The Sacred Hunt Duology (71 page)

And how exactly could someone from some trading authority help her? Jewel bristled slightly, but said nothing. As if she'd spoken, Devon turned slightly and smiled; she wasn't certain she liked the expression. Seemed a bit on the smug side. And his face was too pretty.

The fair-haired slender man named Stephen performed a very odd bow; after a
minute's hesitation, so did Lord Elseth. Jewel was good at observing people; she knew that Stephen was relieved and that Gilliam was annoyed, and from this surmised that Stephen, of the two, was the one who worried about manners. What she didn't see was the signal between them that had forced Gilliam to his feet. Strange.

• • •

Did she know? It was a question that Devon often wondered when in her presence. He knew, of course, that she knew of many of his less well-advertised skills. Knew, too, that she considered him discreet enough to call upon them from time to time. But he did not know if she understood his position within the court of the Kings, and the rank he held there.

Very few did.

Devon ATerafin was one of five men who were considered trustworthy enough to serve one of The Ten while at the same time serving the Crowns; it had never, until three days ago, been a burden to him—but he was no fool, to wonder why so few House members were allowed to enter the compact that governed the Astari. He had studied his histories well, and he understood the lure of power for those who already possessed it.

His smile, smooth and convivial, made him a favorite of the younger Queen; he used it now to mask his concern and his worry. He was not certain it was enough of a mask to protect him from The Terafin, however. He took his seat, but even before he had pulled it into the circle, with a smile to either side, he had already taken stock of the people in the room.

The dogs seemed to sense what lay behind his smile—and indeed the dogs were the biggest surprise in the chamber. From what he knew of dogs—and he knew a surprising amount, for two of the Breodani diplomats often frequented the court of Queen Marieyan—they were of the best of the hunting stock.

“Isn't it unusual for Hunter Lords to travel?” he said, directing the question to the huntbrother and not the Hunter.

“It is very unusual,” Stephen replied softly. “And we must not tarry; by the first of Veral, we must be in Breodanir, in the King's City.”

“Or?”

“There is no or,” he said gravely. “We are Hunters, and we abide by the Hunter's Oath. If we cannot achieve our goal—or yours, Terafin—by that date, we must set aside the goal until the passing of the Sacred Hunt.”

Devon nodded as if satisfied, and in part, he was. He had never seen a Hunter Lord, but these two satisfied both his secondhand knowledge and his instinct. Nothing changed at all in his posture or his expression, but he relaxed slightly.

Until his gaze returned to Meralonne APhaniel.

Meralonne was an older mage with a reputation—what senior mage, he reflected dourly, did not have one?—and an overwhelming sense of his own
importance. Unfortunately, from what the Astari could tell, his arrogance matched his ability very closely. That was all that the Astari had really been able to discover about the mage, and for that reason, he was still scrutinized.

He could not, of course, give any of the information that the Astari had gleaned to The Terafin. She had never pushed him to render any account of his day-to-day life to her; it was not her way. The people whose service she asked for she granted a large measure of trust; to this day, that trust had not proved ill-founded.

Do you know?
He could not ask, and she never answered—not by word. But there was always suspicion. Especially now, confronted by two foreign lords and one of the Magi.

Why, Terafin, did you summon me if it solely involves the House?
He could not, of course, refuse—not and remain a member of Terafin. But to see these foreign lords, that mage, and a young girl who had the aura of one not comfortable with the rules of the patriciate about her made him uneasy indeed.

“Devon, I must ask you one question. Do you know who holds the seventeenth, the thirty-second, and the thirty-fifth?”

He turned at the sound of The Terafin's voice and raised a brow. “Pardon?” Nothing about his surprise was feigned. This, this is why The Terafin ruled; she did in all things the unexpected. He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “My apologies, Terafin. I heard the question.”

“And?”

“I must confess that I leave that for the record keepers and the treasury. It's easy enough to find the three names if you require them.”

“It's not necessary,” she replied, in a tone that made it clear that it wasn't. “Meralonne?”

“They are not three names; they are one. Those holdings, as well as the seventh and the fifty-ninth, are in the care of Patris Cordufar.”

“Two of the richest and three of the poorest,” Devon said; the words had the quality of musing done aloud.

“
The
two richest and
the
three poorest,” The Terafin replied.

“That is . . . unusual.” More than just understatement; Families held a holding and its responsibilities; Houses might hold two or three. Devon would have sworn that no Lord in Averalaan could lay claim to three now—five was unthinkable. “Why is this of significance to this problem?”

“Because,” The Terafin said, “we believe that the magisterial courts have been corrupted within those holdings.”

It was all Devon could do to remain seated. “Oh?” he said evenly as he leveled his gaze at the woman who held his name. “By whom?”

“Either by Patris Cordufar, who leads one of the richest of the noble families in the Empire, or by those who have managed to take advantage of him. Devon, you've met Cordufar.” It wasn't a question; she rarely asked them.

Damn her.
Yes, he'd met Cordufar; the Cordufar fortunes had risen rapidly enough in the previous generation that they were worth watching—but Astari records indicated only that the previous Patris Cordufar was a merchanting genius with no real ambitions but a mind so sharp it could cut a careless man. In financial dealings, it seemed he had met many of them. The current Patris Cordufar was a tall and handsome man with just as little a sense of humor as his father before him and just as deadly an intellect. He could not imagine anyone who could take advantage of that Lord to such an extent.

“I realize that you would never make such a statement without proof,” he said, “but I must nevertheless ask you why you've reached that conclusion.”

“Of course,” she said. “These,” and she lifted a document from the edge of the desk closest to her, “are the names of people who have been reported as missing throughout the holdings in the last decade. These,” she continued, lifting another document, “are a list of people who have gone missing within the three poorer holdings that Cordufar runs during that time.”

