The Hound leaned forward and waggled his eyebrows. "I know where to find the Torath mansion."
* * *
Ilanna stared at the mansion of the former of Lord Torath. The architecture of the two-story building lacked the pretension of its neighbors; it was a solid, practical construction clearly built for a man who favored function over form. From the high, turreted wall enclosing the property to the sturdy pillars supporting the arches and flat roof, it looked more like a stone fortress than the palatial estates of the nearby Upper Voramians.
No lights flickered in the windows, and she saw no sign of inhabitants. She turned to Laken with a questioning glance. "Abandoned?"
The Hound shrugged. "No one I talked to seemed to know. Or, they were in no hurry to share the information with me."
Ilanna's eyes narrowed as she turned her gaze back to the Torath manor. According to Darreth's research, King Gavian had reclaimed the estate after Lord Torath's death. Even a simpleton would know to sell the mansion—in a prime location in Upper Voramis—to another nobleman rather than keeping an empty property. And yet, by all appearances, the property was unoccupied.
If only I could get a better look inside. Without a rooftop vantage, she could see only the wall and the upper story of the building. She could scale the wall easily enough, but the passing Heresiarch patrols made that a dicey proposition.
"What's the play, Ilanna?" Errik asked.
Ilanna chewed her lip for a moment. "Laken, get around back, see if you can find another way in."
The Hound nodded and, drawing his dark cloak tighter, slipped off into the shadows.
Ilanna leaned against the wall, her mind racing. She could head back to The Sour Mash Inn in the hope Keltor and Athar had returned. But if their search had proved fruitless, she'd have made the journey across Voramis in vain.
She turned to her friend. "What do you think, Errik?"
The Serpent hesitated before speaking. "If that man you faced in Praamis really was a Torath bastard, he's bound to return here. Provided he survived the Stannar River, of course."
Ilanna rolled her eyes. "Has the world ever been kind enough to deal with our problems for us?"
Errik inclined his head. "Point. So given that he's bound to return, we wait and watch until he does."
"But why would he come here?" She motioned toward the dark, empty mansion. "Doesn't look like anyone's lived here for decades."
"True," Errik agreed, "but do you have any better ideas? Unless you can find a way through the Steel Company, I don't think we're going to get any answers from Lord Damuria."
Ilanna ground her teeth. Given time, she'd manage to find a way in. But time was something she didn’t have much of. Her duties as Master of the Night Guild beckoned, and every day she stayed increased the risk the Bloody Hand would discover her presence.
She drew in a breath to answer, but a faint sound cut off her words. She paused, holding her breath, straining to hear. Had it just been a trick of her mind, or something rattling in the wind?
It came once more: the rattle of a chain, followed by the familiar thunk of a heavy deadbolt.
She gripped Errik's arm and pulled them deeper into the shadows as the postern gate to Torath mansion opened. A dark figure emerged and peered up and down the street, then ducked back inside. Moments later, the main gate swung open on creaking hinges, and a covered wagon clattered out.
Ilanna paid no attention to the two drivers, but she scanned the mansion interior for the few seconds the gate remained open. Dozens of rough-looking men moved about, hauling wooden barrels from within the building and loading them into two more wagons. Shuttered lamps provided just enough illumination for them to work without lighting up the mansion. When the gates swung shut behind the departing wagon, the high walls muffled the sounds of labor.
Ilanna traded glances with Errik, and he nodded. "It has to be."
The wooden barrels were identical to the ones she'd burned on the dock in Praamis. They could contain anything—from Nyslian wine to Drashi ale to Twelve Kingdoms olive oil—but she would wager a fortune in gemstones that they contained Bonedust.
This reeks of the Bloody Hand. The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. The men working within the Torath mansion had a distinctly thuggish look about them. Most of Voramis' legitimate enterprises were headquartered in the Merchant's Quarter, and never among the ostentatious buildings of Upper Voramis. Besides, what merchant waited until the pre-dawn hours of the morning to move lawful merchandise?
And let's not forget the man who was running everything in Praamis. That link between the Bloody Hand and the Torath crest is too definite to ignore.
