The Manticore's Soiree

by Alec Hutson

  Halfway to the door, the Vigilant turned back to the bar. “Our relationship is better if we don’t feel like we owe each other anything, I think.” He winked at Vessa. “Good day, ladies.”

  After Malz’s departure from the Grot, there was a long, uncomfortable silence in which the Celd warriors stared at each other, then at Vessa, and then at their supine companion.

  Finally Carine cleared her throat. “Well, you heard the Vigilant. I’m sure he got a good look at all of you, so don’t even think about starting anything now that he’s gone. Help your friend upstairs and I’ll have a round on the house waiting for you when you return.” She glanced at Vessa, lowering her voice. “And you, Del’s in the back. Go see him and try not to cause any more trouble.”

  “Right. Thanks.” Vessa gulped the rest of her drink, watching the fidgeting Celd out of the corner of her eye, then set down the flagon and strode quickly from the common room and into the inner recesses of the Grot.

  Here the shadowed corridors twisted and turned, low-ceilinged and at times so narrow her shoulders nearly brushed the walls. It was a rat’s nest of passages and small rooms, designed so that if the city guard or some other armed force raided the Grot those inside had adequate time to escape. Vessa was sure that there were all sorts of secret exits built into the ancient tavern, though she’d never managed to convince Carine or any of the other servers to show her one.

  She found Del Amoth seated at a small stone table in an alcove separated from the corridor by a wooden screen that had been partially drawn back. The image of a reclining naked woman had been painted on the half of the screen that was visible, and it almost looked to Vessa like this lovely lady was sharing the space with her partner.

  “A lover’s cubby? Am I interrupting?”

  Del turned toward her, wearing one of those dimpled smiles that had melted the hearts of countless maidens up and down the Shattered Coast. Years ago, when they had met for the first time, he’d tried to disarm her the same way – only to find out his charms wouldn’t work on her.

  Which meant whoever was sitting behind the screen was female.

  “Vess! I was just starting to worry.”

  She ducked inside the alcove and slid onto the bench beside him. As Vessa had expected, their potential employer was a young woman – little more than a girl, really. She was dressed in flowing gray robes, the cowl drawn up so that only a slice of her pale face was visible. Her small, delicate fingers were splayed on the table in front of her, and they tightened against the stone briefly as Vessa sat down. The girl was nervous, that much was obvious.

  “Well met, friend,” Vessa said, touching her forehead briefly in the traditional greeting of her people.

  “Well met,” the girl replied softly, picking at the embroidered hem of her sleeve. “I am Sahm.”

  Vessa waited a moment for a family name or some hint of where she had come from, but the girl offered nothing else, instead seeming to recede deeper into her robes.

  “Ah, I am Vessa of Ts’kelcha, third and last moon daughter of the swordmaiden Peralin.”

  “I’d heard . . .” the girl began awkwardly, “I’d heard you were from Xule.”

  Vessa smiled, trying to relax her. “I am. Xule is a great land, with quite a few queendoms and empires. Ts’kelcha is a string of emerald isles in the far south, pierced by black mountains we believe to be the teeth of fallen gods. Many of these jagged fangs still smolder with remnants of divine power, issuing smoke and fire into the sky.”

  “Sounds like a dangerous place,” the girl murmured.

  Vessa chuckled and winked. “It is. Beautiful and dangerous, like the swordmaidens who hail from there.”

  Some of the tension bound up in the girl seemed to leak away. Tentatively she reached up and drew back her hood.

  Vessa heard a slight intake of breath from Del Amoth. The girl was beautiful, her delicate, heart-shaped face framed by hair so pale it shimmered like strands of spun silver. The color of her eyes reminded Vessa of amber, those chunks of swirling red-gold stone she and her uncle had hunted for after storms on the beaches near her village. And her skin was smooth and white – except for the sunburst tattoo upon her left cheek, so small it looked like a frozen tear.

  She was a priestess of Aradeth the Golden.

  Vessa shifted uncomfortably. What was a follower of the Eternal Sun doing in a place like the Grot, meeting with a couple of . . . well, to be perfectly honest, a couple of darkness-loving rogues?

