Chapter 39: Late-Night Secret Meeting
"Blackwing was wearing a suit of plate and chain mail, with his chest protected by an iron breastplate about two millimeters thick—standard for wrought iron armor. The steel crossbow bolt penetrated both layers of defense from the front and pierced his heart." Ian paused, considering the force required. "That takes over two hundred joules of energy—something only a military crossbow firing an armor-piercing bolt at close range could achieve.
He was also hit in the leg. The bolt penetrated the outside of his right thigh, leaving him defenseless there. There's a large pool of blood at the doorway, with drag marks leading from there to Blackwing's body. He was attacked the moment he opened the door."
Ian stood at the doorway and mimicked pushing it open.
"Judging from the angle of the crossbow bolts in the body, the two attackers positioned themselves strategically—one standing directly opposite the door, the other crouched in that corner. Both held military crossbows, waiting for Blackwing to push the door open."
Lifting the corpse's eyelids, Ian examined the body further.
The pupils were slightly cloudy, the livid patches on the back had begun to merge, and rigor mortis was complete. The victim had been dead for more than six hours.
"Time of death was probably between midnight and three in the morning." After finishing his examination, Ian looked at Dorian, Blackwing's adopted son.
"Here's what happened: Last night, Blackwing arrived alone and fully armed at the room of the man suspected to be a Grafton knight. The moment he pushed open the door, he was ambushed. He didn't even have time to cry out before he was dead. The knight and his squire then dragged Blackwing's body into the room, closed the door, and fled during the night.
What puzzles me is this—if Blackwing brought all ten of you to this inn, why did he choose to meet this knight alone in the dead of night?
Furthermore, if they'd agreed to meet alone, why didn't they exchange a single word? It's obvious from the scene that the killer had no intention of talking. He intended murder from the start.
Blackwing was attacked the instant he opened the door. What kind of blood feud could drive this? His full armor suggests he didn't trust the man either. So why go alone? It doesn't make sense."
"How could you possibly know all this? I don't see any of what you're describing." Dorian stared at Ian, stunned and confused.
Ian had already assigned mental nicknames to keep everyone straight: Dorian was "the Adopted Son," Ser Grayson was "the Turncloak," and Dennet was "the Broken Dornishman."
"You see, but you do not observe," Ian quoted, though the reference would be lost here.
"No—who in seven hells are you?" Dorian finally snapped out of his daze and rounded on Ian, then looked at Grayson beside him. "Who is this man? Your new employer, ser?"
"Even when Captain Morgan was alive, he wouldn't have spoken to me that way, boy," Grayson retorted.
The word "boy" instantly enraged the young adopted son. Just earlier, when he'd sought support from his adoptive father's other lieutenants—"Scarface" and "Clubfoot"—they'd similarly dismissed him with "boy" before walking away.
Just as Dorian's hand moved toward his sword, Ian intervened.
"I think you've misunderstood Ser Grayson. Don't you realize he's the only mercenary captain who stayed behind to avenge your adoptive father's death? All the others rushed back to your base to compete for the position of next captain, didn't they?"
"I..." Dorian's hand, which had just touched his sword hilt, suddenly relaxed.
"I'm here at Ser Grayson's invitation to help," Ian shot Grayson a warning look, signaling him to stay quiet. "Or do you think that you few alone have the ability to avenge Blackwing?"
"I..."
"I am the only person who can help you get revenge—if you're willing to share everything you know with me." Ian washed his hands in the basin Jeyne handed him.
"Really?" Dorian wanted to believe it. He looked from Ian to the scoundrel Grayson.
"Of course," Grayson understood Ian's game plan and nodded stiffly.
"Then shouldn't you apologize to Ser Grayson? We're all working toward the same goal. We should maintain unity," Ian said.
"Yes," Dorian nodded, completely unaware that he and Ian had become 'partners' without his ever agreeing to it. He addressed Ser Grayson formally. "I'm sorry, ser. I beg your forgiveness for my behavior."
"I shouldn't have called you 'boy.' In truth, you're already a capable warrior. One day you'll become the new Captain Morgan." Grayson agreed, while thinking, You'll never be the new Captain Morgan, you little shit.
"Now, please clear up my confusion. This is crucial to uncovering who's behind your adoptive father's murder." Ian walked toward the door. "Shall we find another room and discuss this over drinks?"
Dorian agreed, and the group quickly moved to Ian's larger chamber.
"What wine would you prefer, m'lord?" Jeyne asked, playing her part perfectly.
"Arbor Gold." Ian simply named the finest wine in all of Westeros.
"Oh, m'lord, you won't find such fine wine in a roadside inn like this. Our best is Dornish Summer Red. Everything else is our own brewing."
Ian had heard someone in the novels describe Summer Red as horse piss. "That'll do, then." He turned to Dorian. "Should we begin now, or wait until the wine arrives?"
"May I first ask who you are, ser?"
"Ser Lucien Lannister."
"A Lannister? Are you here for the Blackfyre treasure too?" Dorian's alarm was immediate.
"And now you're thinking: 'Could he have had his people kill my adoptive father?'" Ian said with exaggerated melodrama.
Dorian stood abruptly and took a step back.
"Relax, friend. I never knew your adoptive father before yesterday. I came here to capture a group of fugitives from King's Landing. They can all confirm it."
Dorian looked around. Ser Grayson and Jeyne, who'd just brought the wine, both nodded.
(End of Chapter)
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