Marga's stare was baleful. She hated him for what he was making her do.
"Xaphira seems to know someone who can help her find Junce Roundface," she admitted. "She's returning to the city again tonight to meet with her old friend."
"Oh, really?" Grozier said, letting go of Marga's shoulders and rubbing his chin with one hand. "That's not good." Then he got a wicked look in his eyes. "Or maybe it is," he added, smiling. "She might not be returning this evening, Marga, dear." The man turned to go, and Bartimus stood straighter, reaching for something inside his robes with which to create one of his infernal magical doorways.
"Waukeen, Grozier," Marga said, her voice breaking with humiliation and frustration. "Is there nothing you won't do to get your way?"
Grozier turned and looked back at the woman as Bartimus channeled his arcane energy into a shimmering blue portal in the middle of Marga's room. The wizard stepped through, but Grozier glared at his sister for a moment. "I'll see you in a few days. Be certain you have something interesting to tell me." Then he, too, passed through the doorway. It silently vanished a moment later.
Marga turned back to the railing of the balcony. Anger and helplessness welled up inside her, and she pounded her fist against the stone in fury. Then the tears began to flow. She stared down into the garden, watching the two half-sized creatures playing.
As if sensing her observing them, one of the two looked up at her and smiled.
Marga saw Obiron's face, but then, and for only a moment, it flickered and changed, becoming a featureless gray face on a bulbous head with a spindly body. The thing waved to her, still smiling, but she could sense the mockery behind the gesture. Then it was Obiron again, a laughing child running with his sister through the blossoms and orchards.
Marga wanted to retch.
Captain Beltrim Havalla, leader of the Silver Raven Mercenary Company, was reclining his chair back, leaning it and himself against the bole of a large tree, trying to take advantage of the limited shade, when he sensed that someone had arrived. He shifted his weight and looked over his shoulder to spot the visitor. In the midst of the open area where the command tents had been set up, Junce Roundface stood surveying the mercenary camp, his back to Beltrim. The mercenary captain sighed at the assassin's sudden appearance and rose to his feet.
Another good nap wasted, he thought.
"What are you doing here?" Captain Havalla called out as he approached his patron. "We're not due to relocate for three more days, yet." Then his eyes narrowed. "My boys had better not have forgotten to let me know you were coming."
Junce began to shake his head, gesturing for the captain to relax. "I didn't send word ahead of time. This is an impromptu visit."
Beltrim sucked his tongue between his teeth and nodded, relieved that his staff had not failed to deliver any urgent messages to him. "All right, then, what are you doing here?" he asked again as the two began to stroll toward the main tent.
Junce grinned. "Happy to see me?" he asked, obviously amused at the captain's abrupt query.
"I've got no quarrel with you being here," the captain replied, "so long as you keep putting coin in my coffers. I just worry that you're here to make things messy for me and my company. As in, maybe you want to command, too."
Junce's grin grew larger. "I'm not here to step on your authority, Captain Havalla," he said. "I just have a special assignment I want you to take care of. A unique mission, a side trip, if you will."
Beltrim let his own scowl deepen as they reached the opening to the command tent and stepped inside. He wasn't about to tell the man that side trips weren't part of the deal, as Junce-or rather, whomever Junce was representing-paid well enough to make even five side trips worthwhile. But sometimes, side trips had a way of turning into campaigns all their own, and as often as not, they created tactical problems with the original plan later. As the two men sat down at a table where numerous maps were spread out, Beltrim grunted, signaling that Junce should continue.
"There's a small group of mercenaries, a rival group, if you will, who just landed on the beach not far from here. Actually, they walked onto the beach after their ship went down out in the Reach, but that's neither here nor there," the assassin added, chuckling at his own humor. "I need you to go remove them from the field of battle."
"Mercenaries?" Beltrim asked, letting his scowl fade away a bit. "What's their name? Whom do they serve?" He was beginning to like the request more and more after all. His men had been itching to get into some sort of engagement for most of a tenday, and instead they had been forced to make camp, sitting in reserve to guard a larger force's flank.
