows what Chalmraik is capable of,” Danthres said. “That’s not the point.”

“It is very much the point! We could not get you involved!”

Danthres got up from the desk. “You arrogant piece of shit! We were involved the second Brightblade’s body fell. You see,
this is what we do
. When there’s a crime in Cliff’s End, we are called upon to solve it. Anybody who interferes is obstructing us, and is liable for that.” She walked over to the other side of the table, leaning over the priest, her left hand resting on the back of his creaky chair, her right on the table. From across the table, Torin could smell the not-quite-pleasant mix of tea and Jonas’s wife’s pastries on her breath, and he imagined that odd smell was even worse for the priest. In a quiet voice, she continued: “I’d be fully within my rights to throw you in the hole right now. And if you were
anyone
else, I would’ve done it an hour ago.” She stood upright. “You’re lucky, though. You’re a guest of the Lord and Lady, the friend of two heroes, and a Temisan priest. If I even thought about it, I might as well pack my bags and leave the city-state all together. Between the local aristocrats and your religious superiors, I’d be up to my ass in trouble. And you know what?” She leaned back down again. “I’m
this close
to doing it anyhow, because you make me so sick. You’re so self-righteous in your assuredness that you can do no wrong that you let three more people get killed and kept me from doing my job—you kept me from seeing that justice was served.”

She walked away from the desk, turning her back on the priest.

Torin let the unpleasant silence hang in the air for several seconds before saying, “You’re free to go. If we have any other questions, we’ll send someone for you.”

Genero stood and looked at Danthres’s back. “Lieutenant, you have to understand—”

“I don’t have to understand a damn thing. Get out.”

The priest took another long breath, then straightened his red robe and went toward the exit. Torin followed him. “I assume you will be remaining in the castle?”

Genero nodded. They came out into the squad room. “If I may ask, Lieutenant, what is your next step?”

“Some definitive proof that this really
is
Chalmraik would be a good start. Still, he seems to have covered his tracks quite well.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” came a cantankerous voice from the far end of the squad room, “are you
still
on that imbecilic Chalmraik kick, ban Wyvald?”

Torin saw Boneen sitting at Dru and Hawk’s desk. The three of them were going through a big pile of scrolls from the bootleg-spell bust. The guards of Dragon had caught their rapist-bootlegger running naked across the rooftops of Hranto’s Way, and he was currently rotting in the hole. As far as Torin knew, no one had bothered to supply him with fresh clothes. Knowing how cold it got in the hole at night, this gave Torin happy thoughts.

Before Torin could reply to Boneen’s question, Genero said, “There’s nothing imbecilic about it, sir. Chalmraik has obviously learned that we were pursuing him, and has taken steps to remove us from the playing field. He’s not ready to make his move, so he needs to eliminate us before we can stop him from achieving full power.”

“What utter nonsense.” Boneen got up from Dru and Hawk’s guest chair. “Even on the off chance that Chalmraik is alive, he can’t possibly have committed these murders.”

“Hey, we’re workin’ here,” Dru said.

“Oh, give it a rest.” Boneen waved his hand dismissively, not even looking at the lieutenant. “I told you before, there’s no kind of magic that can cover up these murders so completely as these do.”

Torin blinked. “Wait a moment, Boneen. Before, you said that no
practical
magic could do this.” Even as he spoke, Danthres joined them from the interview room.

“Yes, I did say that.”

Danthres looked at Torin and he saw the look on her face that indicated that she was following his train of thought. She asked, “What about impractical magic?”

Genero gave the lieutenants a quizzical look. “What?”

“It stands to reason,” Torin said. “There are different types of—well, everything in the world, truly. So presumably there are types of magic other than that approved by the Brotherhood.”

“A few.” Boneen seemed to Torin to be reluctant to admit this. “But only a total idiot would consider them.”

“The world,” Danthres said, “is well stocked with total idiots.”

Boneen sighed. “I suppose, but—”

At the M.E.’s hesitation, Torin said bluntly, “Is there
any
kind of magic that can block a magical presence from a peel-back?”

Again, Boneen sighed. “Well, I suppose if you have someone stupid enough to indulge in chronotic magic…”

Frowning, Torin looked at his partner, who had as confused a look as Torin had ever seen on her face. That expression was shared by Dru, Hawk, and Genero, all of whom regarded the M.E. as if he had grown an extra limb.

