handsomely for that piece of information.
Sherrok licked his lips as he rushed through the noisy crowds
celebrating the Harvest Festival. There was an eight-year-old
Astellian girl available at one of the slave-marts, a ravishing child
with huge, terrified eyes, and if Ogerajin could be persuaded to
be generous, Sherrok might actually be able to buy her. He had
never owned a child so young before, and the very thought of
her made his knees go weak.
His mind was full of her as he passed a reeking alleyway, and
so he was not really paying any attention – until he felt the
strand of wire snap tight around his neck.
He struggled, of course, but it was really not much use. The
assassin dragged him back into the alley and methodically
strangled him. His last thought was of the little girl’s face. She
actually seemed to be laughing at him.
‘You’re really more trouble than you’re worth, you know,’
Bersola said to the dead man sprawled in the bow of the rowboat.
Bersola always talked to the men he had killed. Many of
Bersola’s colleagues believed that he was crazy. Candor compels
us to admit that they were probably right.
Bersola’s major problem lay in the fact that he always did
things exactly the same way. He invariably stuck his knife into
someone between the third and fourth ribs at a slightly downward
angle. It was effective, though, since a knife thrust there
absolutely cannot miss the heart. Bersola also never left a body
lying where it fell. He had a compulsive sense of neatness which
drove him to put the remains somewhere out of sight. Since
Bersola lived and worked in the Daconian town of Ederus on
the coast of the Sea of Edam, disposal was a simple matter. A
short trip in a rowboat and a few rocks tied to the deceased’s
ankles removed all traces. Bersola’s habit-driven personality,
however, led him always to sink the bodies in the exact same
place. The other murderers of Ederus made frequent laughing
reference to ‘Bersola’s Reef’, a place on the lake-bottom supposedly
piled high with sunken bodies. Even people who didn’t
fully understand the significance of the phrase referred to
Bersola’s Reef.
‘You went and did it, didn’t you?’ Bersola said to the corpse
in the bow of the boat as he rowed out to the reef. ‘You Just had
to go and offend somebody. You’ve got nobody to blame but
yourself for this, you know. If you’d behaved yourself, none of
this would have happened.’
The corpse did not answer. They almost never did.
Bersola stopped rowing and took his bearings. There was the
usual light in the window of Fanna’s Tavern on the far shore,
and there was the warning fire on the rocky headlands on the
near side. The lantern on the wharf protruding out from Ederus
was dead astern. ‘This is the place,’ Bersola told the dead man.
‘You’ll have lots of company down there, so it won’t be so bad.’
He shipped his oars and crawled forward. He checked the knots
on the rope that held the large rock in place between the dead
man’s ankles. ‘i’m really sorry about this, you know,’ he apologized,
‘but it was your own fault.’ he lifted the rock – and
the dead man’s legs – over the side. He held the shoulders
for a moment. ‘Do you have anything you’d like to say?’ he
asked.
He waited for a decent interval, but the dead man did not
reply.
“I didn’t really think you would,’ Bersola said. He let go of
the shoulders, and the body slithered limply over the gunwale
and disappeared into the dark waters of the lake.
Bersola whistled his favorite tune as he rowed back to Ederus.
Avin Wargunsson, Prince Regent of Thalesia, was in an absolute
fury. Patriarch Bergsten had left Thalesia without so much as a
by-your-leave. It was intolerable! The man had absolutely no
regard for the Prince Regent’s dignity. Avin Wargunsson was
going to be king one day, after all – just as soon as the raving
madman in the north tower finally got around to dying – and
he deserved some courtesy. People always ignored him! That
indifferent lack of regard cankered the soul of the little crown
prince. Avin was scarcely more than five feet tall, and in a kingdom
absolutely awash with blond people a foot or more taller,
he was almost unnoticeable. He had spent his childhood scurrying
like a mouse out from under the feet of towering men who
kept accidentally stepping on him because they refused to look
down and see that he was there.
