The Mysterious Coin

by James E. Wisher

  Shouldn’t be too hard. How many white-and-gold mansions surrounded by a black fence could there be?

  Moz opened his eyes to darkness and silence. Part of his training allowed him to wake pretty much whenever he wanted so that made it nearly midnight. Priscilla had to have gotten bored and gone home by now. Just to be safe, when he rolled out of bed he went to the room’s small window and forced it open. The frame cracked. It sounded like an explosion in the dark. He winced and made a mental note to leave the innkeeper a couple extra coppers to pay for the damage.

  He had just room enough to wriggle his broad shoulder through. Moz held on to the ledge and looked around. The street lamps were few and far between in this part of the city. He doubted anyone could see him even if there was someone looking.

  He dropped, absorbing the impact with bent knees. When no one called out, Moz turned toward the wealthy district and started jogging. Speed would be his best ally. Keeping to the shadows and off the main street, Moz worked his way up the hill towards the wealthy district. Honest folks were long abed and any criminal that saw him would take one look and move on to easier prey. Moz quickly reached the outskirts of the wealthy district without meeting another soul.

  At the edge of the neighborhood he froze and studied the streets. Everything was wide open and well lit. No amount of sneaking would hide him here. The white cobblestones reflected the lamplight making it appear even brighter. How was he going to find the mansion without getting caught?

  The answer walked past five minutes later in the form of a guard pair on patrol. The bigger of the two looked like his uniform would fit with enough room to hide Moz’s armor.

  He drew both his swords and reversed his grip so the blades ran along his forearms and the skull hilts jutted forward. Most people that saw the heavy skulls thought they were there for intimidation, and they certainly were intimidating, but their main purpose was to serve as bludgeons when needed.

  The guards couldn’t have been more relaxed as they made their rounds which meant Pierremont had followed Moz’s advice and kept his threats quiet.

  Gathering himself, Moz sprinted up behind the guards.

  A double cross swipe brought the iron skulls down on the backs of their heads. He made sure not to swing with his full strength. Nonetheless, both men fell in a heap.

  Moz grabbed their collars and dragged them back to the dark area of the street and stripped the bigger man of his tabard. The fit wasn’t perfect, but Moz would pass a casual inspection. Anything more than that and he’d be using his swords again.

  Before setting out, Moz relieved the guards of their meager valuables. When they woke up they’d hopefully assume they’d been mugged and conjure up a story about a horde of thieves descending on them and beating them unconscious to explain their defeat.

  Satisfied that he’d covered his tracks as well as possible, Moz took a breath and strode confidently out into the light. He marched along like he had every right to be there. Sometimes that aura of confidence alone would keep people from questioning you. A disagreeable snarl and narrow-eyed glare helped as well.

  The first two mansions he passed were both painted white, but the first didn’t have a fence and the second had green trim. The third was only a single story. He paused in front of the fourth. The iron fence was black and, toward the rear of the property, through a screen of trees, he spotted the main house; white and gold, just like Robess said.

  Reasonably confident that he’d found his target, Moz resumed his patrol. When he reached the corner of the property he turned down a side street. He listened hard for a second before climbing the fence and landing silently inside.

  Another pause to listen confirmed that he’d drawn no attention.

  So far so good.

  Either these people didn’t take security that seriously or they expected the guards to keep everyone away. Moz was just glad for a break going his way for a change, not that he really trusted his luck.

  The grounds surrounding the mansion were perfectly manicured and filled with dozens of trees, both evergreen and broadleaf. Moz slipped through the manmade forest like a ghost. In less than a minute he reached the side of the mansion. Most of the many windows were dark, but two on the second floor burned with light. He’d hoped to find everyone asleep, but it wasn’t to be.

  Moz shrugged, drew a thin-bladed dagger, and slipped over to the nearest window. A few seconds later he had the latch free and the window open. Inside he could barely make out the silhouette of a bed and the soft breathing of the room’s occupant.