"These are elements of the Order of the Sapphire Crescent," Junce explained, and he began looking at the topmost map on the table, which showed the region around Reth. "They're here," he said, pointing to a spit of land only a couple of miles from where the Silver Ravens were positioned. "There are perhaps two dozen of them, maybe a few more."
"What are they doing there?" Beltrim asked, already beginning to formulate strategy. "How well armed?"
"I told you," Junce answered. "They literally walked up onto the shore after their ship sank. They have sufficient magic that I would advise you not to take them lightly."
Beltrim eyed him appraisingly, trying to measure the man and his words. Thus far in their business relationship, Junce Roundface had neither exaggerated anything nor led Captain Havalla astray with misinformation. He was inclined to take the assassin at his word, but then again, there was always a first time for everything.
"All right, I'll get my men moving. But what, exactly, do you want done with them?"
At the question, Junce began to rub his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he said, "Capture as many as you can, and kill anyone who won't surrender. The prisoners, you will relocate to Reth, where I will deal with them myself. But don't let any of them slip through."
"Why are they so important to you?"
"I have my reasons. Suffice it to say that there are members of the group that I have a history with, and I can't afford to have them roaming around the area while we're having our little war."
Beltrim shrugged and nodded. "Good enough for me," he said, rising. "We'll be ready to move out within the hour."
"Good. I knew I could get results with you. That's why I made the pay so generous."
At that comment, Beltrim smiled. "We'll take care of it," the mercenary captain said.
"Good. Now I must beg my leave of you. Many other details to attend to."
As Beltrim nodded his understanding, the man across the table from him stood, gave a quick overly dramatic salute, muttered something unintelligible, and vanished. Beltrim snorted at the brazen display of magic then turned to find one of his aides and get his men rousted.
There was fighting to be done.
CHAPTER 6
The shift in temperature between the outskirts of the Nunwood and the Grand Trabbar's private chambers was abrupt, but Darvin was used to it. As the vista changed from coastal grassland to opulent study before his very eyes, the man couldn't help but smile in satisfaction. His magical boots were one of his most prized possessions, and even after all those years of owning them, he still delighted in their use. They had saved his neck on more than a few occasions, and being able to instantly teleport himself to distant places and back with a thought and a word had given him the upper hand in numerous scrapes over the years.
"I wish you would at least find some closet in which to appear and knock on my doors like a proper guest," Grand Trabbar Lavant muttered, not even looking up from the huge desk where he sat, furiously scribbling on a sheet of parchment. "I like you, but I enjoy my privacy more."
Darvin chuckled. "You would protect your privacy at the cost of having someone see me roaming around your grand temple?" he asked. "Spotting someone such as myself deep in its interior, knocking at your doors, would certainly raise some unpleasant questions, don't you think? How secure would your position be if the other high priests knew that you
consorted with the likes of Junce Roundface, known scoundrel?"
Lavant sighed. "Enough. Your point is made. Just do not make a habit of showing up in the dark of night. I might confuse you for a burglar and slay you on the spot." Lavant did look up then, giving his visitor a level stare.
Darvin let the smile slide from his face and stared right back, but he did not say anything. He respected the priest sitting before him, for Grand Trabbar Lavant was nothing if not thorough and exceptionally competent, two qualities he appreciated.
He's just defending his territory, as a dog might, the man told himself. As I would, he had to admit, albeit grudgingly.
"I'll do my level best not to startle you during your beauty sleep," Darvin said with a second chuckle. "Or when you're in the midst of a dalliance with one of the maids," he added.
The Grand Trabbar smirked and rolled his eyes but turned back to his writing. "You obviously appeared out of thin air for a reason. Speak of it."
