The Sapphire Crescent

CHAPTER TWELVE

"I can't believe he would do this to me!" Emriana sobbed, her face buried in her pillows. "He never even talked to me about it!" Jaleene sat beside her charge, gently stroking her hair and trying to soothe the girl with soft sounds.

"Your grandmother would never let this happen," the handmaiden said. "When she finds out, she'll put a stop to it."

Emriana sniffed and said, "Grandmother Hetta doesn't seem to know what's going on."

The thought occurred to her then that perhaps her grandmother was in agreement with Dregaul, that the two of them had made the decision together that she should marry Denrick. As ridiculous as that seemed, especially after the conversation the girl had had with the elderly woman only two short days before, the notion left a cold hole in the middle of her stomach. She began sobbing again, feeling like her world was crashing down around her.

When Emriana had first pieced together what her uncle had announced, she didn't believe it. She didn't think that she was remembering correctly. But there was Denrick, climbing the steps and greeting Dregaul warmly, that sickly wolfish smile on his face. And she knew. In her heart, she realized that Uncle Dregaul had sealed the business relationship with her life. He had promised Denrick that the boy could have her, as though she were some prized horse or plot of land. And she understood, too, then, in that terrible moment of realization, that Jithelle Skolotti had been slain, had been murdered with Denrick's unborn child in her womb, because the heir to House Pharaboldi was to wed Emriana. The poor servant girl had died because Emriana Matrell was waiting in the wings. It made her physically sick.

She ran, then, turned and fled the balcony, dashing past both Dregaul and Denrick, who looked on with a mixture of surprise and amusement. Dregaul called to Emriana, shouted at her, demanded that she return and show proper deference, or some such nonsense, but she ignored him and ran, all the way back to her rooms.

Jaleene had arrived a few moments later, having been a witness to the whole thing, and was trying to calm her.

"Hush, Em," the woman soothed. "It's going to be all right."

Emriana sat up and looked at her companion.

"How can you say that?" she wailed softly, her eyes burning with tears. "They killed that poor girl because of me. Uncle Dregaul probably knew about it. He probably insisted on it before he would agree to the merger. What am I going to do? He's already planned my future for me, with that, that-"

"That what?" came a voice from the doorway to the balcony. It was Denrick, standing there looking in, a faint smile on his face. "What am I?" he asked.

Emriana physically recoiled from the boy, even though he was halfway across the room leaning casually against the frame of the door.

Jaleene got up and moved to stand between the intruder and her charge.

"You shouldn't be here," the handmaiden said, her hands on her hips. "It's not proper to visit a young lady in her private chambers. Leave now, or I'll call the house guards to remove you."

Denrick simply chuckled, making no move to go in either direction.

"Will you, now?" he said. "And do you think they'll respond to you, a servant, when the man they actually answer to is of a far different mind? I've already been told that I was welcome to come up here and visit my fiancee, and that is exactly what I've done. No house guard is going to throw me out, I can assure you."

"Don't you talk to her that way," Emriana said, rising from the bed to stand beside her handmaiden. "You might treat your own servants like dirt, but you will not do so here."

Denrick laughed again.

"You're still convinced I did something to Jithelle, aren't you? Well, my dear, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I did no such thing." He took a step into the room, interlacing his fingers and thrusting them out, palms downward, to crack his knuckles. "She was a comely one, and I'll admit only to having a weakness for falling into her wonderful eyes and a need to nestle against her other womanly charms from time to time. But that was the extent of it."

"You sorry bastard," Emriana sneered. "The sorrow by the cistern was just an act, wasn't it? You didn't feel anything about her loss, or the fact that she carried your baby."

Denrick smirked.

"She was a diversion, that was all," he admitted. "A man of my tastes has a variety of needs, and she fit some of them nicely, but that was all it was, and all it would ever be. If she believed there would be more to it, that was her mistake, not mine."

