The Sapphire Crescent

CHAPTER NINE

Kovrim closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger in frustration. He held that for several moments, massaging the flesh to stave off the headache he could sense was coming. The priest let out a long, slow sigh, trying to relax his whole body, and the effect was startling. He hadn't realized how tense his shoulders were until he consciously relieved them.

The Syndo was getting nowhere in his search for some evidence that would reveal who was involved in the business deal at which Grand Trabbar Lavant had hinted. Whatever Lavant had going on that might be connected to the deaths of the two commoners, no one knew anything about it, and there was no record of it in the temple's business logs, current or archives. The high priest had done a good job of hiding it, if it did exist, which Kovrim was beginning to doubt. He was about ready to throw his hands up in despair and tell his nephew that there was nothing to pursue. Or, that Vambran would have better luck following up other leads, such as with the dead girl's mother.

Then Kovrim considered a possibility that hadn't occurred to him before. It made him feel ill at ease, for it was far from honest.

Then again, he told himself, if there's something going on, do I not have a responsibility to expose it before it brings woe to the entire temple?

The argument didn't feel terribly convincing. Claiming that the ends justified the means had never held much water with Kovrim, and he certainly didn't like falling back on it simply out of convenience then. Still, he felt a sense of urgency to do whatever it took to uncover the truth. If that meant a tumble from grace, then so be it. He could atone later, if that was what was required, or suffer the persecutions otherwise. He had to exercise every available option given to him. For Vambran's sake.

After all, he thought, I gave him that crossbow when he was twelve.

Nodding as if to convince himself, Kovrim scurried out of the records room and back to his own offices. If he was going to do it, he would have to know beforehand that it would offer up results. He shut the door and slid the bolt home, locking the portal securely. Then he sat down at his desk and took several deep, calming breaths. Afterward, he pulled his ceremonial prayer accoutrements out of the drawer of his desk and arranged them carefully on its surface.

First, Kovrim lit a taper from one of the lanterns in his office and used it to light some incense, which he placed in an open bowl. Once the smoke from that began to fill the room and he was sure it would not go out, the priest poured a bit of water from a stone pitcher he kept handy into a second bowl, a larger one, and set that right before him. He pulled a pouch open and dumped a handful of gold coins, five-sided Sembian nobles, out onto the desk, which he began to drop into the bowl of water one by one. As each coin splashed and tumbled to the bottom of tile bowl, Kovrim spoke a word of thanks, or of offering, or a plea for divine favor. When twenty-five coins were piled in the bowl, Kovrim closed his eyes and began to pray.

The priest sat that way for a very long time, murmuring his entreaties to Waukeen, fervently asking for guidance in what he was about to do. He formed the question he wanted answered in his mind, thinking only of it, letting the words of the prayer fall from his lips by rote, focusing every other part of himself on divining the answer. He willed himself to perfect calmness, let the odor of the incense and the joyous presence of his deity wash over him. He was at peace when he prayed, whether he was simply acknowledging his goddess's favor with appreciation, or he was drawing on the Merchant Friend for miraculous magic. That was his life, his dedication, and he felt no fear, no doubt, when he was in such a state.

After an indeterminate amount of time had passed, but which Kovrim knew was perhaps ten minutes from watching others perform such a prayer, he spoke the question aloud, calmly but firmly, requesting his goddess grant him guidance through its answer.

"Tell me, Lady of Trade, if I shall invade the sanctuary of my quarry and discover the confirmation I seek. Reveal to me, O goddess of coin and barter, if I peruse my adversary's private records, shall I discover the proof I need? Will I find a record of his secret business dealings?"

Almost immediately, a voice, an angelic voice-no, it was beyond angelic; it was power and love and wisdom itself-spoke to him, filled his mind with the answer.

The light of veracity will shine upon all that is hidden from you. Your heart will know the truth it seeks.

All at once the voice, the presence Kovrim had felt, the spirit of his deity, was gone, and he was left sitting alone in his office. He opened his eyes and peered about, feeling displaced for a moment, like he wasn't where he had expected to be. His fervent prayers always left him feeling that way, and it was comforting, in an odd sort of way, for it confirmed that he was totally devoted to Waukeen at those times, and let nothing else intrude on his deference and dedication.

