He decided that he had to get closer, see what he could determine of the fate of the Crescents who had not escaped into the woods. He considered trying to sneak into the perimeter of the gathering, but he dismissed that idea again. There would be sentries. If the mercenary officers of that army were worth their salt, they would know that the few who had escaped might at least try to rescue their companions, and the soldiers would be ready. Vambran did not like the idea of getting caught by himself in the open, where a handful of spellcasters could easily overwhelm him. There had to be other options.
An idea came to him. Only a few days before setting out upon Lady's Favor, Vambran had become aware of a new arcane trick he could perform. The concept seemed to come on him without warning or thought, as a flash of inspiration. He understood what he would need to do to conjure the magic, and it would happen.
He began to rummage around in a small pouch on his belt, producing a tiny vial with a wax-coated stopper. The container held a bit of black, sticky substance. He squatted down and stirred his finger through the dead leaves and other debris at the base of the tree, looking carefully. When he overturned a small stone, a small brown spider scurried out from its disturbed hiding place, and Vambran snatched it up.
Vambran still found the intuitive nature of his arcane power unsettling, but he ignored the sensation and did what came naturally. Eyeing the spider for a moment, he steeled himself and tossed it in his mouth, and followed that by unstoppering the vial and dripping a bit onto his tongue. Ignoring the foul taste of the tarry substance and the wriggling of the spider, the lieutenant swallowed both at once then uttered a phrase that had popped into his head only a few tendays ago.
He waited a moment. Then, when he was certain the magic had taken effect, Vambran turned and began to climb the tree behind which he had been hiding. It was remarkably easy, as he found he could scamper along the surface of the trunk as a spider might, traveling straight up to the top almost as quickly as he could walk the forest floor. When he reached the first branches high in the tree, he stopped and peered out from behind the trunk toward where he believed the mercenary army to be.
Vambran had chosen a good tree, for it was one of the last really tall ones that bordered the woods, and from that vantage point, he could see beyond its sheltering leaves to well beyond the limits of the forest. The army was arrayed below him, groups of soldiers milling about, as though waiting for the order to move out. By Vambran's judgment, there appeared to be perhaps one hundred foot soldiers and half that many cavalry. It was not an overly large force, but certainly sizeable enough to overwhelm the company of Crescents he had commanded, even at full strength.
In a small depression in the land surrounded by armed guards, numerous members of the Crescents sat. They were huddled together, perhaps talking, but it was clear that they were prisoners, for their captors watched them carefully, bowmen with their weapons held casually but ready, and others with swords or axes also watching.
Vambran was both relieved and angry. He wished once again that he had his spyglass with him, so he might get a closer look and determine who was there, but it would be difficult to see faces very clearly in the fading light of day. He could, however, count the figures gathered on the ground, and it appeared that there were approximately two dozen Crescents altogether. That number made him smile, for it meant that others who had not managed to join him on the beach had survived the sinking of Lady's Favor. Even if they were prisoners, at least they were alive.
For the moment, anyway, Vambran thought. The pirates certainly weren't interested in taking prisoners. If these soldiers answer to the same masters as the corsairs did, then they must have orders to slay the Crescents, too. But then, why hadn't they?
Vambran considered that bit of information, wondering if his previous assessment had been faulty. Perhaps the mercenary army was not operating under the same guidance as the pirates. Perhaps the Crescents had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. No, that seemed almost as illogical. Something was going on, but he could not yet piece it together.
In due time, he thought. In due time.
Vambran spent a few moments more in the tree, peering as best he could at his men huddled under the watchful eyes of their guards, trying to make out faces despite the distance and growing darkness. He realized he could pick out a few after all, though not all of them were looking in his direction. There was no sign of Kovrim, however, and it was fast growing too dark.
The lieutenant was just about to scurry back down the tree and return to his companions deeper in the forest when the activity of the mercenary army suddenly changed. He could hear orders being shouted, and the soldiers formed up into units. Most of the foot troops began to assemble in column formation, preparing to march, but a handful had stayed near the tree line, milling about and talking. They looked to be the better armed, perhaps most veteran of the troops.
No, not merely soldiers, Vambran realized, trackers and bounty hunters-professionals. They're sending their best back in to get us.
The prisoners also got to their feet, apparently also having been ordered to ready themselves to move. He watched as the Crescents formed a line, still watched over by their guards, and the cavalry mounted up. Together, the cavalry and the infantry began to move off, flanking the prisoners.
Shortly afterward, the trackers began to enter the forest to hunt for the remaining fugitives. The lieutenant was mildly surprised, given the fact that it was nearing the end of the day, but the growing dark did not seem to deter them.
Vambran scurried back down the shadowtop, disappearing into the foliage, and when he reached the bottom, he darted away, weaving through the trunks of the trees in an effort to gain a lead on the impending pursuit. Already he could hear the soldiers beginning to push forward, entering the woods. As he trotted, the lieutenant began to formulate possible plans to evade the new group of hunters. Unlike before, when there were more men hunting, he did not think it would be too difficult to hide from the trackers and wait for them to pass, especially in the gloom of twilight. But Vambran suspected they had effective magic employed to prevent just such an occurrence.
