Obviously you are involved. I must know why, how, how much – everything.’
‘Then you’ll help – sir?’
A headshake made chin and jowls wobble. ‘Absolutely not. I told you I want no
part of this. But in exchange for whatever data you possess, I am willing to
explicate as far as I am able, and to advise you. Be warned: my advice will
doubtless be that you drop the matter and perhaps leave town.’
And doubtless he would be right, Cappen thought. It simply happened to be
counsel that was impossible for a lover to follow … unless – 0 kindly gods of
Caronne, no, no! – unless Danlis was dead.
The whole story spilled out of him, quickened and deepened by keen questions. At
the end, he sat breathless while Enas Yorl nodded.
‘Yes, that appears to confirm what I suspected,’ the mage said most softly. He
stared past the minstrel, into shadows that loomed and flickered. Buzz of talk,
clink of drinking ware, occasional gust of laughter among customers seemed
remoter than the moon.
‘What was it?’ broke from Cappen.
‘A sikkintair, a Flying Knife. It can have been nothing else.’
‘A-what?’ –
Enas focused on his companion. ‘The monster that took the women,’ he explained.
‘Sikkintairs are an attribute of Ils. A pair of sculptures on the grand stairway
of his temple represent them.’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve seen those, but never thought -‘
‘No, you’re not a votary of any gods they have here. Myself, when I got word of
the abduction, I sent my familiars scuttling about and cast spells of inquiry. I
received indications … I can’t describe them to you, who lack arcane lore. I