Hawk finally said, “What in the name of all the oceans is cranking magic?”

“Chronotic magic,” Boneen snapped. “I don’t expect any of you to know about it—”

“Safe bet,” Danthres muttered.

“—because not only is it restricted, it’s insanely dangerous. Nobody’s practiced it that we know of for about three hundred years, and that was an isolated case in which the wizard died a quick and painful death. The time before that was almost a thousand years ago, and almost wiped out all of Flingaria.” Boneen grabbed the absent Iaian’s chair from his desk and straddled it. “You’re right, ban Wyvald, there are many types of magic, but most of them are difficult and dangerous. Chronotic magic is probably the worst of them. You see, it allows you to master the secrets of time.”

“Speak Common, old man,” Danthres snapped.

Genero said, “It means that the magic can be used to travel back and forth in time. You can go to the future or to the past.”

“That’s impossible,” Dru said, scoffing.

“Oh, it
is
possible,” Boneen said, “but extremely ill advised. You see—and I have to confess, I always found this ironic—the use of chronotic magic accelerates the aging process. Just as standard magic retards it—which is why I’ve been stuck on this miserable pile of mud for over two centuries—chronotic magic makes you age at a ridiculous rate. Anyone who used it would be dead of old age within a month. If the person who did this is using chronotic magic to mask his trail on four murders, then he may already be dead.”

Torin stared at the M.E. incredulously. This changed
everything
.

Danthres snarled. “Why the
hell
didn’t you mention this as a possibility sooner?”

“The same reason, Tresyllione, why I didn’t mention an invisible tap-dancing goat as a possibility. In fact, given the choice between chronotic magic and the goat as likely options, I’d have gone with the goat.”

Torin whirled on the priest. “Brother, a question: Was there anyone you encountered on your way here from Velessa, someone who might have carried a grudge against the seven of you?”

“Who’d be capable of this? Who’d be willing to indulge in so dangerous a form of magic to exact revenge? Not at all. We only came across some bandits, who were very surprised when they realized who, exactly, they were trying to rob,” Genero added with a small smile, “and a couple of trolls, and that young mage.”

Danthres blinked. “What mage?”

“A young man who was unregistered with the Brotherhood. I believe his name was Tesbi.”

“Never heard of him,” Boneen said.

“As I said, he was not registered.”

“Which explains why I never heard of him,” the M.E. said testily.

Torin yanked the conversation back on track. This was finally starting to come together. “Why did he attack you?”

“He wanted to steal Olthar’s Healing Potion.” Genero shook his head. “The boy was inept, and barely worth the effort for us to fight. Bogg wanted to kill him, but I stopped him.”

“But he did cut his ear off,” Danthres said quietly.

“Yes, the tip of it.” Genero looked at Danthres. “He told you?”

“Can you describe the young man to Boneen here?” Torin asked.

Dru spoke up. “Hey, Torin, you mind? We got a case here.”

“So do we,” Danthres snapped.

“Yeah, well, this is gonna take forever to go through
with
Boneen. We gotta sort about three hundred spells before we give ’em to Ep to misfile, and I sure as shit don’t want you takin’ him off on yours to make ours take longer’n forever.”

Danthres sounded wholly unsympathetic in her reply. “My heart bleeds.”

Boneen turned to look at Dru. “I’m not a commodity to be traded. I’ll get back to you two shortly, but if there’s an unregistered mage wandering around, I need to know about it.” The wizard stood up and walked over to the basin in the corner of the squad room, which Boneen sometimes used as a makeshift scrying pool. “Describe him.”

For the next several minutes, Genero impressed Torin by providing a
very
detailed description of the young man, from the color of his eyes to the cleft in his chin to the shape of his nose. Within moments, Boneen had conjured an image based on that description.

The image was quite familiar to Torin. Or, at least, a version of it.

Genero nodded. “Yes, that’s him. Well, except for the fact that the top of his left ear is now missing,” he added with a smile.

“That is what I expected,” Torin said. “Can you find this man?”

Emphatically, Boneen said, “I have every intention of doing so, ban Wyvald.”

“Hey,” Dru said, “what about us?”

