Wars of the Aoten

  Chapter LVII

  While the mass of sojourners in the Rufoux village swarmed to the fallen body of Krait, Severus quietly left the tower and calmly paced down the wall walk. Carrying himself like a casual observer, under cover of a loosely fitting cloak, his face showed muted sympathy at Dungo’s great lamentations. By the time Aachen made judgment about Krait’s death, Severus had reached the opposite end of the stockade wall. As Mercedi made her accusations at the Koinoni, like a shadow he descended the ladder to the outside, carefully concealing a stout stone blade, clumsy but sharp, stuck under his tool belt. He quickly turned the corner, using the fortress to shield him from view, and made for the River Alluvia. In a blink the cloak was off and securely wrapped around the weapon.

  “Nay, ye will tell no tales of my handiwork,” he told the bundle as he exhorted himself. “Ye will not be witness against me, though ye could slice through the heads of many. No youngling has ever survived ye. But ye will not slay me, ye will say nothing of these passing moments, for the Alluvia will wash away your testimony, and cleanse me of guilt.”

  With a splash the packet fell into the water and initially gave Severus a scare by floating. He looked about frantically for stones to throw at it, but before long the fabric took on enough water to sink into the murk on its own, inspiring from him a sigh of relief. A quick glance over his shoulder, just to be sure, and Severus stepped away — gazing casually deep into the horizon, as though something had caught his eye — and headed toward the rear wall of the fort. Soon he would enter the stockade and rejoin the cluster of unseeing Raspars.

  By this time Wyllem had climbed into the tower, accompanied by Aachen and Pepin. Blood and clotted matter covered the floor and part of one wall.

  Aachen groaned. “He was killed here, all right.”

  “Yes, there can be no doubt of that, can there?” said Wyllem. “Why would a killer pick such a spot for murder? Did he not know witnesses would see?”

  “Witnesses, yes, but without seeing clearly,” said Pepin. “You can attest to that yourself.”

  “Why would he not take Krait into the forests, though?” Wyllem wondered. “That way, wouldn’t hours pass before Krait was even missed?”

  “Maybe; the wooded lands offer escape, though,” said Aachen. “Here Krait would have no hope of fleeing. And the killer certainly thought the death would be taken as an accident. The point is without meaning, though, for so far, he has gotten away.”

  Wyllem paused to think. “But wouldn’t he expect the sentry in the tower to see him?”

  The Melics looked around briefly and realized no sentry stood guard.

  “Where is the lookout?” asked Wyllem.

  “This grows more serious,” said Pepin, “For it seems likely the sentry on guard killed Krait. But even if he didn’t, at the very least he has deserted his duty and made the whole stockade vulnerable.”

  “Didn’t we, for the very reason of their diligent defenses, appoint Raspars to keep watch?” said Wyllem.

  “Yes,” said Pepin, wondering why Wyllem sought an answer he already knew.

  “So don’t you think it odd for the sentry to be absent?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “But how could a sentry on duty, at this great height, draw Krait into the tower, knowing that the Bedoua do not favor climbing even when they have no choice?”

  Pepin shrugged.

  “So could it not be that more than one is guilty?”

  Pepin saw that, indeed, the guard may have conspired with the killer, leaving his post so that another might draw Krait into a trap that he could not escape.

  “Shouldn’t we find out who was supposed to be the sentry?”

  “Yes, we should,” said Pepin, surprised at how obvious their next move appeared when arrived at through Wyllem’s questions.

  “Yes, we should be able to find that out,” said Artur after hearing their report. “I believe Mercedi appointed Linus to schedule sentries. Come and we will seek him out.”

  As they walked Pepin wondered aloud, “I recall Andreia’s dream, and the black bird was doomed. I dreamed a vision myself, weeks ago, a dead rumidont posing as a thylak, and I thought it told of Humus. Perhaps I was wrong.”

  They found Linus separated from his clan, in a tiny hut with its windows covered by rumidont pelts. Shadows dominated the room as they entered, and their eyes adjusted to the dark only slowly. Linus quickly ran through the order of sentry duty in his head.

