It Can't Be True

Writers: Estelle
Date Posted: 15th November 2020
Series: The Assassin's Husband

Characters: Lorican
Description: Lorican hears rumors about Rorigraff's death and an additional death
Location: Barrier Lake Weyr
Date: month 7, day 19 of Turn 10
Notes: Mentioned: Bryvin, Lusilk

Lorican left the power plant with the thrumming of the generators and
the rush of water still echoing in his ears. He'd been there to speak
with the technicians about building up a stock of spare parts, and it
had been the first time he'd been there when it was running at full
power. The noise and the power of the machinery had been almost
overwhelming. Deep inside that maze of pumps and spinning gears were all
the parts he'd made over the past months at the Weyrhold, a thought that
was both thrilling and terrifying.

Crossing the Weyrbowl, he decided to stop off at the dining hall so he
could tidy up his notes before returning to the smithy. They were a
little scrawled and spotted with drops of oil and water. He nodded
politely to two dragonriders who he passed at the entrance, and went on
into the main hall.

As soon as he entered, he could tell that something unusual was up.
Usually the drudges would be busy at this time, scrubbing floors and
wiping down tables before the rush of weyrfolk and crafters arrived for
dinner, but instead they were standing around in little groups,
whispering in low, excited voices. Clearly something interesting had
happened, though nobody seemed particularly distressed. Lorican went
over to the hearth where jugs of klah were being kept warm and poured
himself a mug, listening idly to what the nearest group was saying.

"Both dead. Can you imagine?" One drudge, a young man grimaced. "I
heard D'hol and Kapera talking about it right outside of their offices.
The Conclave is in an uproar now. All the Lord Holders are terrified
that someone got close enough to actually murder one of them." He drew
his finger across his throat for emphasis.

Another drudge, an older woman shook her head. "I heard that they're
going to be doubling the guards in their Holds. And they're going to
ask riders to sweep for bandits and the Holdless. Going to round them up
and leave them for thread."

"They can't do that." A younger woman piped up. "I mean, not unless
they've done something."

"They're Holdless. They'll have done something," another drudge said,
scowling. "Didn't you hear about the bandit attack round here a few
sevendays ago? It's about time they were hunted down and dealt with."

Lorican's hand froze as he lifted the klah mug to his lips, the
fragments of the story he'd overheard enough to chill him to the bone.
"Excuse me - " He looked at the young man who'd spoken first. "Did you
say that a Lord Holder has been murdered?"

The younger drudge turned to him, eyes gleaming with a hint of
excitement. "Didn't you hear? It's all over there Weyrhold.
Lord Rorrigraf of Beryl Peak Hold was murdered in his own bed."

The young man nodded towards Lorican, a bit more solemnly. "Him and
his mistress apparently."

"But that's not all of it," the younger drudge glanced at the young man.
"The person that did it was a Holdless woman. She somehow got in the
room, " her voice lowered and she shivered, "and she mutilated him." She
gestured to her waist. "Cut it up."

The others murmured in horrified awe at her words, but Lorican had only
heard one part. **A Holdless woman.** He knew, immediately, who it had
been. She had told him in her letter. Somehow, she had done what she
promised she would. He felt as though the ground had dropped from under
his feet.

"And - the woman..." he managed to ask, his voice unsteady. "What
happened to her?"

Taking a drink, it seemed like the young man was initially unwilling
to discuss it more, his face showing his distaste of the entire
situation. But like many drudges, he thrived on gossip. "Lord
Rorrigraf's guards caught her trying to escape. I'm sure the guards
gave her a round of beatings for it., but the Conclave was set to meet
to decide her punishment; I heard the Weyrleader getting angry because
they were talking about staking her out for Thread; he thinks that
sort of thing is barbaric, but he wouldn't have any sway in that
decision. But it didn't really matter in the end."

"Yeah," the younger one piped up. "The building they were holding that
woman in caught fire the night before the Conclave was going to meet.
Some say the guards did it because they wanted their own justice for
their Lord, but some say it was an accident. I think it was the
guards. But the woman was burned alive in there. They found the body
after the fire went out.."

"Tossed it in a ditch." The older female drudge added. "Didn't even
bother burying it, from what I heard. Let the wild felines and
tunnelsnakes deal with it. Murdering holdless bandits don't deserve
proper funerals anyway. That's real justice for that sort. But now,
they've got to figure out what to do with the Hold. He didn't have an
heir named, so I understand. I bet Vista Point is going to be furious;
tithes are going to be all sorts of delayed. I think their Weyrleader
is going to be attending the Conclave just for that."

"Strange Lord Rorrigraf didn't have any heirs. He was old, he ought to
have at least named... Journeyman?" The drudge who'd spoken turned to
Lorican, distracted from the gossip by a sudden concern. "Are you all
right? You're white as a sheet."

He was staring at the younger woman who'd spoken of the fire, and didn't
answer for a moment. All of the voices seemed to be coming from very far
away, and there was a rushing in his ears. **Burned alive.** His mind
went back to the burning smithy, the intolerable heat, the pain.
Trapped, beaten by the very guards who'd imprisoned her all those Turns
ago. She'd killed the man who'd ordered it, but she'd paid a heavy price.

"I'm sorry...I've got to...I need air." Leaving the startled drudges
behind, he stumbled out of the dining hall and into the Weyrbowl,
gasping for breath. All around him, to his surprise, life was going on
as normal. A dragon landed, laden with supplies, near the hospital, a
group of weyrbrats played tag, nearly running into a pair of woodcrafter
apprentices pushing a cart.

Weyrbrats. **Silgan. Faranth, what am I going to tell Silgan?** If it
was true and Lord Rorrigraf was dead, then Silgan was the rightful heir
to his Hold. The little boy who called him Da. Chills ran over his skin.
It might not be true, he told himself. A Lord Holder had died, there
were bound to be wild rumors. Maybe she'd escaped.

Memories of her returned in vivid flashes. The way she stood, how he'd
drawn her, strong, defiant. Her dark hair tumbling around her shoulders.
Most of all, her infuriating, impossible little smile. His heart told
him she couldn't be gone, not now. Now that he'd only just come to know
what she meant to him.

But his reason told him that no-one could have got away. Not from that.

He had to wait, till he heard for certain, though who he could trust to
tell him he didn't know. He could hardly ask the Weyrleaders. Lorican
remembered that in the letter she'd left for him, she'd mentioned Lord
Bryvin, and that he might come for the box she'd left. Perhaps he'd know.

Until then, he'd have to act normally. Somehow. He leaned against the
wall, felt the smooth stone under his fingers and drew in a shuddering
breath. She'd be able to do this. She'd want him to, for the sake of the
boy. Wait, study the situation. Do what she'd do.

Lorican began to walk, with unsteady steps, back towards the lake and
around to the crafter village, where he could lose himself in work at
the smithy. But he hardly saw his surroundings, the Weyr faded around
him, and it was though he passed through a place of blood, and flames
and darkness.

Last updated on the November 23rd 2020

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It Can't Be True