I guess we'll find out soon enough, Vambran thought, nearing the location where he had parted ways with the other six Crescents. They were not there.
Good, the lieutenant thought. They didn't wait around.
Vambran pulled his holy coin free and uttered a quick prayer, visualizing Adyan's crossbow in his mind as he did so. Once his divine magic had taken effect, Vambran could sense the direction in which the crossbow-and by extension, Adyan and the others-lay, and he began to move that way.
Just based on the limitations of the magic, Vambran knew his companions could not be too far ahead of him, and as he drew closer to their position, he could hear them well before they came into his view. There was quite a bit of shouting. Frowning in anger over their lack of stealth, he was ready to scold his sergeants as soon as he caught up to them.
The lieutenant's admonition died in his throat as he rounded a barrier of several tangled suth trees and spotted the six Crescents.
The mercenaries were bunched together, fending off nearly half a dozen very large vipers. Even as he sprinted toward them to aid in the fight, another snake slithered out of the deepening shadows, from beneath the suth entanglement. The serpent blocked Vambran's path as it reared up, towering higher than Vambran himself. As he drew his sword free of its scabbard, the snake hissed and opened its mouth, sending a gout of liquid right at the mercenary officer.
CHAPTER 8
Kovrim and Velati were forced to walk for most of the rest of the day, escorted by their captors along the coast of the Vilhon Reach. Their path followed an old road, presumably an abandoned logging route, for it cut inland after a while, penetrating the forest as it angled almost due east, with the setting sun sinking low behind the group. At several intervals along the way, they came upon other groups of soldiers, more members of the mercenary company that sported the silver raven
for its symbol. Each time, new prisoners joined, more members of the Order of the Sapphire Crescent who had made it to shore after the sinking of Lady's Favor and were subsequently captured.
Though he was sorry to see the Crescents taken, Kovrim was glad to see them alive and well for the moment. They were ordered in no uncertain terms not to speak, so the priest got little information from any of them. Each time a new handful of prisoners was added to the ever-growing collection of mercenaries and their charges, Kovrim was both relieved and worried that Vambran was not among them.
As nightfall came, the prisoners-who numbered twelve Crescents by then-and their escort arrived at a large encampment. Numerous tents had been set up, gathered in small clumps around campfires. Even in the failing light, it was easy for Kovrim to see that the place was more than just a rest stop for the troops. A large, ruined tower stood in the middle of the open area, most of its stones tumbled and scattered. A newer but no less abandoned cottage, perhaps once belonging to a woodsman or hermit, had been built with some of the stone from the much older tower. It, too, had fallen into ruin, with only one partial stone wall still standing and a chimney leaning haphazardly against it. Stunted trees and tall grasses filled the clearing as the forest did its work, taking back the lands once cleared by men.
The captured Crescents were led over to one side of the camp, near the edge of the clearing. There, an old barn still stood, crafted from rough, natural logs. The building still looked stout enough to keep prisoners confined. The Crescents were led to the makeshift jail and ordered inside.
Once confined, Kovrim sank down wearily in the darkness and sighed, feeling the ache in his feet. The narrow door swung shut behind the mercenaries, and Kovrim watched through chinks in the wall as two burly figures settled a heavy log in place across the portal, effectively locking most of them inside. Kovrim still had options, he knew, but using his little remaining magic would require careful planning. He did not like the thought of leaving the men behind.
"Well, this is a fine mess," one of the Crescents said. It was Hort Bloagermun, known as Old Bloagy to everyone in the unit. He was as old as Kovrim and a veteran of many seasons' worth of campaigning. Though he wasn't quite as spry with a blade as he had once been, he was still a crack shot with his crossbow, which was how he had managed to stay with the company for so many years.
Kovrim nodded, though he knew Old Bloagy couldn't see him in the near-darkness. "Aye, and it'll get finer before it's finished, I'll wager," he said as Hort moved to sit beside him. "Tell me what you know so far."
Hort snorted in the twilight. "Not much, and that's more than most of us," he said. "When the ship went down, we all tried to rally to the beach, but a couple of the lads and I got cut off by one of them accursed pirate ships, which had enough archers on it to stick us all twenty times over. We had to hightail it the other direction, and by the time we had outdistanced them, we couldn't see where the main group had gone. We headed for shore anyway, and hooked up with three more boys, but that's when a whole mess of these fellows' cavalry arrived. We were outnumbered at least ten to one and didn't see the sense in putting up much of a fight, and now here we are."
The rest of the group had similar tales to tell. When they had all recounted their own fates in the attack, Kovrim quizzed the group on how many of their companions they knew had fallen in battle, if any of them had seen or had been with Vambran at any point during the confusion, and what sorts of equipment they had been allowed to keep.
At one point, the priest's information gathering was interrupted as the door was unbarred and opened.
Several soldiers came inside carrying a large kettle of some sort of fish stew and a handful of wooden bowls. "Finish what you want and use the kettle for your jakes," one of the soldiers said. The stew was weak and watery, but to Kovrim, who hadn't eaten in more than a day because of his seasickness, it tasted fine. After everyone had a chance to nourish themselves, the priest continued his questioning.
