now we know,” said Renthrette with a satisfied smile, as if she’d figured it all out for herself. This annoyed me, as it had been my flash of genius, but it was typical of Renthrette and Garnet. You only make progress by doing things. Ideas are worthless. What really moves things along is hefting your ax at somebody or swinging from the walls like some lesser primate. I might as well give up on the smooth, witty banter and just toss her a piece of fruit from time to time.
But not everything was falling neatly into place. The attack on Arlest, which we’d witnessed when we first arrived, was a round peg for our square holes. I was tempted to see the count as innocent and the attack as genuine, while Renthrette thought they were all guilty as hell and the attack had been purely for our benefit. That men had died in the course of laying this false trail only convinced her of its spuriousness.
I considered the spectral army that had ravaged the region 250 years ago. After the dust had settled, three new capital cities had been built, and one of them had been Adsine. The keep was as old as the town. Someone had known what that opaline rock could be used for and they had built it into the basement of the fortress. Had those who had lived here ever since forgotten about the spectral army, or had they always known what that stone could do, and Arlest (or whoever was responsible) was merely the first to use it since? And if so, why now?
As ever, the more I learned, the less I understood. The only thing I knew for certain was that we had to get out, and we had to do so quickly and without rousing suspicion. I figured we should just fill our saddlebags and take a couple of fast horses. Renthrette argued that the contents of the wagon were too potentially useful in what might yet transpire.
Right. We needed that wagon like we needed cobras in our underwear. I told her it was slow and obvious. She said we weren’t supposed to look like we were running away and that if we did, no matter how fast our horses were, they would get us. I suspected they would “get us” Whatever we did, but she was sick of hearing me say that, so I shut up and let her play party leader, grudgingly grateful for her not pointing out that I could no more handle a fast horse than I could beat my arms and fly back to Cresdon.
It was a curious thing, but considering that we’d solved the main part of the mystery, I couldn’t help feeling that it made little difference. After all, knowing where the raiders came from didn’t make them disappear. What were we supposed to do, shout “We know where you live!” and figure they’d go away out of sheer embarrassment?
Renthrette was all business, only interested in the job at hand. Whatever minuscule spark there had been between us had given up the ghost as soon as adventuring had reared its ironclad head. Her face was all steely again and she had gone back to double-checking our equipment and polishing her sword. I was just an extra, a walk-on who announces the arrival of the mad duke and then goes off into the wings and is forgotten. In my plays I’d always tried to give my walk-ons a bit of something special: some pithy philosophy or wry political humor. I got Enter Messenger. Messenger gives letter to the warrior queen. Exit Messenger. Renthrette had her script memorized and was ready to hold center stage for a good while to come.
Then, while I was laboriously pursuing this metaphor through my head and she was carefully checking the links of her mail shirt one by one, she said, “You’d better think up something to tell the count so that he won’t suspect anything.”
Great. So she’s in control but I have to think us out of this fortress.
“Such as?” I said testily.
“You’re the storyteller,” she answered, without looking up.
I thought through all the lies that had helped me out of tight corners before: the sudden death of an aged aunt, the news that my house was on fire or that my wife had just had twins. I was a good liar and could deliver all the usual one-liners with a straight face: “What a delightful baby,” “You can count on