Emriana glowered at the pompous man, but he ignored her and continued, "As for the child, I truly did not know about it." A brief grimace passed over his face, but it faded again just as quickly. "But no matter, I'm sure you'll provide me with plenty of children to dandle from my knees," he finished, taking another step into the room.

"I will never lie with you," Emriana snarled. "You can lust for me all you want, but it will never happen."

At nearly the same time, Jaleene stalked forward, with the obvious intention of physically pushing Denrick back out through the door.

"I told you," she said, planting her hands against his chest and shoving, "that it is not proper for you to be here. Now leave, or I-"

Denrick swung a fist up, smacking the servant hard with the back of his hand. The blow snapped Jaleene's head around, and with a grunt, she stumbled backward and tumbled to the floor, sprawling full out. She moaned once softly and lay still.

"Don't ever lay a hand on me again," Denrick said coldly, walking to loom over her. "You need to learn to remember your place."

Emriana gave an animal cry and lunged forward to punch at the callous, hateful man, but Denrick was ready for her, bringing his arm up to ward off the blow, then reaching out and grasping her by her wrists. He jerked her around, twisting both of her arms up behind her back, and walked her forward, toward the bed.

In a flash of realization, Emriana came to understand that he was leading her toward a bed, and the images of what he would do to her there began to cascade through her mind's eye. She panicked, fighting for all she was worth, digging her heels in and trying to jerk her arms free. In her desperation, Emriana managed to slam the heel of one of her boots against the man's shin. He yelped in surprise and released her.

The girl darted away, thinking to charge out the door, but Denrick was too fast, and he cut her off, forcing her to turn away from him or be caught again. She angled away, looking to double back around, but Denrick simply sidestepped several times, slowly working her into a corner.

"There's no place to run," the man said, settling into a position facing Emriana, keeping her pinned in the corner of the room. "And this time, you don't have a cistern or your fool brother here to protect you."

Emriana glanced furtively around, looking for a means of escape, or a weapon with which to defend herself, but there was nothing. She glared at the man, hoping her fiery gaze made it clear that she would not go down easily, and he would be better served to find some other woman with whom to dally. In her heart, though, she feared that it was only a matter of time. She stole a quick look toward Jaleene, but her only ally at the moment was out cold.

"If you touch me, I'll tear your eyes out," Emriana warned the predator in front of her. "You think you had problems before, trying to figure out what to do with Jithelle, but you don't know the half of it, if you get any closer to me."

Denrick smiled that wolfish grin.

"I have no doubt at all that you mean what you say, and that you could probably back it up, too. But why all the fuss? I wasn't kidding before, when I told you by the cistern that I could delight you. No woman yet has shied away from me, once she's felt my touch. I doubt you'll be any different, if you'll just let down your guard and see what you're missing.''

"You unbelievable, smug bastard!" Emriana said, shaking her head in scorn. "You think you can turn me to your side just by your touch? How arrogant can one man be?"

Anger flashed in Denrick's eyes, then.

"Watch your tongue, Em. I won't tolerate that kind of attitude from my wife."

Emriana's jaw dropped.

"Your wife! Do you honestly think this marriage is going to happen? You're delusional. My grandmother is going to put a stop to this as soon as she-"

"Your grandmother is on the verge of falling into her grave," Denrick interrupted. "She's in no condition to do anything about any of this. Now quit stalling, Emriana, and accept the fact that you are going to be my wife, and you are going to serve me dutifully, in any capacity I wish. The sooner you get used to that idea, the better off you'll be."

Emriana snarled, lunging left and darting back to the right, running as fast as she could for the door.

She almost made it, too, but Denrick was just a half-step faster. He dived for her and got a hand in her dress-the damned dress! — and tripped her up enough that she went sprawling. She scrambled desperately forward, opening her mouth to scream for help, but then someone was standing in the doorway. As Denrick grabbed at her and sat on her to keep her still, Emriana craned her neck, hoping it was Vambran. Instead, it was a Matrell house guard, and he was leering down at what was taking place.

"Help me," Emriana pleaded at the man, expecting him to come to her rescue.

