The Sapphire Crescent soa-1

by Thomas M. Reid

  Oh, terrific, Vambran lamented. I walked right into it.

  "What's this about?" he said, turning his gaze back to the woman on the roof and cocking his head to one side in accusation. "You already got my coin pouch."

  He began to eye the yard, looking for the best place to defend himself.

  "Oh, it's not your gold we're after, mercenary," the lovely blonde said, rising to her feet and slipping a hand into her vest pocket. "But your day is definitely taking a turn for the worse."

  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 winding up to swing his weapon as he closed in, intent on putting a powerful hit on the mercenary. The other one, with the daggers, was circling around to come at Vambran's flank, still rapidly twirling both blades. He cocked his hand back as if to throw one.

  Through clenched teeth, Vambran fought through the distraction of the acid burns and straightened slightly.

  He stared at the man with the daggers directly in the eyes and said in his most commanding voice, "Flee!"

  The word was a magical trigger, and Vambran felt the surge of energy leave his mouth and radiate straight toward the thug with the slender blades. The man took one last step and flung his weapon even as the cunning smile left his face and was replaced with a look of profound terror. The lieutenant's magic had disrupted his throw, and the dagger sailed harmlessly over Vambran's head, clattering against the wall behind him. Spinning, the thug ran toward the doorway back into the establishment, looking back once in abject horror.

  At the same time, the mercenary tried to duck low to avoid the swing of the cudgel, but the combination of his pain-induced disorientation and the effort of casting the commanding spell made him a fraction of a second too slow. The swipe missed Vambran's head, but it caught him hard against his shoulder. The mercenary heard bone crunch and felt his shoulder pop in blazing pain. His arm went numb as he was knocked backward from the impact, sent sprawling several feet and landing with a thud, the wind knocked out of him.

  Groaning, Vambran squinted up into the sun overhead and saw it suddenly blotted out by the silhouette of the thug. The man had his cudgel raised high, ready for another crushing blow. Desperately, Vambran tried to roll out of the way, kicking out at his foe's 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 of the prayer, he opened his mouth wide and made as if to scream, but instead of his own voice issuing forth, a shrill and unnatural shrieking and whistling blasted out.

  The clamorous noise was aimed at and focused on the mage, whose eyes flared wide. She dropped whatever she had been pulling from her pocket and clapped her hands over her ears, falling to her knees as she did so. Vambran watched for only a moment as the woman writhed in pain, trying in vain to escape the horrific cacophony of noise. Already, he could see trickles of blood running out from beneath her hands where they covered her ears, and he knew that she'd been deafened for the next few moments.

  Maybe that'll stop all of her damned spell slinging, he thought, turning once more to the cudgel-swinging thug.

  The large, hairy man was limping toward him around the back end of the wagon, and the lieutenant caught a glimpse of the third of the trio step back into the yard, his remaining dagger clutched tightly in his fist. The moment the short, wiry fellow spotted Vambran, his grimace deepened into determination and he stalked closer.

  Vambran backed himself into a corner and fumbled the pendant dedicated to Waukeen out of his shirt with his good hand. He clenched it tightly as he offered up a plea to his deity to protect and defend him, then kissed the medallion once as he concentrated on manifesting holy energy into a form in front of him. Where the lieutenant envisioned, a glowing, pulsing image of a cloud of coins filled the air, swarming like a hive of angry bees. While Vambran continued to clutch at the medallion, he could feel the mental connection with the cloud of coins.

  The larger of Vambran's two foes was closer, and the mercenary quickly directed the spiritual weapon in that one's direction. The bear of a man brought 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 the doorway leading back into the aszraun, and when Vambran glanced back over that way, Kovrim was standing there looking bewildered. At the sight of all the different reinforcements showing up, the two thugs lost their desire to fight and scrambled toward the large wooden gate. The big man was the first to reach it, and he shoved against it forcefully with his shoulder. As the gap of the portal widened, both men slipped through and disappeared from sight.

