The Seer: Chapter Four

    Pelting icy rain continued, slushy and cold. When it warmed even a little, the pouring rains washed the streets clean, flooding sewers and inland farms and lakes.

    At least, Innel reflected, the palace’s roof cisterns were full.

    Midwinter festival arrived. Cern sat sullenly by her father, drinking herself into unconsciousness and needing to be carried to her rooms, to the scowling of her father. Sachare shook her head sharply at Innel’s offer of help.

    A ten-day later, Cern’s glares at him had softened, ever so slightly. Was that the smallest hesitation before she turned her back on him?

    His patience was souring. Letting the king’s assigned work languish, he watched for the right opportunity.

    It was late afternoon when he followed Cern and her entourage to the glassed-in gardens of the southern court, warmed in the winter months with a ring of heated stones brought from the basement furnace. Inside the glassed-in room, fruit trees were in bud. Beds of green sprouts lined the windows.

    Cern’s guards stood arrayed inside and out, a double perimeter of protection. There had not been a successful attempt on the life of a royal since Nials esse Arunkel, the king’s beloved grandmother, was a young queen, and her younger sister’s attempted kidnapping turned particularly nasty, but some attempts had been sufficiently bloody – and politically messy – to inspire both diligence and a solidly capable royal guard.

    Innel had trained with many of these guards and knew them well. He exchanged nods with the commander in the doorway, a stout woman with an instinctive and powerful close-in fighting style. She considered Innel for a long moment, then stepped aside to allow him entrance. She turned her back on the room, implying a privacy that was not, in fact, present.

    Cern did not look up from the long-tailed red and blue Perripin bird. It stood on her leather-wrapped arm, clutching tightly with long talons. She was feeding it with tongs from a bowl of wiggling white slugs that sat atop a round red marble tabletop.

    The bird turned its head sideways to give Innel a suspicious one-eyed look, then snapped up the offered slug, held it high, gulped it down. Innel watched a lump make its way down the bird’s long neck.

    Cern held out her arm, and the bird stepped onto the marble tabletop and then over to the bowl of slugs, helping himself as the princess turned an unwelcoming, loathing look on Innel.

    “You are trash and a liar,” she said.

    He suppressed elation. After months of effort, she was speaking to him.

    “Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing his head, aiming for a contrite tone and expression.

    “What kind of man kills his own brother? And a man as fine as Pohut was? You are a monstrosity.”

    Much warmer. This was the opening he’d been hoping for. And now to step into it.

    The story he had given the king after his audience on return from Botaros had started with the truth: that he and his brother had gone to Botaros independently. From there it was invention: a woman, he told the king, claiming to be an unknown granddaughter of Nials esse Arunkel, now dead for decades, was said to look enough like the old queen to be her twin. The granddaughter was telling anyone who would listen that she should be on the throne instead of Restarn.

    Treasonous talk, of course. Both he and his brother, Innel said, had gone to Botaros to find out the truth of the matter, intending to bring the granddaughter back to the king for justice.

    But Pohut had changed his mind, barring Innel’s way, claiming the granddaughter to be his discovery. Intending to use her against the king, Innel suspected. They had fought, and Pohut pulled a knife, forcing Innel to defend himself.

    It was a relatively safe story. Even had the granddaughter existed, a short talk and a quiet relocation to the south border would have taken care of the matter. Not a threat that would much trouble the king.

    Restarn listened impatiently, waving his hands for Innel to hurry it along. Clearly he didn’t want details.

    Or he knew it wasn’t true.

    In any case, he seemed to accept the explanation.

    Innel had debated an alternate tale for the king, that it was the brothers’ devotion to and life-long competition for Cern that brought them to blows, but finally discarded that; if Cern found out — if she thought that Pohut had died for her — she would never forget him.

    And that would not do; however long it took, he needed Cern to forget his brother and forgive Innel.

    So for the princess he needed a more compelling tale.

    He kept his tone soft and sorrowful. “There’s more to the story than what I told your father.”

    A dangerous double game here, he knew, because with the guard listening, every word would likely get back to the king. Anything he said now had to both be convincing to Cern and transparently benign to Restarn.

    A flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, a wary interest.

    “You see, my lady, we wanted to find out if the rumors were true.”

    “The granddaughter,” she said tightly.

    “No.”

    “No? What, then?”

