by Edward Bolme
She gathered her gear and pulled her hood over her rain-dampened hair. Kneeling, she tipped the water out of her small box and closed the lid, put it back into her bag, and slung the bag's strap across her shoulder. As she rose, she saw a scrawny youth standing nearby. Kehrsyn recognized him. He'd been hanging around the fringe of the crowd, trying to pretend he hadn't been watching her. He met her eyes, then dropped his gaze, then tried to look at her again but more or less failed and stared in the general vicinity of her neck.
"Yes?" she said.
"You're real good, Miss," he mumbled. He reached out one hand to her, hiding his face behind his shoulder. He held a large, ripe golden pear in his grip. "Um… here."
She took the offering with both hands and smiled.
"Thank you," she said. "Thank you very much. What's your name?"
"Jaldi," said the lad, with a self-conscious smile. He paused, then blurted, "You're real pretty, too." Then he turned and ran away.
Kehrsyn waved at his rapidly retreating back, but he didn't look behind him before he left her sight. She took a big, contented bite of the pear, staring vacantly in the direction the boy had gone.
The delight engendered by his awkward compliment faded and was replaced by a cool dread. The boy's admiration had put her in mind of the sole other member of the audience who'd watched her entire performance: a harsh-looking man with swarthy features and a dark green cloak. At first, she had taken him for one of the army, so military was his bearing. He had situated himself here and there around the plaza, never obvious, always where the view was best, leaning against a wall or wagon, arms folded across his chest, eyes narrowed, running his thumb back and forth over his lower lip.
She turned, chewing her lunch, and skimmed the courtyard. There, to her right. The same man was still watching her, over by the horse trough next to the blacksmith's. While Kehrsyn liked admirers as much as anyone, there was something in the man's stance that was far too businesslike for her tastes, as if he looked on her as an adversary and not a potential flirtation.
Kehrsyn casually walked out of the courtyard. She paused to inspect a blade offered by an arms merchant (weapons were priced almost as exorbitantly as food) and, turning the polished bronze weapon in her hand to reflect the Jackal's Courtyard behind her, caught a glimpse of the dark man moving parallel to her on the other side of the plaza. He was shadowing her, to her left and rear.
The merchant stooped under his table, and Kehrsyn's hand strayed to her sash, but she remembered her vow and forced herself to return the blade with a "thank you" and a dazzling smile. She continued on her way to a street leading off the plaza. Once out of the man's view, she increased her speed and turned into an angled street on her right, quickly enough that he-whoever he was-could not have seen her.
Just to be safe, she picked up her speed even more, then ducked into a narrow alley that opened to her left, keeping her free hand on her rapier to keep it from bouncing around. She wasn't certain where the alley led, but, wherever it did, she was certain that she had evaded the stranger.
Though the alley protected her from the chill breeze, the rain and the cold remained, enhanced somewhat by the foul smells of rotting refuse. For once, Kehrsyn found a reason to thank the cold weather. In the summers, alleys stank something foul. Her breath steamed around her limp hair as she moved down the alleyway, looking for an outlet to another avenue. Navigating by instinct, she moved through the narrow, winding gap, passing a few branches before coming to a dead end. She paused and stared blankly at the wall in front of her, concealed as high as her waist by a pile of decomposing garbage. She pulled a lock of wet hair out of her face and retraced her steps, but just as she arrived at the first juncture, she saw her way blocked by an armed man.
She was relieved to see that it wasn't the same man from the plaza… and, for just a moment, she also felt a slight pang of disappointment.
He was short, shorter than she. The steam curling from his sneering lip combined with his powerful build to give the impression of a bull or a fighting dog. A thick cloak covered his head and shoulders, and a black tabard with some sort of gold emblem draped off his wide chest, the hem shedding droplets that splashed in the dirty puddles at his feet. A shield hung across his back. He straightened as he saw Kehrsyn approach, and her ears picked up the grate of steel on steel. He's wearing mail beneath his cloak, Kehrsyn thought, splint or scale.
"Olare," she said, for lack of anything better, and took another bite of her pear. "So, um, what kind of uniform is that? That's s no soldier's outfit that I know. And you don't have that medallion the Northern Wizards' people wear. Are you a mercenary? Or some kind of deputized…"
Kehrsyn's words trailed off as the burly man drew a long sword from a well-crafted scabbard. He swung it at his side in a lazy figure eight and stepped toward her.