Surely, no matter what Uncle Dregaul might be planning, it didn't include her being ravaged against her will.

"So?" the guard asked, smiling unpleasantly. "You finally figured out a way to keep her from sneaking off, huh?"

Denrick chuckled as he began to wrap something tightly around Emriana's wrists, tying them together behind her back.

Bartimus sat quietly in the corner to one side of Grozier Talricci's chair. His employer and the other heads of the three Houses were gathered together in an inner room, a study with a beautiful atrium along one side, discussing some of the business details of the impending merger. The wizard wasn't really listening closely, for the details were not important to him. Nor, for that matter, was any of that his responsibility. He had been brought there solely to keep an eye on everyone else, while Grozier concentrated on the financial aspects.

Bartimus studied each of the other three people in turn, observing their mannerisms, their speech, and the looks in their eyes, for he knew that it would be through those things that he could determine if any of them were nervous or unsure about what was taking place. Those telltale signs were the clues he was responsible for spotting, so that he could warn his employer if there were any potential surprises ahead.

Thus far, Anista Pharaboldi seemed perfectly at ease, but Dregaul Matrell was agitated over the attack on his mother. Bartimus would have thought that the man would have been pleased to see the matriarch of the household, a potential thorn in their sides, eliminated, but instead, the man seemed to be concerned about it all.

Bartimus couldn't say he blamed Dregaul. The whole affair of the servant girl's pregnancy and the ensuing chaos had left everyone on edge. Grozier certainly hadn't wanted to take such extreme measures to deal with the unfortunate discovery by Vambran Matrell of the servant's elimination, but the persistent mercenary officer had left them with little choice. It was even more unfortunate that Vambran was a member of one of the Houses involved, as that created still more problems. Indeed, Bartimus didn't really consider the whole affair settled. Vambran would have to be once and for all permanently removed from the middle of things before the issue was closed.

In the meantime, though, Grozier and the other two needed to move forward on the facets of the deal that really mattered. They had to begin planning how to invest their pooled resources, to get the army they were going to buy early enough in the season that they could get a full summer campaign out of it. Any mercenary bands they still employed in the fall would continue to be able to conduct the business of warfare, of course, but it was a much dicier proposition then. The weather was less likely to cooperate, and cash flow would certainly be a larger problem, as most of the summer trade boom would be past them. There was no more time to delay getting the merger going, regardless of the potential problems looming on the periphery.

The wizard realized he was letting his mind wander and he wasn't watching Grozier's counterparts as well as he should be. He mentally smacked himself for getting distracted and refocused. Dregaul was arguing some point about profit splits, and how much should be reinvested back into the effort, while Anista was suggesting that they diversify those earnings into some war-related businesses that could, in turn, cut costs down the road. Grozier was shaking his head at both of them, trying to get them to understand that there would probably not be much revenue in the first two years.

"The costs of conducting the conquest are going to increase as time goes by," the head of House Talricci explained. "You have to take into account the lengthening of supply lines."

"Ah," Anista said, frowning.

"Why?" Dregaul demanded, seeming to grow upset at that notion. "What drives the cost up?"

Grozier sighed and said, "Because, as I explained before, it gets longer. Either that, or we build a way-station at some point closer to the front and deliver the supplies there ourselves."

"Yes, let's plan to do that," Dregaul said, nodding. "Between us, we have the subsidiaries needed to get that done less expensively, anyway, which of course puts more funds back into our war chest."

"Remember, though," Grozier said, "that a full waystation could be sacked or taken over by the enemy. If that happens, it sets us farther back than if we just pony up the extra coin for lengthening supply lines."

"Hmm, good point," Dregaul said, frowning again.

"That doesn't leave us very much play in the numbers, then," Anista Pharaboldi said, scribbling something on a piece of parchment in front of her. "We'll be running a shortfall for at least-"

The door to the room slammed open, and Hetta Matrell strode inside. The look on her face told Bartimus she was ready to chew through steel, she was so angry. The other three individuals in the room jumped slightly at the sound of the door banging against the wall, Dregaul most of all. Bartimus, however, subtly slipped a hand in his pocket, ready to wield a little magic in his employer's defense, should it come to that.

