Sapphire Crescent (12 page)

Dark She Looks Upon Me. Vambran strolled toward the doorway of the jakes and was nearly knocked aside by a young boy of perhaps nine years who rushed past him and out the back door, into the yard.

Vambran at first turned back toward the dining room of the establishment, thinking that someone was perhaps chasing the lad, but even as he pivoted, realization set in. The scoundrel had grabbed at Vambran’s coin purse on his way past. Groaning in disgust, Vambran quickly reached down and felt inside the inner pocket where he kept the leather pouch and discovered it was missing.

“Damnation!” he snarled, spinning back to pursue the thief.

The lieutenant charged past the entrance to the jakes and dashed out into the yard, where a number of wagons were parked. The entire yard was enclosed by the backs of other buildings, making it a completely private area, with the only other means of egress being a large wooden gate off to Vambran’s right. At the moment, the portal was shut. Of the boy, Vambran could see no sign.

Stepping quickly out into the middle of the yard, Vambran peered desperately in every direction, trying first to spot some place where the thief could have scrambled up and over a wall, or through a doorway or window, but no escape route was immediately apparent. Rolling his eyes, the lieutenant began to move among the wagons, checking to see if the lad had simply slipped into a hiding place of some sort or another.

“Don’t you just hate it when they do that?” came a voice from high up and slightly behind Vambran.

He spun around and peered warily up to the top of a low roof, where a comely woman with close-cropped hair the color of wheat lounged casually on one elbow, smiling at him. She was dressed in a loose, billowy shirt of fine white linen, over which she

She pulled her fist free and tossed a handful of something small, like tiny reddish-brown seeds, into her mouth.

Vambran wasted no more time sizing up his opponents. He took several steps backward, away from the woman, drawing his sword free and turning so that his back was against a wall and he could see all three of his foes clearly.

The woman stepped to the edge of the roof and tilted her head back, then thrust it forward again, as though she was going to spit. Instead of the tiny seeds, though, a gushing spray of liquid spewed forth from her mouth, thousands of tiny droplets glinting in the noonday sun like a shower of rain. The burst of spray fanned out and cascaded over Vambran even as far away as he stood, fully five paces away from his attacker.

The lieutenant yelped and turned away from the fountain of liquid, raising his free arm up to protect his face.

The droplets showered over him, instantly sizzling on skin and clothing alike as they soaked him down. Vambran let out a scream of pain and staggered away from the spray, feeling acid burning him from head to toe. He nearly dropped his sword as his skin erupted in numerous blisters, red and swollen. He fell to one knee, swiping at his body futilely, trying to get the source of his agony off of him. He thought he was going to retch.

“Now,” said one of the two men, who had both stayed well back until that point, obviously anticipating the magical attack.

Vambran struggled to open his eyes and catch a glimpse of the pair’s intentions. It was difficult through the burning pain all over his skin. He could tell, though, that the thugs were separating and closing the distance between themselves and him. The one to the lieutenant’s right, wielding the cudgel, began to trot toward Vambran, angling his body sideways and

knee, hoping to delay the strike long enough to get out of range. The heel of his boot snapped into the man’s leg, twisting both it and the thug around, causing the cudgel to slam into the hard-packed ground next to Vambran’s head. The blow was so solid, the thump made the mercenary’s head bounce. He struggled to his knees and crawled as quickly as he could to the side while the thug clutched at his knee and snarled curses at the lieutenant.

Suddenly, Vambran felt the tingle of magic swarming over him. There was a hint of pain, a suggestion of agonizing ache, licking at the corners of his mind. The magic seemed to be trying to convince him he was feeling the effects of the acid spray all over again, but he steadfastly refused to give in to it, forcing the idea out of his thoughts.

From overhead he heard a feminine snarl of exasperation and looked up enough to see the short-haired mage scowling as she pointed a sharpened stick in his direction. The lieutenant managed to give her a smile as he rose unsteadily to his feet, his right arm hanging limp at his side, his sword lying on the ground.