  Vambran felt the magic of his cloud of coins wink out. Realizing the threat was over, he sagged down to the ground, overcome with exhaustion.

  "What in the Nine Hells happened?" Kovrim exclaimed, running over to his nephew's side. "By the Merchant's Friend, you're a sight! Who were those brutes?"

  Vambran could only shake his head. All of the pain, from the shower of acid and the crushing cudgel blow to his shoulder, was enveloping him then, and he was woozy from it. His clothes were ruined, burned to shreds by the acid. He simply slumped into the corner where he'd made his final stand and let the blackness slip over him.

  Emriana could barely concentrate on listening to Denrick's conversation, which wouldn't have been surprising under normal circumstances if she had stopped to think about it, given that he spent most of the day talking about himself. They were almost all stories the girl had heard numerous times during previous meetings with him.

  But her distraction went far beyond growing bored with an uninteresting peacock. Her mind kept wandering back to the face of the woman she had seen the previous night, pale in the light of Vambran's odd magical flare, and Emriana was more certain than 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 in the wooded hills to the southeast. She remembered something about Denrick supposedly saving the day from disaster, and she was pretty certain he was almost to that point in the story. He was waiting for her to give him the proper lead-in, she knew.

  "So what did you do then?" she asked breathlessly, as though hanging on every word out of the pompous fellow's mouth.

  "Well, of course I stepped between Jerephin and the boar and set my spear," Denrick replied proudly, standing with a flourish and acting out the motions for her benefit. "You have to keep your back foot turned sideways, like so," he explained, miming the position, "and put the butt of the spear up against the instep, like so,"-and he propped an imaginary spear in tightly-"then you just keep the tip of the weapon leveled at the boar and let it ram itself onto the sharp end!"

  He burst out laughing at his own cleverness, and Emriana tittered along with him for a moment.

  "Tell me something," the girl said, deciding the time was right to steer the subject to another path. "Have you ever seen someone killed?" she asked, trying to sound innocent.

  Denrick blinked, studying the girl for a moment. Finally, he nodded, a little too vigorously.

  "Sure, several times," he answered. "There are always executions, and I've seen a boar rip one of our porters practically apart when we-"

  "No, I'm not talking about hangings or hunting accidents," Emriana interrupted, much to Denrick's disgruntlement. It was apparent to her that he took great delight in holding the stage and did not enjoy being trod over, even for a moment. "What I mean is, seeing someone killed, murdered, stabbed with a sword or a dagger right in front of you, where you were close enough to see the expression on the victim's face."

  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 you must be exhausted. Come, well return home at once."

  "But what of the picnic things?" Emriana asked, secretly pleased that he had taken her bait.

  She was ready to be rid of the pretentious boy and could think of no quicker way to get hi
m to do what she wanted than to swoon or do something else similarly ridiculous.

  "Don't worry about them, Em. I'll send Turcan back here to collect them later."

  Emriana nodded, feeling another "yawn" coming on, and even allowed Denrick to assist her in mounting Goldy. Quickly enough, they were back at the estate, and he was helping her inside to the coolness of the parlor. Almost immediately, she sped off, leaving him to deal with the animals while she departed under the pretense of changing back into her original clothes, Patimi in tow to aid her.

  Once she was out of sight, though, the girl turned on the servant and looked her squarely in the eye.

  "You know what happened last night," she said, her voice severe, "Tell me."

  The woman, suddenly flustered, stumbled through apologies and denials, all the while unable to look Emriana in the eye. Shaking her head, Emriana grabbed her hand and dragged her deeper into the house, back into Lobra's old bedrooms.

  "Enough pretending. You were moping about this morning when you were helping me to dress. I know you know what I'm talking about, because I can see it in your eyes. Now tell me. What was her name?"

  Patimi started to shake her head again, but then the facade faded away and the woman simply pressed both of her hands against her face, her body wracked with silent sobs. Emriana felt slight remorse then, feeling compassion welling up for the poor woman who must have lost someone she cared for, and yet had to go through her day as if nothing were wrong.

  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.