"Dregaul Matrell," the elderly woman said, "this travesty of a business decision you've made has seen its last day."

Bartimus could see then that she was accompanied by another woman whom the wizard did not know, as well as two house guards.

"Mother, what are you doing here?" Dregaul demanded, turning in his chair, a concerned look on his face. "You should be resting."

"I have no intention of resting while my son is bringing my House down around all of our ears," the elderly woman said. "I would think, after all these years, that you would have figured out by now that I can tell when you're up to something. Did you really think I would approve of such shaky business tactics? Worse yet, did you really think I would allow you to mortgage our finances to their limit so that you could start a war?"

"Mother, the upside to this venture is going to make us ten times the size we are now. When we're finished, we'll be considered up there with the really big Houses. House Matrell will stand tall in Arrabar."

Bartimus looked to Grozier, waiting for some sort of signal that the man would like him to act. For the moment, though, Grozier seemed to be listening intently on the argument in front of him.

"No, Dregaul. I'm sorry. You are not going through with this. I am still the head of this household, and I still have final say on what business ventures House Matrell enters into. I truly am sorry." and she turned first to Anista, then to Grozier, "but the deal is off the table. House Matrell won't be a party to an invasion of another city for profit."

"I'm afraid it's a little too late for that," Grozier replied. "Armies are already hired, marching orders have already been given. Things are in motion now, and not so easily stopped."

Hetta Matrell drew herself up to her full height, then, straightening shoulders that had not always been stooped.

"Then you will just have to find the way to stop these 'things,' or else find other business partners to replace your lost revenue. But you cannot have ours."

"Mother! That's enough!" Dregaul seethed, rising from his chair to fully face Hetta. "You're past your prime, Mother, and I'm sorry to say it, but you no longer have the clarity of thought to see that this merger is important-important! — to our future as a player in Arrabar's most prestigious financial arenas. I think it's time you officially stepped down and handed the reins completely over to me, Mother."

Hetta actually began to laugh then, shaking her head. She had to put a hand out to the other woman for support at one point, until she could get her breath back. Her chuckles only served to anger Dregaul, though, who drew his lips tight and grimaced until her mirth had subsided.

"I should have yanked full control of House Matrell back from you a long time ago," the matriarch said at last. "I could see you had no good understanding of what your father and I had tried to build here, but I kept holding off, thinking perhaps you'd finally figure it out. Sadly, I was wrong."

"And what was that?" Dregaul asked hotly. "What were you and Father trying to build? A second-rate, copper-and-silver operation? Because that's what we got. Hesta, Obril, Xaphira, and I got to grow up being the laughingstock merchant clan. House Matrell was nothing. All the other Houses turned their noses up at us, led by the bastard of House Mestel. Our own kin wouldn't even give us the time of day!

"And now, when I have a chance to do something truly remarkable, to finally let House Matrell make a respected name for itself in all the right circles, you come along and try to ruin it. I don't understand you. Don't you want to leave your mark? Don't you want to go to your grave knowing House Matrell was bigger than when you started it?"

Hetta was shaking her head, obviously hurt and saddened by her son's words. But she stood firm.

"Clawing our way to the top of the heap was never what this family was about, and I'm sorry I didn't do a better job of teaching you that, my son. But the time for lessons is past. I hereby remove from you all responsibility regarding this family's business interests and resume full control of them myself." She half-turned to the pair of guards behind her. "If he will not get up from that table quietly, remove him by force and lock him in the cell in the basement. Then come see me.

"As for the rest of you, I'm sorry it has come to this. I must respectfully ask you to take the remainder of your meeting somewhere else."

With that, Hetta turned and began to exit.

The two guards didn't move.

"I'm sorry, Madam Matrell, but it isn't quite going to work out like that," one of them said. "Please, go back into the room."