  “Aye, new sentries are ordered for every two hours. Each time the shadows creep another thirty degrees, new sentries go on duty. At night it is damn difficult to keep track, of course, but often our men eagerly stay longer than their appointed time, so they do not care if the next shift arrives late. For every tower I have made these bloody plans, so I know in my head who is on duty and they know as well their responsibilities. For that north tower, the names are those pronounced with the lips open, the teeth clenched.”

  Linus stopped to think, then began mumbling as he sorted his thoughts. “Lo, today’s sentries began with … then the next hours fell to … then at that bastard hour it must have been … it fell to Rhodan. Rhodan was assigned to that tower.”

  “Rhodan?” Artur showed surprise. “We know him. He led us through the tunnels.”

  “Aye, that is Rhodan. Why the hell do I memorize lists if they are not right? Rhodan served as sentry.”

  “Thanks,” said Artur with no sincerity, and, looking subdued, turned out of the hut.

  Within the building, set in the deepest shadows, a small figure sat forlornly, tied securely hand and foot, and quietly looked up with its one eye. “Lo, ye talk too much.”

  “What could this mean?” wondered Artur. “I do not like the way this is turning. Come, let’s find Rhodan.”

  The bobbing faces of the Raspars, tightly packed against the stockade wall, all looked remarkably similar, but eventually Artur picked out Rhodan. He led his men, gingerly stepping between the unnoticing archers, to the central point in the group where Rhodan crouched.

  “Come with us, Rhodan,” Artur ordered.

  “Lo, what do ye want from me?”

  “Just come. We have questions for you,” and he grabbed Rhodan’s shoulder and hauled him to his feet. The surrounding Raspars, true to their nature, apparently neither saw nor heard, and without Mercedi to tell them to intervene, they did not. Artur fairly carried Rhodan in his sturdy grasp to the perimeter of the cluster.

  “What do you know about who killed Krait?” asked Artur bluntly.

  “Nay, I know nothing. I heard he fell.”

  “He fell, all right, but first somebody killed him. Was it you?”

  “Nay, not me. I thought he fell as an accident,” Rhodan said nervously.

  “We think it was you,” said Artur.

  “Let me talk to him, Artur,” said Wyllem. “Perhaps he killed Krait, perhaps he didn’t; either way, he must answer for not standing guard duty. And, he must have information.”

  “I think he did it.”

  “Artur, did you not put me in charge of investigating?”

  “Yes, Wyllem,” Artur conceded. “You are the question man, so have at it.”

  “Rhodan, why did you not take your shift in the tower today?”

  “Lo, who has said I didn’t?” replied Rhodan.

  “Do you say you served your shift as sentry, then?”

  “Aye, I served my appointed time as sentry.”

  “Then you say you were present when Krait fell? That would make you a witness.”

  “Nay, I do not say that.”

  “Then you would be the killer.”

  “Nay, neither do I say that.”

  “But you do claim you fulfilled your shift as sentry?”

  “Aye.” Rhodan’s nervousness increased.

  “But you did not see Krait, nor anyone killing Krait?”

  “Nay.”

  “If you were in the tower at your sentry duty, you either saw Krait killed, or you killed him you
rself, man! There is no third way!” Artur erupted. “We’re waiting for you to defend yourself!”

  “Lo, maybe — maybe I went to the wrong tower,” said Rhodan.

  “Then another Raspar lookout saw you, and spent two hours with you, sharing sentry duty, and never did it dawn on either of you that you had gone to the wrong tower?” asked Wyllem, trying to make the scenario sound ridiculous.

  “Lo,” said Rhodan, glancing from face to face desperately. “Lo — I served as sentry.”

  “He’s hiding something,” said Artur in a resigned voice. “We must get to the bottom of this. Let’s take him to Jakke.” He dragged Rhodan away from the Raspar encampment toward the smithy shop, and though the hapless man struggled, not one came to his aid; Pepin and Aachen trailed behind. Once in the shop they tied Rhodan securely, standing against a wall; Wyllem prevented the Melics from entering.

