Nicos looked to Shala. “Majesty, you directed me to bring Captain Fezim to the capital because ‘even wizards deserve justice.’ ”

“And it was a sentiment worthy of a war hero,” Luthen said. “But the situation has worsened since then, and Your Majesty must weigh the interests of a few”-he waved a meaty hand as though trying to pluck the proper term from the air-“deviants against the welfare of the realm as a whole.”

“All right,” Nicos rapped, “let’s do that. Let’s keep our eyes on what’s happening throughout Chessenta, and not just here in the city. The Great Bone Wyrm and the Imaskari are pressing us hard, and contrary to Lord Luthen’s assertion, we need wizards to help stem the tide. The same wizards he wants to condemn and kill!”

Luthen made a spitting sound. “So you’d strengthen our armies by bringing the depraved and degenerate into the ranks.”

“Yes,” Nicos said, “if you insist on putting it that way. Our armies have always used sorcery when necessary. With proper supervision, of course. Just look at our history!”

“Magic gives an army a big edge,” said Aoth. “Too big to ignore if you can get it. You Chessentans pride yourself on being a race of soldiers, but if you don’t even understand that, you don’t know anything about war.”

“We have magic,” the sunlord said. “The untainted blessings of the gods.”

“And that’s something,” said Aoth. “I fought alongside the Burning Braziers and saw what they can do. But show me the priest versatile enough to conjure darkness one moment, a cloud of poisonous smoke the next, and rust the enemy’s armor an instant after that.”

Luthen turned back to Shala. “Majesty, surely you recognize this talk for the self-serving rubbish it is. For after all, you won your own extraordinary victories without stooping to wizardry.”

Nicos, the sunlord, and a druidess of the Great Mother clad in a green gown and a holly wreath all tried to talk at once. Shala raised her hand, and everyone fell silent. The war hero then sat for a while, glowering at nothing-or everything-and fingering the scar on her chin.

“Lord Nicos,” she said at length.

“Yes, Majesty?”

“I don’t want you to think that my decision means you’ve lost my ear or my trust. It’s just that-”

It was obvious what was coming. “Majesty!” said Aoth.

Shala scowled. “Captain, I’d already noticed that you lack the aptitude for courtly speech. But I’m still, let us say, impressed that you would interrupt a monarch pronouncing judgment from her throne.”

Aoth inclined his head. “Majesty, I’m sorry. But I have one more thing to say before you make up your mind.”

“What’s that?”

“You want Luthcheq peaceful. You brought the Brotherhood here to make it that way, and you’re thinking of sending us away for the same reason. But in the short term, there’s only one thing that will truly calm the people down. Someone has to catch the Green Hand killer, and if you let me stay, I’ll do it for you.”

“I’ve been laboring under a misapprehension,” Luthen drawled. “I imagined you were trying to do that all along.”

“Of course,” said Aoth. “But I had to gather intelligence before I could make a plan that goes farther than the obvious tactics.”

“What plan?” the nobleman asked.

“If I told, you all might decide that you don’t need me.”

“Captain,” Shala said, “when you suggest such a thing, you implicitly impugn my honor.”

“Then I’m sorry again,” said Aoth. “But I am just a sellsword. I don’t claim to understand honor like barons and royalty do. And I’ve heard a few things said today that make me wonder if you and your advisors truly would deem it all that ignoble an act to cheat a despicable war-mage. Now, I’m asking you for a tenday. If I trap the murderer, then give me your trust. Send the Brotherhood to war. If I fail, then send us down the trail.”

“A tenday,” Shala said, “and if you fail, you’ll also pay wergild for the folk who died last night. To keep the people from feeling that I allowed you to commit outrages and then escape unpunished.”

Aoth swallowed. “Agreed.”

After they left the hall, Nicos whispered, “What is this brilliant scheme?”

Aoth chuckled with only a grim approximation of mirth. “I’ll let you know when I think of it.”

Aoth had packed every citizen of Luthcheq possessed of genuine arcane power into the shabby candlelit common room, and Gaedynn surveyed the collection with interest. Their demeanor was noticeably different from that of most of the wizards and warlocks he’d known, a self-assured if not arrogant lot on the whole. These men and women had a morose, guarded air.

Gaedynn supposed it was understandable, given the life they led, and wondered why they hadn’t all fled Chessenta long ago. He supposed it was because it was the only home they knew, and because the fires of hatred didn’t always burn so hot. In better times, people paid these folk for the services only a mage could provide, and mostly left them alone if they conducted themselves with circumspection.

Aoth waited for everyone to help himself to beer or wine, then claim a chair, flop down on the floor, or find a spot to stand or lean. Then he said, “Thank you for coming.”

Clad in a dark leather jerkin and breeches with a dagger in each boot, greasy black hair hanging over his eyes, a sharp-featured adolescent slouched in the corner. If not for the tattooed symbols on his hands, Gaedynn might have mistaken him for an apprentice thief. The youth made a derisive crowing sound. “As if your ruffians gave us a choice!”

Aoth cocked his head. “Did they truly have to force you? In your place, I would have been eager to join in.”

Thin as a straw with lank gray hair, a wrinkled old woman quavered, “It’s against the law for so many of us to meet indoors, Captain.” She cackled. “It forms a coven, don’t you know? So by gathering us, you officers of the watch have given yourselves all the justification you need to whisk us away to Shala Karanok’s dungeons.”

“Well,” said Aoth, “that’s not why you’re here, and if it makes you feel any safer, the war hero has given me a special dispensation to hold this meeting.”

That, Gaedynn knew, was an exaggeration. Shala Karanok had simply given Aoth permission to put some sort of plan into effect. He hadn’t told her the details, and probably that was all to the good.

“So we can help catch the Green Hand murderer,” said the knavish-looking youth.

“Yes,” said Aoth, “and thus persuade the town that it doesn’t need to rise up and slaughter you.”

“But haven’t you heard?” the adolescent replied. “One of us is the Green Hand. And the fiend will surely sabotage any attempt to unmask him.”

Perched on a narrow windowsill with hardly an inch of clearance on either side, his stumpy legs dangling, Khouryn wiped foam from his moustache. “We doubt that the killer’s truly a mage and fool enough to proclaim it to the world. It’s more likely he’s not, but wants to divert suspicion in your direction. To help cover his tracks-or because he hates you and wants to make trouble for you.”

“But he could be a wizard who hates Luthcheq for the way it treats us,” said the adolescent. “He could feel a need to declare that hatred. A compulsion so intense that he has to leave the prints, even though they somewhat increase the risk to himself.”

Gaedynn grinned. “Conceivably. But if he’s here among us, he’ll have to subvert the ritual without any of us or his fellow mages noticing. I’m no wizard, but I suspect that would be difficult. So, with a little luck, we catch him either way.”

The youth sneered. “You’re right, archer. You’re no wizard. If you were, maybe you would have studied the Five Blank Scrolls of Mythrellan, and then you’d understand-”

“Hush,” the old woman said.