Eye of Truth, Page 3

  “You’re sure? Cutter snores loudly.”

  “Are the walls of your castle so thin?”

  “The snore of a dwarf is a battering ram even thick walls cannot withstand,” Jev said.

  “True.”

  Jev walked down the gangplank ahead of his companions, hoping people would notice him first and not make trouble for Lornysh. Not even a half elf would be welcome in the capital these days. A full-blooded one? Jev wanted to get him past the city walls as quickly as possible.

  As he walked, he made sure the gold wolf-head clasp securing his gray cloak to his shoulders was visible. The Dharrow family emblem marked him as zyndar, a noble from one of the oldest and most recognizable lines. Commoners here in Korvann, so close to where his family held their land, had always nodded or greeted him with respect.

  The blue-robed woman from the Water Order still waited at the bottom of the gangplank. That surprised Jev since Targyon and his escort were moving away from the docks, the colored robes of Order representatives all around him, including someone else in a blue robe.

  This woman had dark brown hair pulled back in a braid and an olive-skinned face one might have called beautiful if it had appeared less haughty and aloof. She pinned Jev with a cool green-eyed gaze and stepped forward as he reached the end of the gangplank.

  He gave her a nod, recognizing the large silver clasp at her shoulder, the emblem of an inquisitor. He should have guessed from the monk standing at her side. He wondered who on the ship she had been sent to question. A sailor? All the soldiers had been gone for years, so they couldn’t be associated with any recent trouble in the city.

  A chain around the woman’s neck suggested a dragon tear hung beneath her robe. For her, the gem’s power would likely manifest as the ability to read minds and tell truths from lies.

  After his polite nod, Jev started to move past her, hoping her gaze wouldn’t fix on Lornysh. It was very possible one of the Orders’ law enforcers would opt to pick him up instead of letting him roam free in the city.

  As Jev rehearsed the defense he would utter if the woman stopped Lornysh, she reached out a hand to stop him.

  “Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow?” she asked, her voice as cool as her eyes.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re under arrest.”

  3

  Zenia watched the officer intently, not sure whether he would run or come calmly with her. While he gaped at her, stunned at her announcement, she glanced again at the wolf-head emblem on his cloak. She almost believed she had made a mistake, even though she had already checked the emblem twice.

  Was this hairy, scruffy man truly a zyndar? One of the kingdom’s privileged landowners? And one from a very old, very powerful, and very rich family? He looked like a common soldier rather than some noble officer.

  Dirt darkened his hands, a scar marked his cheek, and his black hair and beard were in need of cutting. Badly. He carried a short sword on one hip and a pistol on the other, the weapons far better cleaned and polished than he. Broad-shouldered and a head taller than she, he wore a faded gray and blue uniform under a chainmail tunic, his rolled-up jacket sleeves the only concession to the warm spring sun. The ropy muscles of his forearms promised strength, so Zenia hoped Rhi was ready for a fight.

  Approaching him here with hundreds of his allies nearby had been chancy. Zenia had considered following him for a time and arresting him as he was on his way out of the city, but she was gambling that few men, even hardened soldiers, would get in the way of an inquisitor making an arrest. She also believed they would be so eager to step on home soil again that they would rush away without paying attention to what went on here.

  And exactly that was happening. Though the man—Jevlain Dharrow—stood in front of the base of the gangplank, others simply hopped off behind him and jogged for the waterfront, shouts of beer and women and home rising above the voices of vendors hoping to hawk their wares to men who hadn’t had a way to spend their pay for a long time.

  “What did you say?” Dharrow finally managed to ask Zenia.

  He didn’t add mage, ma’am, or inquisitor, or any of the half dozen titles or honorifics that would have been appropriate—and expected. Of course not. He was zyndar. Zyndar considered themselves above everyone else, usually even other zyndar.

  “You’re under arrest.” Zenia kept her chin up, staring into his eyes. “I have orders to bring you in for questioning at the Temple of the Blue Dragon.”

