“No, brother, III be duke by this time tomorrow. You’ll so J notify Bili by farspeak and he, in turn, will inform Kehnooryos Atheenahs by the same method, while sending word to the prince via galloper.
“But, by Steel and Blood,” his face looked as if he had bitten into a piece of rotten fruit, “to have a Myron for tanist sets my teeth edge to edge.”
Ahl said, “There’s no need to fret about that, Tim. Even if we’re unable to eliminate the pervert in any other way, the mere mention by the chief-elect that he does or does not want a certain man as tanist or subchief will usually change the minds of the electors. The tanist need not be a member of the chief’s immediate family, you know—that’s only custom not law; the Couplets of Horseclans Law only insist that tanist, chief and subchiefs of a clan be of blood relationship. All the electors are our blood relations, Tim, and any one of them would be happy, honored and even flattered to be selected the new tanist.”
Tim sighed in relief. “You know them better than do I, Ahl. Whom would you say is my best choice?”
With no hesitation, the sightless man answered, “Young Vahrohneeskos Tahm Adaimian of Lion Mountain.”
Tim snorted and shook his head. “Young is right; he must be a good six or seven years my junior, Ahl. Besides, he’s half barbarian, isn’t he?”
Mairee frowned and Ahl snapped, “Ahrmehnee! Barbarian is a relative term, dear brother. To be cursed Ehleenee, everyone who is not a kath-ahrohs is a barbarian, to a greater or lesser degree—Kindred, Ahrmehnee, burkers, everybody. Tahm is kin and Kindred through the maternal line, and lest you forget, Tim, that is how Horseclans kinship is reckoned, not by the silly and imprecise manner of the northern barbar…” He stopped in midword and grinned sheepishly, then both couples joined in laughter. The laugher erased the tension which had been present from the moment of Ahl’s and Mairee’s entrance; the atmosphere in the wake of those gales of merriment was considerably more relaxed and familial.
Ahl’s right arm hugged his younger brother’s scarred and muscular shoulders fiercely. “It’s good to have you back, Tim. So damned good. Even so, I think you and Gil were wise to cover your hides. This gives promise of being a full day of settling old scores, and anything could happen at any moment, now. The Ehleen sow has schemed and slain for nigh on twenty years and she’ll not give up easily or soon.”
While Tim pulled on smallclothes, Giliahna summoned Widahd, donned a loose gown and felt slippers, then began to select clothing items as the tiny brown maid gathered the numerous necessities for her lady’s bath. Tim was stamping into his second boot by the time the two were ready to descend to the bath wing. He had just placed his baldric over his bead when his sister came hurrying back, horror reflecting from her eyes.
“Tim. Come quickly. It’s… your sergeant. In a chair by the outer door, and he’s dead.”
Chapter X
The young captain insisted that Giliahna continue on to the bath, but he also insisted that Ahl and Mairee accompany her, then he and the apprentice of Master Fahreed carried the chair and its lifeless contents around to the master physician’s suite in the north wing. While the brown-skinned apprentice cleared a long table of books and writing materials, Tim held the cooling body cradled in his arms, unashamed tears of rage and sorrow streaming down his scarred cheeks.
The master was a tall, slender man, topping Tim’s own height by a head. Where the skin of the apprentice was the soft brown of Tim’s boots, the master’s was so black that it looked bluish. His scalp was as clean-shaven as his face, and both bore sufficient scars to attest to the fact that Master Fahreed was no stranger to the practice of arms, physician or no. There was an aura of concern and thoroughgoing competence about the man, and Tim liked him on sight.
“Lord Tim,” said the master, speaking Mehrikan of the Middle Kingdoms, but with a peculiar lilt and accent the like of which Tim had never heard in a Zahrtohgahn’s speech. “If this poor man was your friend, perhaps you had best leave the room whilst I inquire into the cause of his demise. Some of the procedures I may find needful might seem to you a discourtesy to the body.”
Tim shook his head curtly. “Thank you. Master Fahreed, but I’ll stay. The deaths of friends are nothing new to me. As for Rai’s body, he would have been the first to tell you that a corpse is dead meat and can no more be offended than can a side of beef. It is imperative that I know, and know quickly, how he was slain, however.”
With a nod, the master strode over to a washstand and scrubbed his hands and tapering fingers vigorously with strong soap and a small brush in a bowl of steaming water, then shrugged off his outer robe, replacing it with another of bleached linen.
Waving a hand at the contorted features of the dead sergeant, the master said, “We already can safely assume that we know the immediate cause of death, Lord Tim. And what is that, Raheen?”
“Poison, master,” replied the shorter, lighter-skinned man, unhesitatingly. Then he leaned close and examined the bulging, glassy eyes and, after a moment, parted the lips and sniffed at the mouth. Straightening, he added, “Most likely, arrow poison, master, since none of the characteristic odors of poisons are in the mouth and the lips show no burns nor the teeth any discolorations.”
Tim shook his head. “Arrow poison? There’s no wound on Rai’s body, Master Fahreed.”
“That remains to be determined, Lord Tim,” replied the master in his softly booming voice.
When the sergeant’s boots and trousers of waxed linen canvas were removed a great stench suddenly filled the room— evidence that the contortions of the facial muscles had been matched by contortions in other parts of the body. The apprentice, Raheen, examined the dung intently before consigning it to a chamberpot, squeezed a measure of urine from the sodden smallclothes and studied this sample too.
But the master all at once stepped close to the body, lightly resting two spread fingers at either side of what looked to Tim like a small, roundish bruise high on the frontal quadrant of the right thigh. Striding over to the heap of fouled, smelly clothes, the tall man squatted and carefully scrutinized the upper right leg of the breeches. Grunting and nodding, he arose and said something in the guttural Zahrtohgahn language. The apprentice cleaned his hands, then opened a chest and brought a small case over to the table. When he had selected the instrument he wanted, the master beckoned Tim closer.
Holding a silver-rimmed glass lens a bit above the bruise, he said, “Lord Tim, here is your man’s death wound. The hole of entry in the trousers is so minute that one who was I not searching specifically for such would ever see it.”
With a small-bladed knife, the physician neatly bisected the small wound at the center of the bruised area, slowly cutting deeper and deeper and gradually lengthening the incision that he might better see into the depth. Finally, he dropped the knife into a shallow bowl, wiped his hands on his white robe and, after removing the robe, went over to the washstand and began to scrub his hands again.
While scrubbing, he spoke, “Lord Tim, a long and very slender blade—probably of less thickness than a wheat-straw—was suddenly thrust deeply into the man’s thigh. Whether by design or by mere chance, it struck into one of the bigger blood tubes. Like many arrow poisons, the immediate result was almost total paralysis, though the body continued to live long enough for a bruise to form at the point of entry. He likely was generally conscious and in considerable agony almost to the end—probably about a quarter hour after the wound was inflicted.”
Tim growled low in his throat. It was an ugly, feral sound, and Giliahna felt the hairs rise on the nape of her neck and goose flesh on her arms, despite the steamy heat of the bath in which her body was immersed.
“But where,” mused Ahl, “would the bitch and her witch get arrow poison? I know of no place in the Confederation it’s used, and I believe the Sword Cult has outlawed it in all the Middle Kingdoms. Of course, some of the western barbarians…”
Master Fahreed shook his shiny head. “No, Lord Ahl, the mountain folk of whom you speak do not use actual poisons, they rather steep the points in fermenting dung. But poisons are not so difficult to obtain. Anyone with access to certain plants or their extracts can compound such vile substances, and mere outlawry never deters those who have no modicum of respect for law.”