In the end, despite the total surprise of the corsairs' attack, it sounded as though the company's losses were light. Only four were confirmed dead or mortally wounded at sea, and none of them had seen Vambran fall. Kovrim's hope that his nephew was still alive, and possibly still free, began to grow.
The supplies were not so promising. Most of their equipment, including packs, belts with pouches, and any holy symbols belonging to the priests among them, had been taken. Old Bloagy had managed to keep a small knife concealed, tucked way down in his boot, but it was hardly a weapon, and it certainly couldn't get anyone far in an escape attempt.
"Well, Crescents," Kovrim said at last, "it looks like we'll be biding our time here for the night." When everyone began to speak at once, asking why they had been attacked on the sea and why they had been taken prisoner without having even engaged the enemy in battle, Kovrim had to shout to get them to settle down. "Those are questions we don't have the answers to, yet. But if these soldiers follow any of the code, I'm sure we'll be learning more soon. In the meantime, get some rest, and no one is to try anything foolish on their own. We're still on campaign, and I'm the ranking officer, and those are my orders. Any questions?"
None of the twelve had any issues, so after another bowl of stew for each, the Crescents settled in for the night. Kovrim found a relatively comfortable spot leaning against one wall of the barn and began to try to piece together what he could of the day's events. Assuming that both the encounters with the pirates and the mercenaries were coordinated, he was troubled by the incongruity of their purposes. The pirates had wanted them dead, no quarter offered-he suspected that the kraken was their doing and not just lousy luck. The silver ravens, on the other hand, had seemed loathe to kill them, even going so far as to allow him to heal Velati. Something didn't quite make sense, but Kovrim had a suspicion he would eventually come to regret finding out the answer. He considered whether or not it was an opportune time to slip away unseen and try to hunt for some help, but he decided against it, at least for the time being. He wasn't sure if the guards had taken a head count, and he didn't want to create more trouble for the rest of the Crescents. He would wait to escape until he knew he could get away with it.
The priest fell asleep fretting about many things.
"Now remember, this place is real trouble, so be on your toes, and stay out of everyone's way," Xaphira cautioned again as she led Emriana around a corner and down the narrow side street toward the entrance to The Silver Fish.
Emriana tried to contain her sigh of exasperation. "Yes, I know," she said. "You've told me five times already."
"Well, I want to make sure you get it, Em," her aunt snapped back, startling the younger girl with her vehemence. "I'm not kidding around. This isn't practicing in the barnyard. A body or two winds up sitting outside the doors of this place just about every night."
Emriana was more careful to sound respectful and agreeable. "All right, I'll watch out."
"Good."
Emriana could hear loud, boisterous music and singing as they approached, and she wrinkled her nose in distaste. They reached the entrance to the rathrur and Xaphira led the way inside. Immediately, Emriana could see what her aunt was talking about. The clientele were of the surliest, roughest sort she could have imagined, all dirty, sweaty men and women who performed the most menial labors of the city. As the two women strolled in, more than a few conversations halted as many pairs of eyes turned curiously toward them. Xaphira didn't seem to notice, but Emriana found herself feeling very self-conscious. She caught herself crowding in a little tighter behind Xaphira, almost stepping on her heels.
I can't believe she used to spend all of her time here, Emriana thought, vaguely disgusted. It's the great unwashed all packed together.
The girl wrinkled her nose at the sour smell that hung in the smoky air and followed her aunt. Xaphira led her over to a spot along the bar that was unoccupied at the moment and settled against it. Emriana noticed a dark stain that looked suspiciously like blood spattered acr
oss part of the bar nearest her. She discreetly placed her hands at her sides rather than lean against it as she tried to peer around without actually staring at anyone.
In the far corner of the rathrur, a small stage had been set up, and three musicians played a lively tune while the patrons sang along. One of the bards had a swollen, discolored nose. Emriana realized that there were actually three different sets of lyrics to the song being performed, and the crowd seemed to be competing with itself to see which of the versions was actually correct, the winner being determined by sheer volume. She listened to the version being sung by the table nearest to hers, but after getting the gist of the bawdy words, she blushed and tried to tune it out again.
One of the other patrons stood up and wandered over in Xaphira's and Emriana's direction, and the look in the fellow's eyes made the girl shiver, for it reminded her a little too much of how Denrick had looked at her that night in her bedroom, when he had her tied to a chair.
"Uh, Aunt Xaphira, don't look now, but here comes trouble," Emriana said as quietly as she dared over the music.
Xaphira slipped one of her throwing daggers free from her belt and made a show of jabbing it into the surface of the bar, though she never looked up at the approaching man, who was weaving slightly. Upon seeing the brandished weapon, the drunk fellow paused, tilted his head to one side as if considering whether or not the struggle would be worth the prize, and apparently thought better of it. He adjusted his direction to take himself to the far end of the bar and didn't look back.
Emriana shuddered again. "I can't believe you liked coming here," she grumbled, wrinkling her nose again.
Xaphira laughed. "There was a time when all of this was good sport, Em," she said, "There was nothing better than coming down to the dockside of town and slumming with the commoners."
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