    Innel shook his head ruefully. “I’m embarrassed to admit to it.”

    At that she gave him a look, still plenty hostile, but tinged with curiosity.

    This was the Cohort education had included the finest bards and minstrels of the empire.

    “We were seduced by a story that could have been a children’s tale. A cave outside a small village, a treasure trove: a cache of gold.”

    “Gold?”

    By law, every flake of gold belonged to the crown. Every last bit, no matter its form nor how it had come into being. And no matter who now held it.

    Innel looked around at the seedlings, the fruit trees optimistically preparing for spring in this last part of winter, and let the moment lengthen. He acted as if he were struggling with what to say next.

    “We could not afford to be wrong. You know what they’d say. The mutts. The fools. We had to find the absolute truth. And we did. But my brother…” he paused. “He wanted it for himself.”

    “What, the gold?” She seemed incredulous at this.

    “To sell it south, to wash it through Perripin traders.”

    “But that would be treason.”

    Sometimes it surprised him, how naive she could be.

    “Yes, and I told him so. No, I said. He grew angry. Our loyalty to the crown, I said; nothing is more precious. He yelled at me, called me a fool, and when I would not budge, disowned me. And then…” A glance down, a ragged exhale. “You know the rest.”

    She considered his words skeptically. She was almost there.

    He inhaled slowly, audibly. “We grew up poor, My Lady Princess. Two years older, he remembered it far more clearly than I did. No House, no family — then the king’s generosity, to be sure, but nothing to call our own. Perhaps he sensed that his chances with you were waning and wanted something more substantial in hand.”

    “What? We would never have turned him away. A company command, at least.”

    Innel gave her a pained look. “You know how proud he was.”

    “No, it is not possible.”

    But it was not disbelief in her tone now. It was pain. Denial that someone she had known since childhood, someone she had cared for, could act this way.

    And that meant she nearly believed him.

    It was time for the final detail that weaves the parts of the story into a whole. He reached into his pocket, palmed a small, heavy item that Srel had bought for him from a south-end black market, a place it was barely safe to walk, let alone spend money. Srel, born to that side, had known what to do with the funds Innel had managed to scrape together. It had taken every quarter-nals Innel could lay hands on.

 

---

 

    An investment, he told himself again. It would pay off. He only had to win her. This was the moment.

    He walked slowly to the marble table.

    “There was no cave, no cache. Just a hole under a rock, by the foot of a twisted hemlock pine, where we found this. Perhaps also the source of the granddaughter rumor. Now I give it to you, My Lady Princess, to put in the treasury. As is my duty to empire, king, and Your Royal Highness.”

    He placed the item on the table. At the sound and feel underfoot of the heavy metallic click on the stone, the bird quickly sidestepped away from him to the edge. He stepped back.

    Cern reached forward and brushed the small, dully gleaming statuette with her fingers.

    Four-fingers high head to shoulders, it was a passable rendition of Nials esse Arunkel, the Grandmother Queen, judging by the portraits that hung in the Great Hall. Cern picked it up, held it wonderingly.

    “Pohut died for this?”

    No, his brother died because he had crossed the line between competition and betrayal.

    And because Innel had gotten to the girl first.

    But he could say none of that.

    “I’m sorry, My Lady,” he said, knowing it was the only thing he could say, and resenting the part of him that meant it.

 

---

 

    Innel found himself jolted awake from dreams of struggles in frozen mud, unable to get hold of his brother, grasping and slipping. Then suddenly, somehow, he had Pohut’s head tight between his locked arms and twisted hard to the sound of a crack.

    He was fully awake now, considering the split-second decision that saved his life, and the advice that had made it possible.

    If he knew of her, others would. Of those who had heard the rumor, who else might care enough to go to Botaros to find out if it were true?

    Innel now keenly regretted not having done something about the girl that night.

    But what? He could hardly have dragged both his brother’s body and a resisting child through the mountains and then into the palace, never mind the question of the sister and the baby.

    It dawned on him then, the obvious, brutal solution: to slay her there and then, that very night. This problem would now be solved.

    His thoughts flickered back to the candle-lit shack. He considered the distance from the nearest neighbors and how far her screams might have carried in the gusting wind. The sister would likely have fought him, so he would have had to kill her, too. And then what? The baby as well?