“Your case’ll keep.” Boneen smiled insincerely. “The spells aren’t going anywhere, after all. And if this young imbecile is unregistered, then I need to find him immediately.”

“Not so young, I suspect,” Torin muttered. “Find him quickly, Boneen.”

I
don’t know this room.

Tesbi tried to focus his eyes, but they wouldn’t cooperate. He knew he was in a strange place, and he even had some vague recollection of being brought here, but he couldn’t figure out
why
he was here.

Or was it what he was doing here?

No, that doesn’t make sense. Think.

He looked around the room. There wasn’t much to see—just four walls, a door, and a lantern. He stared at the lantern for several seconds. His eyes watered for some reason. Eventually, he realized that it was because he was staring directly at the lantern’s bright light, so he stared at something else instead.

The problem was, the room didn’t really give him a lot to work with. Tesbi couldn’t think of a room more boring than this.

Of course, he didn’t remember most of the rooms he’d been in, so that didn’t mean as much.

Something was carved in the table he sat at. They were lines of some sort.
I know what these are for.
He tried to focus on the lines. If he thought long and hard enough, he’d remember what the lines signified.

Writing? Is that what it’s called?

The door opened, causing Tesbi to almost jump out of his chair. It hadn’t occurred to him that the door might open.

Two people walked in. Tesbi was pretty sure he’d never seen them before. Or maybe they were the ones who brought him to this room. Then he realized that he couldn’t recall what the two people who brought him to this room looked like. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure there were two of them—maybe there were three or only one. Or perhaps five.

No, not five. Definitely fewer than five.

One of the people had a beard so thick that Tesbi couldn’t see his face. It reminded him of the old man—what was his name?
Why can’t I remember his name?

“What is this?” he asked the bearded man who looked like the old man, pointing at the lines.

“It’s a table.”

“I
know
it’s a table.” He frowned. The bearded man didn’t just look like the old man, he looked like somebody else. “Do I know you?”

“Possibly. My name is Lieutenant ban Wyvald, this is my partner Lieutenant Tresyllione.”

For the first time, Tesbi looked at the other person. “You’re the ugliest woman I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you,” the woman said. There was something weird about her tone of voice, but Tesbi couldn’t figure out what it was.

He looked around. “I don’t know this room.”

“No reason why you should,” said the bearded man. “You’ve never been here before. But you have spoken to me before, haven’t you?”

“No.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think so.” In fact, he had no idea. The image of the man’s face came into his head, but not in this room. “It was in a bar. I think. You were surrounded by merchants. That was when I saw you. But it was a long time ago. I think.”

“Do you remember what we talked about?”

“Couldn’t have been anything important, or I’d remember it.”

“Quite likely, yes. Your name is Tesbi, yes?”

“Is it?” He thought about it for a moment, and decided that it was. “Yeah, it is. How’d you know that?
I
wasn’t even sure.”

The bearded man, whose name Tesbi had already forgotten—
Binwivin? Something like that
—smiled. “We have our ways of learning information. Do you recall what we talked about?”

“We talked?”

“Yes, several times. Twice in the Dog and Duck, once at Jorbin’s Way.”

“Where’s that?”

“Here in town.”

“I’ve never been here before.” Why was this man talking such utter nonsense?
And who is he, anyhow? I’ve never seen him before.

“We were discussing murders—four of them in all.”

Tesbi was suddenly frightened. “Someone’s been killed?”

“Yes, four people—Gan Brightblade, Olthar lothSirhans, and two halflings named Mari and Nari.”

Those names sounded familiar. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They are heroes of Flingaria. You’ve probably heard bards sing about them.”

“Don’t like bards. They get everything wrong. You know what bards say? They say that magic is a wonderful thing. Well it isn’t. Magic is rotten. Does things to you. Things they don’t tell you about. And then they kick you out and won’t let you do anything if you don’t do it their way. Hate that.” He blinked, and noticed that there were two people in the room. “Who’re you?”

“Lieutenant ban Wyvald—this is my partner, Lieutenant Tresyllione.”

“Do I know you from somewhere? I’ve seen you before.” He looked up at the other one. “Not her—I’d remember a face as ugly as that.”

The ugly woman started pacing behind the bearded man. Tesbi looked at the bearded man’s beard. “You look like someone I know.”

