Harvest Moon (19 page)

But in the centre of the mirror was a man who sat behind a large, almost shiny, desk. Unlike the desk of the Hawks's Sergeant, this one had a visible surface; it was, in fact, all surface.

“Lord Grammayre,” the man said, frowning. “My apologies for the delay.”

The Hawklord inclined his head and waited while the man behind the desk surveyed the room. At least that's what Kaylin assumed he was doing. “Ceridath,” he said, as if to confirm her suspicion.

“Lord Dreury,” Ceridath replied, executing a much more human bow.

“Is there some difficulty, Lord Grammayre?”

“There is a possible misunderstanding,” the Hawklord replied. “And I require a member of the Imperial Order to attend us.”

“You have one.”

“Indeed. I would like a second opinion. I would further request that that second opinion come from a mage who does not normally work within the Halls of Law, and who is senior enough to make no mistakes—at all.”

Lord Dreury's frown deepened. He wasn't a young man, so the frown only shifted the lines of his face, rather than adding any. He began to speak, but this time, Kaylin didn't understand a word he was saying.

Nor did she understand a single word of the Hawklord's reply, but clearly the shift in language wasn't a sign that either man was happy. She glanced at Teela, Tain, and Red—who all appeared to be able to follow what was actually being said. As did Lord Dreury.

It wasn't short. The syllables sounded soft and extended, but the tones in which they were spoken implied the exact opposite. Ten minutes passed. Fifteen. Teela's back looked a lot less impressive than it had when anyone had been paying attention to her.

She glanced at the exposed body that lay on the table, and the conversation—or argument—faded into the background. Without thinking, she walked to the corpse of the young girl whose closed eyes had revealed golden words—words that Kaylin couldn't read. Red noticed when she reached the body and moved toward her, although his gaze was still riveted on the mirror and the increasingly chilly voice of the man it contained.

Kaylin reached for the sheet that had covered the girl's body and face. She took care not to touch anything besides the blanket. Starting at the girl's feet—at her shoeless feet, at the bruised ring around her right ankle—she set one edge of the blanket down, taking care to cover everything. The blanket was heavier than
the ones Kaylin was used to, but she'd often had to do without.

She knew what she was doing was stupid and pointless. Teela was right: the girl was dead. Nothing could be done to change that, and nothing worse could happen to her: she was beyond pain or fear.

But pointless or no, she did it anyway: she pulled the blanket up the dead girl's body, covering her torn and bloody clothing. Only when it reached her chin did she stop. She hesitated for a moment, and then tucked the edge of the blanket under the girl's chin, as if she were sleeping, or ever would again.

Red placed a hand on her shoulder, and she startled and turned, pulling away, her hands reaching for air again. He lifted his hand—both hands—in the air, palms toward her in an exaggerated gesture of surrender, before he drew away from Lord Grammayre and the mage.

“You can't leave yet,” he told her quietly. “But when you can—”

“When'll that be?”

“Probably not more than a couple of hours.” He grimaced. “I don't know what you did, but it's going to be costly if you're wrong.” Shaking his head, he added, “This isn't the place for you. The morgue, I mean. In a couple of weeks, come back, I'll show you what I do. But this'll be hard, even for me. It's not something you should have to see.”

“Why?”

He frowned. Reaching past her, he unfolded the blanket's upper edge and pulled it over the girl's face. “This doesn't bother you?”

“I've seen worse,” she replied, meaning it. She bit
her lip and turned away, not from the corpse, but from his gaze. “Who killed them?”

“We don't know. But if what you said was true, we'll be a lot closer to getting an answer.” He hesitated, and then said, “These aren't the first victims.”

“There are more?” It wasn't the stupidest question she'd asked in her life, but it was close. She turned away. Turned back. “Are they all this young?”

“Or younger, yes.”

“But—but
why?
Why are they doing this?”

“Because they want to and they can, for now.”

“Why here?”

He frowned. “Pardon?”