"Well, I'm glad we finally got a chance to gather for this meeting," one of the thugs surrounding Kovrim said with a laugh. "I've been waiting for this for quite a while." He motioned toward Vambran and Xaphira. "Come on over. Join our little party."

Vambran approached cautiously, freeing his crossbow from the hook on his belt and cocking it in one smooth motion. Xaphira fanned out to the opposite side of the alley, staying even with Vambran but not too close, giving them both room to fight.

"Oh, now, that's not very sociable," the man said in response to Vambran loading his weapon. "You really might want to rethink that. Someone could get hurt."

Vambran could see then that his uncle was unarmed, standing in the midst of the men with his arms stretched out to his sides, as though he had already surrendered to them.

"Uncle Kovrim? You all right?"

Before the priest could answer, the man who'd been acting as spokesman for the rest of the group responded, "Of course he's all right. We haven't harmed a hair on his balding head. Yet." The thug turned and leveled his crossbow at Vambran. "But that might change very soon, if you don't see reason and lay down your weapon."

Vambran halted his advance and studied his opponent, considering. If he gave in to the demand, Kovrim would almost certainly die. The men had no doubt been ordered to hunt him down and prevent him from sharing the information he had with anyone else. But if the lieutenant and his aunt decided to fight it out with them, Kovrim would likely fall within the first moments of the battle anyway. Either choice seemed like a bad proposition for the mercenary's mentor. Vambran chose to stall.

"It's too late," he said, hoping to bluff the thug. "I already know the news. Even as we speak, the alliance of the three Houses is being dissolved. The fight is already over; you just don't know it yet."

The lead thug laughed and said, "That's a pretty good story, my friend, but sadly, I recognize a lie when I hear one. I would know if something was going wrong back at your estate. I'd have heard about such events as quickly as they occurred."

Vambran knew it was a possibility that the fellow was in some sort of magical communication with his employers, but he'd hoped for the outside chance that he wasn't. Still, Vambran refused to diminish any of his family's chances by acting hastily.

"Maybe your lord just can't think straight," said Vambran. "Maybe he got caught so unaware that he never had the chance to warn you."

"Sort of like how I caught you and your grandmother unaware earlier tonight?" the thug responded.

Vambran's eyes narrowed, and his jaw jutted out in anger.

"You," was all he said.

"Me," the thug replied. "It's so easy to assassinate someone when you have the house guards on your side. They just let me through, easy as you please."

Vambran raised his crossbow, sighting down it at the thug, who raised his eyebrows.

"Careful, boy, you might accidentally shoot someone important," the thug said, smiling knowingly. "Wouldn't want that to happen again, would we?"

Off to his right, the lieutenant heard Xaphira gasp softly, but then she said, "Vambran, don't be a fool."

The mercenary only stood there, looking past the fletching of the bolt at the thug who had shot his grandmother, wondering how the man before him might know his secret. He could barely restrain himself from firing.

"You think you can hit me somewhere that will keep me from shooting back?" The thug asked, aiming his own crossbow. "We just might kill each other, but then, where would that leave your uncle?"

"I will see your blood on the cobblestones tonight, one way or another," Vambran said menacingly, but he lowered the weapon.

Pulling the bolt free, he set the crossbow itself down on the street and shoved it away with his foot. Then he slipped his sword free and let it fall, too. Finally, with the bolt in his hand, he took a few steps closer to the thug, his arms out to his sides, showing that he was unarmed.

"You're smarter than I was led to believe," the thug said. "Maybe I'll let you live, give you a chance to work for me," he added, smiling. "But then, you already did. You just don't know it."

He recentered Vambran in his sights.

At that moment, a mist began to rise from the street, much to the surprise and dismay of the thugs gathered in a cluster near Kovrim. Their shouts distracted their leader enough to cause him to turn around to see what the fuss was about. At the same instant, Vambran brought his crossbow bolt up so that it rested freely atop his open palm, with him looking down its length at his opponent. He spoke a quick phrase, enchanting the bolt with arcane dweomers. The bolt flew from his hand, straight toward the leader, just as he was turning around again.

