“We all did,” Aefric said, sighing, and looking at the assassin, whose eyes still moved as though seeking escape or opportunity. “We all did.”

  Sorting things out after the assassination attempt took some time.

  As soon as Nyorngyth was secured and under guard, the knights and soldiers — Aefric’s, as well as the king’s — made sure the rest of the area was clear.

  What was more, they began a search of every member of the entire entourage. Searching for unexpected weapons, in general, but specifically for any more reddish, flame-shaped daggers.

  Aefric inspected the one Nyorngyth had carried. Its reddish hue was highlighted by something smeared along its length. And from this range, he could tell there was magic in the blade that was exceptionally difficult to detect.

  Holding the hilt, though, Aefric quickly determined that the blade seemed to eat magic. Not even the king’s blade-turning magical bracer would have stayed that dagger.

  Was that why Aefric’s throw went so far wide? Was he losing his magical grip as the aimed?

  Apparently such daggers were known to be used by assassins of the Order of the Severed Dream. But this was the first Aefric had heard of them.

  Even his memories as Keifer, of the Torn Kingdoms sourcebooks from Earth, didn’t seem to include the Order of the Severed Dream. They must’ve been new. Or newly known of.

  But both Sers Beornric and Beatritz knew of them.

  “They’re said to be based out of Malimfar,” Ser Beatritz said. “To have a guild hidden somewhere in the town of Dyrhellir.”

  “I’d heard they were an independent group, though,” Ser Beornric said, tugging at his mustache. “More likely to work with other guilds or criminals than nobles.”

  “I’ve heard the same,” Ser Beatritz said. “In fact, when we were in Kivash this past spring, word around there was that King Eadred put a bounty on them. That their work was behind instability among Malimfari shipping concerns.”

  “If that’s true, why didn’t the king just order the shipping companies to stop assassinating each other?” Aefric asked.

  “The Order of the Severed Dream isn’t just assassins,” Ser Beornric said. “They’re said to serve as spies, as well. Last I’d heard, they did more spying than killing.”

  “Odd, though,” Ser Beatritz said, frowning. “If Nyorngyth is from Severed Dream, why should he pose as a cleric? I’d think the first time he failed a blessing, he’d be found out.”

  “He wasn’t posing,” Aefric said. “I’ve been blessed before, and Nyorngyth’s blessing in Ulna’s name was the real thing.”

  “But how?” King Colm said, waving off a pair of his knights who stood ready to search even Aefric for another telltale dagger. “How could he be both a holy man and a paid spy and murderer?”

  “We’ll have to ask him,” Aefric said.

  “Not yet,” King Colm said. “I don’t want to question him until I’ve calmed down. Right now I’m too ready to order his death, and that might not serve me well.”

  Servants came up, to offer more food and wine. Apparently those in charge of the food would try not to let a little thing like a royal assassination attempt spoil lunch.

  No one nearby seemed to have any stomach for more lunch, though. Aefric and the king, along with Sers Beatritz and Beornric, were focused on dealing with the problems before them.

  The queen seemed to be calming herself and Sighild by drawing the younger noblewoman into a conversation about Aefric’s magic.

  Ler Mildric tried to insinuate himself into that conversation, but the queen shooed him away. Which caused Ser Beornric to give Aefric an amused look that Aefric tried to ignore.

  “We’ll have to deal with Nyorngyth before we get back on the road,” Aefric said.

  “And we will,” King Colm said grimly. “But first, I want to know what was so important that Motte’s rider was ready to push his horse to the brink of death.”

  The rider was brought into a circle of soldiers. Half those of the king, and half those of Aefric’s personal guard.

  Waiting within the circle stood the king, Aefric, and Sers Beatritz and Beornric.

  The rider was a wide-eyed lad who looked even worse for wear than his horse, after his speedy ride. He was searched thoroughly before he was allowed to approach.

  The moment he was in the middle of the circle, he dropped to his knees and raised both hands to offer a scroll to his majesty.

  King Colm took the scroll. Spoke in a gentle voice. “Have you any message beyond this scroll?”