So what now? Much as she wanted to, she couldn't rush the gates and slaughter every Bloody Hand scum within. That wouldn't solve her problem—how to stop the flow of drugs and trafficked women through her city—but would get them all killed.
No, if she'd learned anything from her years in the Night Guild, it was that information was power. Too many questions hadn't yet been answered. Was the man from Praamis truly a bastard of House Torath? What had the Bloody Hand promised him in return for his aid? And how was Lord Damuria connected to it all? She needed to learn more in order to find a way to bring down the Bloody Hand's operations in her city once and for all.
A new sound set her on full alert: the unmistakable clip clop of horses' hooves accompanied by the rattle of metal-shod wheels on the cobblestone. Shrinking deeper into the shadows, she peered up the street. A post-chaise, the sort used by wealthy merchants and nobles journeying long-distance, clattered around the corner. A pair of muscle-bound men rode on the front, with another pair standing on the tail board and clinging to the roof.
Ilanna had eyes only for the figure within the carriage. In the dim light of the shuttered lamps swinging from the lantern holders, she caught a glimpse of familiar slim, angular figures.
Lord Torath!
Chapter Seven
The man she'd come to call Lord Torath reclined on the post-chaise's plush seats, his expression calm, confident.
Anger surged within Ilanna. Her hand gripped the hilt of her dagger so hard the leather creaked. This man—the one in charge of the Bloody Hand's operations in her city and the bastard who had stabbed Ria—rode in luxury while the women he bought and sold like cattle were condemned to live in filth and squalor, mistreated and abused.
A hand gripped her arm, and she whirled. Errik shook his head. "Not now," he mouthed.
She tore her arm from her friend's grip. He meant well, but she hated the fact that he believed she'd do something foolish, no matter how angry she was.
Heart pounding a furious tattoo against her ribs, she watched the carriage approach the mansion gate. One of the thugs leapt down from the seat and knocked on the postern gate. A few moments later, a man appeared, and the two carried on a hushed conversation.
Ilanna's hands flexed and relaxed. If only she had a crossbow, she could put a bolt through Lord Torath. But no, after what he'd done to so many innocent young girls, he deserved a fate far worse than a quick death. And she'd get answers before she sent him to the Long Keeper. When she was done with him, she'd have everything needed to shut down the Bloody Hand's operations in Praamis for good. She'd scorch the earth so thoroughly the bastards would never be able to return.
Still, it took all her self-control to remain hidden in the shadows, motionless as the main gate opened and the carriage disappeared within the mansion.
Errik's breath whistled softly beside her. "Well, at least we know where to find him."
"If only there was a way to get at him," she growled. "With all those thugs for protection in there, we've got a better chance of sprouting wings and flying back to Praamis." She ran a finger over the hilt of her dagger, her mind working at the problem. Perhaps Laken would find a back way into the Torath mansion, or—
The gate suddenly rumbled open again, and Lord Torath's carriage clattered out and down the street.
She w
hirled on Errik. "Wait here for Laken, then head back to the inn. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"But what about—"
Ilanna didn't hear the rest of his question. She was already out of the alley and racing down a side street. She had to follow that carriage!
Lord Torath had gone down the main avenue that cut through Upper Voramis, but Ilanna couldn't follow him directly and risk being detained or delayed by a Heresiarch patrol. Instead, she turned down a side street, one that ran parallel to the one the carriage traveled.
The mansions lining this route lacked the breathtaking opulence of those along the broad thoroughfare—no doubt owned by the merchant-nobles and noveau riche that had purchased estates in Upper Voramis instead of simply inheriting them. Still, Ilanna's thief instincts couldn't help cataloguing every access point to the mansions. Even if the estates didn't belong to someone with a “lord” in their name, they still had plenty of wealth to steal.
Every perpendicular street she passed, she cast a glance toward the main avenue in search of Lord Torath's carriage. The avenue ran a circuit around Upper Voramis, with only one broad intersection belonging to the thoroughfare that led to Lower Voramis.
