Kings of the North - Elizabeth Moon [218]
When he came out into the passage, all the Squires in the palace were there, watching as the burial guild lifted the bodies of their comrades to carry them away. Some were weeping; some looked grim.
The guilt he had always felt at the death of any of his soldiers smote him; who was he that others should die because of him?
Because he was a king? Because he had been a duke? Because—
Peace, came a voice. Because you honor them and they honor you. And you did not kill them. When you die, see that your death honors me.
Kieri felt his knees loosen and stiffened them. That was clear enough, though he wasn’t sure which of them it was, Falk or Gird or the High Lord.
Does it matter? asked a different voice.
No, it didn’t matter. What mattered were his people and his land.
His Squires crowded around him as he followed the bodies downstairs. The lower hall was full of people: servants, other Council members, a half-dozen elves. Two other bodies were there, already wrapped.
“The usual place of initial rest is too small for so many,” the Seneschal said.
“The dining room?” Kieri asked.
“No place where food is served,” the Seneschal said. “What about the salle? It has a stone floor, for the washing, and could be consecrated for this use for the time needed.”
“Take it, then,” Kieri said. He followed with the rest as the burial guild carried the five bodies to the salle; the armsmasters bowed to the Seneschal and formally released the salle for his use.
Once the bodies were laid ready for the care before burial, Kieri went back to the main palace to see the other assassin.
The man bound to a chair in Garris’s office wore Halveric uniform, and his skin bore evidence of time in the hot, sun-blazing south. His face seemed familiar. Kieri glanced at Garris. “What have you learned?”
“He keeps saying he’s really a Halveric soldier and he doesn’t know anything about the other one.”
“I am a Halveric,” the man said. “I mean, not a Halveric by family, but I’ve been in Halveric Company eleven years.”
“I don’t believe you,” Kieri said. He hitched a hip onto Garris’s desk and looked into the man’s eyes. The man blinked, as most people did, and unlike the most egregious liars Kieri had known. “But let’s begin. Why didn’t you give your message to a courier at the relay station?”
“Because there wasn’t a courier at the relay station,” the man said. “Nobody was there. Just horses in the stable. I thought they’d probably already been sent, but Captain Talgan said his message had to get through. So I left my horse, and a note, and took one of the others.”
“Why did you think others had gone if horses were there?”
The man’s brow furrowed. “Well … I guess I thought those were the horses they’d left—but they were fresh. Maybe they left enough earlier the horses had rested up—”
“And maybe you’re lying. What happened at the next relay post? More missing couriers?”
“No—but they let me have a horse when I told them I had to get through.”
“You didn’t think to hand it over and go back to your captain?”
“No, sir—my lord—because I was already too far to be back by when Captain Talgan said, and if I was going to be over my time, I thought it didn’t matter how much—and they said fine, because they were a courier short anyway.”
That sounded almost reasonable. Kieri tried to think of something to ask that a Pargunese spy couldn’t have learned by lurking near the camp. “Did you come north with Talgan in the summer?”
“Yes, sir—my lord.”
“Where was your closest camp to Chaya?”
The man stared, as if surprised. “Why, sir—my lord—you know—it was just down behind the palace, in the water meadows.”
“And what did you eat—what were your trail rations?”
“Trail rations! We didn’t eat trail rations. We had food sent out from the palace. Bread still hot from the oven, roast meat, even