  “Only that I am to return with any reply your majesty sees fit to give.”

  “Fine,” King Colm said. “Go tend your horse, and find some food. I will summon you when I’m ready.”

  “Yes, your majesty,” the rider said, bowing his way out of the circle.

  King Colm broke the seal, unrolled the scroll, and skimmed its contents. Made a humming, thoughtful noise.

  Aefric checked himself from asking what the scroll said. One did not rush a king, after all. He felt somewhat gratified, at least, that Ser Beatritz shifted impatiently while the king read the scroll a second time, hummed thoughtfully again.

  Then a third time.

  Finally, his majesty rolled up the scroll, frowning, and tapped it on one palm. He turned to a nearby Knight of the Crown.

  “Clear an area of one hundred feet. No one within but myself, his grace, Ser Beatritz, Ser Beornric, and…”

  He turned to the queen. “My dear. Do you wish to join us?”

  The queen considered that while frowning at whatever she saw as she looked over the rest of the temporary encampment.

  “No,” she said. “One of us should move among the people and settle them down. I’ll handle that. Assuming, my love, that you tell me later of this conversation?”

  She was smiling, now, as though this were some inside joke.

  The king smiled back at her the same way. “Assuming you remind me, my love.”

  They both smiled wider for a moment … but then the moment passed, and they both turned to be about their duties.

  Soon, in the rising midday heat, Aefric found himself seated on the royal, forest green blanket again. This time his company was the king and Sers Beatritz and Beornric.

  More of that herb-roasted pheasant, along with the light white cheese and honeyed oat bread sat nearby, in case any of them still hungered. And each had been provided with a skin of day beer.

  Each of them took a little of the beer while the king looked over the message from Motte one more time.

  “It seems that a member of Karna Duisdottir’s entourage was caught sneaking out after we left,” King Colm said, rolling up the scroll again. “Count Ferrin’s men were hard pressed to find him, but when they did they found in his possession a reddish dagger shaped like flame.”

  “I take it Karna Duisdottir proclaims her own innocence?” Aefric said.

  King Colm nodded. “Pretends fury about it. Claims the false retainer was sent by her uncle to spy on her. To ensure she wasn’t ‘so besotted with love that she’d give away too many Malimfari secrets.’”

  Both Sers Beornric and Beatritz scoffed.

  “I agree,” King Colm said. “Obviously the Order of the Severed Dream sent a team of two assassins. Motte may have caught the prime, with Nyorngyth as a backup. Or perhaps it was the other way around. We won’t know for sure until my justiciar digs out the truth. Either way, I have trouble believing that Karna Duisdottir was ignorant.”

  “She might be,” Aefric said. “The more who knew of the assassins, the more who might tip their presence. Safer to slip the assassin in with her entourage without telling her.”

  “Seems clumsy either way,” Ser Beatritz said. “The king was already at Forest’s Edge. Why not make the attempt there?”

  “And risk spoiling the engagement to Count Ferrin?” Aefric asked.

  “Interesting thought,” King Colm said. Cocked his head to one side. “How do you see it, your grace?”

  “I think your majesty has the right of it. I think the assassin from Karna Duisdottir’s entourage was to come to us on the road, well away from her and well away from Motte. Somewhere between Motte and Water’s End he’d provide a distraction, allowing Nyorngyth to strike. Then if Nyorngyth failed, he’d make his own attempt.”

  “So you think Nyorngyth was the prime,” King Colm said.

  “I think it makes the most sense,” Aefric said. “If all went to plan, Nyorngyth would have completed the job, likely dying in the attempt. The secondary, unseen, would then have fled back to Malimfar to carry word of Nyorngyth’s success, and leave us with no one valuable to question.”

  “While Karna Duisdottir spins whatever story she wants about the escaped member of her entourage.”

  “I think she’d stick with the spy story,” Aefric said. “Whether she believes it or not.”

  “And if Nyorngyth failed, the secondary was to make the attempt?”

  “I believe so,” Aefric said.

