Sapphire Crescent (6 page)

It’s good to be home, Vambran decided.

He turned to his sister to tell her so, but the words never came out. A loud, desperate scream issued from an alleyway between two blocks of shops, cutting him off.

Stay here,” Vambran instructed his sister. He stood up in the carriage and leaped over the side to the street before it had even

come to a stop. The lieutenant broke into a run even as he hit the ground, sprinting full-out in the direction of the screams still reverberating from the alley, which was flanked by a bakery on one side and a chandler’s shop on the other. Both businesses were dark and shuttered, as were the windows on the stories above, where the shop owners and their families dwelt. Only the light of the moon showed the soldier the route into the alley.

As he dashed down into the deeper darkness between the two businesses, Vambran slipped a narrow-bladed steel sword free of the scabbard that hung on his left hip. With the weapon in one hand, the lieutenant

deftly reached inside a pocket of his shirt, pulling free a scrap of parchment with the other. Another scream echoed through the air, definitely the voice of a woman. That was followed closely by a second cry, delivered by a man. It was a cry of pain.

Surging forward, Vambran rounded a bend in the alley and into a small courtyard with no other apparent exits. The backs of several more shops and homes formed the barrier to the open area, which was perhaps twenty paces across at its widest point. In one corner, a handful of figures gathered in a clump.

Slowing for a moment, Vambran closed his eyes and muttered a quick prayer to Waukeen. He pulled out a gold medallion that hung from a chain around his neck and that displayed the Merchant Friend’s profile. He brought the coin to his mouth for a quick kiss, the scrap of parchment held between his lips and the coin face. Crumpling the parchment and moving it in a circular motion around his body, he finished the prayer. The lieutenant felt the parchment fragment dissolve into dust in his hand and he opened his eyes to confirm that a shimmering, glowing aura surrounded him. He stepped out into the dead-end courtyard and advanced openly toward the gathering of thugs.

Half a dozen of the attackers were huddled with their backs to Vambran, weapons drawn. Most of the figures were standing, gathered around a trio of others who were down on the ground. One of the standing shapes held aloft a lantern, and by its light Vambran could see that two of the figures lay motionless on the cobblestones of the alley, while the third held a thin dagger in his hand. The kneeling figure thrust the blade into the body closest to it, which convulsed once at the attack, then lay still again.

“Hold!” Vambran said, slowing his pace only slightly as he closed the distance toward the assailants. “Stand down!”

Even as he spoke those orders, Vambran advanced warily, in a crouch, ready for the fight he was certain was coming. A part of him wondered what he was getting himself into.

As the group of assailants turned to face Vambran, the mercenary realized they were more than simple thugs. All armed and armored alike, with half-spears and crossbows, they wore matching clothing: dark-colored breeches with a white shirt. The lieutenant also noticed for the first time a crest or logo upon each man’s breast, and as the group in front of him realized they were under attack themselves, they fanned out, bringing their weapons to bear.

Vambran skidded to a stop, his boots sliding on the damp cobblestones of the alley. The symbol of Arrabar—three golden balls on a field of white—shone visibly in the lanternlight on the group’s breastplates, marking them as city watch.

Vambran frowned even as he held his free hand up in a placating manner. Something there didn’t feel quite right, but that thought, along with the notion that he needed to diffuse the situation, passed through his head in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, he was not quick enough to demonstrate that he recognized the soldiers as official watchmen, for one of them fired his crossbow at the lieutenant.

In his unbalanced position, having just skittered to a stop so close to the men, Vambran had no way to twist clear of the missile. The bolt flew straight at his shoulder and would have pierced his flesh, had it not been for the magical protection he had thrown around himself just moments before. The glimmering aura of magic saved him, turning aside the bolt at a funny angle but wrenching his shoulder back painfully in the process. Vambran grunted and stumbled back, throwing his other arm up to protect his face well after the missile had already flown past.

“Easy!” Vambran managed to call out as he spun away from the group and went down to one knee, making his body a smaller target as a second bolt flew past. “I yield, watchmen!”

He heard a snort from behind him, and several footsteps closing, but no more shots were fired.

