Sapphire Crescent (16 page)

“Vam,” Emriana said, giving her brother the most serious look she could conjure. “You scared the hells out of me tonight.”

Vambran nodded and said, “I know. I’m sorry. It was a blunder of me to underestimate these people. Twice.” He eyed her right back, his expression severe. “You realize that, if I had let you come with me instead of them, it would be you and me lying here bloodless, right?”

Emriana gave a little shudder as she considered the possibility. She shook her head.

“And there would have been no one watching your back to come to the rescue,” she said. “But that’s not how it ended up. We’re all alive, and the thing’s dead.”

“Right, thanks to some mysterious red-clad benefactor. Em, this is getting out of hand.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Kovrim said, coming to stand beside the two siblings again. “This whole thing does indeed have temple connections.”

“What?” Vambran blurted out, drawing a sharp look from the mercenaries, who were in the process of carrying out the still unconscious sergeants. “How do you know?”

“Because,” Kovrim replied grimly, “I had a conversation with Grand Trabbar Lavant tonight. He didn’t deny it. I was surprised, to say the least.”

“How can he justify murder?” Vambran said, his voice a bit softer, but no less vehement.

“He didn’t. At least he claimed not to condone it. But let’s not talk in here. Eavesdroppers might be about. It’s already happened at least once, I think.”

Emriana spun around, staring wide-eyed into the darkness. “I thought your men said it was all clear!” she said, trepidation making her shake. “Who’s still here? Vambran’s mysterious rescuer?”

“Calm down, Em,” Kovrim admonished. “I meant magical eavesdroppers. Scrying and the like. I’ll explain why when we’re a safe distance away.”

The trio took a walk, leaving the rest of the cleanup business to the mercenaries. Vambran stopped quickly before they departed the warehouse, fetching Emriana’s dagger and returning it to her. Then they began to walk through the misty evening, making their way in the general direction of the temple.

Kovrim continued his revelation as they strolled.

“What Grand Trabbar Lavant told me was, the temple is on the verge of negotiating a very lucrative business opportunity, and the murders were an ill-advised cover-up on someone else’s part to eliminate something standing in its way. He assured me that the guilty parties were being suitably punished, and he just felt that there was no good reason to bring the authorities into it, drag the whole thing before the public eye, and ruin the chance to complete the deal.”

“That’s absurd,” Vambran said, shaking his head. “The Lady herself would never approve of such underhanded business tactics.”

“I agree,” Kovrim said, “but the fact remains that you’re inadvertently butting heads with the temple, now. Regardless of the morality of your actions, you’re taking your career’s future in your hands. You need to be very careful how you proceed.”

“Are you suggesting that I stop? Give it up and trust the Grand Trabbar to see to it that justice is served?”

“Not necessarily,” Kovrim began.

‘ “Good, because there’s no way I’m leaving this alone now,” Vambran replied angrily. “The man and woman who were murdered were servants of House Pharaboldi. Her name was Jithelle, a kitchen maid, and his was Hoytir, a stable hand. Apparently, Denrick Pharaboldi was seeing her on the sly. Em found that out today.”

Kovrim whistled and said, “That sheds some unusual light on the whole affair.”

“Exactly,” Vambran replied. “And seeing as how our two Houses are so friendly right now—Em was, in fact, there for a social tea—I think it behooves me to make sure we as a family are not getting involved with someone untrustworthy or willing to commit murder to further their business causes.”

Kovrim nodded and said, “I agree. But you still need to be particularly cautious. You don’t want to draw any more of the temple’s attention to yourself in this way.”

“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” Emriana said, nodding back the way they had come. “You brought a squad of mercenaries who answer to the temple with you tonight. Word is bound to get around.”

Kovrim looked at the girl with surprised admiration.

“Very good point, Em.” He smiled and continued, “But in this case, not a worry. Those are some of my most trusted soldiers. We already discussed the need for silence on this matter. They are working tonight strictly freelance.”

“Excellent. And Adyan and Horial know to do the same,” Vambran said. “At least, once I get a chance to talk to them. Perhaps we can make sure Grolo takes care of that.”

