The Sapphire Crescent

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Vambran reached the wall of the Matrell estate and heaved himself atop it, then he stopped and listened for the sounds of someone nearby, even as he carefully peered into every shadow, stared at everything that might be a figure hiding in the darkness. He heard and saw nothing. Clenching his teeth in determination, he walked along the wall for a while, tuning all of his senses to his surroundings.

Inside, the man burned for vengeance. They had dared to threaten his family. They had come after his whole House, and he would not stop until he hunted them down and made them accountable. He would not stop.

Vambran kept seeing the image of his grandmother, lying on the grass, her blood staining her clothes red. He clenched his fists, trying to control his breathing. He'd never entered into battle in such an emotional state, and he knew that if he didn't calm himself, he would make a fatal mistake. He had to regain control of his feelings, save the savagery, the fury, for later. Then the bloodletting could begin, he promised himself.

In the meantime, Vambran was also upset that he had been unable to complete his interrogation of Denrick Pharaboldi. He had intended to get the boy so beside himself that he would let down his guard, and the lieutenant would read his thoughts. He'd hoped to get some inkling as to whether or not young Pharaboldi was telling the truth, or if he was, as Vambran suspected, hiding his complicity in the murders. Of course, Denrick was properly warned that the Matrell offspring were on to him, and they would not so easily corner Denrick by himself again. Even if they were to manage to confront him on favorable ground, he would be ready for them next time, possibly even have the presence of mind to mask his thoughts, or worse yet, to procure some form of protection against just what Vambran had intended.

The lieutenant paused in the midst of his walk along the parapet, drawn to some faint sound. He strained to see if he could hear it again, but there was nothing. He stood motionless, moving just his eyes, seeking out that form, that indistinct protrusion of darkness that was just a little off, was not quite right. He was looking for that hint of someone hiding close by. He saw nothing.

He exhaled slowly and was on the verge of turning around and going back in the other direction when he heard the sound again. It was nothing more than a faint scrape, but he was certain he heard it coming from the wall itself, just ahead and around a bend, perhaps. He carefully began to pad forward, trying to keep as quiet as possible, but with no delusions that he was a master thief, trained to silence. As he moved, he continued to watch, and he spotted the motion at almost the same moment the intruder realized he'd been discovered.

The shadowy figure was hanging by his hands from the top of the wall, his feet dangling down toward the ground some five feet below. He was in dark shadow where he clung, and he held himself motionless there, as though waiting. As Vambran approached, the figure tilted his head slightly, so slightly, in fact, that if the lieutenant hadn't happened to have been looking directly at him, he might never have seen him.

"Hold it!" Vambran called, moving forward, freeing his crossbow from his belt.

At almost the same instant, the figure let go of the wall and dropped to the cobblestones with an almost inaudible grunt. Swearing, fumbling to load his crossbow, Vambran ran toward where the figure had been.

But the fugitive was too fast, darting across the street in the blink of an eye, and Vambran couldn't get a clean shot off. Swearing again, Vambran swung down off the wall, dropping easily to the street. He took off after his quarry, not about to let that one escape.

The figure dashed down the street and into an alley, a good thirty paces ahead of Vambran, who sprinted after, his long strides making up only a little ground. The mercenary turned the corner to the alley and flinched as a crossbow bolt thwacked hard off the stone of the building only inches from his face. Vambran felt flecks of stone spray his cheek from the impact. He dropped low, making himself a smaller target, and he pressed himself closer to the wall, hoping he wasn't so easy to see.

Already, though, footsteps receded down the other end of the alley. Vambran was up and after the fugitive the moment he realized he was no longer a target. He recalled that the alley turned sharply around to the left a little farther ahead, then split into two directions at a Y-shaped intersection. He would have to hurry if he wanted to get there in time to avoid losing his quarry. His blood pounding in his ears, the mercenary urged himself to go faster, lengthening his strides again, heedless of the danger of another crossbow bolt.