“We’ve spoken before—regarding several murders that have taken place.”

Tesbi waved his hand. “No, no, no, not that—you look like the old man.”

“What old man?”

“You wouldn’t know him. For one thing, he’s dead. Or, anyhow, he will be dead. When I kill him. But that hasn’t happened yet. For all I know, he hasn’t been born yet. I think. It’s hard to keep it all straight.” He looked down and noticed that there were strange lines on the table he was sitting at. “What’re these?”

“Words,” the bearded man said. “They’re in Common.”

“Right, right.” He hadn’t read Common in a long time. “I’m used to the sigils now. Been living with the sigils. And they’re different, you know, from the regular magic. Any idiot can learn the regular magic. I’d been studying on my own, y’know. Had to, couldn’t afford the damn fees the Brotherhood charges. Why do they do that?”

“Do what?” the bearded man asked after a moment.

“Take fees? I mean, if you know magic, and want to learn magic, shouldn’t they just—just—just
teach
it? Why make you pay for it when you can’t afford it? Especially if your mother’s dying.”

“Your mother’s dying?”

“Was. Dead now. Dead for years. Well, actually, no, I guess not. Maybe dead a few months. Actually, she’s probably not dead at all. But she will be soon. And if they’d just given me the Healing Potion…” Tesbi looked around. “I don’t know this room.”

“If who’d given you the Healing Potion?”

“What Healing Potion?”

“You said ‘if they’d just given me the Healing Potion.’ I’m wondering what Healing Potion you’re speaking of.”

For the first time, the ugly woman spoke. At least Tesbi thought it was the first time she said anything. “And who ‘they’ are.”

Tesbi shook his head. “I’m so tired.”

“I’m sure you are, Mr. Tesbi, but—”

“How’d you know my name?”

“You told it to me earlier.”

“I did? I don’t remember.”

“But you do remember talking to me.”

“I think so.”

“Do you remember the people you tried to take the Healing Potion from?”

Tesbi shook his head. “I thought they were just seven folks. Traced the potion, figured I’d ambush ’em, take the potion. Didn’t know.”

“Didn’t know what?” the bearded man asked after a moment when Tesbi stopped talking.

“You know what the worst thing was? They wouldn’t let me do magic anymore. I tried to explain it to ’em, and then I tried to bargain with ’em, but it didn’t work. You ever try bargainin’ with a mage?”

The bearded man who looked like the old man smiled. “Not successfully.”

“Hate wizards. I couldn’t pay the fee, I couldn’t save my mother, and then they just let her die and wouldn’t let me do a thing about it. So I had to find someone to help me. He looked just like you.”

“Who did?”

“The old man. He’s dead now. Or he will be. And then I came back. Figured it was the least I could do for my mother.” He looked around. “I don’t know this room.”

“So you found someone to teach you chronotic magic.”

“What’s that?”

The bearded man blinked. “The magic you learned.”

“What I learned was time sorcery. That’s what the old man called it, anyhow. I didn’t know nothin’ about it, but I wanted so much to learn magic, and those Brotherhood people wouldn’t let me do anything else. Took me years to find someone who
would
teach me, but then he’d only teach me time sorcery.”

“Why did you do it?”

Tesbi shrugged. “It’s all I had.”

“Didn’t you know what would happen?”

“Yup. I’d go back in time and kill ’em all. I was worried I’d have to find ’em all, but since I could go back in time, I could get ’em when they were all together after they met me. That’d show ’em. Show ’em that I wasn’t just some idiot like that big guy said. That’s why I killed him first, y’know. He said I was stupid. I ain’t stupid. Just didn’t have no money, so I couldn’t learn right. No, I ain’t stupid at all.”

“Of course you’re not.”

Looking up, Tesbi was surprised to find that there were two people in the room with him, including the ugliest woman he’d ever seen and a familiar-looking man. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Lieutenant ban Wyvald. This is my partner, Lieutenant Tresyllione.”

“Didn’t we speak at some bar?”

“Yes, we did. We were discussing the murders of Gan Brightblade and Olthar lothSirhans.”

“They deserved to die. If they’d just given me the potion, my mother’d still be alive and none’a this would’ve happened.”

