Chapter Six
Iona
A short walk later, we arrived at a cluster of enormous dome-shaped houses that stood to either side of the grassy street.
A flag on a pole hung above them, embroidered with swirling Centauri script that read Hammerthunder.
There would be similar districts in the ‘taur kingdom for each of the clans. “Looks like our destination.”
Lieutenant Ruadháin started to step forward, but Dearg gestured him back. We approached the huge door of the foremost dome, and Dearg kicked the panel hard with one foot in the ‘taur version of a knock. It boomed.
As if someone had been waiting for that signal, the door swung wide, revealing a muscular centaur the height of Baareo.
He had even more scars than Deathbringer, his face and chest streaked with old slashes and the divots of healed punctures.
He wore no armor, though scarlet symbols had been painted in swirling patterns on his dark-skinned head, torso, and ebony-coated horse half.
Behind him, two more centaurs stood, red-painted and visibly grieving -- Baareo’s mother and younger brother.
“Who seeks the leader of the Hammerthunder clan?” A wide streak of red paint lay across the big clan chief’s tired blue eyes like a mask, but his pain was obvious. Someone from the ‘taur palace must have already informed him of his son’s death, but the appropriate rituals still had to be observed.
I hadn’t expected that. Baareo had told me his clan viewed him with disdain for refusing his warrior destiny. And he’d believed it. This didn’t look like disdain to me.
I lifted my voice in Centauri, using the ringing tone cops used to be clearly audible to a crowd.
“I am Iona Anann, the chief law enforcement officer in Summerwood, a town on Mortal Earth where Baareo has lived for the past ten years. I am also a demigoddess and the granddaughter of the goddess Maeve, known as the Mother of the Fairies.” I nodded at Dearg.
“This is Prince Dearg Galatyn of the Two Kingdoms, Heir to Heroes, Blade of Cachamwri the Dragon God. He’s helping me investigate your son’s death. ”
The soft thumps of approaching hooves on grass made me acutely aware that more Hammerthunder warriors had emerged from the surrounding houses to stand silent witness.
No one spoke, not even the children of various ages, leggy and coltish.
They were all painted with the symbols of mourning.
It wasn’t performative, either. When I opened my senses, I could feel their grief like a cloak of lead that hung heaviest around Baareo’s parents and brother.
I knew what it looked like when one family member had killed another. None of them had that aura of bitter triumph. They had not been involved in his death.
Hammerthunder looked a bit confused, likely wondering why an enemy prince and a demigoddess would care so much about a dead centaur.
“I am Argantes Hammerthunder, clan chief.” He gestured at his other family members.
“My wife, Phinarpia Darkmoon Cosmagio and Dorosyne Skykick Cosmagio, my youngest. Our thanks for coming so far to bring us this news, that we might lay Baareo’s spirit to rest.”
Phinarpia stepped up beside him in the wide doorway, just as scarred and tough-looking as her husband, her hair bound up in braids, her dark-skinned torso blending with her equally dark horse coat. Centauri women fought beside their men. “What can you tell us about my son’s death?”
I drew in a deep breath, knowing the clan wasn’t going to take this well -- and that displeasure could be violent. “I regret to tell you that we discovered his body last night. It appears his throat was cut in his sleep.”
The centaurs stirred, an angry rumble of outrage rippling among them. It was hard to know who they were more pissed at -- the killer or Baareo for being so unwary. “Why do you care so much about the Bard’s death?” a woman called, challenge in her voice.
“First, because it’s my job --”
“You aren’t very good at it then,” a man snapped. “Where’s the killer’s head?”
“-- Second, I’m here because I’ve known Baareo for the past ten years and considered him a friend, so I wanted to be the one to inform you of his death and tell you about the life he’s led since leaving you.
He was well-liked among his coworkers and the mortal public, generous and witty, always ready with a joke, a story or a song. ”
“He did have a beautiful voice,” his mother said softly.
“The ballad he wrote about the Battle of Blood River was a fine tribute to the Old King,” said the same man who’d been pissed I hadn’t captured the killer.
“I know that song,” I said. “He sang it often. But I’m also here to give you a warning about a threat to the clan.”
Hammerthunder tensed, glaring at Dearg as if he suspected him of planning some attack.
“Not from the Two Kingdoms,” Dearg told him. “From the killer.”