  “That would have put Karna Duisdottir at risk,” Ser Beatritz said. “She can claim innocence all she wants. But if a member of her own entourage made the attempt, she’d still face the penalty.”

  “If she was kept ignorant,” Aefric said, “which I suspect she was, then our royal justiciar would bear out that innocence. And I suspect that the trauma of suspicion would either bind her and Count Ferrin closer, or infuriate Count Ferrin about the accusation.”

  “Or both,” Ser Beornric said.

  “More dissent,” Aefric said.

  “Why did Nyorngyth strike early?” King Colm asked. “That rider was obviously not the secondary assassin.”

  “The rider wore Motte’s livery,” Ser Beatritz said. “That meant there was a chance that his partner was caught. Better to strike now, with such distraction as he had, than miss his chance.”

  “What about the assassin caught by Motte?” Ser Beornric asked. “Does he yet live?”

  King Colm checked the scroll.

  “No,” King Colm said with a sigh. “Died in the capturing.”

  “Likely as Nyorngyth was supposed to,” Ser Beatritz said.

  “So we can only speculate that there was a secondary at all,” Aefric said, thumping the ground in frustration.

  “The justiciar should still uncover the truth,” King Colm said, though he didn’t sound confident.

  Even one working under the auspices of Taesark had only so much power to seek truth.

  “All right,” King Colm said, standing, which led the others to stand as well. “I’m ready to talk to the cleric.”

  At Ser Beatritz’s call, a pair of Knights of the Crown dragged Nyorngyth into the circle.

  The cleric looked sweaty and dirty, but surprisingly calm.

  “May I ask something before we begin, your majesty?” Aefric asked.

  King Colm nodded.

  “The Order of the Severed Dream breeds spies, as well as assassins,” Aefric said to Nyorngyth. “How do you reconcile that with Ulna’s demand that you keep what secrets you learn on the road?”

  “I have never violated a single precept of my goddess,” Nyorngyth said. “But your grace should recall that I told him I must be asked to keep something in confidence, for me to be required to do so. Such a request is rarely made, but always honored.”

  Aefric grimaced and looked off toward the horizon. Tried to remember just how many secrets he might’ve let slip without realizing it along that trip.

  He could only remember asking for secrecy once. That conversation at Towerkeep…

  “Let us begin simply,” King Colm said to Nyorngyth. “How long have you been in the employ of Malimfar?”

  A pulse of magic made Aefric whirl, hands raised to cast.

  He was too late.

  Nyorngyth’s head lolled on his shoulders, already purpling. The two knights who held him shook him, but he was clearly a corpse.

  But how? No spell could…

  “Reyorisalis,” Ser Beornric whispered, and Ser Beatritz grimaced, but nodded.

  King Colm and Aefric looked at each other, puzzled. Aefric recognized the name of course. Reyorisalis was the goddess of death. But Aefric had rarely even seen a priest of that goddess…

  “Why do you invoke that name?” King Colm asked.

  “Is she even still a goddess?” Aefric asked, shaking his head. “She raised no army during the Godswalk Wars. I heard no tell of her at all. Can’t even recall the last time I saw a temple dedicated to her.”

  “She was everywhere during the wars, your grace,” Ser Beornric said reverently.

  “Forgive us, your majesty, your grace,” Ser Beatritz said. “I don’t know how much time either of you spent on the battlefields of the wars, once the battles were done.”

  “None,” Aerfic said, while the king shook his head. “I was always rushed onwards to what came next.”

  The two knights looked at each other. Ser Beatritz nodded for Ser Beornric to speak.

  “When the battles were over, we were among those who moved among the wounded, trying to ensure that those who could be saved, would be saved.”

  “Clerics were few,” Ser Beatritz said, “as they always have been. But usually there were at least one or two nearby who answered the call of Nilasah, and could aid in healing those who would recover.”

  “And among those who would not, moved the Death Walkers,” Ser Beornric said.

  Death Walkers. A title Aefric hadn’t heard in many years. It still sent a shiver down even his spine. They were said to be clerics who served Reyorisalis, and were said to be able to cause death with a touch.