Her heart sank as she realized the street ended in a cul-de-sac a few hundred paces away. With no other choice, she darted down a side road that connected with the main avenue. She'd have to risk being spotted by Lord Torath's thugs or the Heresiarchs—it was the only way to keep following her target.
She pressed herself against a wall as the carriage rattled past. Just as she was about to step out into the road, the tromp of heavy hobnailed boots drifted up the street. The light of torches and lanterns brightened the night. Biting back a curse, she slipped behind a hedge and waited, breathless.
The Heresiarchs seemed to march at a snail's pace, taking their time to reach the side street in which she hid. She shrank deeper into the foliage as two red-robed guards stomped toward her. They stopped a short distance away, swinging their lanterns to and fro as they scanned the street. One actually moved toward her, and she froze as the light drew nearer her hiding place.
"Come on!" shouted a voice. "Stop playing with your pricks and get back here so we can complete our Keeper-damned round."
"Shut it, Darak," snarled the Heresiarch nearest her. "Just because we've got the cushy job, that don't mean we can half-ass it. You remember what happened to Holthar when Captain Burnal found him drunk on watch."
"Aye, poor bugger," replied a third voice. "The Midden's no place for a lad with such a delicate constitution. Last I heard, he was so busy puking up his guts…"
The voices grew faint as they returned to their patrol and marched down the street.
Ilanna waited until the sound of their booted feet faded into the night, then peered down the avenue. The carriage had vanished. Muttering a curse on the Heresiarchs, she sprinted in the direction it had gone. It couldn't have gotten far, but that didn't offer much consolation. Lord Torath could have turned down any of the connecting streets. With no idea where he was going, she had little hope of finding him.
Dismay twisted like a knife in her gut as she ran. She gasped for air, her legs burning from the exertion, but she refused to stop. The first rays of dawn were already appearing over the eastern horizon. The streets would soon fill with servants going about their masters' business and wealthy nobles off to do whatever nobles did. A dark-cloaked woman running through Upper Voramis would attract the wrong kind of attention.
A short distance away, a young girl—no older than eight or nine—pushed a four-wheeled flower cart up the street.
"You, child!" Ilanna shouted, rushing toward her. "Did you see a carriage pass this way?"
The girl looked up from her labor, surprise and a hint of fear on her face. She wore the ragged grey robes of the Beggared, orphan children raised by the Beggar Priests.
Ilanna produced a silver drake. "The carriage should have passed within the last few minutes."
The girl nodded. "It went that way." Her finger indicated a street that ran perpendicular to the main avenue.
"Thank you!" She flipped the coin to the girl and sprinted away.
"Beggar bless you," the child called after her.
Ilanna raced up the street, head swiveling as she searched for the post-chaise. Her heart soared as she caught a glimpse of it rounding a corner. She poured on the speed, her soft-soled boots flying over the cobblestones.
She slowed as she approached the intersection Lord Torath had turned down and peered around the corner. The street ended in a solid wall after fifty or sixty paces, with a gate that was even now rumbling closed behind the post-chaise. Shock coursed through her at the sight of the men closing the gate: they wore the burnished armor of the Steel Company.
Ilanna slipped closer, her gaze rising over the high wall to take in the four-story building behind it, and the enormous tower rising into the pre-dawn morning. There was no mistaking it, this was Lord Damuria's mansion.
Now what the hell is Lord Torath doing here?
* * *
Damn it! Ilanna ducked behind a passing wagon. That's the third Heresiarch patrol to side-eye me in the last hour.
She wasn't surprised—the Duke's Arbitors or the Praamian Guard would have treated her the same had she loitered in Old Praamis or The Gardens—but that didn't make her task of staking out Lord Damuria's mansion any easier. She couldn't reach the rooftop perch from the night before, not in full daylight with the heavy pedestrian and carriage traffic up and down the main avenue.
She'd spent the hours watching for any sign of Lord Torath. From her current position, sitting on a comfortable stone bench beside a bubbling fountain, she could keep an eye on both the street that led to the rear entrance and the main gate at the front of Lord Damuria's mansion. But if the Heresiarchs' attitude was any indication, she'd overstayed her welcome.