Darvin strolled over to a side table where a crystal decanter sat on a tray, along with several matching cups. He selected one, removed the stopper from the decanter, and poured a bit of the amber-colored liquid into it. The assassin took a single sip and let the flavors roll about on his tongue. There was a hint of honey there, as well as something like toasted almonds, and it was all overlaid with a smoky burning sensation that tickled his throat as it went down.
"The attack on Lady's Favor didn't go quite as Grozier and the others had hoped," Darvin said at last, turning back and crossing over to an overstuffed chair opposite the desk. "They sank her quickly enough, and I'd suspect most of the crew went down with her, but the Crescents were better prepared than Falagh realized and used magic to aid in their survival and escape. I'm not sure what he was expecting, but Grozier was not very happy with Falagh."
"Any determination of Kovrim's and Vambran's fates?" Lavant asked, setting his quill down at last and peering across his desk at the other man.
"Vambran lives, but I am not certain of Kovrim. The wizard could not focus the spell on anyone but Matrell, and we watched him run across the water toward shore. Many of the other men with him did the same thing, but I couldn't tell if Lazelle was among them."
"Perhaps I should have given Falagh Mestel more warning; Kovrim Lazelle is nothing if not resourceful, and I would expect nothing less than for him to supply the troops with all manner of useful magic for just such eventualities as today."
"There is more," Darvin said before taking another sip of his drink. "Grozier decided that some of the army could finish the job the pirates could not. The Crescents made it to shore not far from Reth, and we had a company camping in the vicinity, holding as a reserve force. It seemed like a good idea to me, so I spoke with Captain Havalla only a few moments ago and gave him the orders to move on Vambran and his men. They are breaking camp even now, as we speak."
Lavant cocked his head to one side, considering that latest news. Darvin wondered for a brief moment if the high priest was going to oppose his decision. Lavant's biggest shortcoming, in Darvin's eyes, was a rather infantile need to be in charge, to make all the decisions.
But the high priest only nodded. "That seems reasonable… if we have the resources, of course. This won't hamper our main objectives there, will it?"
Darvin shook his head. "No. They were not due to shift to the front for three more days, and Beltrim claimed his soldiers were getting restless, anyway. So it was a handy diversion."
"Did you order him to kill them all?"
"No. It occurred to me that we might be able to put a few of them to good use."
"How so?"
Darvin couldn't help but grin at what he was about to say next. "Perhaps as soldiers in our new, improved army."
For the first time since the man known to the rest of the world as Junce Roundface had arrived, Grand Trabbar Lavant got a bit of a gleam in his eye. "How clever of you," he said, smiling. "That would be only too fitting." The rotund priest stroked his chin as he considered the implications of Darvin's suggestion, nodding repeatedly in agreement. "Yes, I like that very much. You will make all of the arrangements?"
"Certainly. I'm glad you found the idea as appealing as I did." Darvin let his smile drop as he prepared to change the subject once more. "Grozier told me that Xaphira Matrell is trying to track me down."
Lavant sniffed. "That doesn't surprise me. She always was a very headstrong girl. But I would be very surprised if she were able to make much headway. There are only a handful of people in all of Arrabar, indeed, in all of Faerun, who know your true identity. She's not going to be much of a problem, so long as you remain out of her sight."
"Now, where's the fun in that?" Darvin said, rising up to replace his cup with the others next to the decanter. "Truthfully, that was my initial reaction, too. But then I got to thinking, if she's so intent on finding me, perhaps I should let her. I see an opportunity to eliminate her from our little game."
"I don't think that's wise," Lavant said, frowning. "There's too much at stake, and I need you to run my errands. He needs you," the priest added, giving the assassin a knowing look. "This has been in motion for so very long, and now, with it so near to fruition, we cannot risk any unnecessary accidents. We're too close."
Darvin shrugged. "But wouldn't it be better to face her on my terms, to lure her into a battlefield of my choosing, rather than risk a chance encounter? If she were to get lucky and stumble upon information that could reveal more of me than I care for her to know, is that not a greater risk? He certainly wouldn't like that happening, you understand."
