“Are you sure the man wasn’t selling you a lie for a few silver marks?” Krelis finally asked.

“The bastard had no reason to lie, Lord Krelis,” the guard replied with a feral smile. “And I paid him nothing. Whenever I take leave time outside Hayll, I find it more . . . lucrative . . . not to travel as a guard. These loose-tongued merchants and traders from other Territories are much more willing to complain and gossip with a fellow trader trying to make a little profit. They say things they wouldn’t even dare think in the presence of a Hayllian court guard.”

A clever man, Krelis thought as he leaned back in his chair. A dangerous man. A man who knew how to fashion lies to look like bright truths. A man who, one day soon, would find a way to speak to the High Priestess directly. And if he, Krelis, wasn’t very careful, he’d find himself condemned by compliments. “This loose-tongued merchant is sure he saw a Shalador Warlord at a traveler’s inn?”

The guard nodded. “A Red-Jeweled Shalador Warlord who looked like he’d been doing some hard traveling lately.”

“He was alone?”

The guard shrugged. “The bitch didn’t walk through the front door with him. Maybe he slipped the leash.”

“Or maybe she slipped in the back way.” Krelis rubbed his chin. The bitch-Queen had been traveling north or northwest since his pet had left the first message. So what was that Shalador bastard doing so far south? Where were the others? If the bitch really wasn’t with him, if he had slipped the leash, why wasn’t he heading for his home Territory to hide for a few days?

Unless he was deliberately showing himself to lay a false trail. Or had the fool gone to that inn hoping to strike a bargain?

“This merchant. He was sure about the rest of it?”

The guard shifted his feet. He pressed his lips together. “It’s hard to mistake that one for any other.”

A chill started in Krelis’s lower back and crept up his spine. “Yes, it is.” Hell’s fire, he needed a drink! “Your diligence to your duty is highly commendable, Warlord. You may be certain I’ll keep it in mind. Inform Lord Maryk that his presence is required.” Krelis gestured toward the door.

Accepting the dismissal, the guard bowed and left.

Krelis called in a bottle of brandy, but Maryk knocked on the door before he could consume enough of it to settle his nerves. Smothering a curse, he vanished the bottle, and snapped, “Come in!”

“Lord Krelis.”

Maryk’s bland expression was a subtle insult, but he hadn’t been able to completely extinguish the contempt from his eyes.