She patted him down, removing two more daggers from sheaths strapped to his forearms and hidden by the bloused sleeves of his shirt, one from his belt and another from his boot. They were well-balanced blades and would fetch a good price in the Marketplace. She tossed them on the nearest table and nodded at Bauerson.
“For your trouble.”
As she waited for Prynn to join her, she surveyed the common room. Her offer of the daggers had been a bit premature, it seemed; aside from the upended table and several chairs lying on their sides, it had been a clean takedown. Nothing was even broken—a good thing, considering Greigur’s warning that the next time she destroyed a building trying to apprehend a criminal, she’d pay for the damages out of her own House Kundarak account, which was looking decidedly empty these days.
She pushed Caldamus toward the exit. “Move, changeling. And no games, or I’ll have Prynn, here, skewer you where you stand.”
Caldamus, who’d resumed his blond disguise, shuffled toward the door as quickly as the short chain between his ankles would allow, guided by the spear tip of her urgrosh hovering mere inches from his back.
As they crossed the threshold of the Wavecrest, the men that Korthos’s mayor had loaned to the Marshals tensed, weapons ready, and then relaxed again when they saw that the changeling was hobbled. Sabira had stationed two men outside each of the tavern’s exits, on the off chance that Caldamus got past her and Prynn.
She paused to speak to the mayor’s second in command, a middle-aged man with round cheeks who looked more like a farmer than a warrior, his broadsword notwithstanding.
“Good work,” she said, shaking his hand. His grip was firm, with calluses to show he came by his position honestly. Despite appearances, his was the toughened palm of the swordsman, not the husbandman.
“Always a pleasure to help the Marshals,” he replied, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.
Sabira inclined her head in thanks and nudged Caldamus to keep moving with the pointed toe of her boot.
“Always a pleasure to help the Marshals,” the changeling mocked in a falsetto as he stumbled along. “I wonder if he’d feel the same if he knew you had ‘just as much Defender blood’ on your hands as I do?”
Sabira paused in midstride.
Damn it! The changeling was a Khyber-loving mind-reader! That’s how he’d been able to cheat at cards so easily.
She finished her step casually, shifting her urgrosh to her off hand. Then she reached up and grabbed a fistful of blond hair. Though the changeling had several inches on her, she yanked his head back until his ear was beside her mouth, eliciting a painful sounding pop from somewhere in his lower back as he contorted awkwardly to keep from falling.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” she asked, her tone cloyingly sweet as she twisted her fist and felt his hair begin to pull out at the root. “I’m afraid I didn’t quite hear you.”
The changeling wasn’t cowed, though his words were forced through clenched teeth.
“Another member of the Guild, wasn’t he? Congratulations. I’m sure that earned you a nice sum. But then, you didn’t do it for the money, did you?”
Sabira was acutely aware that Prynn and the mayor’s men were watching this exchange—the men with interest and the Marshal with something less pleasant. She let go of Caldamus’s hair and spun him around to face her.
That was a mistake. The changeling had delved deeper into her thoughts than she would have thought possible and now wore the visage of a dark-haired man with laughing brown eyes and a scar over his left eyebrow.
Leoned.
With a growl, Sabira cocked her arm back and drove her elbow up into that too-familiar face with such force that the changeling’s jaw shattered, spraying them both with warm blood. Caldamus stumbled, tripping over his fetters, and fell backward, slamming his head hard against the packed earth. He groaned once, then lay still, his face reverting to its natural, almost featureless state as he slipped into unconsciousness.
In the silence that followed, Sabira bent down to check his pulse, which was regrettably both strong and regular. She gingerly wiped her elbow clean on the front of his shirt and then stood and looked at Prynn.
“A little help here?”
The taciturn Marshal grabbed Caldamus’s limp body and slung the changeling over his shoulder. Though Prynn said nothing, his disapproval was obvious in every frown and glower he directed her way. Sabira ignored him. She’d done it all the way from Stormreach and she intended to do so all the way back, until she could finally be rid of him and his glaring condemnation, deserved or not.
