The Sapphire Crescent soa-1

by Thomas M. Reid

  "Tomorrow, then," the captain said, and Vambran sensed that it was time for him and his sister to leave.

  "Of course," Vambran said, "We're on our way." He turned on his heel and moved over to where Emriana was still scowling at the soldier who had accosted her in the first place. "Come on, Em, let's get you home and into bed. I'm sure this is enough excitement for you for one night."

  "But my-!" the girl started to protest, but Vambran clamped a hand over her mouth as he spun her around to lead her down the alley.

  Emriana squirmed and tugged at her brother's hand, but when it was clear he wasn't going to let go, she relaxed and let him lead her away.

  When they were far enough from the soldiers not to be overheard, Vambran released her mouth after whispering, "Don't make a scene. I have my reasons."

  "They have my dagger," Emriana complained. "They never gave it back."

  "That's right," Vambran replied. "I want them to keep it."

  "Why?" the girl demanded, turning with a furious mien to face her brother. "That was your birthday present tome!"

  "Shh!" Vambran admonished her, gesturing for her to quiet down. "Because I want to be able to find that first group of soldiers later," he explained as they passed out of the alley and back into the street. "Now I have a way to track them."

  "What? How?"

  "With magic," Vambran said.

  Across the street from the alley, Prandles saw the two of them emerge, and his shoulders slumped in obvious relief. As the siblings approached the carriage, the driver jumped down to open the door for them.

  "And why do you want to track them down?" Emriana asked quietly.

  "Because I don't think they were city guards," Vambran replied. "I think something else was going on here."

  He wondered if he was being as foolish as that comment just sounded. Even with all of the intrigue so common to Arrabar, thugs posing as the city watch seemed a bit farfetched.

  "Then why didn't you report that to the others when they arrived?"

  "Because, my incorrigible sister, you were in the middle of it, and if a fight broke out, you'd have been in a risky spot."

  "I can take care of myself."

  "Like you did hiding behind those crates?" Vambran asked sarcastically, scowling. "That was really foolish, you know."

  "No more foolish than you running down an alley by yourself." Emriana replied smugly.

  "That's different."

  "Why?"

  "Because," Vambran said, sighing in exasperation, "I'm a trained soldier, equipped to deal with the kinds of things found in dark alleys. I really can take care of myself. You aren't used to dealing with anything beyond the walls of House Matrell yet, though you may think you are. Em, didn't you see that woman lying there? She was dead, killed by those men. I don't want that to be you."

  "Vambran," Emriana whispered, changing the subject, "I think I knew that woman."

  "What?" Vambran said, spinning his sister to face him. "Who is she?"

  "I don't know," the girl confessed, shaking her head doubtfully. "But I think I've seen her somewhere. Several times, in fact."

  "Try to remember, Em," Vambran encouraged her.

  "When I saw your signal, Master Vambran, I was about to drive home and fetch the house guards," Prandles said to the pair. "But thankfully, those city guards arrived. Is everyone all right?"

  Vambran, realizing that they were standing in the middle of the quiet street, nodded as he turned Emriana and guided her to the steps of the vehicle.

  "Yes," he answered as Prandles helped Emriana up into the seat. "The guards are taking care of it." He climbed in after his sister. "But we were lucky," he said, giving Emriana a stare as he sat down.

  "You had me worried more than a man has a right to be, Mistress Emriana," the driver added, trying not to scold a superior, but making his point all the same.

  "Prandles, the next time she tries to sneak off, even if she orders you to sit still and be quiet, you have my permission to hold her down and sit on her to keep her out of trouble," Vambran said, though he was still looking directly at Emriana as he said it.

  The girl bristled and started to open her mouth to protest, but Vambran gave her a level look so scathing that she wilted under it and snapped her teeth shut again.

  "As you say, sir," Prandles replied, though Vambran knew the man would never do any such thing.

  All the way back to the front gates of the Matrell estate, Emriana sat opposite her brother and scowled. But Vambran was in no mood to soothe her feelings right then. He was figuring out what he was going to do about men pretending to be city guards.

