I did not go back to my tent despite the rain. I didn't want to make it seem as though I had needed their company, even though they both doubtless knew it. I had stuck my head inside my tent to warn Meran that Rastrian would be arriving to eat with me shortly, but I also wanted to be alone for a while.
I wondered in the direction of my charges. I had no plan in mind, maybe drop into the healers and see how they were, not that I expected them to be anything but fine. It occurred to me that I might want to thank them for tending the crossbowman's lashes. Seemed like a reason to do something, so I headed over that way.
The silence is what struck me first. There was something ethereal about the scene. He stood facing me, his back bowed and on his tiptoes, his mouth open in a silent scream, an arm wrapped about his throat. Next to his face was that of another man. For a second I didn't know what I was looking at, it didn't make sense. Then Sapphire eased the dying man to the ground and stood slowly upright, all the time his eyes fixed on mine. The distant light of camp-fires threw slow shadows everywhere. I had stopped walking. Stopped moving would be a better way of saying it. We just stood there for a moment looking each other in the eye. He had a knife in his hand. I saw the gleam.
Why aren't I calling out? Am I afraid? I should call out, I thought, but didn't. He was my father's man about my father's business. As awareness of that inhibition seeped into my mind, Sapphire eased away silently and was gone in less than a moment. There was something almost supernatural about his leaving. There, then gone, though I saw him move. Moments passed. A man had been murdered and I had done nothing about it.
I took a deep breath and let it out almost silently. Then another. I should call out, but I won't. Not yet. Maybe I should look first. See who it was. I stepped forward, movement giving assurance that I was acting and doing the right thing. That I had done the right thing. Why Sapphire had killed him could wait, but I would know in time.
I went forward and knelt by the body. It was one of Rastrian's men, as I had somehow known it would be. He was wearing no armor, and carried only a sheathed knife, but I recognized the style of clothing, casual and flamboyant. I took his face in one hand turned it one way and the other. I wasn't sure that I recognized him. It was at that moment, of course, kneeling by the dead body of one of his men, that Rastrian caught up to me. I heard footsteps heading my way, turned and saw him. Damn. Not good. Not good at all. I stood up, holding my hands out as he approached, showing they were clean of blood. “One of yours. Murdered. Not by me.”
He didn't speed up or slow down. No stranger to death, he came close enough to see, but carefully not close enough to be in range of a lunge.
“I'm going to show you my knife, just to reassure you.”
He nodded, looking down at his man and I drew the short blade free and showed him it was clean.
He looked at it. Nodded again. “Preth.”
“What?”
“His name was Preth. Joined us six months ago. Any idea who did it?”
“None.” I put the knife away. This was a problem. The threats I'd made. A dead body. Me standing over him. Not ideal. Not by a long way.
“I'm going to take him to your men. You come. Vouch for me. If the killer comes to light I'll see him dead.” I didn't wait but leaned over and grabbed an arm and his shirt front, pulling him up, then both arms under armpits, gripping tight, drew the body to his feet. Leaning and bending at the knee I let him fall over my shoulder, one hand sliding down his arm the other down his back. Gripping his arm I lifted, brought my right arm round and slid it between his wet legs to grip his calf. He smelled of shit and fresh piss. I'd not thought of it. Too late now. “Lead on.”
Keep things moving. I was thinking. Keep Rastrian moving before he starts thinking. We were right next to the mages, who might have a way to learn something of the killer. Get away from there. Dubaku! Damn. Dubaku. The shaman would surely be able, may be, may be able to call the man's spirit back but that was ok. That was ok, the man hadn't seen who was behind him. You don't grab a man by the neck and stab him in the kidneys after he has seen you. And if Dubaku could and did call the spirit I would be off the hook. Good. Dubaku was good.
“Could Dubaku call back his spirit? Maybe he saw who killed him?”
Rastrian turned only his head as he walked slightly ahead of me and to one side. “Maybe. I'll ask him.”