“Twelve hours after Baareo’s death, I was attacked,” I said. “He looked exactly like Baareo -- I believed he was Baareo. He kicked me so hard, he broke ribs. But when we went to Baareo’s home to investigate, we found he was dead -- had been dead before I was attacked.”
Hammerthunder and his family stared at me in shock. “His spirit attacked you?” the chieftain asked. “But --”
“Not his spirit,” I interrupted. “A living, breathing centaur who looked exactly like him.”
“A glamour?” Hammerthunder asked, his gaze sliding to Dearg again. “The Sidhe do such magic.”
“Illusions don’t leave hoof-shaped bruises.
What’s more, I can identify any individual’s magic I’ve encountered, and his power felt exactly like Baareo’s, so it wasn’t one of Dearg’s people.
” I reached into the bag I carried and pulled out the statue of the clan god.
“I also wish to return this. Baareo would want you to have it.”
The chieftain took a step back even as his clan murmured in alarm. “Where is Warwind’s magic? He feels as if he has never known worship.”
“It’s our belief that the killer absorbed the statue’s power as he claimed your son’s magic and life force,” I said.
“He did what?” Phinarpia stared at me as her surviving son made a quick Centauri flicking gesture, three fingers bent in a spell to ward off evil. Others in the crowd repeated the gesture, and I felt their magic combine into a shield.
“The killer used Baareo’s life force to assume your son’s face, memories, and power,” I told her.
“We believe the assassin assumed his appearance so he could get close enough to Chief Anann to kill her,” Dearg explained. “I have the Sight, and I Saw her die from a centaur attack.”
There was a stir and a murmur as a man asked me, “Why would this killer hunt you?”
“Foolish question,” Phinarpia told him. “This Sidhe is a demigoddess -- she radiates power, and so does the prince. If this assassin feeds on magic, the two of them would make quite the meal.”
Which was a good point I hadn’t even considered.
“Possibly,” I admitted. “We don’t really expect the killer to come here, but we wanted to warn you.
Should you see someone who appears to be Baareo, don’t assume it’s a spirit.
You must attack at once. Especially since he has your son’s memories, which he could use to manipulate you. ”
The chieftain’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Our thanks for the warning.” His eyes narrowed, his expression turning feral. “And if the assassin does come here, he will not leave.”
“I have no doubt,” Dearg said. “But if not, I swear to find him and bring you his head so that Baareo may rest. My word on it. If we fail, my father will notify you.”
Phinarpia sucked in a breath, and the chief looked taken aback by the implied vow to kill the murderer -- or die.
“We… appreciate your coming here to tell us of these events and the threat posed by the assassin,” he said.
“I wish you success in your hunt for my son’s killer.
In the meantime, may your way be quick and your enemies slow. ”
“My thanks,” Dearg said, and stamped his foot, the Centauri version of a goodbye.
Without looking away from Dearg, Hammerthunder told his clan, “Come. We must take my lost son to the temple.”
As the chief started for the bier with his youngest son at his heels, his wife paused beside me. Softly she said, “Thank you. Whatever his flaws, Baareo was a good son. He deserved better than to die of a coward’s stroke.” She blinked hard, but the tears didn’t fall.
“He would have fought for his life had the killer struck while he was awake,” I told her in a low voice. “He had gained confidence and power since he came to Summerwood.” I paused. “May I show you why?”
“I have duties in the ritual…” But she looked so painfully hopeful, my heart ached.
“This won’t take long.” I reached into my bag for the pouch I’d brought and spilled twelve gemstones into my hand. “These hold recordings of the films he made.” I used the English word, since there was no equivalent in Centauri.
Phinarpia frowned. “Films? What are…”
Well, shit, how do I explain? “Since they don’t have magic, mortals use machines and tools to accomplish their goals.
They create visual tales called films that have great importance to them.
Over the past ten years, Baareo has become well-known and admired among the mortals.
These stones can project these tales and the interviews he did about you and his people.
Your son praised his family and his people to anyone who would listen.
Just touch the gems and think of your son, and they will show you his work. ”
The woman stared down at the gems, blinking hard.
I put them back in the pouch and handed it to her.
She looked up, and I saw a hint of pride cut through the grief in her dark eyes.
“May Warwind bless you for what you have done for us. I look forward to viewing these with my family.” With a final respectful nod which I returned with a Centauri stamp of my foot, she moved away to join her family as they guided her son’s bier to the temple.