Kehrsyn jumped to an unwanted conclusion.
"I'll scream," she said.
"Go ahead," said the man in a surprisingly high-pitched voice with a noticeable northwestern accent. "If the local pikegrabbers get here, I don't gotta trot you all the way over to the damn barracks to get my bounty."
Kehrsyn furrowed her brow.
"Don't try to act so damn innocent, pretty little thief," he said, sounding more like a juvenile than the veteran he clearly was. "You stole that pear, and there's a bounty on freeloaders like you."
Kehrsyn's eyes widened as she stared at the half-eaten piece of fruit in her hand.
"I did no such thing!" she blurted.
She began edging backward, down the dead-end alley.
"Of course not," replied the man," 'cuz I hear that in this city, if you steal food, they don't chop your hand, they chop your damn neck."
"I didn't steal it!" said Kehrsyn, knowing how thin her protests must sound. "It was a gift! This boy, he liked-" She halted her tongue before she said, "he liked my performance," knowing full well it would be taken the wrong way. "He liked me…" she continued, even more flustered.
"Uh-huh," said the man, swinging the blade unconsciously in his right hand. "We dock here only this damn morning, and soon as we get them pears out, someone steals a whole damn bunch. You leave the market, eating a damn pear. I follow, and you walk faster. When I get close, you run and duck into this damn alley, and now you say you din't do nothin'. Well too damn bad for you." Then, looking her over, he added, "Though you maybe could work a deal. The others would like the looks of you, all nice and thin like that. The Zhentarim can be… merciful. At times."
"I–I didn't s-steal it," stammered Kehrsyn as she continued her slow retreat. Her stomach tightened in knots. "Ask the people at the square. I was performing."
"Quit your damn bleating."
He reached for her with his free hand, but Kehrsyn hopped lightly backward. Glancing at his extended arm, she saw that he indeed wore splint mall. He stepped forward. She dropped her pear and drew her rapier, holding it defensively in front of her with her left hand. As she'd hoped, that caused him to pause briefly. He lowered himself as if to spring.
The man studied her, negligently describing easy, lethal arcs with his sword beside him. For a moment, as he examined her stance, he wore the ruthless face of a tiger, then a cruel smile pulled up one corner of his mouth.
He saw the point of Kehrsyn's rapier trembling ever so slightly. The rain dripped. The fearful trembling grew. His smile widened, as did Kehrsyn's eyes.
The man straightened up again, nodding in smug disdain.
"So pussycat thinks she's got a claw, huh?" he mocked. "Here's what I think of that!"
He swung his sword crosswise and slapped the blade from her hand with a flagrant, sweeping backhand blow, sending it clattering against the stone wall of the alley. As he did so, Kehrsyn was already thrusting with a dagger in her right hand-her good hand-the blade held vertically the better to slip between the strips of metal splints. Too late the man saw that he had fallen for her bait-believed her trembling, fearful feint-and left his body wide open for a counterattack
. The long stiletto struck the man at the top of the thigh, just where his leg joined his abdomen, cutting tendons and lancing innards.
Though he yet felt no pain, instinctively the man was already doubling over to protect his groin. He tried to strike Kehrsyn with his return stroke, but she nimbly dodged the blow and countered by tracing a gash across one eyebrow.
The man's traumatized hip gave way and he crumpled to his knees. He glared at her, but the blood welling up from his cut brow started to sting his eye. Just as he winced, Kehrsyn stepped forward and kicked him as hard as she could on the chin, sending the man backward. He flopped on the pavement, his lower legs doubled back underneath him.
He groaned as Kehrsyn gingerly cleaned her dagger on his trousers. She sheathed the blade in its hidden pouch on the bottom of her bag, then recovered her pear and her rapier, which was, thankfully, undamaged.
Glancing back, she saw that the man, despite his injuries and his irritated eyes, had pulled a small vial of bright blue liquid from his sword belt with a trembling hand and was moving it toward his lips.
In an instant the point of her rapier planted itself just behind the wounded man's ear.