  Actually, she had orders to acquire a carved ivory artifact he’d stolen years ago, one that was magical and extremely valuable, the archmage had said. But Zenia could, through the power of her dragon tear, sense nearby magical items, and she could tell he didn’t have such an item on him. That wasn’t that surprising, and she was more pleased than disappointed. If he had hidden it somewhere, she would have to figure out its location, and the idea of pitting her wits against his appealed to her.

  “As lovely as being tortured and interrogated by mages sounds,” Dharrow said, “I’d rather pass. You have the wrong person. I haven’t set foot on kingdom land in ten years. I can’t possibly know anything useful to you unless the Water Order cares about the numbers and locations of elf encampments in Taziira.”

  “Do you deny being Zyndar Jevlain Dharrow?” Zenia bristled at his suggestion that she would lead some torture-based interrogation. No doubt, he imagined fingernails being pulled off and brands being applied to his chest. As if, with her magic, she needed to be so crude to acquire answers.

  “No.”

  “Then you’re the right person.” She drew upon the power of the gem resting on her chest, channeling it into a compulsion command. “Come.”

  His eyes widened, and she sensed that he felt her using magic on him. Few people did, but if he’d encountered elves often, he might be accustomed to the touch of magic. Recognizing it, however, did not keep him from taking a step forward.

  A hand gripped his shoulder, and he stopped.

  “What’s going on?” A tall man stepped off the gangplank behind Dharrow and stood at his side.

  No, Zenia realized, her heart jumping. Not a man. An elf.

  By the founders, he looked like a full-blood too. What was he doing here? In a human city? And why weren’t police running over to apprehend him? For that matter, why weren’t all the soldiers on and around the ship shooting at him? The ones not busy racing off to find bars and brothels.

  Admittedly, that wasn’t many of them.

  “It seems I’m being arrested,” Dharrow said. “For reasons that my arrestor doesn’t feel compelled to explain.”

  “You’re being arrested?” a second person asked, stepping up to his other side. This one was a dwarf with flaming red hair and a matching beard. His head didn’t quite come up to Dharrow’s shoulder. The stout being’s appearance surprised Zenia almost as much as that of the elf. With the exception of the master gem crafters that were enticed to work in the major human cities, dwarves were scarce in the kingdom. “You’re the one who offered to protect us from such fates, Jev.”

  “As I recall, I only offered you a bunk,” Dharrow said.

  “I assumed it was at your home, not in a jail. There was talk of castles. And trees.” The dwarf glanced at the elf, but the elf’s face might have been chiseled in stone. It was cold and impossible to read.

  “That offer is still open,” Dharrow said. “Whatever this is shouldn’t take long. Though it would be nice if our good inquisitor told me why she wants to detain me.” He met Zenia’s eyes, his gaze fearless, the opposite of the eyes of the thief from that morning.

  For a moment, Zenia thought he might not realize what she was, but he’d identified her as an inquisitor. He just wasn’t afraid of her. Because he believed being a zyndar would protect him?

  “Theft,” Zenia said.

  She hadn’t intended to state his crime, figuring he would be more likely to come along if he believed he was only to be questioned on some tangential matter, but she wouldn’t lie if aske
d for the truth. Nor would she be evasive. He had a right to know why he was being arrested.

  “Theft?” Anger flashed in his brown eyes. And indignation. “Zyndar do not steal.”

  She didn’t let his outburst bother her. She’d expected it. The Zyndar Code of Honor. They all liked to claim they followed it, but from what she’d observed—and experienced firsthand—it was something that appeared more often in children’s tales than in real life.

  “Theft,” Zenia said firmly.

  He loosened his jaw and reined in his anger. Sort of. His tone was sarcastic when he said, “Theft from ten years ago?”

  “The Order has waited a long time to get its property back.”

  “What property? And why do you presume that I have it?” He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and drew out the linings, showing he carried only a few coins and a lot of dirt in there. Not a bad acting job.

  Without a deep probe, Zenia couldn’t fully read his mind, but she felt his self-assurance and his belief that he could handle the situation. Handle her.