“I’m sure we can arrange that,” Kovrim answered. “I’ll speak to him later. But for now, here’s what I think you should do next. If this is the same Jithelle I think you’re talking about, I know her mother, Nimra Skolotti. A sweet old woman, and likely wondering what really happened to her poor daughter. She might know something useful, so I think you two should go visit her tomorrow and see what you can find out.”

Vambran nodded and Emriana said, “Oh, the poor woman. Maybe it would make her feel a little better if she knew someone was trying to clear Jithelle’s name.”

“Precisely,” their uncle said. “In the meantime, I’ll do a little more digging—very subtle digging, mind you—to see what I can find out about potential business opportunities with House Pharaboldi. If I turn anything useful up, I’ll let you know.”

Vambran turned to face his uncle. “Thank you, sir, for everything you’ve done so far.”

Emriana stepped in and gave the priest a hug.

“Yes,” she said, “thank you so much for coming tonight. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to reach you.”

“You two just be careful,” replied Kovrim. “This isn’t a game we’re playing, here.”

“Damn it!” Grozier snarled as he watched Kovrim, Vambran, and the girl exit the warehouse. “Follow them!” The wizard Bartimus shook his head.

“I can’t,” he said, shrinking away from his employer’s angry gaze. “I focused the spell on Dressus; it goes where he goes.”

Grozier threw up his hands in frustration and began to pace.

“Well, that clinches it, then,” he said. “They’re uncovering far too much, and furthermore, they know that we’re watching them. You heard the priest say as much.”

Bartimus nodded, though he didn’t think that Grozier saw the gesture, and furthermore, didn’t care. The less attention paid to him, the better, as far as the wizard was concerned.

“I’ve got to talk to the others. That damned mercenary is proving more resourceful than I expected, especially when he has so many friends and family to aid him. He’s got too many resources.”

“Pardon, sir,” Bartimus said, wondering why he would dare to question his employer’s logic. “But why don’t we take those resources away from him?”

“What?” Grozier asked harshly, scowling and looking at the wizard as though he had just noticed him for the first time. “What are you talking about?”

Bartimus took a deep breath, then said, “The high priest outranks all of them. I’m sure he could arrange it so that the mercenary can’t draw on fellow soldiers or his uncle for help. In fact, that may have been what Lavant intended from the beginning, and we didn’t give him a chance to put it into motion.”

Grozier cocked his head, regarding the wizard with approval.

“Why don’t you offer up these kinds of insights more often?” he asked.

Bartimus cringed, but said, “Because you usually just yell at me when I do.”

“Yes,” Grozier replied with a sigh. “I suppose I do. All right, I’ll try to control that. You just keep doing more thinking. I like it.”

“All right,” Bartimus said, stunned.

“In the meantime, I think we need to move up our meeting. Let everyone know.”

“Yes, sir,” Bartimus replied, already moving through his study to fulfill his employer’s request.

Vambran strolled along inconspicuously, following the woman as she made her way carefully through the market and

holding on to the younger woman’s arm who was escorting her. The mercenary had been following the pair for a while, watching as they shopped for fresh vegetables in the lines of stalls that filled the open square. The day was bright and crisp, somewhat cooler than it had been the day before, but still the sun was warming to the lieutenant’s skin as he kept pace with his quarry.

Vambran had tracked down Jithelle’s mother easily enough from the instructions Kovrim provided him the night before, getting up early and making his way to the east side of the city, where the less affluent neighborhoods were. He had no trouble finding the

small house, really an apartment on the second story of a rug merchant’s shop, where Nimra Skolotti and her youngest daughter Mirolyn lived. Initially, he intended to just visit the woman directly, but then caution got the better of him, and he decided to wait. If he was being followed, or watched in some other way, perhaps it would be better not to draw undue attention to the grieving mother.

The mercenary did not have to wait long before Nimra and her daughter appeared on the street. The pair of them headed first to the bakery where they purchased a single small honeyed bun to split between the two of them, then they made their way to the market, nibbling at their breakfast and chatting softly as they strolled. Nimra maintained a steady grip on Mirolyn’s arm. It took Vambran a few minutes to realize that Nimra was blind.