The lieutenant reached the turn and darted around it, his feet skidding only slightly on the cobblestones. He spotted his prey in the distance, still running. The would-be assassin took the left-hand path at the intersection and, as Vambran lumbered ahead, closing with the man little by little, the shadowy silhouette vanished.

What the-? the mercenary thought, increasing his strides and peering around, letting his fury bubble over again at the thought of having lost track of his prey.

Vambran nearly didn't see the hole in the street for all of his careful observation everywhere else. He nearly stepped right into it, but at the last moment, he leaped over and clear.

It was a drain into the sewers that ran below the city, and the grate was flipped open. A slough of water trickled down the street from both directions and poured into the sewers, splashing into the runoff that eventually made its way to the harbor. It was too dark to see into the pit, but Vambran had looked down plenty of those drains as a boy and knew that the passages were certainly large enough for a man to walk through. A stink rose up from that particular opening, and Vambran wrinkled his nose in distaste.

"Damn it," he growled.

The mercenary cocked his head to listen for signs the fugitive had indeed gone that way. He heard nothing. He rose to his feet once more, breathing heavily, drenched in sweat. He peered around the alley, trying to see some other evidence of to where the figure might have disappeared. There was nothing. Though not keen on wading in the muck and waste of the sewer, he wasn't letting his quarry escape so easily.

On impulse, Vambran pointed his finger in the air in front of himself and twirled it in a circle as he spoke a quick arcane phrase, looking away at the last second. A set of lights sprang into being, as though four lanterns hung suspended in the air in front of him. The light was blinding, but he sent them with a flick of his finger circling around himself, using their glow to peer into the deepest shadows of the alley. When he didn't see anything suspicious, he sent them zipping down into the opening of the sewer and he peered down after them. The vertical shaft of the drain was perhaps ten feet high, certainly an easy drop, but not so easy to climb out again. If he was going to follow the figure, he would have to find a better way to climb back out. At the bottom of the descent, he could see the passage, filled with murky brown water, flowing sluggishly parallel to the alley.

Does it look stirred up? the mercenary wondered.

Sighing in disgust, Vambran wrinkled his nose again and sat, then slipped his feet over the side. He held that position for only a moment, long enough to remember the image of his grandmother bleeding on the grass of the estate. That thought erased any hesitation that lingered. He was on the verge of dropping down into the slime when he heard a faint noise behind him and up high. He froze, listening, and detected it again. It was the sound of soft cloth sliding over stone.

He twisted around, directing his magical lights up and out of the sewer and flying back over his head. As the dancing lights swept up the side of the building, Vambran climbed to his feet, peering intently up there. It was the back of a shop, and on the second floor, where a patio protruded out over the larger lower floor, his quarry was just pulling himself up over the edge of the roof.

As the lights reached the height of the wall, Vambran directed them to hover right next to the man, who cried out and flung an arm up to shield his sight. Vambran smiled to himself and mentally set the lights to remain there, dancing around his foe's head, while he reached for his crossbow.

You're not slipping away again, you bastard, the mercenary fumed, fumbling to free the weapon as he kept his gaze trained on his would-be target.

Before Vambran could unhook the crossbow from his hip and cock it, though, the figure somehow managed to pull himself the rest of the way up and over the edge of the flat roof. He was gone. Vambran gave a primal shout of frustration and slapped the crossbow back down against his hip.

I'm not letting him get away from me! he swore to himself. Got to find a way up there.

There were no stairs up to the patio, but a rain barrel sat in a corner formed by the building and its neighbor, and Vambran ran to that, hoisting himself up and balancing on the edge as he stood. The edge of the patio was still a bit out of his reach, and his perch on the barrel was so precarious that he didn't trust himself to try to jump. He strained, stretching up with his fingers, but it was no use. He nearly punched the wall, but managing to hold his rage in check, Vambran jumped down and desperately sought another way up.