As Sabira returned her shard axe to the quick-release harness she wore on her back, she looked over the crowd of villagers who had gathered. Most had probably never seen a Marshal in action before, but whatever tales the locals might have heard about the legendary keepers of law and order, Sabira was sure she didn’t live up to them.
“I do so love these nice, relaxing trips to the islands,” she quipped to no one in particular, giving the crowd a wave. Then she turned away and headed down the hill to the docks, not bothering to look to see if Prynn followed or if anyone waved back.
CHAPTER TWO
Zor, Dravago 26, 998 YK
Aboard the Sojourn, somewhere between Shargon’s Teeth and Stormreach.
Caldamus woke a few hours later, coughing up clotted blood and moaning loudly. Sabira looked up from the broadsheet she’d been reading as he writhed on his bunk, testing both his manacles and the wooden support they were secured to. Then he twisted his head around and glared at her.
“Ith thith how the vaunted Thentinel Marthalth treat prithonerth?” The demand was made comical by the changeling’s effort to force so many sibilants through a jaw swollen partially shut, and Sabira couldn’t help but laugh. She stopped short of mocking him in kind, catching the dark look Prynn cast down at her from his place atop the second bunk.
“Well, considering we had the option of bringing you in dead, I’m not sure I’d be complaining.”
“How noble,” Caldamus sneered, twisting his ruined lip into a smirk. He could speak almost normally if he avoided certain words.
Sabira ignored the gibe, turning her attention back to the broadsheet. But she continued to watch him from beneath long lashes. Though she knew his bonds would hold, she’d been tracking him for the better part of a month; it wouldn’t do to let her guard down now.
“Like you did with me?”
It was Leoned’s voice, albeit husky and halting. She knew she shouldn’t look, but she couldn’t help herself.
The changeling wore Leoned’s face again, and the sight of purpling flesh beneath those brown eyes that knew her so well was almost more than she could bear.
It’s not him. I didn’t break his jaw. I’d never do anything to hurt him.
Leoned’s bruised mouth barked an incredulous laugh.
“Oh, but you did, didn’t you, Thaba?”
It was the lisp that saved her, that allowed her to tear her gaze away from his, to remember that this wasn’t Leoned, just some damnable changeling who had no other weapons to fight with, so he was using her own against her.
“Very clever.”
Aggar’s voice this time, and the familiar, much-hated dwarven intonations surprised her so much she had to look again.
Green eyes glared out at her from a ruddy face, while hair far redder than her own sprouted from his chin in a long, multibraided beard that obscured all evidence of her handiwork.
“Enough!” Sabira growled angrily, rising from her seat and crossing the small cabin in two strides. She drew her fist back to strike the changeling again, and his features morphed once more, this time into those of another dark-haired man with the least Mark of Sentinel still visible beneath the bruising and the blood. The sight stayed her hand.
Elix?
What possible reason would Caldamus have for taking on his face? She hadn’t even been thinking of him.
Had she?
No, it was jus
t another trick to buy the changeling a few more precious moments of consciousness. Which were going to end now.
“Don’t do it, Marshal.”
She looked up to see Prynn, his crossbow loaded and not quite aimed at her. She lowered her arm slowly, calculating the range, knowing there was no way she could dodge the bolt if he let it fly.
“You can’t be serious.”
“I know your reputation, and I’ve seen the truth of it with my own eyes. You’re not harming another unarmed prisoner on my watch.”
Sabira snorted at that. The longest two sentences the man had uttered since he’d come down from Fairhaven and they’d been assigned to work together, and they were in defense of a murderer. As Caldamus would say, how noble.
“Unarmed? A changeling who reads minds? Is that what passes for a joke in Aundair?”
The crossbow leveled out, and now there was no question as to where it was aimed.
“Fine.” Sabira gritted the word out between teeth clenched so tightly her head began to ache. “You deal with him. I’m heading topsides.”