    He wondered if it was in his character to do such a thing, to take sharp steel to the three of them, in order to keep the girl from whoever else might want her predictions.

    Well, it didn’t matter if it was in him or not. He hadn’t. He would simply have to find a way to have her quietly brought to Yarpin where he could control what she said and to whom.

    Once she was here, he would have more options. For example, he could have her tongue cut out, solving the problem of her talking without any killing at all. He wondered if she knew how to write.

    In any case, this could wait no longer.

 

---

 

    Innel drummed his fingers on a table of dark wood into which was inlaid a scattering of paler woods showing the sigils of the oldest of the Lesser Houses. Bolah, warming spiced wine in the corner, filling the air with anise and cardamom, was adept at services quieter and less showy than the Great Houses might inspire.

    Which was why he was here.

    He realized he was drumming on House Finch’s sigil. What was their motto, again? Loyalty through winter. He considered that and paused in his drumming.

    “Twunta, Captain?” The small white-haired woman offered him a long, silver pipe from a red mahogany stand.

    With a head shake he declined. Wine only clung to his breath, while smoke clung to his clothes. He found it better not to have his indulgences so easily determined.

    Getting away from the palace tonight had been no small feat. On this cold, overcast evening, Srel stood outside a soaking bath as if Innel were inside, where instead Nalas enjoyed hours of late-night soaking while a hooded Innel snuck out into the frigid city to meet with Bolah.

    Now his eyes wandered the room, taking in the glinting, colorful, polished clutter. On one wall a thick tapestry hung on which people and animals feasted and fornicated, their bodies mingled and twisted together so that it was hard to tell where one limb began and another ended.

    Bolah had a reputation for being able to offer the unusual.

    On the table between them she set two tall circular porcelain tumblers, equidistant from him.

    “Congratulations on your promotion, Captain.”

    Innel made a sound between acceptance and amusement. She would surely know that he expected to have another title as soon as he married Cern.

    She slowly sat across from him at the small table. “It has been a long time, has it not?”

    “Alas, I’ve been quite busy.”

    “I can easily imagine, ser.”

    Through the translucent sides of the tumblers he could see the dark, aromatic wine fill as she poured.

    “The hope your pending marriage brings brightens this dismal night. I trust I may be allowed to say that the empire is most fortunate to have your hands so near what I am certain will be her most grateful reins.”

    “You may, but only once.”

    Her laugh seemed almost genuine. She waited for him to choose his cup. An old tradition, now mostly formality, but some believed that you could tell a great deal from which cup a person chose. He selected the closest. A gesture of simple trust.

    “Surely there must be something this poor old woman can do for you in return for the honor and pleasure of your most excellent company.”

    Innel rubbed his thumbs over the geometric design on the cup and raised it high, examining the underside.

    “An impressive imitation of House Etallan’s sigil, Grandmother.”

    “What keen eyesight you have, Captain, to notice the poor Maker’s mark from House Keramos in this year’s produce. I fear that as he ages, his hands shake, his eyesight dims, and his mark becomes — it pains me to say this, ser — rather sloppy.”

    The other word that came to Innel’s mind, of course, was “forged”.

    “Perhaps I should have a word with Tokerae dele Etallan, to see if he can assist Keramos in finding a new Maker.” Etallan was Keramos’ patron House. He smiled wide to show he wasn’t in the least serious.

    She matched his smile. “No sense in bringing shame to House Keramos, Captain. We depend on them daily for our plates and cookware.”

    “As wise as your years, Bolah.”

    This was where Innel came when he needed something uncommon. For his part, he saw to it that Bolah could do her business unencumbered by time-consuming questions from the crown’s auditors about anything as insignificant as the veracity of the marks on her cups.

    “And so, what can I do for you, Captain?”

    “I need someone brought to me.”

    Bolah raised her eyebrows in question.

    “With no mistakes.”

    She held out her hands, as if to say she was sad he asked for so little.

    “Very quietly.”

    “What sort of someone?”

    “A girl child.”

    “I know many who could do this for you.”

    Innel reached into his pocket and brought out two souver touches, placing the heavy, palm-sized coins on the table between them. It was the rest of everything he had, including the cache of simple souvers that he and Pohut had secreted away against some final, desperate need.

 

---

 

    But he had no choice; he must get the girl in hand, and to do so meant the appearance of being able to spend this amount easily. If all went as planned, that would soon be true enough.