The mercenary sent his lights swarming along the edge of the roof in both directions, looking for some sign of his mark, but it was fruitless. Figuring that his foe would try to escape down the opposite side of the clump of buildings, Vambran took off, running the rest of the way through the alley, clinging to the hope that he might yet spot the intruder. He reached the end of the alley and turned, scrutinizing the handful of people who were walking there, but none of them seemed to fit the description of his foe at first glance. The lieutenant moved from person to person anyway, giving a quick, rather invasive glance at each face, apologizing each time but offering no explanation.

Finally, when he was satisfied that none of the folks strolling along the street were his quarry, Vambran scanned the roof line again, hoping his prey was still up there, hiding and waiting for him to give up. He briefly considered trying to gain access from one of the shops themselves, though few were still open that late in the evening. He supposed he could knock, but he knew his request would seem strange and possibly threatening, and the last thing he wanted to do right then was upset the people living there.

Kicking at the cobblestones beneath his feet in frustration, he looked around for other ideas. He spied a potential hiding place on a window sill under a broad awning of a pottery merchant's establishment. It was a good place from which to observe the roof unseen, for the sill was wide and comfortable, though barred from inside by a metal grate. The awning hung well out over the window, and from there, Vambran could peer out without being seen much from overhead.

Still feeling absolute rage boiling just beneath the surface, Vambran settled down to wait, pulling at his damp, sweaty clothing from time to time.

Let's see which one of us is the more patient, he thought, smiling coldly in the darkness.

Emriana wanted to cry. Hetta was going to be all right, it seemed, but the girl felt terrible for her grandmother's sake. It was clear to her that the crossbow bolt had been a warning, and she had no doubt in her mind that it was directed at her brother and her.

Obviously, she and Vambran had been getting close to the truth, and they had managed to bring their entire family into it, unwittingly and unwillingly. Everyone was in danger, and it was because of her.

Several of the men at the party had set out after Vambran, perhaps in a show of support to help him track down the heinous criminal, but more stood around, ostensibly to protect Hetta from future attacks. They helped her up and inside, where she insisted on being led to her favorite chair in the sitting room deep in the house. It was not a bad plan, Emriana thought, for anyone wanting to get to the older woman would have to sneak pretty far into the building to reach her.

Ladara never left Hetta's side, insisting that Emriana fetch things for her grandmother, when in fact there were numerous servants standing around wringing their hands who could have been put to better use than fretting. Emriana sent them scurrying instead, choosing to stay beside her grandmother as well, at least until Ladara told the girl in no uncertain terms to get the elderly woman's house robe. Shaking her head, Emriana went to fetch the garment.

In the hall halfway to Hetta's rooms, Dregaul caught up to her.

"You insolent brat," he spat, grabbing Emriana by the arm and jerking her so she spun around. "You would defy me at every turn, wouldn't you!" he shouted, his face growing red. He put it right down in front of hers, his eyes bulging in anger. "You and your brother were both instructed-instructed! — to leave this foolish watch business alone, and you chose to ignore those instructions."

Emriana recoiled from her uncle as flecks of spittle sprayed onto her face with every word. She cringed from him, wanting to slip away and run, but he would not let go of her arm, crushing it painfully in his grasp.

"Do you see, now, what your impertinence, your audacity-audacity! — has brought down on this family? This House?"

Emriana reached up to try to pry Dregaul's grip lose from her arm.

"Please," she pleaded, "you're hurting me."

"I'm hurting you?" he said, his voice a constricted shout. "You're hurting? How do you think my mother feels right now?"

"We didn't know," Emriana wailed, the tears flowing. "We only wanted to help. We thought we were doing something important. Something that would set things right. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry…"

"Stop that," Dregaul said, jerking her arm. "You're not a little girl anymore, remember?"

Emriana nodded, trying to calm herself, though she felt like a foolish little girl right then, a little girl who had tried to play at being grown up but who was overwhelmed with fear and self-doubt. She took a deep, shuddering breath and wiped her eyes with her free hand.