"A healing potion? No, you don't… not yet," she said. "You can drink it when I'm safely away, so why don't you just put it back for now, hmm?"
He obeyed, if feebly, slipping the potion back into its hidden resting place, and Kehrsyn breathed easier that she'd not had to follow through on her implied threat.
Kehrsyn stepped around him, flicking her rapier's point to his throat.
"Oh, and while we're at it…" she added.
She squatted beside him, taking care not to dirty her knees with the alley mud. She placed her half-eaten pear on her lap and patted the man down until she felt his coin purse tucked behind his belt.
"In Unther, we don't like foreigners trying to arrest innocent people. There's a fine of, um…" She yanked his coin purse off his belt, though it took two or three tries before the thin leather thongs snapped. "Three coppers? You pathetic-pah!"
Kehrsyn looked at the three small coins. Given the day's events, she really needed them. She clenched and unclenched her fist and bit her lip, but she threw them down the alley.
She picked her pear back up and stood.
"You count to fifty before you try drinking that potion in your belt, you hear me?" she said, redirected anger adding force to her words. "And don't you go looking for those coppers. Understand?"
He nodded.
Kehrsyn took two incautious steps, paused for two breaths, then took two more steps, all to give the man the illusion that he'd hear her when she left.
She intended to glide silently away, but just as she was about to leave the hapless merchant's guard, she heard the sound of clapping.
CHAPTER THREE
Startled by the sudden applause (even if it only issued from a single pair of hands), Kehrsyn jumped forward, spinning with remarkable grace, and drew her rapier again, swinging it from side to side. The whispering sound of the blade slicing the air did nothing to dissipate the loud, arrogant clapping.
The ovation made up in wet loudness what it lacked in quantity of hands, and the narrow, angled alley echoed the sound all around the startled young woman. Glancing around, Kehrsyn saw the alley was empty of anyone other than the wounded soldier and herself, but as her heart slowed to a more reasonable speed, she finally figured out the situation.
She hazarded a look up. Despite the overcast, the sky shone brighter than the narrow alley, especially since the winter sun was edging toward the horizon, leaving the alley in relative shade. Kehrsyn shielded her eyes from the diffused light and the drizzling rain with the hand holding her pear.
There, above her, the silhouette of someone's torso peered over the roof, elbows moving in rhythm with the clapping sound. Just as she spotted her audience, the person stopped clapping and leaned out over the edge of the roof.
"Ooh, that was slick, hon," said a. hoarse, dusky female voice. It had a nasal tinge, as if the speaker was thoroughly congested. "You dropped that pasty-face like a poleaxed heifer."
Kehrsyn narrowed her eyes, trying to get any better idea of what the interloper looked like, but all she could see was the black of the silhouette.
" 'Bout as strong as a piece of moldy bread, I'd say, but you got the dance down right. Yessirree." She paused to cough and clear her throat.
"What do you mean?" asked Kehrsyn, stalling, trying to find a better angle to look at her. Had the sun been out, Kehrsyn might have been able to settle herself into a shadow to eclipse some of the brightness, but the clouds evenly scattered the light that bled through.
"I mean I wouldn't bet a half-eaten herring on you to wrestle a wolf pup three falls of five, but you got the eyes of a hawk and the strike of a viper." She paused to clear her throat, hawked up something vile from her lungs, and spat down the alley to Kehrsyn's left. "Yessirree, I don't think a black hare could slip past you at midnight under a new moon."
"Well, thank you," said Kehrsyn as she started to back away.
"Oh, don't be scootin' off now, hon. No, that wouldn't be the best snap of your nut today. We need someone the likes of you."
Kehrsyn paused. The guard, one hand pressed against his bleeding leg, started to try to pull himself back up into a sitting position.
"What do you mean?" asked Kehrsyn, only partially focused on the conversation. Most of her mind was filled with watching the guard she'd had to discommode, while also unobtrusively searching for the best escape.
"Heard that question already, missy, so let me put it to you simply. We've been watching you back there in the plaza. You got real good hands. Long, slim, and agile. Your body's about the same way, for that matter. And you can use them like nobody's business, too. Your hands, that is. You make stuff appear and disappear like you were a regular fire-slinging scroll-thumper. And I should know."
