Crusade - James Lowder [29]
Guards and nobles hustled Azoun and Filfaeril off the stage, back through the gates and into the keep. Once he was sure that the king was safe, Vangerdahast returned to the platform to assess the damage. Though his vision was slightly blurred from observing the fireball too closely, the royal magician could hear the screams and smell the burned flesh quite clearly.
The wards had kept the king safe, but hadn't protected the people standing close to the stage.
4
Allies and Enemies Vangerdahast paced around the barren, chilly cell for a moment, then spun about sharply and slammed his fist on the dark wooden table. "Are you mad?"
Laying a restraining hand on the wizard's shoulder, Dimswart the Sage tried to repeat the question more neutrally. "Please, Bors, try to explain to me again why you thought you needed to kill King Azoun."
The thin man pulled his tattered cloak tight around his shoulders and glared up at the sage. A spiteful look pulled his features into a squint on his narrow face. "I'll tell ye no more than this: I did it for the good of the city. The crusade'll ruin us all."
"This is getting us nowhere," Vangerdahast grumbled. He turned to Bors and shook a pudgy finger at him. "If you know what's good for you, you'll tell us where you got the scroll and who put you up to this."
The trapper closed his eyes and ran his hand over the leather guild patch tied around his arm. It was an action he'd repeated many times during the long night's interrogation. For a moment, the close, stone-walled cell grew quiet.
Dimswart rubbed his red, puffy eyes and looked down at the notes he'd compiled. Bors-that was the only name the man had as far as they could learn-claimed to have acted out of public spirit in his attempt on Azoun's life.
A down-and-out trapper, barely making enough to pay his guild dues, the would-be assassin was sure that the expedition against the Tuigan would ruin the meager life he still had. Killing Azoun was the only way he knew to stop that disaster.
"What about guild members buying weapons, arrows and the like?"
Dimswart asked, turning his gaze to the only other item in his notes. The fletcher who had captured Bors in the Royal Gardens had also told the king's guard about another trapper, one who had tried to purchase a large number of arrows the morning of the attack.
"I don't know nothing about that," Bors grumbled. "This ain't guild business.
I meant only to harm Azoun."
Vangerdahast cursed bitterly. "Well, you certainly did more damage than that, didn't you? Fifteen dead. Twenty more horribly burned." The wizard leaned close to the man and added, "The gods will not look kindly on this, and I'm sure you'll be visiting the Realm of the Dead very soon."
For the first time during the long hours of questioning Bors's face betrayed something other than rigid anger. The flickering light from the single tallow candle that burned in the cell revealed the fear on the thin man's hateful face.
That expression lasted only an instant.
"I've told ye that I'm sorry for harming those poor folk unfortunate enough to be standing near the stage," Bors said, his voice low and even. "But I can't show ye my soul, so don't second guess the gods as to my punishment… if they see fit to punish me at all for trying to save innocent Cormyrian lives from a needless fight."
Dimswart rolled up his parchment, put away his ink and stylus, and abruptly rose to his feet. "Come on, Vangy. Let him rest. We've learned all he's going to tell."
The royal wizard glanced once at Bors, then called for the guard. A helmeted man appeared, wearing the purple dragon, symbol of King Azoun, emblazoned on his tunic. The long sword he wore at his side hung down past his woolen breeches and almost to the heels of his high, soft leather boots.
The guard quickly opened the iron-braced door and let Dimswart and Vangerdahast out. "Make sure the prisoner doesn't kill himself," the wizard noted as he left.
Vangerdahast walked stiffly down the tower's broad stone steps. Through the arrow loops cut into