  “There can’t have been many,” Aefric said. “I’ve never even seen one, let alone met one.”

  “They … do not draw attention to themselves,” Ser Beatritz said. “Except when they’re working.”

  “I saw at least one Death Walker after every battle,” Ser Beornric said, and Ser Beatritz nodded agreement. “They walked among the wounded who would not recover. Blessed them with swift and painless death.”

  “And those who received that blessing,” Ser Beatritz said, “purpled in the face, tongue extended, even as our assassin does.”

  “But there’s no Death Walker among us,” King Colm said, which brought helpless shrugs from the knights. “And certainly none who took his life. We were all watching. I think we’d’ve noticed.”

  “Conditional,” Aefric muttered, which got him curious looks. “There are spells that will not take effect until predefined conditions are met. I didn’t know clerics possessed the power to do likewise, but…”

  He gestured to the dead assassin.

  “So as soon as he was asked about Malimfar,” the king said, “he died?”

  “Or as soon as he was asked about his employer,” Aefric said. “Sure way to keep the order’s secrets.”

  “Unless his spirit could be called for questioning?” King Colm asked hopefully.

  “Not by me,” Aefric said. Early experiences with necromancy had turned him away from the art completely.

  “Well, perhaps—”

  But his majesty was interrupted by cries of another approaching rider.

  Aefric was beginning to think this lunch break along the road would never end. Already the sun was past its zenith, and the rushing clouds high above were beginning to leave nothing but blue sky in their wake.

  And the summer heat was growing again.

  A messenger from Motte. An assassination attempt by a man Aefric had come to like. Even taken advice from. And now, another rider approaching?

  If they stayed out here much longer, the cooks would start talking about dinner…

  This rider came rushing along the Kingsroad from the east, wearing Felspark livery. Nevertheless, the rider was met by armed and ready soldiers and knights.

  Once the rider was searched and disarmed, she was brought into the circle where Aefric and the king were discussing how unlikely it was that Karbin — or indeed, any nearby wizard that Aefric knew of — would know the spells needed to call up the shade of a dead man and require it to answer questions.

  Meanwhile, Sers Beornric and Beatritz insisted that the spirits of those slain by the blessing of a Death Walker were beyond raising. That such spells were anathema to Reyorisalis.

  The discussions stopped as the rider arrived.

  She was a dusky young woman who looked troubled by all the weapons about her, yet confident in her duty.

  She dropped to her knees among the dusty dry grass and bowed to the king.

  “You come bearing a message?” King Colm asked, while Queen Eppida and Sighild entered the circle, looking eager to hear the news.

  “I do, your majesty,” the rider said. “We received a rika at Tafarac midmorning. An attempt was made yesterday on the life of Prince Killian.”

  “What?” King Colm shouted.

  “An attempt,” Aefric said quickly. “So the prince survives?”

  “He does,” the rider said, visibly fighting not to squirm under the scrutiny of her king. “The attempt was made by an attaché of the Doraga Trading Company, using a red, flame-shaped dagger. Prince Killian spotted the attempt in time to twist away, turning a stab into a slash across his chest. The prince slew the assassin himself, with his longsword.”

  “Was the dagger poisoned?” King Colm asked urgently.

  “Your majesty, it was,” the rider said. “But the royal physician was near at hand, and has cured the wound. The prince will lie abed for three or four days, but will make a full recovery.”

  Three or four days? That must’ve been some poison. Aefric knew well that the royal physician — like Bebara, his own physician at Water’s End —was a cleric of Nilasah.

  “And the assassin died,” Ser Beatritz spat.

  “I fear so,” the rider said, bowing her head.

  “The Doraga Trading Company,” King Colm said, shaking his head. “They’re based on the other side of the Risen Sea.”

  “Likely the assassin was a recent addition to the trading company’s party,” Ser Beatritz said. “We’ll have to find out if they stopped in Malimfar before coming here.”

  “That would be a little obvious, don’t you think?” Aefric asked.