“Drop your blade now, pretty boy!” Vambran heard one gruff voice call out, even as two more soldiers fanned into view on either side of him, leveling their half-spears at his head.

Calmly, gently, Vambran laid his steel blade down in front of him and lifted both of his hands well out to either side of himself.

“All right, easy,” he said, peering at the two men who were in view. “It’s down, no need to get worked up.”

He tried to offer a disarming smile, but he got nothing but scowls in return.

“Stand up! Get away from the weapon,” the same gruff voice demanded.

Vambran did as he was instructed, backing away from where he had laid his sword down.

“Now turn around,” the guard commanded.

Vambran spun slowly in place, keeping his hands up and out, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.

“I didn’t recognize your uniforms in the dark,” he started to explain as he turned in place, “I thought you were muggers or—”

“Shut up!” the soldier commanded, stepping closer as Vambran completed his turn. The lieutenant was facing the fellow and noticed that he was marked as a sergeant. “You have a death wish?” the sergeant asked.

He was a short, stocky, dark-skinned fellow, with darker hair that sat in greasy waves on his head. A full, unkempt beard matched the hair, and even in the weak lanternlight, Vambran could see streaks of gray

in both. The man’s eyes were dark and sunken, with big circles under them, like he hadn’t gotten a good deal of sleep. As he stood in front of the lieutenant, he brought his free hand up to bite at the fingernail on his thumb, studying his counterpart.

“Of course not,” Vambran answered, shaking his head. “As I said, I didn’t—”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. Shut your trap.”

The sergeant motioned for one of his men to move closer, then stood back and watched as the soldier handed his half-spear to a companion and stepped forward to search Vambran, patting him down.

Vambran suffered the examination quietly, but his sense that something was out of place was growing steadily. Though their clothing marked them as guards, none of the men had the bearing of city watchmen. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but they seemed somehow less professional than he remembered. That alone wouldn’t be enough to convince him, he knew, but then there was the matter of the two other individuals, who still lay motionless on the cobblestones behind the row of guards.

Vambran peered in that direction, trying to see who was lying there as the guard completed his search of the lieutenant’s body. From that distance, with the light so bad and with the soldiers screening his view; he could make out very little, but it was clear that a man and a woman were both back there, dressed in fairly simple clothing.

Once the guard was finished searching Vambran, he stepped back into the line. Vambran lowered his hands to his sides.

The sergeant noticed Vambran trying to get a better look at the two corpses and moved closer, blocking his view.

“Keep your eyes on me, and stop getting your nose into business that doesn’t concern you!” the fellow barked.

Vambran’s eyes narrowed. He was not fond of that one. In most cases, when the watch encountered a man dressed in the markings of a mercenary of the temple of Waukeen’s private army, he could expect a certain amount of deference. Even when that was not the case, however, city guardsmen rarely displayed such a brazen lack of manners.

“It seems awfully odd that the Arrabar city watch is in the business of slaying people in dark alleyways,” Vambran said, his voice cold, “especially as I don’t see any weapons on those two.”

The man in front of him cocked his head to one side, his jaw beginning to jut out in what Vambran could only believe was belligerent insult.

“Oh, a thinker, eh? Well, not that it’s any concern of yours, pretty boy, but them two back there were running from us after we tried to question them about three dots on their foreheads.” He stepped closer still, putting his face right up next to Vambran’s, though the guard came up only to the lieutenant’s nose. “The same three dots that mark your head!”

Vambran blinked, taken aback a little bit. “What?” the mercenary asked. “They were wizards?”

“No,” the sergeant replied smugly, smiling for the first time and showing a mouth full of yellowed and blackened teeth. “That’s the whole point. They weren’t wizards, but they were pretending to be. And you know what the penalty for pretending at sorcery is, right?”

Vambran nodded, not liking where the discussion was going at all.

“I can assure you, my own markings are completely legitimate, and I’ll be happy to—”

“Hey!” one of the other soldiers cried out, turning and scampering across the alley toward the exit. “Someone’s spying on us!”

The guard sprinted across the cobblestones to a pile of wooden-slatted crates stacked haphazardly near the back door of one of the buildings.