The woman's silhouette leaned precariously over the edge of the rooftop. Just as Kehrsyn was sure she'd fall, the woman began to crawl headfirst down the side of the building, using her hands and bare feet. As she descended, Kehrsyn could see ghostly wisps of blue energy curling away from her extremities and rapidly fading to nothing in the steady rain.
"You're a magician," said Kehrsyn.
The woman paused in her descent and said, "Well, maybe I gave you too many chops for smarts, but we can work around that. Yes, some of the time I'm a sorceress, if you must know."
Working her hands to the sides, the stranger levered her torso up until she sat on her heels. It looked much like she was kneeling on the floor-except that her feet were flat against a wet, vertical wall ten feet in the air. She pulled at her collar and tried to clear her throat, but to no particular avail.
Since the sorceress had come closer, removing herself from the backlighting of the clouds, Kehrsyn could see her more clearly. She had a squarish face, tanned, with Untheri features and the leathery wrinkles of too many seasons in the sun. Her red-rimmed eyes drooped at the outside corners, and her nose was very small. She wore several layers of nondescript traveling clothes, mostly in sun-faded browns and grays. Kehrsyn noted that the layers and loose, wrapped cut to her clothes gave her a number of great places to conceal small items. She looked a few pounds toward the heavy side, but the clothes made it impossible to tell if the extra weight was muscle or fat. Finally, Kehrsyn noticed that, while her hands and feet were bare, she had soft leather boots with thick stockings tucked carefully into her belt. It seemed only reasonable that she wouldn't habitually go barefoot in that kind of weather.
The woman sat on her heels, elbows resting easily on her lap and hands dangling between her knees. Her left thumb fiddled with a bright silver ring she wore on her left middle finger. She cocked her head to the right and studied Kehrsyn, eyes roving carefully over her body from feet to hair. The sorceress spent a fair amount of time looking right at Kehrsyn's eyes, but Kehrsyn steadfastly refused to drop her gaze. For the rest, Kehrsyn chose not to move. It was bes
t not to upset a magician too much until one had a better idea of how capable her magic was. Novice magicians could cause someone a bit of trouble; an experienced one could leave her victim as a pile of ash in the blink of an eye.
While the two women appraised each other, the wounded man at Kehrsyn's feet managed to push himself up into a sitting position and lean against one wall. The shield on his back grated on the rough, gritty stone. With a sigh that was one part pleasure and one part pain, he set his legs straight out in front of him and put pressure on his wound with his balled-up fist. With his other hand, he tried unsuccessfully to wipe the blood from his wincing eyes, then he began to pull his healing potion from his belt.
The mysterious woman gestured to the man with a casual motion of her thumb. Without taking her eyes off the mage, Kehrsyn flicked her rapier to her right and tapped the man's cuirass twice, just as he drew forth the vial.
He sagged, and gasped, "Oh, damn. I thought you two had left."
The woman flipped her hands over, revealing her blue-haloed palms as if doing so might convince Kehrsyn of her sincerity.
"All right," the sorceress said, wheezing, "let me sing your dance for you. There's something in this town that we need, and your talents can get it for us."
"We?" said Kehrsyn, her eyes narrowing.
The woman pursed her lips, and replied, "Why, the guild, if you must know." She cocked her head to the other side.
"The guild? Which guild?"
The woman shook her head in disbelief. "Why, what guild do you think, hon?" she asked.
"I–I don't know," stammered Kehrsyn.
The woman snorted, "The thieves' guild, of course."
She pulled a small, soiled kerchief from an inner pocket and blew her nose.
"But there's no thieves' guild in Messemprar," objected Kehrsyn. "They wouldn't dare make one."
"If only your mind were as nimble as your vixen hands, hon," said the sorceress with a rattling sigh of exasperation. She returned the kerchief and clasped her hands together. "You got to keep up with the times, especially here. The Northern Wizards don't have the control everyone thinks they do. The ex-Gilgeamite priests don't have the control they wish they had. And no one trusts the church of Tiamat, or the army, or the Banites, or-or the followers of Furifax, or anyone. So when the Mulhorandi army starts looking like a good option, well, that's when there's cracks large enough for a guild to move in, and with this many people packed into the streets, we got ourselves a good set of targets."