She tossed the broadsheet aside and stormed out of the cabin. The changeling’s smug laughter followed her out the door and up the nearest ladder until she was out of earshot.
Sabira found a crate amidships and settled back against it so that she could watch the sun setting red over the Thunder Sea. If she’d stayed in that cabin any longer, with Caldamus dredging up faces from her past and Prynn basking in self-righteousness, she would have stuck the spear tip of her urgrosh through somebody’s eye. She knew she shouldn’t have left them alone—if Caldamus could stroll through her thoughts, there was no telling what he might do with Prynn’s, since she knew the other Marshal didn’t have the benefit of the same mental training that she did. She half hoped Caldamus was even now tormenting the stalwart lawman with lost opportunities and past loves.
Then again, as straitlaced as Prynn was, maybe he’d never done anything he regretted, and it was Caldamus who was burning with frustration as only the most virtuous and honorable of thoughts confronted him. Either way, one of them would be suffering, so she’d count it as a win.
No, she’d wait a bit before heading back belowdecks. Might as well enjoy the sunset while she could.
“You look like you could use some of this.”
Sabira looked up to see the Sojourn’s first mate, Valeria Sinderwind, lounging against the mast. The elf woman carried a fat brown bottle with a tan label.
“Tell me that’s not more of that pigswill Bauerson was trying to pass off as decent grog.”
Valeria laughed.
“Old Sully’s? Hardly. This is the good stuff—Aundairian—from Captain Rinar’s personal stock.”
Sabira didn’t need any more encouragement. She held out her hand and Valeria passed the bottle over. Sabira took a long, appreciative draught, letting the fruity vintage cascade over her tongue and down her throat in a torrent of sweetness. She closed her eyes and savored the lingering taste before handing the bottle back reluctantly.
“So, will you be heading back to Khorvaire now?”
Sabira didn’t answer immediately. She’d come to Xen’drik chasing another killer almost a year ago, found him already dead, and had never bothered to leave. The head of the local House Deneith enclave, Greigur d’Deneith, always seemed to have enough work to keep her in coin. Perhaps more important, he didn’t generally have the same problems with her heavy-handed tactics that her superiors back in Karrnath did.
But she’d met Valeria on that first job, and the two had struck up a conversation over drinks at the Leaky Dinghy. They’d been friends ever since, and the feisty sailor wasn’t likely to buy either of those excuses, when they both knew the real reason Sabira had stayed in Stormreach.
Because it was about as far away from Karrnath as it was possible to get and still have any authority as a Marshal. And being a Marshal was all Sabira had left.
“Not quite done with this job, yet,” she said at last, wishing Valeria would offer her another drink and knowing she’d have to refuse if the elf woman did. She was still technically on duty until they got Caldamus back to Sentinels Tower. And while Greigur might tolerate a lot of shortcomings in his Marshals, public drunkenness wasn’t one of them. “Speaking of which, I’d better get back down there.”
Valeria chuckled, shaking her head.
“Always hedge your bets, don’t you? You want us to drop you at the enclave?”
Sabira stood, brushing at the back of her pants.
“Not this time. Tyn’ll be there, and I still owe her money from the last fight at Hammersmith’s.”
“Say no more. The harbor it is.”
Sabira nodded her thanks and then turned and walked away from the sailor’s thoughtful gaze.
When Sabira entered the cabin, Prynn was standing over Caldamus, crossbow in hand. The Marshal was red from his collar to the tips of his over-large ears, and his face was murderous. A quick glance at Caldamus showed the changeling wearing a woman’s visage, a half-elf with hair the color of honey and wide violet eyes.
Prynn cocked his crossbow, heedless of Sabira’s entrance. Caldamus was speaking in a throaty whisper that echoed with longing.
“I would have repudiated my family for you, Dallen, given up the Medani name.…”
“Julanna!” Prynn’s voice was a broken sob, and his hands shook as he aimed his weapon.
