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    Amhar made a cursory search of the empty cart. If there had been a tarp, he would have covered the bodies, or as much of them as he could. Shivering with cold and shock, he stumbled down the hill to the palace, blood soaking his uniform and fear soaking his heart.

CHAPTER FIVE
    29 Kythorn, the Year of the Ageless One
    (1479 DR)
    The Marigold, the Coast of Chult
    ou’re Amhar,” Harp said, for the third time.
    “Will you let me finish?” Boult said. “I made my way back to theWinter Palace. A new regiment had arrived and was dragging corpses out into the courtyard. They’d been … it was horrible.” “How many were killed?” Harp asked. “Six guests, thirteen soldiers, and four children,” Boult recited tonelessly. “Three survivors. And me.”
    “You’re Amhar.” Harp shook his head. “How did the attackers get into the palace in the first place?”
    “The Inquiry said that the oldest boy, Daviel, stole away to see a village girl. He left a door in East Lion’s gate open.”
    “Were you at the Inquiry?” Harp asked.
    “In chains,” Boult said bitterly. “It was a farce, of course. Daviel’s body was found in the cellar. Why would the killer bring the body back to the palace?”
    “A good question.” They both fell silent. The Children’s Massacre still weighed heavily on the hearts of Tethyr.
    “You’re Amhar,” Harp said after a moment. “The infamous killer of children. Honestly, I don’t know how I missed it.”
    Boult’s eyes narrowed to slits, and a dark look passed over his features.
    “Oh come on! I’m not serious, Boult,” Harp said. “I know you’d never kill an innocent. But, you have to admit, it’s a pretty strange thing to ask me to get my head around.”
    Harp wasn’t exaggerating. After the massacre at the Winter Palace, Amhar the dwarf became notorious throughout Tethyr and even beyond its borders. The name Amhar became synonymous with the worst sorts of crimes. Every unsolved murder in Tethyr was blamed on him and his network of underlings. Many dwarves suffered for their alleged connections to Amhar even after he was sent to the VankilaSlab.
    Harp led the way through the dank hold to the square of dusty sunlight at the base of the ladder.
    “If you weren’t even in the palace at the time of the massacre, how exactly did you end up blamed for it?” Harp asked as they weaved around the tools and ropes hanging from the ceiling.
    “Cardew,” Boult said. “He blamed me, and everyone believed him.”
    If Amhar the dwarf had become known as the Scourge of Tethyr after the tragedy, Cardew had emerged as the Hero of the Realm, savior of Ysabel, heir to the throne. He had ascended to a place of prominence in the Court of the Crimson Leaf and was said to carry Queen Anais’s personal mark of confidence.
    “You must be the busiest dwarf alive,” Harp said, resting
    his foot on the lowest rung of the ladder and staring up at the square of blue sky above him. “You managed to sail with me on the Crane and direct your minions’ activities from the underworld at the same time? Pillaging, spreading plague, kidnapping—how do you find the time?”
    “Don’t forget Ranyt,” Boult said sarcastically. “Amhar contracted a demon to plague that village. Oh, and supposedly I’ve trained a monster to sink ships in Lantan’s Rest.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me?” Harp prodded.
    “About Lantan?”
    “About Amhar,” Harp said.
    Boult hesitated. “Because you didn’t need to know. No one needed to know.” “Until now?”
    “Like you pointed out, I owed you an explanation,” Boult said impatiently. “Especially since Cardew is involved. Are you planning on climbing out of the hold? Or shall I carry you up the ladder on my shoulders?”
    But Harp didn’t move. “Why did you take the name Boult?”
    Boult sighed and looked away. After a moment, he said, “He was another dwarf in Vankila. For ‘treason,’ when ‘treason’ meant interfering with some