  Grozier Talricci, standing behind Bartimus and watching the events taking place in the mirror, made a strangled sound deep in his throat. Bartimus couldn't blame the man; it was an amazing stroke of bad luck that Vambran and Emriana Matrell had managed to stumble onto the scene when they did, and the arrival of a second squad of watchmen, legitimate guards who had claimed the body and were taking it back to the station house, just made everything worse. The uniforms for the team had been meant as a means of avoiding notice, but through terrible luck, they were being forced to pose as guards for who knew how long. Events had just gotten far more complicated than they really should have been, and Bartimus was very sympathetic toward Grozier's state of mind at that moment.

  The wizard waited expectantly for Grozier to give him some kind of instructions, occasionally glancing around at his study. There were only a few candles burning, not really giving off enough light to make everything out clearly, though that wasn't causing a problem right then, since the scene the pair of them were currently scrying was dark, too. But he had been working by candlelight for quite a while, having run out of lamp oil at some point and never bothering to go fetch any more from the storerooms. So the place was constantly dark.

  Matters weren't helped by the dim decor of Bartimus's chambers. He had always liked rich, dark furniture, things made of dark woods and leather. He had plenty of it in there, with shelves lining just about every wall, and more than a few chairs, tables, and desks in what space was left over. Of course, most of all that was stacked with piles of books, tablets, and scroll cases, with even more spilling over onto the floor in every imaginable corner. The few tapestries that hung on the walls, mostly covered up by shelving, had the same heavy colors, as did the rug on the floor. There was more of the same in the other room, where Bartimus slept. It was a consistent theme, he realized. Somehow, it contrasted nicely with Bartimus's incessantly pasty skin.

  The place needed a good cleaning, Bartimus noticed, looking around more earnestly then, though the wizard told himself that at least once a tenday and somehow never managed to do anything about it. Too much else going on to take time for housework. And there was no way he was going to bring anyone else in there to do it for him. If he ever let anyone else into his chambers to move things around, he'd never find half his possessions again. Even having Grozier in there was making him nervous; one wrong step, and the man could send a whole pile of stuff scattering across the floor.

  Perhaps a special sort of servant spell could do the trick, the diminutive wizard mused, pondering briefly if he had ever acquired such an incantation, and where it might be stashed in his collection of scrolls, books, and other magical writings.

  I'll have to dig through those Sembian letters sometime, he thought. I think there might be something in there. Later, though.

  Bartimus turned his attention back to the moment, still waiting for his companion to say something. His scrying spell wasn't going to last much longer. Grozier just continued to stare into the large mirror, a finely wrought piece of furniture worth thousands of gold coins, resting on a large easel in the middle of the study. The image in the courtyard continued to show Captain Dressus and his men milling about, discussing what to do with the bodies lying there. The original plan had been for them to haul the pair to the nearest guard station in the city and deposit them there, but it was obvious by then that the Wau
keenar lieutenant's words had unnerved them, and they were uncertain what to do any longer.

  "Oh, just run!" Grozier growled from behind Bartimus. He was beginning to pace. "Is there no way to talk to them through this damned mirror?"

  Bartimus cringed as he said, "Unfortunately, no. It really only works one way. I could see if I have some other means of communicating with them, perhaps a scroll in my collection." He started to rise, completely enraptured at the thought of looking through some of his papers. "I think I might have just the thing," he muttered half-aloud, moving toward a distant shelf, "a little spell I acquired from a man I met in Cormyr several years ago. Let's see, I think I put those papers-"

  "No, don't waste the effort," Grozier snapped, standing still and watching the scene again. "By the time you find something, it'll be too late. Besides, they've gone and mucked the whole plan up completely already."

  Bartimus shrugged and sat back down as his counterpart sighed in exasperation.

  "Dressus is an idiot," Grozier continued. "He should have just sent the Matrell boy away and cleared out of there. He got baited into that, you know."