  “A magical carved ivory artifact in the shape of an eye,” Zenia said. “It’s called the Eye of Truth, and it’s of great value.”

  His forehead furrowed. More acting.

  “Come with me,” Zenia said, adding the compulsion again. “There is a picture of it in the temple. I will show it to you to jog your faulty memory.”

  Zenia didn’t know why someone from a wealthy family would bother stealing, but such a powerful artifact could have worth that went beyond coin. There were rumors that some of the Dharrows of old had been sympathetic to the elves, lending them sanctuary when they passed through the area. If Jevlain shared that sympathy—and the elf warden standing at his side suggested the possibility—then it was possible he’d acquired the artifact because it could give the enemy some advantage. Perhaps he’d even given it to their people. He could have worked as a spy his entire time in the army.

  A tingle of excitement went through Zenia as she imagined that possibility, imagined being the one to uncover ten years of heinous crimes this zyndar had perpetrated, the betrayals he might have been responsible for as he pretended to fight alongside kingdom soldiers. Didn’t his odd choice of companions hint of mixed alliances?

  But, no, she shouldn’t make assumptions, even guesses, until evidence presented itself. It was dangerous to grow overfond of one’s suspicions lest the truth be overlooked or mistaken for something else.

  “Come,” Zenia repeated, turning toward the head of the dock and expecting the power in the word to compel him to follow.

  Once again, he started after her, but once again, his silver-haired friend gripped his shoulder.

  “Stop,” the elf said, and Zenia felt magic in his word.

  Did he have a dragon tear? Maybe not, since elves had innate magic of their own, but if he did possess one, that could make him a powerful and dangerous enemy. Zenia would report his presence in the city when she returned to the temple.

  She was half tempted to arrest him now. Rhi was watching all this with narrowed eyes, her bo held horizontally in front of her, her stance promising she was ready to fight.

  “All right, stop it.” Dharrow lifted his hands and stepped away from Zenia and also from the elf. “Nobody’s playing magical tug-of-war with me.” That anger and indignation sparked in his eyes again. He clenched his jaw, his hand twitching toward the pistol hanging from his belt.

  He’d gotten used to solving his problems with violence, had he? Well, that wouldn’t work for him here.

  “She is attempting to manipulate you,” the elf said coolly, doing more than twitching his hand toward his weapons. He gripped the leather-wrapped hilt of a sheathed sword.

  “We can put a stop to that.” The dwarf grinned, white teeth flashing from deep within that bush of a beard, and slapped the side of a hook against his open palm. It took Zenia a second to realize the hook was attached to the stump of an arm rather than being an independent weapon.

  Rhi stepped up to Zenia’s side, her bo between them and the men. Zenia wasn’t weaponless, but she did not yet reach for the pistol holstered at her hip inside her robe. She met Dharrow’s eyes. Zyndar or not, he would not likely attack an inquisitor. His odd comrades, unschooled in the ways of human cities, might, so she had to be ready. The elf, in particular, had a gaze like lake ice, and she could almost feel power radiating from him. Mage, her instincts cried, even if he wore the simple green garb of a warden.

  “No.” Dharrow spread his arms to create a barrier between his allies and Zenia. “I can offer you sanctuary on my family’s land,” he told them, “but if you commit a crime, even if it’s on my behalf, I might not be able to protect you from the Orders.”

  Might not? Zenia almost snorted at the notion that he could, just because he was zyndar, have people acquitted of crimes. The days when the nobility had that kind of influence were over. The laws applied to everyone. Or they should. When she made it to the position of archmage, she would fight to ensure that idea of equality was turned into a fact.

  Zenia kept her disdain off her face. It looked like he was going to cooperate, so it would be better not to goad him or his unstable companions into action. Even if a part of her wouldn’t mind seeing Rhi punch that elf in the nose, she wouldn’t wish for it. He was dangerous. She could tell. As well-trained as Rhi was, it was possible she wouldn’t be a match for him. Further, Zenia would be foolish to believe she could best a veteran with ten years of combat experience. Her job was to beat criminals with her mind, not with her fists.