"You have to believe me. We never expected something like this," she said at last. "Honestly, we know there's something big at stake, and we're trying to work it out, but we never meant to bring any danger down on the family."

Dregaul let go of her arm then and stepped back, shaking his head.

"When are you going to learn that the most important job of any one of us in the family is the preservation of the House? You act out of some noble sense of grandeur, you and your brother, when you should be weighing every action in terms of its effects on House Matrell."

As she listened to her uncle's words, Emriana's sorrow and guilt began to transform into anger. She eyed her uncle with disdain, a look he did not fail to notice. She didn't care.

"With you, it's always the House you're worried most about, rather than the people living under its roof. Sometimes, I think you care more for the name itself than those of us who bear it."

Dregaul got a dangerous glitter in his eye then. He raised one eyebrow and asked, "And do you not think the House is more important than the individuals who are a part of it? Do you not see that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts?"

"Not when such an attitude means that everyone who is a part of that whole is reduced to misery and sadness. Do you really care that Grandmother Hetta was wounded tonight? Or are you merely concerned with the damage the attack has done to our reputation?"

Dregaul's slap was so sudden, Emriana didn't even react to it for a second or two. She merely blinked, taking a moment to register that it had, in fact, occurred. She felt her eyes grow wide, and she brought her hand up to feel her cheek.

"Don't you ever speak that way to me again," the man standing in front of Emriana said quietly, coldly. "I… will… not… tolerate it." He stared straight into her eyes, unblinking. "Do you understand me? If you ever do, I will have you beaten."

Dregaul's words shocked Emriana so completely that she didn't even react to them. She merely stared at her uncle, open-mouthed, and tried to make some sense of his threat. He would have her beaten? Beaten? Finally, she was about to ask him just who in the Nine Hells he thought he was, but he didn't give her a chance.

"Now, we're going to go back outside to your party and see if we can salvage some of the evening. You are going to walk out there with me, stand quietly by my side, and smile when I say smile," Dregaul instructed his niece. "If you so much as make one wrong face to my guests, I will have house guards take you below. Are we clear?"

Emriana considered arguing, showing Dregaul how defiant she could be, but at the mention of the house guards and "below," she knew he was serious, and he had the wherewithal to follow through with his threats. The estate had a very seldom-used prison cell in one of the basements, a dank hole with no light that had been built "just in case." She'd played down there a few times, and it had seemed innocent enough at the time, but standing there in the hall, thinking of being locked in there and waiting for her uncle to come discipline her, she shuddered.

Emriana had no one there to defend her. Vambran had run off, pursuing the intruder. Her mother would fuss, but ultimately she would not stand in Dregaul's way-she had never stood up to him in all the years since Emriana's father died, so why would the girl expect her to do it right then? And Hetta was in no condition to do anything, though Emriana was sure that, eventually, her grandmother would discover her son's actions and put a stop to them. The question was, how long would Emriana suffer her uncle's very real punishments before that happened? As those demoralizing thoughts passed through her mind, Emriana found herself clamping her mouth shut and nodding in meek agreement with Dregaul.

"Excellent," the man said. "Perhaps we'll find some usefulness to this evening, after all."

It wasn't until they were already walking out onto the balcony overlooking the party that Emriana realized Dregaul had referred to the gathering as his guests, and not hers. She was beginning to get a great sense of dread as her uncle started to speak.

"Lords and ladies," the man started, once again motioning for silence from those below. Emriana saw that the attendance had fallen off somewhat, as a few of the guests had made haste to depart. Whether for their own safety at an obviously unsecured estate, or simply to rush home and begin gossiping with their neighbors about the attempt on Hetta Matrell's life, Emriana neither knew nor cared. Most remained, though, and she supposed it was out of both courtesy and concern for her grandmother. They closed in around the balcony, murmuring among themselves, waiting for Dregaul to give them some news.

"Lords and ladies," Dregaul repeated, "I am delighted to tell you that my mother is recovering nicely"-there was a genuine cheer of happiness at those words-"and is going to be fine, thanks to some quick action on several people's parts."