Vambran groaned as almost all the other soldiers either turned to peer at what their companion was chasing or wisely tightened their grips on their weapons as they surrounded him. He turned to look at what the guard was pursuing, too, already knowing what was about to happen.

As the guard got closer to the stack of crates, there was a shrill squeak, and a figure flashed up and away, running awkwardly back in the direction of the end of the alley. But the mysterious spy was not fast enough and the guard quickly grabbed her, yanking her to a stop.

“Ow! Let me go, you big orc!” the figure cried out.

It was Emriana, just as Vambran feared. The guard twisted her around and held her at arm’s length for a moment, eyeing her critically. Then he reached out and pulled something free of her sash and proceeded to haul her back by her wrist toward the gathering in the courtyard.

“Stop yanking on my arm!” Emriana continued to complain as she was dragged against her will, digging in her heels.

Her slippers skidded fruitlessly across the damp cobblestones, unable to keep the man from making progress. Vambran saw that the guard had confiscated a dagger from his sister, and indeed, he then recognized it as the very same one he had given to her for her birthday a year previous.

The leader of the surly band of watchmen hissed in vexation as his underling towed Emriana into the lanternlight, still thrashing and yanking her arm, trying to pull free of her captor.

“Who the blazes is this?” the sergeant demanded, jerking his gaze back and forth between the girl and Vambran.

“My name is Emriana Matrell, of House Matrell, and you will let go of me immediately! My uncle—”

“Em! Enough,” Vambran growled, staring hard at her. “Didn’t I tell you to wait in the carriage?” he asked, his voice hard-edged with anger.

“You know her?” the leader asked, forcing Vambran to turn his attention back to the guard.

The lieutenant nodded and said, “Yes, she’s my sister. We were on our way home when we heard the screams and I came running. She’s out past her bedtime,” he added, raising his voice and directing this last bit at Emriana, hoping to drive his point home, “and should not be here.”

The girl glared at him but said nothing.

“And why shouldn’t I assume that you two are actually friends of my two deadens—” the sergeant jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the pair of bodies lying in the courtyard behind him—”sneaking in here to help them?”

At that, Vambran nearly laughed. The word of a lieutenant of the Sapphire Crescent should have been good enough for the soldier, but everything about the man just seemed wrong.

Shaking his head and with disdain clear in his voice, Vambran said, “Well, of course you should suspect us. You wouldn’t be doing your duty if you didn’t insist that I demonstrate my ability right here and now.” The lieutenant was just baiting the man, then, seeing how well the sergeant knew procedures. “So, what do you say? Shall I prove to you that I have the right to mark myself thrice with the chalk?”

He turned his palms up, waiting to see whether he should proceed or not.

After a moment of eyeing him warily, the sergeant gave a nod to the soldier who was holding Emriana, and said, “Keep her close, and slip her own blade into her ribs if this one tries anything.”

Emriana squeaked again, and Vambran opened his mouth in anger, ready to argue with the sergeant, but the man held up his hand to indicate he would hear nothing from his prisoners.

“If you are who you say you are,” the sergeant said, “then you’ve got nothing to hide, and if you aren’t, then I’m not giving you a chance to charm us all with your stinking magic. Now make a show, and no tricks.”

Vambran sighed, equally angry at both the sergeant and Emriana, and considered what he might show them that wouldn’t be construed as an attack or threat of any kind. Then, he got an idea. He only hoped Prandles would understand. Outwardly, he nodded.

“I use this little trick to rally troops on the battlefield, to signal for reinforcements to move out, or to indicate any of another few special instructions. It’s just a simple magical flare, so don’t get excited when it goes off, all right?”

The sergeant squinted at the lieutenant suspiciously but then nodded, indicating for Vambran to proceed.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Vambran uttered a single magical syllable, and about twenty feet directly over his head a dazzling burst of bright white light went off, hanging there for several moments, illuminating the entirety of the courtyard. All of the city watchmen murmured in mild surprise, and the sergeant cocked his head, then finally nodded in reluctant approval. But Vambran wasn’t watching. He had taken the opportunity to get a good, long look at the two victims lying on the ground behind the row of soldiers.