  “If you’ll come without magical coercion, I won’t use my gem on you.” Feeling magnanimous, Zenia extended her hand toward the head of the dock. “I’m ready to escort you now.”

  “The cook said those born in the season of air would be lucky today,” Dharrow said. “Who knew he was so wise?”

  Zenia ignored the words. Dharrow walked in the right direction as he groused. That was all that mattered.

  “Stay out of trouble,” he added over his shoulder to the dwarf and elf. “I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can.”

  They didn’t reply. They exchanged looks with each other.

  Zenia couldn’t read the elf, neither magically nor with mundane reasoning, but the dwarf wore a surly expression. He didn’t like what was going on, and he might do something about it.

  “Trail behind,” Zenia murmured to Rhi. “Watch those two.”

  “Why don’t you tell me how to do a push-up while you’re at it,” Rhi said, already walking a half step back, her alert eyes alternately watching the way ahead and behind.

  “Doesn’t the Old Codex of the Monk warn its pupils not to be sarcastic to mages of the Orders?” Zenia asked.

  “Nah, sarcasm isn’t covered until the New Codex.”

  “I’m sure respect has been considered virtuous and proper since the founding of the temples.”

  “True, but you can be respectfully sarcastic. It’s even encouraged. Otherwise, mages get uppity.” Rhi slapped Zenia on the back, then fell silent, concentrating on her duty.

  Zenia caught Dharrow looking at them, his eyebrows arched, and felt embarrassed for some reason, as if it wasn’t professional to have someone witness them bantering. Maybe it wasn’t, but she didn’t like the feeling that he was judging her for it. Or dismissing her. She stared straight ahead, only watching him out of the corner of her eye to make sure he stuck to the correct path.

  Soon, they would be back at the temple. She would enjoy questioning him and finding clues in what would doubtless be evasive answers. Before long, perhaps before the day’s end, she would find the artifact and return it to the temple. Then nobody would question her worthiness of the position of archmage.

  4

  Jev didn’t have a gem or any magic of his own to call upon, but he didn’t need it to know Cutter and Lornysh were following them.

  Oh, he didn’t catch so much as a glimpse of them as the inquisitor and her monk assistant led him along the waterfron
t, around a corner, and onto one of the boulevards that headed toward the ridge where the Temple of the Blue Dragon stood. But he knew his comrades as well as the men in his company. They wouldn’t amble into a bar for a beer while he was in trouble.

  Jev did not yet know if he was in trouble—since he hadn’t stolen anything, he shouldn’t be—but they didn’t know that.

  He stole a few glances at his escort. Even though he planned to accompany them peaceably, he couldn’t help but size them up as potential enemies. He had gotten in the habit of assessing the threat level of everyone he encountered, and he couldn’t dismiss these two because they were women. The sea-blue gi that the monk wore meant she had completed at least six years of intense training and was a full-fledged member of the Order’s elite fighting unit. And the inquisitor—neither she nor the monk had offered their names—would carry a weapon or two under that robe. A firearm, most likely. Inquisitors didn’t typically receive a great deal of combat training, but the ones he’d known had always gone to the ranges to practice shooting.

  “What’s your name, Inquisitor?” Jev asked, alternating between watching the street and pedestrian traffic and her. The streets were largely as he’d remembered, especially in this older part of the city, but he spotted steam wagons and carriages with frames and engines that hadn’t existed the last time he’d walked the city. They were almost as numerous as the horse-drawn conveyances clattering along the cobblestones. “You know mine, and if we’re to spend time together with you pulling off my fingernails, it would be nice to know yours.”

  She gave him a flat, unfriendly look. It seemed to be her typical facial expression. Normally, he would have considered her attractive—of course, it had been so long since he’d experienced feminine company that he was starting to consider boulders attractive—but her frosty eyes would have kept him at arm’s length even if she hadn’t been arresting him.

  “Zenia Cham,” she said, her chin lifting. It did that a lot.