  From the expression on Del’s handsome, boyish face she knew he was thinking the same thing. And their reactions did not escape Sahm: she pursed her lips and color rushed up to darken her face.

  “I am a priestess of the Day. I mean, I was. I hope I might be one again.” A real tear slid down her face. “Oh, I pray that you can help me.”

  “What do you need done?” Del asked in a soft voice dripping with concern.

  Inwardly Vessa frowned, even as she tried to keep her disappointment from creeping into her face. Alberon had said this contract would be extremely profitable, but how much wealth could a maybe-expelled priestess truly offer them?

  Del’s tone suggested he might be angling for another kind of payment, and Vessa jabbed him hard with her elbow as he leaned across the table toward the sniffling priestess and placed his hand over hers.

  “Sahm – ow – why have you come to us?”

  Vessa’s fantasy of buying the Grot was quickly fading. Unless . . .

  “Are you here on behalf of your temple?” she asked.

  The priestess extricated her hand from Del’s and wiped at the tears staining her cheeks. “Y-yes. I was deemed . . . impure . . . so I should be the one sent into this foul place to meet with those who could help.”

  “Impure?”

  At Vessa’s question the girl’s eyes flickered down to the robes bunched around her mid-section. Oh.

  “You are with child?” Del asked with an almost guilty edge to his voice, withdrawing his hand.

  The priestess nodded miserably.

  Vessa’s fingers drummed the stone tabletop. “And I’ll wager this is bound up with why you are here.”

  “Yes. I was . . . weak and foolish.”

  They waited patiently as the priestess gathered her thoughts.

  “I had always been loyal to the blessed light,” she finally began, glancing shyly at Vessa and Del Amoth, “ever since my father gave me to the temple when I was but a small child. I have known nothing except prayers and the care of Aradeth’s sacred relics. When our chapter house was established in Malakesh two years ago, I was chosen to be one of the first of the faithful to settle in this heathen city. Here, my new duties included going down to the market square every few days to buy vegetables and meat for the temple’s kitchens. I met . . . I met a man while performing this task. He was always there and he spoke to me of such sweet things, and I found that my heart – once filled only with love for Aradeth – was now torn. We began to meet in private . . . and then, in a small room overlooking the market below, I allowed him to stain my body and soul.” She ducked her head, shame flushing her cheeks again.

  Vessa restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “Sahm, you did nothing that countless priests and holy men haven’t done themselves. If the gods smote everyone who violated their sacred vows there wouldn’t be anyone left to burn offerings in their honor.”

  “But that is not the worst betrayal!” she cried, twisting the hem of her sleeve so violently Vessa feared the cloth would tear. “He came to me and asked to see the relics of which I had spoken, and like a fool I let him into the temple, into our closely guarded sanctum. He stole our most precious treasure, the crystal Eye of Aradeth, and left me weeping on the mosaic floor at my own foolishness. I remember his face as he turned back to me, just before he vanished . . . there was no love in it, no remorse.”

  “He tricked you,” Del Amoth murmured, stroking his chin thoughtfully.

  “Yes! Our meeting was no chance. He seduced me to gain a
ccess to our temple’s secrets.”

  “And you want us to steal back what he has stolen, this Eye of Aradeth.”

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “But whatever he told you was a lie,” Del said. “We cannot know who he was or where he is. The thief might already be halfway to the Silken Cities by now.”

  “The leader of my order claims he and the Eye are still in the city. He has discovered that the thief was working for the Night Brotherhood, the dark clerics who worship Xeno of the Shadows. It is they who have stolen and hidden the Eye. But we have learned where it is.”

  “And so you have come to us.”

  She nodded again. “The manse where the Eye is being kept is warded by powerful sorcery. The head of our order has heard a rumor of a pair of thieves who can slip through any magical protections, no matter how potent. Is it true?”