The mercenary watched as the two women examined some melons, Nimra picking up one then another, squeezing them with her hands and smelling them. They selected one and paid the merchant, then moved on, toward a stall that sold peppers. Vambran smiled to himself, wondering if those might have been the very same peppers he’d helped make their way across the Sea of Fallen Stars aboard Lady’s Favor. Nimra and Mirolyn chose a small handful of the peppers and completed their purchase.

When they reached a corner next to a small kiosk selling hot tea, Vambran approached them. He stepped up next to the younger woman and spoke softly.

“Excuse me, but I would like to speak with you and your mother for a moment.”

Mirolyn turned to face the mercenary in surprise, but Nimra only cocked her head to one side and said, “I wondered how much longer you were going to follow us before you showed your intentions.”

Vambran did a double take.

“You… you knew I was following you?” he asked.

“Certainly. Not too many big, strapping fellows in some sort of armor make a habit of strolling behind me at the same distance all morning long.”

Mirolyn looked from her mother to the man in front of her and shrugged.

“Nothing wrong with her hearing,” the girl said, a wan smile emerging briefly.

“I guess not,” Vambran said. “I assure you, I have no malicious intentions, here. But I need to speak with you for a few moments, someplace where we won’t be bothered. It concerns your other daughter, Jithelle.”

At the mention of their slain family member, both women’s faces turned ashen, and Mirolyn closed her eyes, swallowing a sob.

Nimra turned her sightless eyes toward Vambran and said, “Who are you, bringing pain to an old woman by speaking that name?”

Vambran swallowed and frowned. He knew it would be a difficult subject to bring up, but it was unavoidable.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, “and for reopening the wounds of her passing, but if you will give me a moment of your time you will see that—”

“I’m sorry, but we have nothing more to tell you, soldier,” Nimra interrupted. She took hold of Mirolyn’s arm and began to tug her away. “It was watchmen who killed her, and I will not help you besmirch her name further.”

Vambran shook his head, then remembered that Nimra couldn’t see his gesture.

“I’m no watchman, milady, as your daughter will certainly testify. I am a soldier, true, but one who is trying to find the truth, not bury it.”

Nimra hesitated and turned back.

“What purpose do you have in tracking me down?” she asked.

Beside her, Mirolyn looked at Vambran with eyes already brimming with tears.

“I was witness to your daughter’s death,” Vambran said quietly, eliciting a gasp from both women. “I don’t believe the charges leveled against her, and I want to discover who would see her dead.”

“Why do you care what happened to a commoner?” Nimra questioned quietly, reaching a hand out to take one of Vambran’s. “Yes, I suspected as much. You may have the calluses of a swordsman, but you still have the voice and bearing of a wealthy man.”

“The gold in my family’s vaults does not affect my desire to see justice,” Vambran replied. “I cannot stand to see murder done, any more than you, though Jithelle was no one I know.” As he spoke the word “murder,” the lieutenant saw both women flinch again. “But we must not talk here,” he continued. “It is not safe. Where can we go for a bit of quiet conversation?”

“The cheesemaker’s on Slake Street,” Nimra said quickly. “Mirolyn works there, and the proprietor will let us visit in his room upstairs. Do not follow us,” the woman added. “Meet us there at the next bells.”

And with that, the two women turned away and crossed the square, continuing their shopping, though their pace was a bit quicker and more urgent to anyone who might have been watching. Vambran observed them both go, then turned and took a different route, weaving in and out of the crowds of people at the market. He headed surreptitiously toward Slake Street, approaching it finally from the opposite direction from the market, and when he ducked his head inside, found only a single customer being served.

The proprietor, Neely, if the name on the sign outside was accurate, gave Vambran an appraising look, then shrugged and finished filling his customer’s order.

When the woman left with her block of cheese, the man turned to Vambran and asked, “What can I serve you today, good sir?”

Vambran smiled and cast a quick glance around, then said, “Nimra Skolotti sent me here. I am supposed to meet with her in a few moments, and we needed a private place to gather. She suggested that you might make your family room available for a few minutes.”