  “We Rufoux want to be peaceable people,” said Artur. “We value our clan and families more highly than anything else, and so our culture is structured to keep conflict to a minimum. Yet occasionally a clansman will commit a grievance, an offense charged by another, and we must discover the truth and pass judgment. When this happens we have a trial — a trial by ordeal.”

  He nodded toward Jakke, who pulled a red-hot pike from his forge. Rhodan’s eyes lit with panic as he struggled against his bonds.

  “A crime has been committed,” Artur continued. “Of that there is no doubt. Krait, a Bedoua under our care, has been killed. By your own admission you had to be present when the crime occurred. You will tell us what you saw, or what you did.” Again he looked to Jakke.

  The lumbering smithy held the glowing pike before Rhodan’s face. Terror drew the Raspar man’s eyes unyieldingly to the implement, while the heat drove them irresistibly away.

  “Fire brings the Rufoux life,” Artur growled, taking firm hold of Rhodan’s head. “But she is a fickle mistress; she gives, and she can take away. Your sight will go black, as will your skin, as the heat works its will upon you.”

  Jakke touched the glowing metal to Rhodan’s cheek, just below his eye; steam, the sound of searing flesh and a putrid stench arose from the contact. Outside, muffled screams drew the attention of all who stood nearby, but Wyllem, as second in command a trusted authority, indicated nothing amiss as he calmly stood at the door. Aachen in particular looked uneasy; “I’ll fetch Theodoric,” and Pepin was off.

  Jakke pulled the pike away, but still held it only a finger’s length from Rhodan’s eye, and Artur persisted.

  “What did you see in the tower?”

  “Nay, I saw nothing!”

  Jakke again placed the hot bronze to Rhodan’s face, this time slightly closer to his eye, and again screams filled the air. The odor of charred skin hung heavily.

  “Nay, I was not there! I was not there!” the wretched Rhodan cried.

  “Why not?”

  Rhodan hung limp and quiet. Artur again looked to Jakke, who applied the pike directly to Rhodan’s eye.

  “Nay! Nay, stop! Stop!” His agonized cries split the air like the squealing deviltooth trapped in the pits of steaming tar. “I will tell ye, I will tell ye.”

  “Tell us what,” yelled Artur expectantly.

  As Artur loosed his grip, Rhodan fell completely upon the support of his bonds. He panted heavily as he tried vainly to tend to his eye – pouring blood and tears and ooze – with nothing but his shoulder.

  “Tell us what?”

  “Lo, Krait was an assassin,” he gasped. “He would have slain Sylva. He planned to kill Sylva, and Dungo.” Still, after all he had suffered, Rhodan tried to limit what he said, desperate to protect Sylva, desperate to protect Mercedi. He didn’t understand why his tormentors considered Krait worth avenging, worth caring about.

  “What, so you killed him?”

  “Nay, I swear I was not there.”

  “Did you abandon your post so the killer could use the tower?”

  Rhodan again took to silence.

  “Jakke,” Artur said, but before the smithy pulled the pike out of the forge again, Rhodan nodded weakly.

  “So who did it then? Did a Raspar do the killing?”

  “Aye, so I suspect, for it was with a Raspar that Krait conspired.”

  “Oh?” asked Artur, and immediately Rhodan realized he’d said too much. “So who else among the Raspars knows of this?”

  Rhodan hung sullen and silent.

  Artur looked to Jakke, determined but without malice, who took Rhodan by the hair with one hand and again pushed the burning metal into the eye. Artur cut off the frantic, blood-curdling screams, filling Rhodan’s mouth with a wad of fabric. The Raspar victim struggled mightily to breathe against the cloth, blood and fluid flowing from his eyes and nose, and after an eternity, he collapsed and Jakke relented. Artur gently removed the gag.

  “Lo — Vespus — find Vespus — if ye can.”