  Vessa shifted. “We . . . should be able to enter the manse. Sounds dangerous for us, though . . . and expensive for you.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Sahm pulled a small felt bag from a pocket of her robes and spilled its contents onto the stone tabletop. “These are yours when you return with the Eye.”

  Stones. Vessa sensed Del Amoth stiffen beside her, and her own mouth went dry. Red, white, blue, green – some faceted, others still rough. A sapphire the size of her thumbnail drew her eye, incised by a white cross. That jewel alone could fund their lives for a year.

  She tore her gaze away and flashed her friendliest smile. “Sahm, tell us how to find this manse.”

  Vessa crouched in darkness beside a red-brick wall veined by creepers. Around her the merchant prince’s garden, a wild profusion of flowers that spiced the humid night air with cloying smells, trembled in the faint breeze. Something slithered through the grass near her and Vessa stamped her foot, hoping to drive whatever creature it was away. Probably nothing poisonous, but she had grown up in a land where even the most harmless-looking lizard or snake could kill with a single bite, and the flowers filling this garden looked to have been drawn from distant realms. Perhaps the beasts were as well.

  A shadow emerged from behind the gnarled trunk of a dwarf banyan. “Vess,” Del hissed as he hurried to her side. “This is the spot?”

  “Yes. Even you should be able to climb the wall here without breaking your neck.”

  Del gripped a vine and gave it an experimental shake. “Seems strong.”

  “It’ll hold. Now, you’re sure the Eye is on the other side?”

  The outline of Del’s head bobbed in the darkness. “Aye. I got a better look at the roof a moment ago, and it’s definitely peaked, as Sahm said. There’s also some very nasty sorcery threading this wall – if we tried to climb over now, we’d burst into flame when we dropped to the other side.”

  “Is it any problem for you?”

  “Shouldn’t be. But I can’t be sure until I try and pick the wards apart.”

  “Well, have at it.”

  Del released the creeper and placed his palm flat upon the brick wall. Vessa glanced around, half expecting just this simple touch to summon forth some guardian wraith.

  “Hmmm, quite complex, really,” Del murmured to himself, then fell silent.

  Vessa waited patiently, trying not to disturb her partner while he worked. A nocturnal songbird chose this moment to commence its warbling, and Vessa gritted her teeth at the sound, wishing she could put her dagger through its feathered breast. Del had explained to her that what he did was akin to untangling the most complex knots imaginable, and that pulling the wrong string or hesitating too long would often alert the sorcerers who had set the ward that someone was tampering with their creation. It was a dangerous game, and more than once they’d had to flee when the magics involved had ended up being too difficult for Del’s talents.

  But those instances were few and far between – he was very good at what he did, maybe the best on the Shattered Coast. Del had grown up an initiate of the Weavers, the sorcerous spark within him nurtured and fanned in the hopes that one day he would contribute to the shimmering, magical tapestries that filled their hidden monastery. But Del’s prodigious gifts had proven unsuitable for creating . . . rather, his great talent lay in destruction. He was a Raveler, not a Weaver, and so he had found no place among those who worked the celestial looms. His mere presence, in fact, threatened their divine mandate, and so he had been cast out, sent from the monastery with only the robes he was wearing and enough provisions for a fortnight.

  Luckily, he was a rather resourceful lad, and had a refreshing lack of scruples when it came to liberating objects of value from their privileged owners.

  Del stepped back from the wall and let out a shuddering sigh. “Done, I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Unless there’s a layer here I can’t sense – which is possible, I suppose.”

  “How likely?”

  “Very unlikely.”

  “That’s excellent. You go over first.”

  Del squatted beside her, his head hanging in what she suspected was mock exhaustion. “I’m tired. And there may be flesh-and-blood guards waiting on the other side. More your specialty, I think.”

  Vessa snorted and approached the wall, running her hands over the vines to make sure there weren’t any hidden thorns. “And how will you feel if you’re wrong, and I explode into flame?”

  “Mildly guilty.”

  “Mildly guilty,” she repeated under her breath as she pulled herself up. She hesitated at the top, pushing aside the thought of what might become of her if Del hadn’t succeeded in fully unraveling the ward, then swung herself over and dropped down.