    He placed them palace-side up, each stamped with a detailed likeness of the multi-storied monarchical mansion. Not the side that showed the sigils of the Eight Great Houses. A clear message, one that she could hardly miss. “I want the best,” he said. “And soon.”

    Bolah did a fair impression of barely considering the coins, but Innel was not fooled; he had her keen attention. “The best, ser? In-city? In the province? Across the empire?”

    “Yes.”

    “And soon as well? You ask a great deal, Captain.” Her eyes flickered to the souver touches. “You will be spending more than that.”

    “I may need some credit extended to me.”

    “Ah,” she said, drawing out the sound, a look of calculated sadness across her wrinkled features.

    “I am going to marry the princess, Bolah. Who will one day soon be queen of the empire. What is that worth, do you think?”

    For a moment she looked elsewhere, as if attempting to answer his question by calculating sums. Her eyes flickered back to him and she gave him a merchant’s best smile. “I believe I can help you, Captain.”

    “You have someone in mind.”

    Bolah took a sip of her wine. “If he is available.”

    “Reliable? Discreet?”

    “And talented and capable, with a solid reputation. My first choice, Captain, if I required such a service. And had I the resources of your princess.”

    He did not miss her point.

    “It may take more than money to interest him. He chooses his patrons, not the other way around.”

    Innel swirled the wine in his cup, watching the red liquid slowly fall in tails down the insides. “What will it take, then?”

    “I would not presume to suppose. You will need to negotiate directly with him. I will, of course, take my percentage of any coin, goods, or worth of services on which you agree.”

    “Of course.”

    “Shall I arrange a meeting?”

    “Yes.”

    “With or without your name, Captain?”

    He considered the benefits of anonymity. If the man was as capable as Bolah said, then Innel’s own future status was part of the enticement. At the same time, knowing who he was would make him vulnerable.

    A balance of risks, as always.

    “Give him my name.”

    “Captain, in your interest I must say again that this man is expensive. There are ten or twenty in Yarpin alone who are strong, quick, and smart enough to assist you in this matter. Even a handful of them would cost less than this single man. Are you quite, quite sure –”

    Innel lifted two fingers, and Bolah fell silent. The gesture was Cern’s, and he was finding it an effective reminder to people of his changing position. He took a sip of the wine. Sweet and dusty, a hint of woodsmoke and pine behind the spices.

    Bolah waited, giving every impression of being willing to wait forever with perfect delight. She had built a rich business on such impressions.

    “I was ten,” Innel said. “My brother had challenged me to a rabbit-hunting contest. The loser would present his clothes to the winner and spend the night in the woods. That year at spring festival my mother had given me an excellent hunting bow. To this day, I don’t know how she afforded it.” At Bolah’s bemused look, he gave a bitter smile. “Don’t mistake being raised in the palace for having money, Grandmother.”

    She inclined her head at this point, then raised her eyebrows for him to continue.

    “I had planned to save the bow for when I truly needed it. A hunt with the king, perhaps, something I had not yet been invited to, unlike many others in the Cohort. The contest was only rabbits, I reasoned, so I took a smaller, lesser, and cheaper bow.”

    “No rabbits,” Bolah guessed.

    “A long, cold, autumn night I will never forget.”

    “There is no substitute for quality.”

    “Since then I have been fortunate enough to hunt with his royal majesty often. Though I fear his hunting days may well be in the past.”

    “Oh?” she asked carefully.

    “He is not a young man any more,” Innel said. Sometimes it was enough to breathe a little life into a rumor.

    “I pray daily to the sea and sky for his majesty’s most excellent health.”

    “As do we all. But no one can stop the years. The moon is eaten and reborn. Seasons chase each other across the year.” He paused. “Wedding horns sound. Knots are tied.”

    “Who can know what will come?”

    She meant that he was not yet consort, Cern not yet queen. The coronation, even if the king’s promises of abdication were to be relied upon, was still many steps away. There was a limit to how much he could borrow against a future that might not come to pass.

    He recalled the girl’s prediction. I think yes.

    “The time is coming to place your wagers, Bolah.”

    “You have my full support, Captain.”

    He picked up the cup again, swirling the small pool of red at the bottom.

    “More wine, Captain?”

    “The price of metals is going up. Why are merchants hoarding, Bolah?”