The bowl with the coins and the water was empty, the sacrifice taken, as Kovrim knew it would be. Nodding in satisfaction, he took hold of the incense and carefully, almost reverently, ground it out, tapping the ash free of the remainder. Then he put his accoutrements away, setting them back in the drawer. Once he was finished, he sat back, staring at the wall for several moments, considering the answer to his prayer. He would find the answers he sought if he went and ransacked Lavant's personal things in his office. Now he knew that evidence existed, and that he would find it if he had the courage to follow through with his plan.

But should he? Kovrim wondered, still having doubts even after his divination. He supposed he should have expected to still feel reluctant, considering what was at stake. On the one hand, he still had no certain knowledge that the evidence would show anything other than that Lavant had arranged a business relationship between the temple and some merchants or similar partners. It might not give any credence at all to the suspicion that Lavant was actively covering up crimes. Indeed, Lavant might be truly guilty of nothing other than bad judgment in picking business partners.

On the other hand, if the high priest was guilty of much more than simple poor assessment of his associates, Kovrim felt a need to expose it, before it caused severe damage to the temple as a whole, both spiritually and financially. Regardless of the risk to himself, Kovrim had to know for sure. If he was wrong, then he might simply look the fool and receive punishment for invading the high priest's personal quarters unbidden. But if not…

Quickly, before he could change his mind again, Kovrim got up and unbolted his door. He slipped out and padded through the brightly lit corridors of the temple, making his way toward Grand Trabbar Lavant's offices. He knew the high priest would not be there during that time of the day, for it was common knowledge that he retreated to the gardens below to pray and meditate.

Kovrim chuckled, because what he knew that few others did not was that Lavant's "meditations" were actually simply an excuse for an afternoon nap before evening services commenced. Kovrim had no personal problem with the idea of resting when one could. He just thought it humorous that the Grand Trabbar was vain enough that he needed to fabricate a reason to cover up his rest. Either way, Kovrim felt safe in choosing that particular time of the day to skulk into the high priest's offices.

Though his heart was beating rapidly, Kovrim made a deliberate effort to nod and smile to anyone he met along the way. To do otherwise would cast suspicion on him, he knew, for his reputation as one of the more jovial and warm priests of the temple was strong. Indeed, he found that no one paid him a second glance so long as he maintained the facade of a merry priest strolling though the corridors on official business.

At last, he reached Lavant's office. Noting that there was no one around to witness him sneaking inside, Kovrim let himself in through the door and shut it softly behind him. Then he turned to the desk, where the high priest seemed to continually maintain a stack of parchment, records of numerous financial reports, business transactions, and proposals from underlings about potential deals the temple could make. Lavant was responsible for a great many things the temple was involved with monetarily.

Scratching his head, Kovrim realized he didn't really know where to begin. He'd thought it a simple enough matter to simply go through the records, but once he looked at them, he saw that there were a great many. He would have to eliminate some of them, or he would never make it through the entire search without getting caught. The priest decided to ignore proposals and balance sheets for the moment. He doubted that anything related to what he was looking for would be at either of those stages of development. Instead, he would concentrate his efforts on the piles that held business plans.

The priest sat down and began to rapidly sort through the appropriate piles, scanning each page quickly for some recognizable text, particularly the name of House Pharaboldi. Of course, as he worked, his nerves were on edge, and every sound out in the corridor, every person walking by, every thump from an adjacent office caused Kovrim to nearly leap out of the chair, a half-formed explanation on the tip of his tongue. After the fifth such incident, the priest chastised himself for his cowardice and redoubled his efforts.

Finally, when he was on the verge of considering other places to dig, he found something. It wasn't much, just a document containing some estimated figures of the full ranks of the mercenary armies the temple either controlled or had strong ties to. And there, at the bottom, was a note, scribbled quickly, showing another set of figures, and the names of three merchant Houses beside each figure. Kovrim recognized the figures themselves as financial. They were substantial amounts, the kind of wealth the merchant Houses in Arrabar might pay to hire an army. The Houses that would pay that kind of coin for a professional army usually spent those amounts when they expected to keep them around for a while, or when they foresaw particularly bloody confrontations in their future. It was the kind of wealth a House spent when it believed it was about to fight a minor war.

There were three Houses listed in a column, each one of them with a figure beside it, each figure enough coin to hire a mercenary army to fight such a war. Together, the funds were substantial enough to do something really serious, like invade another country or conquer a city. Pharaboldi was one of the three Houses, the name that had originally caught Kovrim's eye. But beneath that were the names of two other Houses. It was the third name on that list that made Kovrim freeze, made him reread the words three times to make certain he saw it correctly.