Sometimes that made him so angry that he could just scream.
Then, without even bothering to knock, two burly blond ruffians
opened the door and rolled in a large barrel. ”here’s that
cask of Arcian red you wanted, Avin,’ one of them said. The
ignorant barbarian didn’t even know enough to use a proper
form of address.
“I didn’t order a barrel of wine,’ Avin snapped.
‘The chief of the guards said you wanted a barrel of Arcian
red,’ the other blond savage declared, closing the door. ‘We’re
just doing what we were told to do. Where do you want this?’
‘Oh, put it over there,’ Avin said pointing. It was easier than
arguing with them.
They rolled the barrel across the floor and set it up in the
corner.
“I don’t think I know you two,’ Avin said.
‘We’re new,’ the first one said, shrugging. ‘We just joined the
Royal Guard last week.’ He set a canvas bag on the floor and
took out a pry-bar. He carefully inserted the bar under the lid
of the barrel and worked it back and forth until the lid came
free.
‘What are you doing?’ Avin demanded.
‘You can’t drink it if you can’t get at it, Avin,’ the fellow
pointed out. ‘We’ve got the right tools, and you probably don’t.’
At least the man was clean-shaven. Avin approved of that. Most
of the men in the Royal Guard looked like trees with golden
moss growing on them. ‘You’d better taste it and make sure it
hasn’t soured, Brok.’
‘Right,’ the other one agreed. He scooped up some of the
wine in the cupped palm of his hand and sucked it in noisily.
Avin shuddered. ‘Tastes all right to me, Tel,’ he reported. A
thoughtful look crossed his face. ‘Why don’t I fill up a bucket
of this before we put the lid back on?’ he suggested. ‘Hauling
this barrel up the stairs was heavy business, and I’ve worked
up quite a thirst.’
‘Good idea,’ Tel agreed.
The bearded man picked up the brass-bound wooden bucket
Avin used for a waste basket.
‘is it all right if I use this, Avin?’ he asked.
Avin Wargunsson gaped at him. This went too far – even in
Thalesia.
The burly fellow shook the contents of the waste basket out
on the floor and dipped it into the barrel. Then he set the pail
down. “I guess we’re ready then, Tel,’ he said.
‘All right,’ Tel replied. ‘Let’s get at it.’
‘What are you doing?’ Avin demanded in a shrill voice as the
two approached him.
They didn’t even bother to answer. It was intolerable he was
the Prince Regent people had no right to ignore him like this!
They picked him up by the arms and carried him over to the
barrel, ignoring his struggles. He couldn’t even get their attention
by kicking them.
‘in you go,’ the one named Tel said pleasantly, almost in the
tone one uses when he pushes a horse into a stall. The two lifted
Avin Wargunsson quite easily and stuffed him feet first into the
barrel. The one called Brok held him down while Tel took a
hammer and a handful of nails out of the canvas bag and picked
up the barrel-lid. He set the lid on Avin’s head and pushed him
down. Then he rapped his hammer around the edge of the lid,
settling it in place.
Only Avin’s eyes and forehead were above the surface of the
Wine. He held his breath and pounded impotently on the underside
of the lid with both fists.
Then there was another pounding sound as Tel calmly nailed
down the lid of the barrel.
The ladies quite firmly dismissed Kalten when they set out the
morning after the attempt on Queen Betuana’s life. Kalten took
his self-appointed duties as Xanetia’s protector quite seriously,
and he was a bit offended at being so cavalierly sent away.
‘They need some privacy right now,’ Vanion told him. ‘Set
some knights to either side to protect them, but give them
enough room to get Xanetia through this.’ Vanion was a soldier,
but his insights were sometimes quite profound. Sparhawk
looked back over his shoulder. Sephrenia rode close to one side
of the sorrowing Xanetia, and Betuana strode along on the other.
Xanetia rode with her head bowed, holding Flute in her arms.