  Carefully entering, Moz latched the window and worked his way across the room to the inner door. The sleeping individual never flinched. A moment later he was out in a dark hall. The details were few given the lack of light. It looked like a couple paintings on the wall and a little table between a pair of doors across from him.

  Now, if he was involved with a secret society, where would he hide the evidence? Probably upstairs where the light came from. At the very least he could find someone to question.

  Moz snuck through the dark mansion until he found a curved staircase leading to the second floor. Keeping close to the wall to avoid any squeaks, he made his way up. At the top, a hall ran left and right. Light seeped from under the third door to his right. That was his target.

  When he pressed his ear to the door, no sound emerged. Slowly and gently he tried the handle. It was unlocked. Inch by inch he pressed it down until the bolt was fully withdrawn.

  He held his breath and waited. Still no reaction.

  Moz eased the door open an inch and looked inside. Crow sat behind an expansive desk and scribbled away on a piece of paper, seeming totally unaware that someone was watching. Something tickled the back of his mind, but this was too good an opportunity to pass up.

  He opened the door just enough to slip through, entered, and closed the door behind him. Crow looked up from his paper. “Finally. I’ve been sitting here for hours waiting for you to show up.”

  Moz had just time enough to be confused before something heavy slammed into the back of his head and he knew no more.

  Moz came slowly awake, the back of his head screaming. He had a new level of empathy for the many people he’d bashed over the years. It might’ve been kinder if he’d just killed them. Before he could open his eyes, he heard voices.

  “I’m telling you we should just kill him.” That was Crow. And the “him” he referred to was no doubt Moz. That was certainly not the sort of pronouncement you wanted to wake up to.

  “You read the message from the citadel as well as I did.” Moz nearly sat up. That was Priscilla. What was she doing here talking to Crow? “Do you really want to ignore our orders? Especially an order from Most High Black.”

  “He’s dangerous. Leaving a ranger alive is just asking for trouble.”

  “If we kill him and someone gets curious about where he went, any competent necromancer can summon his spirit which will tell them all about us.” Priscilla spoke with such contempt he wondered if what he’d been told about Crow being in charge of the city was true. “That’s why the most high wants him kept alive.”

  “I’m aware,” Crow said. “But there are ways to kill someone and destroy their souls as well.”

  “Are such means available to you?”

  “No.”

  “Then why bother bringing it up? It’s no wonder no cadre has invited you to join.”

  “No one’s rushing to claim you either,” Crow said.

  “Ha! I’ve been a member for less than a year. You’ve been here for six. I think if someone was going to call you up to join, they’d have done it by now. Even that idiot Rondo has joined a cadre.”

  “Don’t remind me.” Moz had never heard anyone sound as disgusted as Crow. “And the most high’s cadre at that. What could he possibly have to offer Lord Black?”

  “Beats me,” Priscilla said. “Maybe he stumbled onto a rare and valuable artifact. How’s that saying go? Even a blind squirrel occasionally fi
nds an acorn.”

  Crow chuckled. “Rondo is certainly the blindest squirrel I’ve ever met. Perhaps our guest can shed some light.”

  “Let’s ask,” Priscilla said.

  There were footsteps then Crow said. “Hey, wake up! Come on, a love tap like that can’t keep a ranger down.”

  Moz moaned and went through the motions of slowly coming to. When he opened his eyes he found himself in a dark, steel cage. Beyond the bars looked like an empty store room. No windows so he guessed he was in the basement of the mansion. A single oil lantern hanging from the floor joists did a poor job of lighting the space.

  He blinked at the pair. “Priscilla?”

  She smirked. “Didn’t have a clue, did you? No one ever suspects poor, pitiful Priscilla.”

  “Enough chatting,” Crow said. “Why are you after Rondo?”

  “His thugs tried to kill me. He escaped, they didn’t. I didn’t want to give him a chance to try again. On the hunt I met his father and we came to an agreement. I bring Rondo back and he makes sure his son never leaves home again. He offered me a nice price for my trouble too.”