  Vessa didn’t combust when she landed in the long grass, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The garden on this side was more sculpted, with tiled paths wending between low hedges and tidy beds of faintly-glowing moonblossoms. She put two fingers to her lips and trilled a rough approximation of the songbird she had heard earlier, and a few moments later an even worse rendition echoed back.

  While Del scaled the wall, Vessa crept closer to the manse, alert for any sign of movement. There were no guards that she could see, which seemed a trifle odd given the value of what the Night Brotherhood had stolen. Perhaps they placed all their faith on the wards woven into the garden wall – Vessa had found that those who were not sorcerers themselves sometimes put too much trust in the efficacy of spells.

  Del completed his awkward-sounding descent with a thump and a pained grunt, and Vessa held up her fist for quiet. Moments later he came up beside her, limping.

  “Are you all right?” she whispered.

  “Ah, I suppose so. Twisted my ankle when I fell – I thought there would be vines on this side of the wall as well to hold on to.”

  “No vines. No guards, either. How about more wards?”

  Del paused for a moment and cocked his head, as if listening intently. “Not that I can sense. There’s an odd resonance coming from the manse, but it doesn’t feel protective in nature.”

  “Might be the Eye. Can you tell where it’s located?”

  “It’s a bit muddled… but I think it’s coming from the second story.”

  “Then let’s start there.”

  They skirted the manse, keeping to the deeper shadows pooled by the garden’s hedgerows. Vessa watched the windows carefully, but she saw no flicker of light or any other indication that someone was inside. Vessa nudged Del and pointed at a balcony hanging over an arched portico. After he gave her arm an answering squeeze she dashed across the grass and pressed herself flat against the manse’s wall. Vessa ran her fingers over its surface – bricks. There was enough of a gap between each that she could find fingerholds and climb.

  With a grace honed from countless similar escapades she pulled herself up the wall and slipped over the balcony. She peered through a pair of open wooden doors into the manse’s shadowed interior, and although darker shapes hinted at various bits of furniture – a few high-backed chairs, a large chest, perhaps – s
he couldn’t with any confidence say what lay within. Vessa uncoiled the rope she had brought and dangled it down to where Del waited below, bracing herself.

  Soon he joined her on the balcony. She had a suspicion, despite his heavy breathing, that most of the effort of pulling him up had come from her own back and arms. City life had certainly softened him – when Vessa had first met Del, he had been but a scrawny boy, winnowed to bone and muscle by a decade of hauling water up steep mountain paths for the Weavers. Not anymore.

  Vessa began moving toward the open doorway but Del laid a hand on her shoulder, shaking his head. She knew why: almost certainly another set of wards infested the interior of the manse, and for that reason Del brushed past her, creeping forward with what little stealth he could muster. A floorboard creaked before he had gone more than a half dozen steps into the room; Vessa winced, and Del froze at the sound.

  It was so faint she willed him to continue, certain no one could possibly have noticed, but oddly enough he stayed unmoving. Then she realized why, and her heart leaped in her chest. He hadn’t made that sound – it had come from the other side of the wall closest to him. His eyes were fixed on a patch of deeper black that she assumed was a door, and Vessa tensed, half expecting it to swing open and for armed guards to burst through screaming the name of their dark god.

  That didn’t happen, but something else did. Behind Del what looked to be a man-sized window suddenly became illuminated. It was a mirror, but the reflection it contained was different than what it should be, as it showed Del crouched in a chamber drenched with light, not darkness. And it was not the spectral radiance of a swollen moon that filled the room, but a blazing midday sun. The shadow-draped furniture became clear, at least in the mirror: chairs clustered around a desk, and thick, ancient-looking grimoires filled floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Yet despite the brightness infusing the mirror none of that light spilled into the study where Del waited, motionless, unaware of the strangeness resolving behind him.

  A trap. Vessa tensed, preparing to rush into the room and haul Del back to safety, but hesitated when she saw in the mirror her partner rise from his crouch and start walking forward in unhurried, measured strides. Where was he going?