“None of what would have happened, Mr. Tesbi?”

“How’d you know my name?”

“I know many things, Mr. Tesbi. I know that you attacked seven innocent people outside Cliff’s End. I know that they would have killed you, but for the kindness of one of them—a Temisan priest. I know that another one of them cut off the top of your left ear. I know that you were turned over to the Brotherhood of Wizards, and you pled with them to let you study magic, or at the very least to heal your dying mother. They did neither, and prevented you from ever pursuing magic. After your mother died, you wandered Flingaria, trying to find someone who would teach you magic. But the Brotherhood’s reach extends quite far, and you found every effort stymied. Until one day you found an old man with a thick beard who was willing to teach you forbidden magic—which would allow you to have your revenge on the seven people you believed responsible for ruining your life and keeping you from saving your mother. You went backward in time, using your new skills, and killed four of the seven people. And your use of that forbidden magic has aged you considerably and will kill you by week’s end.”

Tesbi frowned. “That’s an interesting story.”

“And a true one.”

“It certainly sounds familiar. Reminds me of what happened to me once. My mother died, too, you know. Someone had a Healing Potion, but they wouldn’t let me have it. I showed him, though—him and all his friends who thought I was an idiot.”

The ugly woman spoke for the first time. Tesbi wondered why she hadn’t said anything up until now. “Why didn’t you go back further?”

He looked up at the woman, who was truly the ugliest creature he had ever laid eyes on—though he found he couldn’t remember what anyone in the world other than the two people in front of him actually looked like. “Go back further than what?”

“Instead of going back in time to a point
after
Brightblade and the others stopped you, why didn’t you go back to a time
before
then and prevent yourself from ever meeting them?”

Tesbi blinked once. Then he blinked again. Then he looked down at the writing on the table. Then he looked back up at the ugly woman. “That’s an interesting idea. I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll have to do that.” He looked back down at the writing. “That’s Common, isn’t it? I haven’t read Common in so long. The sigils, you know, they’ve been everything.” He looked around. “I don’t know this room.”

Danthres walked out of the interview room and proceeded to slam her fist into the wall.

“Feel better?” Torin asked as he followed her out.

“Not in the least, though it has succeeded admirably in making my hand hurt.” She cradled her now-throbbing fist with her other hand.

Grinning, Torin said, “Well, that’s something at least.”

At the sound of footfalls, Danthres looked at the east-wing wall to see Osric walking out of his office, accompanied by Genero and Ubàrlig, who had remained in the squad room at the insistence of Sir Rommett. Danthres had decided that, of the many things she wished to do before she died, disemboweling the chamberlain had vaulted to near the top of the list.

“So it was him?” the captain asked.

Torin nodded. “Once I realized that my three witnesses who resembled each other were the same man aging at a great rate, it all fell together.”

Osric fixed his one-eyed gaze on Jonas, who was shuffling parchments nearby. “Sergeant, get a guard up here to take this shitbrain to the hole. And have Boneen make sure the wards can work against his kind of magic.”

“I don’t think that will be an issue,” Torin said.

“Why not?”

Danthres snorted. “Tesbi can’t even remember his own name. That’s probably why the killings stopped with the halflings—he’s aged so much that his brain is addled.”

Genero shook his head. “Such a waste.”

“Waste, hell,” Ubàrlig said. “We shoulda just killed ’im, like Bogg wanted. If we had, Gan and the others’d still be alive, and we’d be able to go and take Chalmraik down.”

The priest rubbed his long chin-beard thoughtfully. “We cannot know that—and we cannot presume to know the course of the future.”

“He does,” Torin said. “Or did. I doubt you’ll get anything coherent out of him now, but he lived the next few years as they were when Gan Brightblade and Olthar lothSirhans and Mari and Nari didn’t die. If you fancy questioning him, you might find out how you would have fared. I’d be patient, though.”

“Definitely,” Danthres said. She had let Torin take the lead in the interview because she herself would have lost patience with his multiple digressions and constant repetitions. Danthres preferred the more conventionally stupid criminals they usually took on.

“No,” Genero said. “Indulging in what-may-haves is not Temisa’s way.”

Ubàrlig barked a laugh. “I’d run outta patience two seconds in. Nah, we’re better off not knowin’.”