Authors: S. J. A. Turney
Ironroot (30 page)
He glared at Scortius, who merely tutted and turned the patient’s head away again.
Catilina bridled.
“No Pelasian would break that accord. You know how they are about Ashar; he’s more than a God to them.”
Varro frowned. “You’re right, of course.” He turned to Salonius. “I think we’ve got a problem.”
The young man nodded.
“Someone masquerading as a Pelasian to lay the blame with them,” he grumbled.
“Not just that,” Varro growled. “That someone was within the Palace. That means he’s one of our own again. Maybe a Pelasian could sneak in to Vengen. They train all their lives to do things like that. But if it’s not a Pelasian assassin, then it’s realistically got to be someone who was already in the military compound of Vengen. And that makes it ninety per cent sure he’s a soldier! Either Cristus has friends in the First, the Fifth or the Eleventh, or among Sabian’s own men, or…”
Salonius’ face hardened. “Or Sergeant Corda brought traitors from the Fourth with him!”
The two shared a look.
“Betrayer” they said in unison.
Catilina walked a few steps and then crouched in front of Varro.
“We have to go see my father straight away.”
Varro nodded.
“I agree, but just let Scortius finish here first.”
Beside him, the doctor sighed as he cleaned the wound.
Varro, Salonius and Catilina arrived at the office of the marshal just as the great bell in the tower at the edge of the complex tolled eleven times. Salonius had been sceptical that the marshal would be available to see them, but Catilina had assured him that Sabian would still be in his office, deeply involved in his work.
The two guards outside the door moved into a defensive posture as the three figures emerged from the corridor, though as soon as they identified the marshal’s daughter, they stood to attention and saluted.
“I take it my father is in?” Catilina asked, idly drumming the fingers of her left hand on the back of her right hand, which rested in a sling to aid the healing of her shoulder wound.
One of the guards cleared his throat.
“The marshal is unavailable, I’m afraid, ma’am, even to yourself. We have strict instructions for total privacy.”
Catilina glared at him, and the guard shuffled nervously.
“You will announce me this instant or by morning you will find yourself cleaning latrines on a border post. Do you understand me?”
The guard risked a glance at his counterpart, who stared rigidly ahead with an air of relief.
“Erm… The marshal gave orders…”
Catilina smiled a horribly vengeful smile at him and walked across to the door. The guard fumbled with his sword and dithered, unsure of where he stood in these circumstances. The young lady twisted the handle on the door and swept in regally without a further glance at the guards. As Varro and Salonius followed her in, the captain patted the guard on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry. They’ll both have too much on their plate shortly to even think about you.”
The guard look unconvinced and returned to attention as the door to the marshal’s office closed.
Varro walked straight into the back of Catilina, who had stopped immediately inside the door, and Salonius consequently bumped into him too. The pair of them peered around the lady’s lustrous black curls and stared for a moment before they remembered where they were and came to attention. Varro had been expecting Sabian to be poring over maps, or perhaps writing furiously. What he hadn’t been prepared for was the Marshal being draped over his seat, with a cup in his hand and an almost empty bottle on the table. He recognised the smell of cheap northern spirits from the doorway.
“Father?” Catilina’s voice hovered somewhere between prim disgust, worry and anger.
Sabian hauled himself upright with some stiffness of muscles. Varro heaved a sigh of relief; the marshal had been drinking, but was still compos mentis at least.
“Ah, Catilina. I thought of sending for you, but I was sure you’d come once Scortius had finished with you. I thought you’d come alone though. I wasn’t planning to see these three until the morning.”
Salonius and Varro shared an unspoken look behind the lady as Varro held up three fingers.
“Father, can we put aside your disappointment in me and your anger, and assume that you’re not going to punish me in the end anyway. It’ll save a lot of time, and this is too important to mess around with family squabbles.”
Sabian’s face hardened.
“Catilina,” he growled, “you are not ingratiating yourself with me.”
His daughter merely folded her arms defiantly, thought with some difficulty, given the sling, and gave him a patronising look.
“Catilina,” the marshal’s voice raised slightly and dangerously, “don’t play games with me, girl. I’m not drunk but I am angry.”
The young lady sighed and allowed her arm to drop back down to her side.
“Very well, father. You can shout at me, withdraw my privileges, restrict my movement or whatever the hell it is you want to do to punish me, but be angry later; there just isn’t time now!”
Something about her words sank in and Sabian seemed to deflate slightly. His eyes wandered behind her and rested for a moment on her two companions.
“I assumed Petrus would be with you?”
Varro stepped out beside Catilina.
“That’s the problem, sir.”
“What? You can’t have lost him?”
Varro sighed.
“Petrus has gone to the Gods. About fifteen minutes ago” he said sadly.
“Nearer twenty, I think,” corrected Salonius.
Sabian pushed himself upright, slapping the cup down on the desk and sweeping it aside.
“What happened?”
The three visitors stepped forward and relaxed their posture slightly.
“Assassination,” Varro announced bluntly. “Someone killed Petrus and tried the same with Salonius and me; thinks he got Salonius, too.”
Sabian blinked. “Assassins? In Vengen? That’s outrageous!”
“But true. I saw him in the garden outside the guest wing. He was kitted out like a Pelasian, but your daughter assures me that there’s no way he could actually have been a Pelasian?”
The marshal nodded in a distracted fashion.
“Sir?” Varro prompted.
