“My apologies Sire. The gate detail had a report of trouble in the Acre, two nights ago — the Glint, out alone, and carrying his sword.”
“Why have we had no news of this before now?” Tristan’s scowl darkened.
The Captain’s face went pale. “There has been a certain... unwillingness amongst the general populace to divulge his whereabouts. We had to resort to torture in order to extract any substantive details. But our investigation has revealed that he murdered six men.”
“Our men?”
“Nay, Sire. Vagrants. And every man with the Bludseth too. Seems very odd.”
From below them, Azothe cleared her throat, and began to tap her silvery slipper on the stones. Tristan started down the stairs, speaking back over his shoulder. “Double the patrols, and arrest anyone who refuses to talk.”
“My lord,