  Crow nodded. “A private bounty. That makes sense. Be a good way for a retired ranger to make a living.”

  “How do you know I’m retired?” Moz asked.

  Crow laughed. “Your best years are clearly behind you. Make yourself comfortable. You’ll be here for a while.”

  Moz ignored him and looked at Priscilla. “Why did you betray me?”

  “I didn’t.” She shrugged. “As soon as I heard you asking about Rondo, I knew I had to keep an eye on you. It was a simple matter to take you by surprise. Don’t feel bad. I’ve fooled people a lot smarter than you.”

  Crow and Priscilla left the room. Moz scratched his beard. They’d stripped him of his weapons and armor. Even his boots were missing. Getting out of this mess wasn’t going to be easy.

  Chapter 12

  The sun had barely risen when Yaz bent and shook Silas awake. The wizard grumbled and rubbed his eyes. Yaz and Brigid had split the night watch letting Silas get his strength back. Yaz didn’t know much about magic, but just from observing, it was clear it took a considerable physical toll on the user. There were no wizards in Dragonspire Valley, but Yaz had thought from time to time that he might like to study magic. Having seen how casting just a few spells wore Silas out, his interest was waning rapidly.

  Brigid passed out jerky and dried fruit. As they ate Yaz couldn’t help wishing for a better meal before they left the city. Oh well, with the price on their heads he might have wished for the moon and had an equal chance of getting it.

  When they finished their meager breakfast, Silas stood and pointed at the boy he cursed. “Up, boy. Grab our horses and get moving. Unless you want to find out what it feels like to get electrocuted, you’d best be waiting for us when we arrive.”

  The boy nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir. I’ll be there.”

  He hurried over and started collecting the horses’ reins.

  “One moment,” Yaz said. He got his and Brigid’s spears from Thunder’s pack. “I’ve heard stories of sewer rats. If they’re true, I want something better than a walking stick to fend them off.”

  “I second that.” Brigid accepted her spear and Yaz put the walking sticks in the pack.

  Yaz moved back to the statue entrance. “Do we need anything else?”

  “Just our guide,” Silas said. “On your feet, Uncle.”

  The head thief scrambled to obey. Nothing like having a curse sparking in your chest to encourage good behavior.

  Silas spun his finger once in the air and a ball of light the size of a marble appeared. He spun twice more and the light grew to the size of his fist.

  Uncle led the way down a set of narrow, steep stairs. The passage was built from worn red brick and was so narrow they had to go single file. When everyone was through the opening, Uncle pressed a particular brick and the hidden door ground shut. They were committed now.

  The stairs descended far deeper than Yaz had thought. He counted thirty-eight before they reached the smooth stone of the tunnel proper. The smell wasn’t as bad as Yaz expected. Probably because they were still under the cemetery. Nothing was draining into this part of the old sewer.

  Uncle turned left and they marched along at a slow, steady pace. Silas’s conjured light provided them with a good look at the tunnel, not that there was much to see. A raised walkway ran on either side of a deep, dry trench. The bricks were perfectly fitted and undamaged. Typical imperial craftsmanship.

  Nothing much changed for a couple hundred yards. The first hint that they were reaching the main part of the sewer was the smell. That was followed by a slow trickle of sewage running down the center of the trench.

  “Gods be merciful.” Brigid pinched her nose shut with her left hand.

  “It only gets worse from here,” Uncle warned.

  They continued on into the sewer proper. Foul water dripped down from the ceiling, forcing them to watch where they put their feet. In most of the city, people just threw their waste into the streets and let the rain wash it away. They probably never thought about where it ended up. An excellent idea on their part.

  After a minute or two of breathing the nausea-inducing stench, Yaz found he hardly noticed it. Though he feared his nightmares tonight would be horrific indeed.

  “How much further?” Silas asked when they’d been tromping beside a river of sewage for ten minutes.

  “We’re about halfway to the exit,” Uncle said. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to draw this out a second longer than I have to. The sooner you three are out of my city, the happier I’ll be.”