  Bartimus nodded, though he didn't, in fact, know that until just then, and he wondered how Grozier had come to that conclusion.

  "Now," Grozier continued, "the city watch is concerned about our two dead victims, and Dressus is under suspicion. If not by the other guards, then at the very least, by the mercenary and his sister. We're going to have to take care of this ourselves."

  He began to pace again.

  Bartimus nodded, though he had no idea what his employer meant, and no desire to take the initiative to suggest some things until he knew more. He sat and waited while Grozier stewed.

  Finally, the other man stopped his repetitive motion and said, "We're going to have to clean this up completely, you know."

  Bartimus risked a glance over his shoulder at the other man, the head of House Talricci, to be sure he understood correctly.

  "You want me to find someone?" the mage asked.

  "No," Grozier replied, tapping the wizard on the shoulder. "You're going to have to do this yourself. I don't want to put it into anyone else's hands."

  Bartimus swallowed hard.

  "Me?" he asked, sounding more timid than he had intended, though he certainly felt a little intimidated at what his employer was asking him to do. "How would you like it handled?" he quickly added, hoping to cover his earlier hesitation.

  "I don't know," Grozier growled. "You're the house wizard. You cook something up. But make sure you get rid of all the loose ends. And I mean all of them. I don't doubt for a minute that the mercenary is going to start sniffing around, trying to find out what happened tonight. I can just feel it."

  He turned to go, then stopped and looked back at Bartimus through the gloom of his ill-lit room.

  "And make it clever," Grozier added. "Something really good. Come find me and run it by me before you begin, though. I'll expect a first idea from you within an hour."

  Bartimus nodded, inwardly sighing. Knowing Grozier, he was going to have to stay up half the night concocting something suitable to solve the problem.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "You're treating me like I'm five!" Emriana shouted at her uncle. She was slumped in one of the ornately carved high-backed suthwood chairs, with its claw-shaped feet and similarly formed arms, that surrounded the huge dining room table where the Matrell family was gathered. The seat was solidly padded, but that made it no more comfortable. The girl wanted more than anything to stand and pace, like her uncle was, but she had been told in no uncertain terms to sit down and remain there until she was permitted otherwise. Emriana looked to her mother for some measure of support, but Ladara Matrell was studiously gazing at her own robe, picking at the ornate fabric as the arguing continued. The mousy woman rarely stood in the way when her brother-in-law took the role of surrogate father over his dead brother's children. Emriana despised those times, and this moment was one of them.

  The hour was late, and most members of the Matrell family were already dressed for bed. Only Quindy and Obiron, the eight-year-old twins, were absent. A handful of lanterns sat on the table itself, having been lit by sleepy servants who were roused by Uncle Dregaul when it became clear that a family meeting needed to occur. As such, the full complement of candelabra that hung from chains from the ceiling remained dark, so the spacious chamber was not as brightly cheerful as it might have been during a typical dinner. More than one yawn was carefully hidden behind the palm of a hand.

  "Sometimes, you still act like you're five," Uncle Dregaul replied, moving back and forth on the far side of the table from Emriana.

  His voice was like ice, and the thinly veiled anger in his countenance said all that needed to be said to the girl. Sneaking out had been bad enough, but as the rest of the story unfolded and it became clear that she had also disobeyed Vambran's instructions to stay in the safety of the carriage, Uncle Dregaul's mien had grown rock-hard. Emriana kept her defiant gaze mostly on her uncle, but she spared a moment or two of scathing glares for her brother, too. His return home for her birthday wasn't turning out to be quite the thrill she had hoped.