The third name was House Matrell.

Vambran paced like a caged animal in the barracks where his men were busily organizing supplies for the impending departure. He wanted to pound his fist against a wall, wanted to scream at someone. Captain Vertucio had refused to grant him any time to return to his estate, not even long enough to tell the family what was happening. The officer had explained, and rightfully so, Vambran had to admit, that the need to get the company ready had to be the lieutenant's first priority. If, after everything needed for the upcoming trip up the coast was readied-Captain Vertucio said the destination was confidential for the moment, and all Vambran needed to know was that they would be marching overland-perhaps Vambran could sneak away for a quick good-bye.

But those were not ordinary circumstances. Vambran realized that the change in orders, the accelerated pace of the departure time, even his own additional responsibilities to handle logistics for the entire unit, were all suspiciously convenient means of keeping him from pursuing the murderers' identities. Grand Trabbar Lavant knew enough to arrange it so that Vambran would have no choice but to abandon the investigation.

Unfortunately, that also meant that Vambran could not aid Emriana, nor could he warn her to back off without him there. His sister would be on her own against Denrick Pharaboldi that evening, plotting to wrest the truth out of the young man and falsely thinking that Vambran was nearby should she need him. And that didn't even take into consideration how devastated she would be that he'd missed her birthday party. It had all gone horribly wrong, and Vambran was at a loss as to how to manage both crises at once.

The irony of having come full circle was not lost on the mercenary. It had only been two short days before that he'd stood on the deck of Lady's Favor, hesitating to go home, loving the freedom and excitement that serving in the mercenary company afforded him. And yet, there he was, about to muster out again, on the verge of another interesting campaign with his soldiers, his friends, and he wanted more than anything to get clear of it, to run home. It nearly made him laugh, except that he was seething at the injustice of it.

"Sir, we're going to need to procure additional horses for the supply wagons," one of the young soldiers said, saluting Vambran as he stepped near.

The lieutenant sighed.

"How many?" he asked. "And what happened to our regular supplier?" The soldier shrugged.

"I don't have a clue, sir. Sergeant Grolo just told me I should pass that message on to you. He says to come to the stable yard immediately so the two of you can assess the situation."

Vambran paused in his pacing and turned to regard the soldier delivering the message.

"Did he, now?" the lieutenant asked.

"Yes, sir."

Vambran tried to hide a smile.

"Very well," he said, "I'm on my way. Get back to what you were doing, soldier."

The younger man nodded and ran off to whatever task he'd been about before the dwarf had interrupted his work.

Vambran began to head toward the stables, which were clear on the other side of the compound from where the barracks were. Grolo was the last officer Vambran would have put on horse detail; the dwarf hated horses and couldn't ride one to save his life. He would be a poor choice for making decisions about them when it came to supply logistics. Something else was going on.

Vambran worked his way across the compound and to the stables. When he got to the yard, he found the dwarf standing outside the large building, huddled with a number of other men, all soldiers who served in Vambran's platoon. He strolled up to them, noting that they didn't seem to be paying any attention to any horses at the moment.

"I got a message that we have a horse problem," Vambran said casually, eyeing the small group.

Grolo turned to face the lieutenant.

"More like a priority problem," the dwarf replied, and he stepped aside and let Vambran get a better look at the rest of the group. Hiding in the midst of the others were Adyan and Horial.

Vambran broke into a quick grin at the sight of his two sergeants.

"What are you two up to?" he asked slyly.

"We've just been explaining our little problem to Sergeant Grolo here," Horial said, tilting his head sideways to indicate the dwarf. "We explained how this latest campaign is likely to turn out rotten, what with our lieutenant distracted by events going on at home and all."

"He thinks that's bad for morale," Adyan drawled. "He doesn't want a lieutenant who isn't fit for battle heading up any part of the company."

"And you, sir, aren't fit for battle right now," Horial remarked. "At least, you aren't so long as your family's in the middle of some trouble."

Vambran turned to look at Grolo, who stood with his thick arms folded across his stout chest.

"And you believe these two no-good, worthless soldiers?" he asked the dwarf.