The cheers turned into full-blown applause.

Emriana simply watched, feeling stone faced, even though her uncle had ordered her to smile. She simply could not.

"In addition," Dregaul continued once the uproar had died down somewhat, "House Matrell has some very exciting announcements to make. First and foremost, I would like to pass along the news that we are entering into a strategic partnership with two other Houses, beginning immediately. One of the two, House Talricci, is already tied in a familial relationship with us because, as I'm sure you all realize, my oldest nephew Evester is married to Marga Talricci. We are simply formalizing a bond that already exists."

There was more clapping, though this was more polite than genuine enthusiasm. To Emriana, it seemed that the guests were just as confused as she was as to why Dregaul would choose right then to announce such news. Numerous groups of people began whispering behind their hands to one another, occasionally shaking heads.

Sensing that he was losing his audience, Dregaul raised his voice even more as he proceeded.

"And," he said, giving a slight pause to let the crowd quiet a bit, "the third House that will be joining us in our new ventures will be House Pharaboldi-"

Emriana didn't initially hear the rest of Dregaul's speech, for suddenly, she felt that sense of needing to throw up overwhelm her again. She staggered where she stood, the realization of what her uncle was saying racing through her. He was going into business with the Pharaboldis? That was impossible! She and Vambran had all but proven that House Pharaboldi had somehow been responsible for the deaths of two people, and still her uncle wanted to work with them!

Suddenly, it all began to make sense. Dregaul's reluctance for either of them to remain involved in the investigation was driven by the knowledge of who was behind it. Emriana's own uncle was a part of the conspiracy! The business relationship that the high priest had referred to was right there, under her own nose.

The girl felt unsteady on her feet and thought she was going to have to sit down before she fell down. Then she realized that everyone in the audience was clapping and cheering and looking expectantly at her. Except for Denrick, she realized. He was coming up the steps, Dregaul turning to greet him with an outstretched arm, shaking the Pharaboldi heir's hand warmly.

What was happening? Emriana thought, panicking. What had Uncle Dregaul just said? She made herself go back over what her subconscious had heard, recalling the words. When it came to her, Emriana lost her breath.

"In honor of the commitment of these two Houses to work together in a true partnership, and in order to strengthen those ties, we are proud to announce that Emriana Matrell will give her hand in marriage to Denrick Pharaboldi."

Vambran wasn't completely aware of the stranger until the other was almost upon the mercenary. The lieutenant had been so preoccupied with carefully observing the buildings across the street that he had failed to keep a watchful eye on the rest of his surroundings. Thus it was more than a little surprising when the red-attired figure suddenly darted under the awning and sat down across from him on the window sill of the pottery merchant's shop. He couldn't see the person's face, for it was draped in cloth so that only the eyes were visible, though in the near-darkness there, he wasn't even certain he could make those out.

Vambran went to draw his sword, but the figure held up both hands, empty, and said, "Before you run me through, I have some information you might want to hear."

It was a woman's voice, and one he knew.

Vambran stilled his hands, shaking then, wrapping his mind around memories that flooded into him after hearing that voice.

"Aunt Xaphira," he breathed, not sure he could trust his ears. "It can't be you."

The woman chuckled softly, sending a shiver down Vambran's spine.

"It can and it is," she replied, reaching up to undo the mask that covered her face.

Even in the shadows, he could see the long, lustrous black hair and the dusky complexion. She stared hard at her nephew for a moment.

"It really is me," Xaphira said, more softly, and she tentatively reached out a hand to her nephew. "I can only imagine what you're feeling right now, and I'm sorry for that. But it was necessary."

For the first several heartbeats, Vambran simply sat there and stared, having a hard time believing his own eyes. Then, drawing a deep and ragged breath, Vambran grabbed her and hugged her, just letting the emotions wash over him. Xaphira hugged him back, and they simply held that for a long moment.