  “Finally, something we agree on,” Yaz muttered.

  A few more minutes of trudging brought them to an arched bridge over the sewage river. Did something move on the other side?

  The thought had barely formed when four figures separated themselves from the shadows, raised crossbows and loosed. One bolt grazed Yaz’s cheek, two whizzed down the tunnel, and a fourth buried itself in Uncle’s shoulder. He howled in pain.

  “Hold your fire, you fools!” Uncle shouted.

  A fifth person stepped out of the shadows. Female for sure and dressed in tight, black leathers. “I told you to capture or kill those three, not bring them down our most secret pathways.”

  “Auntie,” Uncle murmured. “Please. The wizard cursed me. Unless I do what he says I’m dead.”

  “At least you would have died loyal,” Auntie said. “Kill them all.”

  Yaz flattened himself against the tunnel wall and Brigid followed suit. Silas grabbed Uncle and positioned him to act as a shield.

  “I thought you were in charge of the guild,” Silas said.

  “Second in command,” Uncle said. Another crossbow bolt streaked by. “I never imagined she’d order me killed. I brought that girl up through the ranks. Miserable ingrate.”

  Yaz ignored Uncle’s complaints and tried to gauge the distance to the crossbowmen. It took only a moment for him to realize they were too far away to risk throwing his spear. Not to mention such an effort would leave him unarmed.

  “What are we going to do?” Brigid asked as another volley of bolts streaked past.

  Yaz wished he had a good answer. Charging that narrow bridge was a death sentence.

  A pained shout snapped his gaze back to Silas and Uncle, who had another bolt sticking out of his upper leg. Light flashed and Silas threw his hand forward.

  A lightning bolt blasted out, nearly blinding Yaz.

  With his blurred, flashing sight he watched as a stone spear shot up and deflected the spell.

  “You didn’t think to mention she was a wizard?” Silas gave Uncle a shake.

  “I was distracted by the crossbow barrage. She only knows a few earth magic tricks. Most of them aren’t even that useful in our line of work.”

  Silas muttered something Yaz couldn’t make out but that sounded derogatory. Yaz’s slowly recovering vision gave him an idea. He
waited until the next barrage had gone past and darted over to Silas.

  “Can you blind them long enough for us to close the gap?” Yaz whispered.

  Silas nodded. “Be ready.”

  Yaz ran back to Brigid. “Close your eyes and don’t open them until I tell you.”

  “What’s going on?” she asked.

  “Just be ready to charge.”

  Brigid gave him a look before pinching her eyes shut. Yaz kept his gaze focused on Silas. Uncle now had four bolts sticking out of him and it looked like it was all Silas could do to keep his shield upright. Silas caught Yaz’s eye and nodded.

  Yaz screwed his eyes shut as tight as he could. Even so, when the light flashed, he saw it through his eyelids.

  “Yaz!” Silas shouted.

  “Now, Brigid!” Yaz opened his eyes and ran as hard as he could toward the bridge.

  Black-clad thieves staggered around clawing at their eyes. Yaz’s spear snaked out and gashed one of their throats open. The thief fell into the sewage river and was quickly carried away.

  Yaz spun and cracked the butt of his spear into a second thief’s gut doubling him over.

  Brigid engaged a third man who had dropped his crossbow and pulled a short sword.

  Yaz continued his spin, stabbing the last thief in his hip. The wounded man collapsed, clutching his side in a vain attempt to stop the blood.

  Before Yaz could finish him a tendril of stone wrapped around his right leg. Auntie glared at him and wove her hands in a complex pattern.

  A second stone tentacle grew out of the floor and instantly shattered in a shower of sparks. The stone wrapping Yaz’s legs quickly followed suit.

  Silas stood on the bridge, his hands raised and crackling with lightning.

  Leaving the wizards to their duel, Yaz met the man he’d hit in the stomach as he came charging in with a pair of drawn daggers.

  The spear’s haft easily turned the attacks aside. Yaz leapt back hoping to create distance.