“Why here, on this side of the river? I thought everything like this happened across the bridge. In the fiefs,” she added with bewildered bitterness.

“Kaylin, people live on either side of the bridge. And people are people, no matter where they live, and no matter how much they have. Some are Caitlin—they give what they can, and they keep the rest of us in line. Some are…not.”

“But—but on the other side of the river, no one
cares.”

“Really?”

She stared at him.

“No one cares? No one's bothered? No one's afraid?”

“Of course people are afraid! We have no one there but the fieflord—and if the fieflord takes you or sells you, that's it, that's the only law! There are—there are supposed to be—laws
here
. There are supposed to be Hawks and Swords, and they're supposed to keep people
safe.
People like her,” she added.

He stared at her for a minute, and she thought if he could have opened the doors, he would have thrown her
out. But when he spoke, his voice was calm and quiet. “Who do you think those Hawks and Swords are?” he asked softly. “Do you think they're perfect, Kaylin? Do you think they have flawless days without a single error, ever? Do you think they have eyes in the back and the sides of their heads?

“Do you think they're not afraid?” He turned to the corpse. “This is the price of failure, yes. We don't pay it. The most we can do—and what we always try to do—is to make sure it doesn't happen again the same way. But we're human—”

Teela cleared her throat loudly.

Red frowned. “We're human,” he repeated. “We're never going to be perfect. Best we can do is learn from our mistakes, and keep trying.”

She stared at him.

“Perhaps,” Lord Grammayre said in distinctly chilly and entirely comprehensible words, “this philosophical discussion about the nature of humanity and the purpose of the Hawks could wait for a more suitable time?”

Red flushed. Kaylin looked at her feet.

 

Three hours later, the doors were finally opened to admit another stranger in dark robes. He was older than Ceridath, and he wore a very thick gold chain, from which an equally thick gold medallion hung. He didn't look friendly—but at this point, no one in the room did. His beard was long and thin at the ends, and his hair was sparse, but what made him instantly unusual were two things: the color of his eyes and the way both of the Barrani lost any look of boredom.

His eyes were almost the same gold that the Ser
geant's had been. But he was definitely
not
covered in fur and claws or fangs.

“Lord Grammayre,” he said. “Ceridath.”

Ceridath bowed.

“The Magister evinced some concern at your request, Lord Grammayre. It is highly unusual, and it was not done through the proper—and more germane, discreet—channels.”

“I did not think we had the luxury of time. Forgive me,” he added. “I did not realize they would appoint such an important member to the task.”

“Ah. They did not. I am fond of my Imperial Order, and when I realized that the Magister was…flustered… I undertook the task on my own recognizance. Three candidates were proposed, but I felt, at this juncture, that absolute certainty—swift certainty—was essential.” He spoke to no one but Lord Grammayre; everyone else might have been furniture. Or worse.

“I do not, however, have all day. Please, proceed.”

Red, still invisible, walked over to the body that he had just covered. He removed the blanket himself.

“Ceridath, you were responsible for the scan?”

“Yes, Lord.”

“And the analysis?”

“Mine.”

“Very well. If I recall correctly, your sensitivity to magical residual effects has always been considered your strength. It is among the strongest in the Imperial Order.”

Ceridath nodded.

“Is there anything you would like to say before I begin?”

If there was, he couldn't even manage a single syl
lable. It was the first time he'd looked less than icily composed or civilly furious. The new mage frowned, and his eyes began to shift color, moving from gold to bronze. “Ceridath,” he said, and this time his voice was a low rumble.

Ceridath remained silent.

The older mage turned to the exposed corpse. “Lord Grammayre, with your permission?”

“Granted.”

“Records. Secondary autopsy scan by Sanabalis of the Imperial Order of Mages. Note time and date.”

“Noted.”