Everything that had happened, all the guilt and sorrow he'd felt in the intervening years since the night she'd left, just welled up inside the mercenary, and he felt twelve years old all over again. It took him a moment to realize he had tears in his eyes.

Finally, Xaphira pulled away.

"Now," she said, "I know you have questions, but they have to wait. I'm with Kovrim. He needs to talk to you. He's hiding on the porch of a shop over on the next block and around a corner. There are people after him."

"Uncle Kovrim?" Vambran said, stiffening in alarm and half rising to his feet. "Where is he? What's the matter?"

The woman held her hands up and gestured for Vambran to calm down.

"Easy, there. Keep your voice down." As the lieutenant relaxed, she continued, "He's fine. But we all need to talk. It's urgent."

Vambran nodded and stood.

"Let's go," he said. "Tell me what's happened on the way."

"He found out what the temple is involved in," Xaphira said, also rising. "He was trying to get to you to tell you, and they tried to stop him."

"Is it House Pharaboldi?" Vambran asked.

"Yes, among others" Xaphira replied. "There's a lot more to this than you realize, but now's not the time. He's still in danger, and we've got to get him somewhere safe. I tried to talk him into going into hiding and just letting me tell you, but he refused. He wants to talk to you himself."

"Who are the other Houses?" Vambran insisted.

"First we go to him. Then you can talk about the larger problem."

"Who?" the mercenary demanded.

Xaphira sighed again.

"Ours," she answered quietly. "Matrell. And Talricci. They're all three in it together."

"Oh, hells," Vambran muttered. "Uncle Dregaul…" Then, realizing he had left Emriana by herself, he swore again. "I've got to go," he said. "They don't know."

"Vambran, wait!" Xaphira begged, grabbing her nephew by the arm. "You can't fight them all by yourself. Kovrim and I can help, but you have to wait for us."

Vambran stood indecisively, knowing the woman was right but feeling a panicky need to race back to the estate. He'd just left Emriana, left all of them. And they didn't have a clue. His desperation was overwhelming him. But he needed allies. With a great effort, he turned back to Xaphira.

"All right," he said. "Let's get him. And we don't stop until we're back at the house."

The two started walking quickly, Xaphira taking furtive looks everywhere as they traveled. She had rewound her mask around her head and drawn up her hood. Vambran kept pace with her easily, though he wondered why she seemed so jumpy. He had a million questions he wanted to ask her.

"Is Kovrim all right?" the mercenary finally asked.

"He is, but only because of some dumb luck. That, and the fact that I was there to help him."

That relieved Vambran-for a moment.

"Wait!" he said, stopping in the middle of the darkened street. "I know you've been following me since I got back into the city. It was you at the wagon yard, and again last night at the warehouse. But why? You've known something was going on for a while, now."

Xaphira raised her hands and again gestured for her nephew to calm down.

"Keep your voice down," she said, reaching out and taking his hands in her own. "Yes, I have, but I couldn't risk revealing myself too soon. There's so much more going on here, Vambran. I want to tell it all to you, but you've got to trust me that now is not the time for all this. Come on."

They continued on, keeping their pace quick without actually running. When they reached the porch where Xaphira had left Kovrim, he wasn't there.

"Now, where did he get to?" Xaphira murmured, peering in both directions. "He promised me he would stay right here and wait for me."

"Something happened," Vambran said, the panic rising again. "The men who were after him must have discovered him. We've got to find him." The mercenary struggled to keep a clear head. He was torn with fear for both his uncle and the rest of his family. He hated that he was being forced to choose who to rescue first.

"Listen " Xaphira said. Vambran cocked his head, holding perfectly still. There was a shout, muffled but distinct enough that he could tell it was coming from the alley behind the shop.

"Come on," Xaphira and Vambran both said at the same time, jumping off the porch and rushing down the street toward the corner. The pair of them raced around to the back and into the alley.

Kovrim was there, surrounded by perhaps a dozen men. Several of them were pointing crossbows at the priest.