Sabira reached out and grabbed his arm, forcing it down and forcing him to look at her, not at the changeling who wore the face of his forbidden love.
“Don’t do it, Marshal,” she said, giving him his own words back, but without rancor. “He’s not worth it.”
She held his gaze for a moment, waiting for the grief she saw there to clear. When it did, she released him and then stepped forward, blocking the changeling from the other Marshal’s vision. She bent to pick up her discarded broadsheet, wadding it into a tight ball as big as her fist as she regarded the changeling.
Predictably, he donned Leoned’s features again, but she was ready for it this time, and it was just another face. She leaned over and grabbed Caldamus roughly by his hair. When he opened his mouth to complain, she shoved the crumpled broadsheet in far enough to gag him. Then she let his head fall back, eliciting a muffled moan as his broken jaw slapped against the mattress.
She looked up at Prynn, who was regarding her warily.
“If I’d been alone, I’d have made sure he stayed unconscious for the whole trip.” She held up a hand to forestall any protest, though she wasn’t sure Prynn would offer one now. Or perhaps she should start calling him ‘Dallen.’ Since all Sentinel Marshals were sons and daughters of Deneith, they generally identified each other by family name as opposed to house name. Given names were reserved for clients and close intimates, though most Marshals had far more of the former than of the latter—theirs was a lonely job that carried them continuously across the Five Nations and beyond, leaving little time for building relationships. And more than that, it was dangerous, and often brought untimely and violent ends to the few relationships a Marshal was able to build.
Which made her think of Leoned, and nothing good could come of that. She forced a roguish grin as she pushed his laughing dark eyes out of her mind and focused on Prynn.
“Now I know you have this thing about harming unarmed prisoners, but I’m assuming you’ll at least consent to keeping him gagged?”
“And hooded,” the other Marshal replied having regained his composure. He pulled out an empty haversack from his pack and tossed it to her.
Sabira’s smile came free and quick this time as she caught the sack out of the air with one hand.
“You know, Prynn, it’s too bad we have to part ways after this job. I might have made a decent partner out of you, after all.”
Sul, Nymm 1, 998 YK
Stormreach, Xen’drik.
They came into the harbor a few hours before daybreak, guided by the Stormreach lighthouse and the gigantic statue of the E
mperor that rose majestically over the black water, a great beam of light stabbing up into the sky from his outstretched hands. Beyond those beacons, the city itself blazed along the darkened cliffs of Xen’drik’s coastline like a web spun from fallen stars.
Rinar d’Thuranni maneuvered the Sojourn expertly through the crowded harbor and into its berth. The gangplank had barely slapped against the wood of the dock before Sabira and Prynn were on it, taking leave of Valeria and the rest of the crew as they shoved the recalcitrant Caldamus before them.
Even at this hour, the harbor was teeming with ships being loaded and unloaded, mercenaries and scholars readying themselves for dawn expeditions into the interior, and merchants and thieves galore—though it wasn’t always easy to tell the difference between those last two, if indeed there was any.
As the Marshals hurried their prisoner along the pier and up the nearest cliffside ramp to the city’s higher levels, Sabira saw a flash of yellow out of the corner of her eye.
Damn. That busybody, Mari Mosshand, with her loud voice and louder clothes, had seen them. Word of their arrival would travel quickly and reach many interested ears along the way. Maybe they should have gone straight to the House Deneith docks, after all. Well, there was nothing for it now, except to move as quickly as possible.
Sabira led Prynn and Caldamus through the Harbormaster’s Plaza, passing beneath the shadow of the Founder’s Commemorative Fountain, a towering statue of a sahuagin being either crushed or embraced by serpents, depending on who you asked. Even as they hurried toward the lights of the airship tower and the wooden suspension bridge that led to the Marketplace, Sabira was struck yet again by the oddities of Stormreach’s architecture.
The Shard Axe: An Eberron Novel (Dungeons & Dragons) Page 2