Lavant sighed, and Darvin was almost certain it was more because he was making good points than because he was arguing in the first place. But regardless of whether his logic was sound, Darvin was itching for that fight. He'd been itching for it for more than a decade, actually, and the prospect of finally seeing it become reality was almost too much to bear. He knew that Lavant was aware of that, too, and that the high priest could see right past his arguments.
That didn't make them any less valid.
"Very well," Lavant said at last. "But be very careful. As I said before, she is a very headstrong girl, and also very resourceful. Do not let her surprise you."
Darvin couldn't wipe the grin from his face as he nodded. "I think I know just the way to handle it. You know," he began to add, seeing another opportunity and not wanting to let it go to waste. "With Xaphira Matrell out of the way, that would almost certainly be the last obstacle to Grozier's plans with their House. Hetta's a shrewd old bird, but she must rely on her children and grandchildren to do most of the work these days. Without Xaphira to protect her and handle the street work, House Matrell is very vulnerable."
"Indeed," the Grand Trabbar admitted. "But don't let Grozier Talricci get too caught up in his thirst for revenge. If he can consummate a merger between his House and House Matrell without losing sight of the main issue, I'm all for it. But don't let him stray too far from his tasks. We need him to keep funneling coin east."
"I'll be subtle and charming, as always," Darvin said. He rose from his seat and prepared to depart. He knew that if he were going to lay a proper ambush for Xaphira Matrell, he was going to have to speak to a few people, and it was already getting on into afternoon.
"Before you go," Lavant said, picking up the sheet that he had been working on when the assassin had arrived, "have a read."
Darvin took the proffered parchment and began to scan the page. The words made him smile. "Your acceptance speech as the new Grand Syndar? We're not getting ahead of ourselves, are we?" he asked, letting the corners of his mouth curl up the slightest bit. "No one has died and left a vacancy to fill, yet."
"No, but it won't be long," the Grand Trabbar said. "Mikolo Midelli speaks with the Merchant's Friend very clearly now, and he will undoubtedly go to join her in the next day or two. Of course," he added, his tone full of mock concern, "we're all doing everything possible, drawing on every conceivable magic, both divine and arc
ane, to stave off his passing." Then the high priest let his voice return to normal and finished with, "It won't be enough."
"Excellent," Darvin said, feeling no small amount of pleasure at how smoothly everything was falling into place. "Tymora smiles upon us, it seems. It's all been almost too easy."
Lavant grimaced. "Perhaps, but good planning and a strong investment in the future have been most instrumental. Our deeds favor the Merchant's Friend, and she favors our path."
Darvin wanted to laugh at the high priest, for it was so plain to him that the pudgy man, in his arrogance and stubborn belief in the goddess he worshiped, could not share credit elsewhere, especially not with another divine force. The assassin held his tongue, though, for he saw little benefit in riling up his accomplice, though the pleasure it would give him was tempting.
"I have to go," he said instead, handing the parchment back to Lavant. "I have a mercenary pest to catch, and you have a position within the temple to fill."
"Remember," Lavant cautioned, "don't underestimate her."
"Not on your life," Darvin replied. "I did once already. It won't happen again."
"How many are with us?" Vambran asked, closing his eyes and lying back, resting his head against the rocks where he sat. He could hear the tiredness in his voice, the devastation, and he knew he needed to fight through that, to put a strong, decisive face on for the rest of the men. It was hard, though, not knowing what happened to Kovrim.
"Twenty-three, sir," Horial reported. He stood near where Vambran was resting, on an outcropping of rock that overlooked the beach where the handful of Crescents had made it to shore. "Blangarl and Tholis are in need of healing, but the rest are in fine shape, if a little tired."
"Twenty-three," Vambran repeated. "We lost nearly half," he lamented, feeling defeated. "So many."
He sat there for a long moment, wondering how many were still out there somewhere, lost, and how many had died.
Or perhaps had gone to some mysterious place deep beneath the waves, he thought wistfully.
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