Just as Ceridath had, Sanabalis began to cast. The movements he used were different; less fluid, to Kaylin's eye. He didn't speak, either. But he was doing something similar, because she felt the marks on her arms and legs begin to tingle. She braced herself, bit her lip, and remained silent when the tingling became painful. What failed to emerge this time were the runes that had risen like golden ghosts from the dead girl's eyes.

Teela walked over to where Kaylin stood, knees bent, lower lip between her teeth. “Well?”

Kaylin shook her head as the older mage said, “I do not find anything remiss, Lord Grammayre.”

Teela grimaced and said something almost incomprehensible under her breath. The tone, however, made it clear that it was a curse—just not in a language that Kaylin understood. The Barrani Hawk lifted her head. “Lord Sanabalis,” she said quietly, “is Ceridath's grasp of the particulars of the spell greater than yours?”

The older mage frowned. “Why do you ask?”

“The results of his spell, and the results of yours, differ.”

“They do not,” Ceridath began.

But Sanabalis lifted a hand. “In what way?”

“I would have you cast either a different spell, or a more centralized one,” Teela replied, avoiding a direct answer.

“Centralized where?”

“The girl's eyes.”

He frowned. “What about her eyes?”

“There is some residual magic there, and it is defined.”

“I did not realize that you had spent any time in the Imperial Order, Corporal.”

“Ah. I did not, of course. I spent some time dabbling in the early Arcanum, but I was not considered a promising student, and after some political turmoil, I was allowed to retire. But in my studies, there were different spells of detection; some required subtlety, and some did not. In this case, I believe that any spell was not cast to kill the child, and it was not cast on her corpse, which would make any traces hard to detect.”

“Indeed. It is why the three mages seconded to the coroner are those who specifically specialize in such subtleties. But the request was made for a mage who does not regularly attend the Halls.”

“The child was mortal,” Teela continued. “It is possible that your detections are not finely tuned toward things that change and decay even in life. Neither you nor I are mortal, after all.”

The mage simply nodded. If he wasn't mortal, Kaylin thought, what
was
he? “Your point is taken.” He turned back to the body and this time his spell—if this is what
a spell looked like—took longer. The accompanying motion of hands was subtle and slow.

Lord Grammayre glanced at Teela, and then at Kaylin, but he didn't choose to speak. Teela, however, gently guided Kaylin closer to the corpse over which the mage labored. She kept herself between Kaylin and the mage, but she left a line of sight open.

This time, after a much longer period of lip-biting pain, Kaylin saw the words begin to rise from the girl's closed eyes. They weren't solid, but they weren't so complicated she couldn't begin to see a shape and a pattern to them; the two glyphs were the same.

Teela touched her shoulder lightly, and Kaylin nodded emphatically. But it wasn't necessary; the mage's eyes suddenly widened—and they went from bronze to a very fiery orange almost instantly.

“There is something, then,” Lord Grammayre said softly, and with just a hint of relief.

“There is,” was the low, low reply.

“Is it strong enough to trace?”

“It is strong enough for Ceridath to trace.” The words managed to be both heated and deathly cold at the same time. “Or he would have felt no need to lie about his findings.” He turned to Ceridath. “I believe your tenure here will not be as short as you planned. Lord Grammayre, place Ceridath under arrest.”

The Hawklord nodded.

“I will send for the Tha'alani.”

 

Ceridath lifted an ashen face. “That won't be necessary,” he said softly, and without much hope. Without the ice of defiance, he looked much older.

“Given your actions here, any information you now
willingly surrender will be suspect. I am disappointed, Ceridath.”

“Yes. And I will pay for my treachery.” He straightened his shoulders; his breath was ragged, and when he exhaled, his shoulders once again sunk. He hadn't otherwise moved.

“Why did you lie?” Kaylin demanded.

The Hawklord lifted a hand. “Kaylin, that will be enough.”

“No—no it
won't
. Look at him—he has everything. He obviously has money, he's obviously respected. They had nothing, and even if he does die for this, it'll be a
clean
death. None of these three got that. And you said there were more—”

“Kaylin
.”