Count Scar - SA by C. Dale Brittain, Robert A. Bouchard

and some of the vines are torn free just at that spot," the captain told Duke Argave. Prior Belthesar asked some of the guards to fetch flambeaux and hold them high by the wall so we would see their light when we came to the same spot outside. A moment later I found myself leading a grim party back through the courtyard and around into the street outside. Along with the prior, our group included Count Caloran, Bruno, the duke and his captain, and several guards with torches. The duke had evidently decided Lord Thierri should also accompany us, for he walked between two guards with a far from eager expression. As we reached the gate, several waiting attendants handed Count Caloran and his men their swords.
    The path outside was dark and quite deserted. When we reached the spot where the light of several flames flared above the wall, I stopped our group with a sharp gesture. My mind was now fully locked into the lines of the magic, and it seemed not at all strange to command both a count and a duke. I stepped forward to cast a little of the copper dust on the ground, passed the knife over it three times, then called one of the guards to bring a torch. Outlined in gleaming powder we could see two sets of footprints of very different sizes coming to the spot, but only one—the larger set
    —leading away.
    "So, he had help getting over my wall," said the duke.
    "Yes." Count Caloran bent over the tracks. "You can see right here where big-foot stood to boost smaller-feet. This path is hard, but this one set of big-foot's prints has actually sunk into the ground. We'd never have seen the others without this magic of Brother Melchior's, though. Look, you can see how big-feet stood shuffling about for a while, then ran with long strides back the way they'd come, probably as soon as he was sure his friend had failed and would not be returning." He looked at me with that quirked smile I'd seen a few times since joining his retinue, which looked pleasant on the unmarked half of his face and bitter on the scarred side. "I can see I've neglected to utilize some of the talents you could put at my command, Father Melchior. That shall be remedied."
    "That would be wise, Count," said the duke. "But now I should like to know how the bigger man managed to stand here undisturbed for so long without my sentry finding him. Brother Melchior, can you use your dagger and bright dust to trace these two footpads back to where they came from?"

"I won't need to use the copper anymore." I held the knife out on the silk thread, absolutely confident now. The blade swung twice, then pointed along the lines of footprints as steadily as if I were gripping it tightly in my hand. "This blade knows the way by which it came. It will lead us."
    We had scarcely made twenty paces when we came upon a dark form near the path. The captain shoved past me with a curse, then muttered, "Sorry, Father." The torchlight revealed a man wearing the duke's livery, his throat cut, the moonlight reflecting in his sightless eyes. Prior and I crossed ourselves and murmured a quick prayer for the dead as the captain bent over the body, then turned to the duke. "It's Pierrou all right, my lord. The poor bast— fellow!"
    The dukes expression was angry, but he spoke with his normal ironic tone. "Ah, well, he was done in any event. If we'd found him alive, I'd have presumed he'd been bought and hanged him as a traitor. Lead on, Brother Melchior."
    At the end of the wall the path descended a short distance to where it connected with the street. The knife swung to the right at once, and I could feel the lines of magic vibrate up the silken cord as we followed the direction indicated. At first we found ourselves hurrying along broad ways among the fine town-houses of wealthy courtiers. Then we passed through the gate marking the boundary of the duke's quarter and into streets lined with mansions belonging to merchant families grown rich supplying the court and town. A few late strollers