Vambran staggered a few more steps to stay clear of the enraged, cudgel-wielding thug, frantically looking for a way out of the engagement. With his sword arm useless and his magic limited, he would be a fool to continue to stand toe to toe against the pair attacking him, and it would only get worse when the other one he’d sent running came back after the magic wore off. He was in trouble.

The thug Vambran had kicked struggled to stand, favoring his leg, and limped toward the mercenary, his jaw jutting out in fury. Overhead, the mage was digging into another pocket. Vambran frantically retreated, maneuvering so that he put a parked wagon between himself and the cudgel-wielder. Then he gave a measured look up at the mage and began another prayer to the Merchant’s Friend. At the conclusion

his cudgel up defensively and backed off a step, but his retreat was ineffectual, and the coins teemed around him, causing him to cry out and flinch from the dozens of painful strikes inflicted. He stumbled away, swatting with his free hand all around his own head, trying get free of the zipping, stinging coins.

Vambran turned his attention to the shorter thug, who had cleared the front end of the wagon and was closing fast, long-bladed dagger thrust out for striking. The mercenary mentally whipped the cloud of coins in that direction, directing them to swarm over his wiry opponent before that dagger got too close. The attack had a similar effect, causing the diminutive thug to cry out and duck away, twisting around and covering his head to protect himself from the slapping, buzzing cloud.

Already, though, the bigger man had recovered and was running toward Vambran with hatred in his eyes. The lieutenant couldn’t hope to keep both of his attackers back on their heels with his one magical weapon. The best he could hope for was to slow them down, but the magic would dissipate in only a couple more moments, regardless. He was running out of options.

Just as Vambran began to mentally direct the swarming coins back toward the larger foe, a flash of red caught the corner of his eye. He glanced over to see a figure swathed in crimson on the roof next to the mage, who had recovered somewhat from the lieutenant’s sonic attack and was preparing for another bit of spellcasting. She never got the chance, though, for the figure in red began to pummel her with several well placed kicks and punches. The flurry of attacks drove the mage back and off the back side of the roof, out of sight.

Vambran gawked at the new arrival, wondering who he was and why he was lending a hand. At that moment, though, the mercenary heard a shout from

ever that it was the same woman she remembered working in the kitchens. Of course, she had only seen the girl a time or two, and she couldn’t even remember the scullery cook’s name, but she did recall that the woman had a distinctive face, with honey-colored hair that often fell down in ringlets around her eyes, giving her both a timid and flirtatious mien at the same time.

The private revelation made her more than a little jumpy, for Emriana would think that the tragedy of a death among the staff would have put a noticeable pall over the house. In fact, when Emriana considered it in its entirety, the logical thing to do would have been to cancel the tea. That certainly would have been the case at House Matrell.

Unless they weren’t aware of the death, Emriana decided. But was she the person who should inform them, if that was true? Surely someone from the city watch had come around to the estate by that point to let them know. None of it was making much sense. She wanted to solve the puzzle, but something unsettling was holding her back, as well as Denrick’s droning. She needed a way to find out for sure if the Pharaboldis were even aware that one of their own had died in the night.

Emriana forced herself to return her attention to the young man’s comments, to try to reestablish some semblance of a conversation with him, lest he grow suspicious of her distracted demeanor. She smiled at him and nodded, pretending to be enraptured by his story.

“… and it was just at that moment that the boar came crashing out of the underbrush, heading straight for Jerephin.”

He paused expectantly.

Emriana had heard it before. Jerephin was Denrick’s older brother, and they had gone boar hunting a year or so before, at the Pharaboldis’ country estate

Denrick blanched the slightest bit.

“Certainly not,” he said, “and with any fortune, I shall never have to. What brought on this morbid bit of conversation?”

The man was clearly uncomfortable discussing such grim matters, though whether he found the topic personally distasteful, or if he was just trying to act as the noble companion and spare Emriana the gruesome details, she wasn’t certain.

“Vambran and I were witnesses to a killing last night,” she said, hoping her comments still just seemed matter-of-fact. “The city watch slew two people who had falsely marked themselves as mages.”

“Really?” Denrick replied, mildly surprised. “You don’t hear about that sort of crime very often. Most people in Arrabar know better. What did you see?”