The thug must have had cat's blood running in his veins, for he somehow managed to shift his weight enough at the last possible moment, so that the bolt struck him in the arm rather than squarely in the chest. As the thug reeled from the blow, staggering wide-eyed back a step, he reflexively pulled the trigger on his own crossbow, letting the missile fly. Vambran had anticipated the possibility and slid off to the side, but he'd guessed wrong, turning into the wild shot rather than away from it. The bolt struck him in the shoulder, just below the edge of his armor, sinking into his flesh.

The mercenary cried out, dropping to one knee from the pain. He looked over at the leader and saw that the man had dropped as well, clutching at his own arm. Behind him, there were shouts of confusion and pain, but the other thugs were enveloped in a thick mist that engulfed them completely. Vambran could see nothing. He took a deep breath and rose to both feet again, reaching down with his good arm to retrieve his sword. He grasped it and walked with a purpose over to the wounded leader, who was warily watching him approach.

"I told you," Vambran said, raising high his blade, "that I would see your blood spilled tonight. Too bad you didn't listen." The mercenary officer loomed over his foe, his eyes narrowed dangerously. "Who told you about it?" he demanded.

The thug laughed and said, "No one, foolish boy. I watched it with my own eyes."

Vambran snarled in fury and swung his sword down, aiming for the thug's neck, but at that moment, the man uttered some arcane phrase and simply vanished before Vambran's eyes. The mercenary's blade sliced through thin air.

"Damnation!" the lieutenant screamed, spinning around, trying to see where his would-be opponent had fled.

There was no sign of the man.

At that point, another one of the thugs staggered out of the obscuring vapors and, seeing Vambran, the man hefted his own sword and came at the mercenary. Growling, Vambran turned to fight. As they danced on the cobblestones, the lieutenant tried to ignore the throbbing pain in his shoulder where the bolt still protruded. Several times, the thug lunged in toward that side, perhaps hoping to force Vambran to jerk back out of the way and cause himself pain. On the third such lunge, though, Vambran was ready for it and spun completely around so that he ended up behind the thug, slashing into the small of the man's back with his own blade. Vambran's foe cried out in pain and fell to the street.

Vambran was already turning to look for another opponent to vent his anger on, noticing then that the misty vapors had begun to dissipate, drifting away with the perpetual breezes that blew through Arrabar. The lieutenant could see more figures, many of them surrounding Kovrim, who had summoned a cloud of coins with which to fight. Kovrim kept the glowing, incorporeal weapons dancing before himself, using them exclusively defensively. Vambran also noticed that Xaphira had managed to slip inside the circle of thugs and was standing back to back with Kovrim, using only her hands and feet to keep the approaching thugs at bay. Several of the attackers were lying about the alley, some of them still, others moaning in pain. Six or seven still stood, though, and they seemed to have gotten the idea that if they timed their attacks to occur simultaneously they might get inside the pair's defenses.

Vambran was just squaring himself to jump in and attack one or more of the thugs from behind when he heard a shout from the opposite direction. Turning, he spotted a host of men at the mouth of the alley running toward him. He groaned, thinking at first that those were reinforcements for the thugs, sent to come in from behind him and keep him from escaping. But then, he got a better look at the soldiers' markings and saw that they were members of the Sapphire Crescent.

Most of the mercenaries rushed past him, crashing into the remaining thugs who, realizing they were outnumbered by a sizable margin then, turned and fled. Vambran doubted any of them would reach the far end of the alley.

Two of the mercenaries pulled up short, though, stopping to face Vambran and salute him.

"Looks like you needed a bit of help, sir," Adyan drawled, that scar on his chin glowing in the moonlight. "Glad we happened to hear your scuffle."

"We've been sent to bring you back to the temple," Horial added, a smirk on his face. "I couldn't think of a better reason to gather the platoon and come see if you needed some assistance."

Vambran looked back and forth between the two men and started to laugh.

"Well met," he said, offering his hand. "Well met!"