He took them from her and browsed over the relevant numbers. Stopped. The second list did not in any way coincide with the first. Although there were officially reported disappearances of people in the seventeenth, thirty-second, and thirty-fifth, none of the names were on the second list. “If these were not reported, how do you know they've gone missing?”

“We have reason to believe that they were reported, at least initially. You'll want, of course, to read this as well.”

He took the third report with a growing unease and a growing curiosity. It was a document, prepared by a clerk of the Order of Knowledge, which charted the missing person count reported and suspected, of the three holdings, and compared them with the rise in population in those centers, and with the economic conditions at the time of the reports.

The reported count had risen slightly over the decade. But the suspected count was spiked so sharply it nearly went off the edge of the document.

He was Astari. “You suspect that whoever has been suppressing these reports is also involved with the disappearances.”

“Why?” Gilliam asked. His huntbrother's face remained serene, but for some reason, the Hunter Lord himself glared at him and then fell silent.

“Because,” Meralonne replied, “it's perfectly clear that whoever has been suppressing this information knows which disappearances he, she, or they are responsible for, and which are random acts of violence.”

Devon's hands were still as he set the papers aside, but years of training gave him that self-control. “Terafin,” he said gravely, “I do not believe that this is House business alone. To imply that a Lord of the patriciate has somehow managed to subvert the magisterial courts is a grave accusation, and possibly worse. A matter of this nature should be reported at once to the appropriate—”

“Be seated,” she said. “Devon.”

He sat.

“There is more, and I trust that you will understand why I say what I say when you have heard it.”

“Terafin, please. I—”

“You will
sit down
!” He had never heard her raise her voice; he sat because his knees were momentarily too shaky to support him. “And you will
listen
.” She stood now and left the protection of her desk. “Have you heard stories of the demon-kin?”

He nodded.

“Good. Because we believe that the people responsible for the destruction of the unreported missing persons are either demons or those in league with them.” She paused. “Meralonne can attest to the fact that many of the kin feel a need to . . . feed. If a mage—or more likely a House—has a collection of these creatures, it is quite likely that they will require some physical sacrifice.”

“The Terafin is correct,” the silver-haired mage confirmed softly.

It was not what Devon had expected her to say.

“Further,” she continued, “we know for a fact that some of the demon-kin cannot only assume the shape of a man, but also much of his identity and much of his memory. This is, of course, at the cost of the life of the one so imitated.” She paused. “This is no illusion, Devon. Such an assumption is not magical in nature, and when looked for, no magic will be found.”

Devon felt the blood drain from his face as the implications of what she was saying took root. “Reymaris' sword,” he whispered.

“We do not know at which level the ranks of the Cordufar family have been infiltrated—but we know that, upon the staff of the magisterial truthseekers, there was one who was not seeking truth any longer.”

“Then we must find the summoner of these creatures.”

“Yes, we must. And we must do it with care and caution. I have already sent word, through all the channels that I have access to, that an assassination attempt was carried out, by magical means, against me. I have made it clear that there was a summoning of some sort, and have offered the usual reward for the mage who accepted the job.”

“In other words, you've done everything you can to appear as ignorant as possible.”

“Yes. But I'm not at all sure that it will work.”

“Why?”

She shook her head, and then grimaced. “Because the man that they killed and replaced—the man whose partial memories they own—was once my brother. We did not love each other overmuch in our later years, but we knew each other well.”

“Ararath,” Devon whispered.

The Terafin smiled rather grimly; it was clear that she expected him to understand much more than one of his station within the House proper. “Meralonne APhaniel is one of a suspected half-dozen of the mage-born who can easily detect these creatures for what they are. But he must be looking for it. Needless to say, most people will not.

“We cannot allow this information to be known; if people know of it, and know further that they cannot detect these creatures easily, there will be panic. And the panic will be twofold.” She no longer spoke to Devon, because she knew that Devon understood without the need for an explanation.

“First, people will begin to look for demons where none exist, and I fear that the innocent may well suffer from such a hunt, and second—and most important—if the kin are involved in higher levels of our councils, they may feel the need to prematurely move against us, our House, and our supporters. We must leak information, and that information must be true; we must let them know that we are stymied in our search, and that we suspect only the mage-born.

“To this end I have begun a ‘private' investigation into the mage-born members of the Order of Knowledge. I have also sent my operatives into the lower holdings to search for foreign mages who may have been involved in this black art.”

“And why do we need to involve our foreign guests in our internal matters?” Devon's question was pointed.

“Because,” The Terafin replied serenely, “it seems that Stephen of Elseth—unlike Meralonne or any of the mage-born—can see the demon-kin without resorting to the use of spell. He does not need to search for the signs; if he can see the creature, we believe he will know it for what it is.”

“And what proof do you have of this?”

Meralonne answered at The Terafin's nod. “For reasons that are not clear to me or any of us, the demons are searching for Stephen and Lord Elseth. They were waiting at the western demiwall for their arrival.”

“Waiting? That implies that they knew they would be here.”

“We met them first in Breodanir,” Stephen added, speaking for the first time. “At the time, they were hunting Espere. She is not quite right, and we hoped to find both the answer to the question of why the demons hunted her, and the cure to her condition, if it can be cured, here.”

“And instead you have found that these creatures are here and hunting for you?”

“Yes.”

“I see.” He trailed off into silence, absorbing the answers to his questions while preparing to ask more.

The Terafin interrupted his musing. “The demon that they met here wore the guise of a magisterial truthseeker. We have been able to ascertain which
truthseeker; he has been in service to the courts for over fifteen years.” She sat, then, and stared at her liege for a long time.