With one last glance at the imposing gates that stood between her and her target, she stood and strode toward the avenue that led out of Upper Voramis, through the Merchant's Quarter, and into Lower Voramis. She needed to check in with Errik and the others, figure out a new plan of approach.
They needed a way to get into Lord Damuria's mansion, past the Steel Company mercenaries. If they could catch both Lord Torath and Lord Damuria in the same place, she could get the answers she needed. If Lord Damuria truly was mixed up with the Bloody Hand—which Lord Torath's presence in his mansion seemed to confirm—taking him out would remove an important piece from the Nizaa board. His resources and reputation no doubt aided the Bloody Hand's business efforts around Voramis, Praamis, and the south of Einan.
Unfortunately, the hours she'd spent studying Lord Damuria's estate and the surrounding manors hadn't yielded any hopeful outcomes. Perhaps she could find a way to lure the noblemen out from behind their high walls. But how? What would cause them to—
Someone collided with her, nearly knocking her off her feet. A heavy-set man with a thick beard, curiously dark eyes, and a generous paunch stared down at her in surprise.
"F-Forgive me," he stammered, nervously adjusted the collection of needles and clothier's tools in his breast coat pocket. "I-I didn't see you—"
Ilanna waved him away. "It's nothing. Just watch where you're going next time."
"Of course, of course." With a bow, the pudgy tailor hurried up the street.
Ilanna resumed her trek through the Merchant's Quarter. By the time she reached The Sour Mash Inn, the Lady's Bell had rung the midday hour. Slipping around the back, she entered through the odorous privy door and up the stairs to her room.
She took care to step on the creaking floorboard in the hall, then tapped on the door. "It's me," she said in a low voice.
The door opened, and Errik's worried face appeared. "Bloody hell, Ilanna, where have you been?" he demanded as he sheathed his dagger. Behind him, Sys and Athar also stowed their drawn weapons.
"Tracking our prey." She shut and locked the door behind her. As she turned, her gaze fell on
the stick-thin figure of Keltor, who lay stretched out on one of the room's two beds. "But first, tell me he's uncovered something useful."
"Aye, that we have," Athar said, with a grin.
Ilanna raised an eyebrow. "Well?"
"As per your orders," Athar began, "we paid a visit to the Voramis Hall of Records in the Palace of Justice. You should have seen it, Master Gold! It makes King Ohilmos' palace look like—"
A muffled snort came from the prone Scorpion. "Trust the youngster to utterly lose track of his mind." With a yawn, Keltor sat up and produced his spectacles, settling them on his nose. "As spectacular as the Palace of Justice may be," he said, making no attempt to hide his derision of the young man, "I doubt the Guild Master cares. If you can't be trusted to stay on topic, perhaps it's best you keep your mouth shut."
Athar colored. "See here, Keltor," he snarled, bristling, "I've had just about enough of—"
"Keltor!" Ilanna snapped. "Get to the 'something useful', if you please."
Athar's expression grew surly, reminding her a great deal of Kodyn.
Keltor gave the young Serpent a smug smile. "Of course, Master Gold," he said. "With a bit of clever guile, I was able to gain access to the records for House Torath."
"It was my idea, you know?" Athar interjected. "I was the one who said you should say you were writing a treatise on the history of the Eirdkilr Wars."
Keltor dismissed him with a wave. "Once inside the hall, I was able to comb over all records pertaining to the Torath family. Business transactions, investments, royal appointments, and such. More importantly, genealogies of the late Lord Torath, his wife, and his immediately forebears."
Ilanna sighed. "While I'm all for learning how the butcher makes the sausage, Keltor, perhaps you could skip to the important information?"
"Of course." Keltor's face showed his displeasure, an expression contrasted by Athar's delight at her reproach of the Scorpion. "As I was saying, we were able to trace Lord Torath's lineage back to Torath Blood-hand, and we studied the branches of the Torath family. Cousins, in-laws, and such." His face grew grim, and he shook his head. "Not surprisingly, the noble house's line ended with the late Lord Torath."
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