    “The markets are always in motion, Captain. Now it simply happens that metals are more in demand than yesterday.”

    “The rebellions in Gotar and Sinetel are minor affairs. They will not last long.”

    “Then I am sure the price of copper and tin will fall again.”

    “Tell your fellow merchants that even now Arunkel troops are putting down these rebellions.”

    “As you say, Captain.”

    He had debated with himself whether or not to say these next words. Even now he was undecided.

    A balance of risks.

    “Also,” he said, “I need someone who can see into the future.”

    Her expression was uncertain, poised, as if ready to laugh at his joke, as soon as she was sure it was one. Seeing that he was serious, her tentative smile vanished. She shook her head.

    “You have heard of no such?”

    “Of course I have, Captain. Such rumors come and go with the sea winds. These days they blow with a young man’s bluster. There are always such rumors. Always.”

    “Beyond rumor, though?”

    “You wish someone without pretense, who can truly predict what will come?”

    “I do.”

    “If I knew of such a person, Captain, I would have my robes made from House Sartor’s silks, eat myself silly on Elupene’s fermented Kukka berries, and only open my door to mages who would keep me young forever.”

    After a lifetime at the palace, Innel had faith in his ability to spot duplicity. He was almost certain Bolah was telling the truth. Almost.

    “For such a person I would pay a great deal.”

    “Yes,” she said with sober amusement, “you would. But I cannot find what does not exist. Even the most powerful mages cannot foretell the future better than a wealthy gambler.”

    So Bolah had not yet heard of the girl.

    Or having heard, had not credited the rumor. Innel could almost allow himself to hope the knowledge was contained.

    He stood. “Contact me when you find him.”

    “You will not be disappointed, Captain,”

    He hoped she was right. He needed her to be.

 

---

 

    Now Innel half wished he had not told Bolah to give the man his name. If the man were as clever as she had implied, how long until he figured out himself what the girl was?

    A true Seer. The possibilities were staggering.

 

---

 

    But it was too late for regrets. He would simply have to be careful what he told him. And get the man under contract.

    Bolah had arranged their meeting at the Frosted Rose, an expensive eatery near the palace where lamps were kept dim to cater to merchants and aristocrats who found it prudent to conduct business away from House and palace.

    Innel had dressed in the simple, nondescript garb that a merchant might wear. Nalas was at another table in a similar outfit. After a sip of sunken ale, a fermented drink he didn’t much like involving roots and fungus that was currently popular, he went to the toilet at the back of the inn. Nalas followed, and stood outside to discourage anyone else.

    Inside, Innel opened a small vent above his head. He tapped the ceiling in a pattern of knocks based on a well-known ballad.

    “Yes?” came a male voice.

    “Identify yourself.”

    “I am called Tayre. Bolah sent me. In what way can I assist you, ser?”

    The tone was not what he had expected. Mild, nearly deferring. Perhaps the tone of a servant.

    “She speaks highly of you,” Innel said with some doubt. “That you are without peer across the empire.”

    A thoughtful sound. “That seems likely.” Was that disappointment in his tone?

    Again, not the response Innel expected. “What you can do for me?”

    “What do you need done?”

    Innel hesitated. Every person who knew was a vulnerability. “There is a girl. I want her brought to me. Fast and quietly.”

    “In what condition?”

    “Intact. Alive and well. She is traveling with a woman and a baby. I want them, too, but the girl is my first concern.” He recalled how she had looked at her sister and cradled the baby. There were deep, isolated rooms in the palace dungeons that would house them all. He would clear one. “A bonus for the woman and baby.”

    “What do you want with the girl?”

    “Does it matter?”

    “It might,” the man said. “I can’t know until you tell me.”

    “I have questions for her that I don’t want anyone else asking.”

    “Are others pursuing her?”

    “No,” he said firmly, willing it to be so.

    “Will you describe her?”

    Again he hesitated. But really, what choice did he have? He could not fetch her himself.

    Once he married Cern, once she was crowned, his position would be secure.

    If he had the girl, that was.

    “Perhaps twelve springs old,” Innel said. “Amarta al Botaros, or at least she was in Botaros last autumn.” Had so much time really passed since then? “Brown hair, past her shoulders. A roundish face, light green eyes, short nose. Her sister is perhaps twenty, with an infant in arms. A boy, I think. Botaros is a mountain village, southeast, off the Sennant River.”