“Hmm?” Sabian turned and focused on the captain again. “What? Oh, yes. She’s right. You’ll not find a Pelasian here unless he’s staying in the guest wing and wearing official regalia. Prince Ashar is a good friend of both mine and the Emperor’s.”
“Then someone in Vengen is dressed like a Pelasian and using one of their hand bows; someone in the fortress.”
The marshal frowned.
“Assuming this is Cristus playing his hand, who could he have his hooks into here?”
Varro shrugged.
“Sadly, just about anyone. I…”
Suddenly the captain groaned as his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped. Salonius, quick as a flash, grabbed Varro around the torso as he fell, lowering him gently to the floor.”
The young man looked up to see Catilina staring in horror and Sabian rushing around the side of his desk towards them.
“It’s alright,” Salonius reassured them, “he’s breathing. It’s just a reaction. Scortius warned me about this. About fifteen minutes ago he had some very strong medication. He’s supposed to be resting as much as possible anyway, but he’s overdone it. Two wounds, running around and, of course, his blood pressure’s pretty high even normally.”
Catilina’s face continued to verge on panic as she knelt beside the unconscious captain. Sabian, approaching, stood above her and looked down on her and the captain with a curious look on his face. The marshal crouched and grasped Varro by a shoulder. With a nod to Salonius, the two men hauled Varro up and dragged him across to Sabian’s couch, followed closely by the worried Catilina. They gently lay the captain on the soft velvet and tucked a cushion behind his head.
“He’s lucky to have you looking after him,” the marshal noted, giving Salonius an appraising glance.
“Just my duty, sir.” Replied the young man modestly.
Catilina crouched by the divan and gently mopped Varro’s brow with a soft cloth. Sabian gave her a quick concerned look, grasped Salonius’ shoulder and guided him away across the room. When they were a considerable distance away from Varro and Catilina, he let go and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully.
“I don’t think this is a duty thing, lad. I’m very much under the impression that the only people Varro can trust are in this room right now. We have a problem and we need to work out what we’re going to do about it.”
Salonius frowned.
“With respect, sir, we need to find this assassin.”
“Agreed,” Sabian nodded. “The question is: how to go about it?”
Salonius glanced briefly towards the door.
“We could perform a search, sir? The assassin was in Pelasian blacks and carrying a hand bow. I would assume that anyone leaving the military compound will be logged, so there are three possibilities as I see it.”
Sabian raised a questioning eyebrow.
“Well, sir,” Salonius answered quickly, “either the assassin fled the compound, in which case he’ll have been logged by the guards at the gate, or he’s still got the equipment stashed somewhere, in which case we can find it, or…”
“Or what?”
“Well, if it was me, sir, I’d have thrown the clothes and weapon over the walls. Removes any link with the guilty party.”
“Damn it, your right.” Sabian ground his teeth. “I’m going to have my commander organise a search of the compound and of the ditches below the walls, but if he’s thrown them away we’re going to have serious trouble pinning anyone down.”
“Perhaps, sir, but perhaps not. It all depends on what the search turns up.”
Sabian glanced back across the room to where his daughter continued her ministrations.
“What’s best for Varro right now?”
“If it’s alright with you, sir, I think we should leave him where he is for now.” Salonius answered. “Perhaps we should send for Scortius?”
Sabian nodded.
“I’ll have him and Mercurias both attend.” He glanced over at his daughter again. “Catilina? Salonius and I have business to attend to. I’m sending the doctors to have a look at Varro, but I think you should stay with him.”
Catilina gave him a weak smile.
“Out of trouble, you mean father?”
It was mid morning when Salonius and the marshal made their careful way along the deep grass ditch below the walls of Vengen. They had spent the morning organising the search, watching the darkness slowly give way to the dawn somewhere in the process. The compound had been sealed with the exception of the particular unit of Sabian’s guard that had been given the task of searching below the walls. The names of everyone who had left the compound between the time of the attack and the sealing of the gate had been taken, and each one of those individuals had been tracked down in the civilian settlement and brought back to the military compound. They numbered eight soldiers from the army, three from the First, two from the Fourth, one from the Fifth and two from the Eleventh, four members of Sabian’s guard, six of the Vengen garrison, and nine of the ancillary staff. Tracking them down in the crowded town must have been a monumental task, but the marshal’s guards had carried it out efficiently and without complaint.
As Salonius and Sabian went about their work throughout the morning, they’d watched with growing impatience as black-clad guards methodically turned the palace upside down, searching every room and corridor systematically, with the exception of Sabian and Catilina’s quarters. Once they’d finished with the palace, they moved on like a plague of very organised locusts, tearing apart the barracks of the four army cohorts, moving on to the garrison barracks, the stores, and so on. Even the granaries had been emptied and replaced. Salonius had been impressed at the level of activity and the effort put into this and wondered why Varro was so important that the marshal himself would turn Vengen upside down to aid him.
And finally he had come to the conclusion, as he watched the marshal at work, that Sabian was the kind of man who simply wouldn’t allow inefficiency and corruption within his demesne, and the young man found a new level of respect for the older man by his side. Sabian controlled Vengen, and therefore felt himself responsible for anything that happened within its walls. Perhaps he even felt a personal responsibility for Petrus’ death.
He simply wouldn’t rest until this was put right.
And throughout the morning’s activity, that single-minded need had driven him to push his men constantly. And all of it had led to the two of them traipsing through the grass, still damp with morning dew where the high walls had kept the ditch in shadow throughout the morning.
“It’s taken you all morning to search this?” Sabian demanded irritably of the black-clad captain who had led the exterior search.