Grolo spat on the ground and said, "From what I hear, you're the best thing that ever happened to these two, and most others who have served under you." At that, there was a murmured chorus of assent from the rest of the group. "And, after what I saw last night at the warehouse, I'm pretty much figuring they're right."

Vambran gave the dwarf a shrug of placid acceptance.

"They're good men," he said in all candor. "I'm honored to have them in my unit."

"When the politics of the temple starts getting in the way of the effectiveness of the Crescent, something's wrong," Grolo said, spitting on the ground again. "And I'm thinking something's wrong."

Vambran nodded again, still unsure what the dwarf was getting at.

"We'll cover for you as long as we can, Lieutenant," Sergeant Grolo announced. "You go take care of what you need to, and we'll make do here while you're gone."

Vambran's smile became a much larger grin, then. He reached out a hand and clasped the dwarf's.

"You have my gratitude," he said sincerely. "I owe you for this. All of you," he said to the whole group. "I can tell you now, though, that by stepping into the middle of this mess with me, you're putting yourselves directly in front of the temple's scowling eye. There may very well be severe repercussions."

"Ah, we'll repercuss when the time comes," Adyan said, his country accent stronger than normal. "They can't do much without an army, can they?" he added, laughing, and the rest of the men nodded their assent.

"All right, then," Vambran said, turning to go. "I'll try to get word to you or get back here as soon as I can."

"Ah, sir?" Horial said, causing Vambran to pause and turn back. "You forgot your ride," the sergeant told him.

Vambran didn't understand until one of the men led a saddled and bridled horse out into the yard from the stables. Then he grinned anew.

"Very clever," he said, moving to the animal and mounting up. "Thanks again."

He urged the horse into a trot out through the gate, and very quickly, Vambran was riding at a rapid canter toward his family's estate.

Kovrim stepped out through the great front doors of the Temple of Waukeen and made his way down the broad steps to the pathway below, which led to the street. Instead of following the path, though, the priest turned to the side and began to walk across the great lawn that surrounded the temple. As he walked, he studiously observed his footfalls, avoiding the temptation to glance around to see if anyone was watching.

Even though the priest believed he had restored Grand Trabbar Lavant's office to its original condition, he was fearful of being discovered. A sense of dread pervaded his mood, made him worry that he'd forgotten some minute detail, some crucial piece of information that would make none of his concerns real. But every time he examined it, Kovrim came to the same conclusion. He had the information that had been eluding him and his niece and nephew for the past three days. He knew who was behind the murders of Jithelle and Hoytir, the two servants who'd worked at House Pharaboldi. Not only that, but he had a pretty good idea just what the three Houses were plotting, and it made his stomach heave to contemplate.

Just considering the possibility made Kovrim quicken his steps, and he had to force himself to slow down to avoid looking suspicious. He continued across the grass, past the tall trees and the benches in the little groves, down the hill toward another boulevard that he could take up to the next district, and he would cut across a small plaza and head directly toward the merchants' district. He had to let Vambran know.

The priest kept telling himself that he had a perfectly good explanation in case anyone stopped him and demanded to know where he was off to. After all, he actually was supposed to be attending Emriana's birthday party that evening. Of course, he had put off departing until the last minute, and it was those final precious moments that had allowed him to discover the truth. He would have to hurry to avoid being late, but at the same time, he sensed that hurrying too much would draw unwanted attention.

His thoughts swirling back and forth with all of his knowledge, Kovrim didn't at first notice the pair of figures standing casually at the far end of the path he was following through the gardens. When he did glance up, he did a double take. It was a pair of Halanthi priests, apparently wrapped in conversation. He carefully avoided directing his gaze straight at them, looking for an inconspicuous alternate route. It was too late to turn aside and avoid them, though. He would either have to continue on, coming face to face with them, or double back, making it clear that he was trying to avoid them. His hands trembled, fearing that he'd been found out.

Despite his desire to avoid looking guilty, Kovrim faltered a step. Were they really waiting for him? It was possible that they just happened to have been on a walk themselves, out for a stroll and stopping for a respite. He could walk right by them, he thought. But in his heart, Kovrim knew they were not there by chance. Some premonition told him they were there specifically to waylay him. Lavant knew that he had discovered the Grand Trabbar's secrets. The high priest had sent those two to intercept him, prevent him from revealing what he knew.