    “I know it.”

    “How long will it take you, do you think?”

    “I don’t know.”

    “What? No estimate?”

    “Please understand,” Tayre said, “that when you contract with me, you purchase my ability to deliver what is possible and no more.”

    Innel gave a soft laugh. “What does that mean?”

    “It means that I deliver what you want, if it is in my capability.”

    “That’s all you offer?”

    “That is all I offer.”

    Innel waited for more, but he was silent. No explanations, no promises. For a moment anger sparked in Innel. Was he being toyed with?

    No, he was not, he realized. Innel was overly accustomed to the arrogant, blustery talk that made up most of palace conversation. This man was not from the palace. Not from anywhere nearby, either, he guessed. This was simply confidence. “I see,” he said slowly. “When can you begin?”

    Spring weather had yet to arrive in force. Snow and ice still clung to the mountain peaks.

    “As soon as we come to terms,” Tayre answered. “I will go to Botaros and track her. One hundred souver touches now, against expenses, one hundred more when I deliver her. Another hundred for the sister and baby. All alive.”

    Expensive, but not nearly as dear as Innel had expected.

    “And.”

    “And?”

    “Unrestricted passage through Arun.”

    Arun, not Arunkel. Not quite an insult, but far from the patriotism Innel was accustomed to. “I can’t even promise myself that.”

    “I will accept as sufficient a writ that neither you nor those under your command will detain me in any way.”

    “Not if you break laws.”

    Now there was open amusement in the other’s voice. “Have you heard the saying that one can break the king’s laws by sneezing, Captain?”

    “Liberty and immunity? I can’t give you that.”

    “I think in your future capacity as Royal Consort you can.”

    “Not indefinitely.”

    “Ten years.”

    “Five.”

    “I see Bolah has failed to explain me; I do not bargain. Those are my terms. Do you decline the contract?”

    There was something about the soft tone of voice that blunted words that would otherwise have been insulting. It was just the sort of clever trick his brother might have used. He reminded himself what Bolah had said, that there were others far less expensive and nearly as good.

    Nearly.

    No. He did not have time for mistakes. “What would you do with such free passage if you had it?”

    “I have no specific plans.”

    “I can’t promise such liberty without knowing.”

    “Nothing to undermine your monarch’s agenda. Whoever it happens to be.”

    “Or mine.”

    A short chuckle. “No, Captain. I can’t afford to be caught between you and your sovereign. Choose one.”

    Innel started to answer, stopped. As long as the girl was free to give accurate predictions to anyone else, his plans could be severely and rapidly undermined. At the same time, those plans depended on his unquestioned loyalty to the king and, if things went well, to Cern.

    One answer put Innel in danger. The other was treason. Bolah was right. The man was good.

    “To protect the crown, then,” Innel said, “you should first direct your loyalty to me.”

    Treason it was.

    “As you say, Captain. Do we have a contract?”

    “I want to see what I’m buying.”

    “Seeing me won’t reassure you.”

    “You assume a lot about me for someone who doesn’t know me.”

    “What makes you think I don’t know you?”

    That caught Innel off guard. After a moment’s reflection, he decided the man was making a point rather than a threat.

    “Also, consider this,” Tayre said. “As I go about your business, if I should be caught and brought before you and your monarch, you may disavow me with veracity. There are those who can tell lie from truth, just by hearing it spoken.”

    “I have yet to meet such a person,” Innel said. It was one of a long list of abilities that mages were reputed to have.

    “They don’t typically announce themselves.”

    “Are you a mage, Tayre?”

    A single laugh. “If I were, I would charge more. Perhaps I would even bargain. Hire my reputation, Captain, not my appearance.”

    Innel preferred his contracts sealed with a formal handclasp as well as words. It was said that one could judge how well a person would fulfill their commitment by the hands and eyes in the moment of binding. Innel fancied that he had that skill. Furthermore, he was curious about what Tayre looked like, curious if he would be disappointed. But the man was right in his points, and curiosity was not reason enough. It was, as always, a balance of risks.

    “I accept your terms,” Innel said, initiating the litany that sealed the bond.

    “Our contract is made,” Tayre replied, completing the verbal binding.

    As Innel listened to the man’s soft steps fade across the roof, he wondered which of the dungeon rooms would attract the least attention.