Epilogue

After the next few days, during which there was a grand celebration of Clarissa’s new position as well as the establishment of some secure diplomatic ties between Harburg and the goblin tribe, Isobel and Samuel found themselves on the long journey back to their home city. They’d been sent off with the thanks of an entire village, as well as plenty of food for the trip home.

The Arithrakian countryside rolled gently past as they rode, showing off the best glimpses of life on the outskirts of the kingdom. Well acquainted with each other as traveling partners at this point, the conversation passed comfortably. It wasn’t until late on the second day of travel that either of them brought up what had happened over the past week.

“One question you must answer for me, Samuel.”

“Of course.”

“By the time we departed Harburg for the goblins’ cave, you were already convinced that Erick’s claim to the village was illegitimate, largely because he ordered the assassination of the former mayor.”

“That’s correct. But it’s not a question,” Samuel said, smirking.

“If you will be patient for a moment, it is the secondary charge that it is the subject of my inquiry. At what point did you first determine that Erick was not actually a peer in the Queen’s court?”

Samuel’s face broke into a grin. “Ah, figured that out, did you?”

“I have deduced it from a combination of your behavior and your lines of questioning, but I am still uncertain of the evidence that has convinced you.”

“Do you recall, when we first arrived in Harburg, that enormous coat of arms of his that hung over the door to the chapel?”

“Of course. I would have to be blind to have missed it.”

“Something about it seemed strange to me, but it wasn’t until I got a second look that I figured out what it was. Those arms are a forgery, and possibly one that was produced under duress.”

“How can you tell such a thing merely by looking at them?”

“Heraldry has a code, Sister. Being able to recognize noble families by their arms is part and parcel of a paladin’s training, and thus the rules of heraldry are drilled into our memory. The fact that I, a paladin of the Queen’s Guard, did not recognize Erick’s arms at first glance was somewhat surprising. But the fact that they feature, to use the vernacular, a blue bend over a red field is a violation of the Rule of Tincture.”

“I freely admit that my knowledge of heraldry can not match that of a paladin of the Queen’s Guard, but I am afraid that I do not see your point.”

“The Rule of Tincture is one of the central laws of heraldic design, and the only thing you need to know about it is that it the Queen’s heralds have never and will never register arms that break the rules like that. In fact, no herald anywhere in this kingdom who valued their reputation would dare even produce such a coat of arms, never mind attempt to register it.”

“How did Erick manufacture such a design for himself, then?”

“An excellent question. Erick did not have a proper herald in Harburg; otherwise his entrances would have been more competently announced. I suspect those arms were produced either by bribe or extortion, and whoever did so knew exactly what they were doing when they violated the code. Erick obviously does not know of the error or he would not display his arms quite so proudly, and the fact that he doesn’t know the code well enough to have someone forge him a proper set of arms was nearly enough for me to be certain he was not the Lord he claimed to be.”

“Nearly?”

“Actually, the final blow was struck by our hobgoblin friends. You recall that awful tapestry of Erick that hung in the great hall, yes? It featured a family tree, images of his ancestors, and so forth. Among the atrocities depicted was an image of his grandfather fighting the Battle of Grendor.”

“The name is familiar, but I unable to say why.”

Samuel smiled. “I wouldn’t expect you to recall your military history that clearly, Sister; I certainly didn’t. It wasn’t until I met the Lady Kalath and became more acquainted with her scars that I remembered that the Battle of Grendor was fought a mere eleven years ago. Now I was too young for the Guard at the time, of course, but it’s even more impossible for Erick’s grandfather to have fought in that battle, since according to the dates on that tapestry, he died nearly thirty years before it happened.”

“A keen observation, Samuel, and a fascinating conclusion. I’m impressed.”

“And now you must answer a question for me, Isobel.”

“That would seem fair.”

“Erick rode out of town on an illusionary horse, did he not?”

“I believe he did, yes.”

“At the time, you were in the great hall with me, while Aedix was in front of the building providing the illusion of smoke and sounds of battle.”

“Also correct.”

“Then who cast the illusion that produced the horse?”

“I did, of course.”

“But you told me that your ability to cast spells outside your line of sight was rather limited. I don’t mean to cast aspersions on your abilities as a mage, but if you weren’t watching him go, how far could Erick have gotten before the spell fell apart and he realized what happened?”