Whether his fears were accurate or he was just losing his nerve, Kovrim made the decision to turn away. He could not be caught. He had to warn Vambran. He stopped and half turned around, snapping his fingers, hoping he made it appear that he had simply forgotten something. It was a feeble hope, but he could think of nothing else.

The moment it became clear to the two priests that Kovrim was not going to walk any closer to them, they both came alive, watching him overtly. He spun completely away, ready to sprint back down the path. But two more Halanthi were blocking his exit, about equidistant from him. His heart sank. They had him cornered.

Kovrim considered just turning and running into the midst of the gardens, losing his pursuers in the lush undergrowth of vines, bamboo, and trees. But the four priests were much younger than he, and he doubted he could outrun them, even if he did manage to vanish from their sight temporarily. The other option was to confront them, try to browbeat them to back off, but he doubted that would work. They had their instructions, and Lavant undoubtedly made it clear that they were to prevent him from leaving at all costs. That left just one more possibility. And despite the fact that he was more advanced than any of the other four, and his divine magic powerful enough to rebuke them, given enough time, their advantage lay in their numbers. Kovrim doubted he would be able to cast more than twice before they incapacitated him.

Hells, he thought, they don't even have to get close to me. They can just stand back there and take their shots.

When it came down to that, the priest knew he only had one choice. He spun and scrambled into the thick cover of the garden.

Behind Kovrim, back on the path, the four priests began to shout. He ignored them, pushing his way through the dense plant life, struggling to find a way to freedom before they either caught up to him or circled around. His heart was pounding, and a sense of panic welled up in him that he was about to be caught.

Suddenly, Kovrim felt a tingle of magic wash over him. One of the four was attempting to stop his flight magically, and he believed he knew the type of holding magic the Halanthi was using. He steeled himself mentally, fighting to resist the spell, and thankfully continued to churn his legs, moving forward. He knew that he was making noise, that the crashing of the foliage was giving away his position, but he had no choice. If he stopped, they would be on him.

Another wave of magic passed over Kovrim, and he heard an insistent voice from behind him, ordering him to halt. The urge to follow that instruction was too great to resist. Despite his own inner voice screaming at himself to keep going, he pulled up, panting and swaying breathlessly, waiting. He was doomed. The four Halanthi priests would surround him and grab him. He groaned, hanging his head.

But the priests did not catch up to him, and after a moment, Kovrim was willing to run again. Only then, he didn't charge full force through the bushes, but instead began to creep through them, listening to the sounds of pursuit. There was the occasional shout, sometimes from behind, sometimes from up ahead. Whenever he heard such, he altered his direction, angling always to keep clear.

Something in the back of the priest's mind told him that they were herding him, that he was being driven right toward another of their group. One who was being quiet and waiting for Kovrim to stumble onto him. He stopped moving, then, listening to the sounds around him, and he began to believe more earnestly that it was exactly his pursuers' plan. They were on three sides of him, slowly trying to drive him in the direction he'd been going. He would try to outwit them by doubling back.

Just as he turned to retrace his steps, one of the four Halanthi priests jumped up from behind a barricade of shrubs only a few feet from where he was about to pass by.

"Syndo Lazelle," the priest said, gesturing for Kovrim to stand down. "You can't escape. Please," he said, looking expectantly at his quarry.

Kovrim sighed despondently, and briefly thought of bolting back into the brush, fleeing again. But the Halanthi, whose name was Javoli, the Syndo remembered, shook his head as though reading the older man's intentions.

"He's here " Javoli called out to the others. "We've got him surrounded." He turned his gaze back to Kovrim. "You see? You only make it more difficult for yourself."

It was at that moment that a figure cloaked in red flashed into view, smacking Javoli in the back of the head with a sap. Kovrim heard the solid thunk and watched the junior priest drop to his knees with a groan and topple over and lie still.

He turned to look more closely at his savior. The figure had a cowl wrapped around his face so that the priest couldn't see it. The hands were gloved in red, and the figure wore soft boots of the same color.

Ah, Kovrim thought, Vambran's savior. And perhaps mine, now.

"Come on," the figure insisted, and it was the voice of a woman. "We have little time."

Kovrim cocked his head sideways in confusion. The voice sounded familiar.

"Who-?"

"Not now," the woman responded, motioning frantically. "In due time."

Nodding, Kovrim stepped forward and began to follow the figure, the memory of her voice tugging at the back of his mind. The memory was a good one, one that made him feel safe. He felt very close to figuring it out.