It was clear to Emriana that he had no idea of the identity of the victim. It was one of those instances her grandmother was talking about, Emriana decided. It was a time for subtlety, for keeping a low and congenial profile until she had a better grasp of what, exactly, was going on. She feigned disinterest.

“Oh, not a whole lot. We didn’t get there until after it was all over, and the watchmen shooed us away before we could see much of what happened. But it was most unsettling, and I had difficulty getting to sleep last night.”

Suddenly, Emriana knew who might know more about the scullery maid’s death. She had to get back to the estate. Thinking quickly, she affected a yawn, waving her hand politely in front of her wide-open mouth.

“In fact, after last night’s excitement and all of this sun and fresh air, I’m starting to feel…” and she faked another one, larger than the first.

“Oh, where are my manners?” Denrick said, rising to his feet. “I’ve kept you out here far too long. Your family is probably wondering where we are, and

The girl reached out, tentatively at first but when Patimi didn’t shy away, more boldly, giving her a comforting hug.

“I’m sorry,” Emriana said, patting Patimi’s hair gently. “Tell me what happened.”

Finally, the servant had collected herself enough to pull free of Emriana’s hug and straighten her shoulders. She sniffed a couple of times and wiped her eyes, then nodded and began to speak.

“The soldiers came last night, late, after almost everyone was already abed. They told us that Jithelle had marked herself as wizard, had run from the soldiers. It was all so hard to believe, I just couldn’t imagine…” Patimi’s face screwed up with emotion again, and she cried softly for a few moments before continuing, “Jithelle would never have done that, ma’am. She didn’t even know her runes, much less any magic tricks. She was a good girl and wouldn’t get into any trouble.”

Patimi sniffed again and looked at Emriana beseechingly, as if expecting the girl to somehow make it better.

Emriana sighed and consoled the woman again.

“Of course she wouldn’t,” she said. “But why were you pretending that nothing had happened? Why aren’t the Pharaboldis mourning or even acknowledging her death?”

Patimi shook her head and replied, “Madam Anista said we don’t want the scandal. Because of the plague mostly, but also just because.”

“The plague? What plague?” Emriana asked, startled.

“Oh, the soldiers claimed that she and the other man—her lover, they say, though I don’t believe it—the soldiers said that both of them were practicing dark rituals and were tainted with the magic plague. Said the bodies”—and Patimi began to sob as she finished—”had to be burned!”

worry creasing their faces. The first person to notice the mercenary’s eyes flutter open was Emriana, who yelped softly from the chair she was occupying next to her brother’s bed.

“He’s awake!” the girl cried out, hopping to her feet. “Mother, Grandmother! Vambran’s awake.”

“Yes, child, we can see that,” Hetta said calmly, sitting forward from her own chair on the opposite side of Vambran’s head from her granddaughter. “We’re not blind or deaf, Em.”

Emriana pursed her lips but said nothing more. Uncle Dregaul loomed into view as servants helped Vambran to sit up.

“You’re lucky to be alive,” the man said, staring pointedly at his nephew. “Kovrim said he got to you just in time.”

Vambran could see his other uncle lurking in the background, behind Dregaul. He nodded in thanks to the older priest.

“Yes,” Vambran said, acknowledging Dregaul’s comment. “I was fortunate.”

“Well, we’re all very glad to see you back here, safe and sound,” Dregaul said, giving Vambran a single pat on the shoulder.

Then he turned and was gone, heading out the door. Vambran’s mother pushed to fill in the void left by Dregaul.

“How are you feeling, dear?” she asked, leaning down to get a better look at her son. “Are you still in any pain?”

Vambran shook his head and replied, “No, Mother. I feel fine, actually. Just a little tired.”

Kovrim said you’d be all right, but I wanted to hear it from your own mouth. He said the scars from the acid burns would fade in a couple of days.” Ladara Matrell’s face scrunched up in emotion. “Oh, Vambran, you must be more careful! You could have—could have…”

“What about the stranger in red?”

“What stranger?”

Vambran frowned. “The figure on the roof, dressed all in crimson. I didn’t get to see his face—he had it covered—but he took care of the mage woman while I was fighting with the two brutes on the ground. Didn’t he stick around?”