  Vambran sat in another dark chair, the high arch of its back rising over even his tall frame. He stared at nothing, one leg thrown over the chair arm, pinching his lips together with his thumb and forefinger, oblivious to Emriana and obviously deep in thought. She was furious with him for so readily explaining the events of the evening, rather than holding his tongue about her involvement in the escapades. In fact, he had seemed bent on making a point of it, trying to get Uncle Dregaul to listen to his concerns about the veracity of the guards, even including the fact that Emriana herself believed she had recognized the dead woman. She doubted seriously if the entire household would even be having the conversation had Dregaul been told only that she had snuck out to ride down to the docks, safely in the carriage, with Prandles there to watch over her. But, of course, he was aware of it all and no doubt contemplating what sort of punishment to inflict on her for her insolence. She hoped that neither Prandles nor Jaleene, her personal maid, would get into trouble for their parts in it. Dregaul had never been adverse to firing house staff for similar shortcomings in the past.

  "Sneaking out of your chambers after I specifically- specifically! — told you that you were not to ride to the docks with Prandles is bad enough," Dregaul said, interrupting Emriana's thoughts and ticking points off on his fingers. "But then to go and get in the middle of such an obviously dangerous situation in an alley in the middle of Arrabar is just plain brainless. Scuffles in alleys with mysterious figures is exactly the reason-exactly! — why I don't want you roaming around outside the walls. And yet, you don't have enough sense to see how dangerous it is. And you wonder why I treat you like a child. You act like one, Emriana, a very spoiled one.

  "And you!" Emriana's uncle said, turning to face her brother. "How could you drag her into the middle of such a situation? You aren't home an hour, and already you're mixing it up with the common folk, playing at soldier. What's the matter with you?"

  "I explained to you already," Vambran said, his own voice rising in resentment. "that I heard a scream and went to see who might be in trouble. There was no time to stop and wonder if it was wise to get involved, given that my younger sister was along."

  "Naturally. You've never considered the consequences of your actions before, so why start now?" Dregaul sneered.

  Emriana felt her eyes bulge as she stared at her uncle in amazement. He had never been a warm person, but that was downright vicious. She looked at Vambran, expecting him to retort angrily. Instead, the lieutenant bowed his head and stared at his hands, as though he had been slapped.

  "When someone needs your help, you respond," Vambran said softly.

  How can you take that? Emriana thought, hating to see her brother cower before their uncle. That's not like you.

  "No, you respond," Dregaul replied. "The rest of us have enough sense to
leave it for the city watch, which, as it turned out, was exactly who was already there, dealing with a problem. They certainly don't need your help to do their jobs."

  "I'm far from convinced that the first group was actually men of the watch," Vambran said, looking up again. "I also told you that I specifically didn't call the imposters out, for fear of a fight erupting with Em standing in the middle of it. I-"

  "Yes, yes, you've already explained to me your theories. Avoiding a confrontation was probably the smartest thing you did. But you shouldn't have been there in the first place. As usual, you're looking for trouble where there is none to find. Even if what you say is true, the other group arrived, and they'll clean it up. It's bad enough that you've taken to thrice marking yourself. Half the city probably knows by now that a member of the Matrell family-a member! — is dabbling in common arcane magic, rather than leaving it to the house wizards like sensible folk."

  Emriana winced at her uncle's scathing comments, knowing how proud Vambran must be about his new talents. She watched as Vambran clenched his jaw and shook his head in denial, obviously fuming at Dregaul's derisive remarks. Off to one side, Evester was nodding in agreement with their uncle, acting as usual like the toady to his mentor. Emriana had half a mind to admit that she had encountered her oldest brother on the roof earlier in the evening, just to watch Dregaul's wrath turn on Evester, but she held her tongue. She doubted the ploy would come off as she expected. Nothing else so far that evening had.

  Beside Evester, his wife Marga was trying to hide a gloating smile by turning her head away from the scene. Emriana glared at her, but the red-haired beauty never saw her.

  "Uncle Dregaul," Vambran said, his tone deferential, "I already explained to you that bearing three marks does not provoke the same fear and hostility in other parts of the Reach that it does in Chondath, and in fact it offers some benefits. The Rotting War was nearly four hundred years ago. It's only in Arrabar that uneducated fools still fear a return of the magic plague that was unleashed. Everywhere else in the Reach, the people are over it."