Ombert let his guests eat in peace for a while, with only the clink of their forks on their plates to break the silence.
Eventually he said, “Well, my friend, it seems you’re the most popular man in Oeble. Everyone is looking for you.”
“Including the Lynxes?” Aeron asked
“Of course,” Ombert said, his voice as serious as could be. “When I clap my hands, a net will fall from the ceiling.” Miri glanced upward, and the halfling grinned. “I’m joking. The tanarukk is offering a considerable bounty, enough to tempt most anyone, but I’m inclined to let the Red Axes do their own dirty work.”
Aeron said, “I was hoping you still hated him.”
Ombert smiled, but his eyes were cold.
“Hate’s such an ugly word,” said the halfling. “Let’s just say that he and I have been trying to pick many of the same plums for quite a while now.”
“As I recall, he made a couple attempts to kill you.”
“I survived, and sent a warning. It’s old news now. Let’s talk about your adventures. What was in the lockbox you stole?”
Aeron saw no point in giving that particular piece of information away.
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s warded, and I haven’t been able to crack it.”
“If you don’t even know what it is, then why didn’t you hand it over to Kesk as agreed? It’s not like you to break a deal.”
“Kesk knew the box would be well protected. He didn’t warn me, and Kerridi, Dal, and Gavath died. What’s more, the Red Axes were planning to murder whichever of us survived the job.”
“So no one could trace the coffer to them. Fair enough, that certainly relieves you of any obligation. Though it doesn’t explain why you’re running around with the same guard you robbed in the Paeraddyn.”
“Kesk took my father hostage,” Aeron said.
Ombert frowned and said, “That’s a breach of the code, as I see it. Nicos was one of us in his time, and always dealt fairly with his fellow thieves. He earned the right to live safely in his retirement.”
“When has Kesk ever truly cared about the code?”
“You have a point.”
“Anyway, Miri offered to help me rescue my father. In return, I’ll give the strongbox back to her.”
Shifting his gaze to the scout, Ombert arched an eyebrow.
“Wouldn’t it be easier just to knock this rascal over the head when he isn’t looking,” the halfling asked Miri, “tie him up, then torture the location of the coffer out of him?”
Miri glared at him and said, “I gave my oath.”
“Of course,” Ombert said. “Forgive me, I meant no offense. So, it’s the two of you against the Red Axes and all the lesser gangs who truckle to them. I’m afraid you’re still facing some long odds.”
“You Lynxes could improve them,” Miri said, “by joining forces with us.”
“Why,” said the halfling, “would we do that?”
“If you hate Kesk,” she replied, “this is a chance to spite or maybe even kill him.”
“Outlaws don’t prosper by indulging such passions,” said the halfling. “The successful ones concentrate on gold and silver.”
“If that’s the case,” Miri said, “the man to whom the lockbox rightfully belongs will reward you.”
“How much will he pay?” Ombert asked. “Enough to warrant risking my entire operation in another blood feud with the strongest gang in Oeble? It seems unlikely.”
Miri drew a deep breath, evidently to calm herself, then said, “Look. You spoke of following a code. Well, if the coffer doesn’t reach its proper destination, a good many innocent folk will suffer. Lord Quwen and the people of Ormath need the gold the sale of it will bring.”
Ombert poured himself some tea from a silver pot.
“I’ve never been to Ormath,” he said, “but I’ve heard tell of the place. The proudest, most warlike city on the Shining Plains, ready to attack its neighbors at the twitch of a cat’s tail. If they’re currently enduring hardship, perhaps they brought it on themselves.”
Miri blinked. Plainly, Ombert’s knowledge of faraway lands had taken her by surprise.
She pressed on: “Let’s talk about Oeble, then. I can’t tell you what’s in the strongbox. It’s not my secret to give away. I will say that in the right hands, it can bring prosperity to a good many folk.”
Ombert waved his hand in a vague gesture that took in the spacious room, the gleaming table setting with its bounty of food, the thick carpets adorning the hardwood floor, and the vivid tapestries on the walls.
“Oeble’s prosperous already,” he said.
“For you reavers,” Miri answered. “But how many other folk suffer as a result of your killing, stealing, and slaving? How many rot in poverty because they’re too honest to join one of the gangs? It doesn’t have to be that way. Given the proper opportunity, Oeble could make its gold lawfully.”
“Which doesn’t sound like nearly as much fun,” Ombert said, and he shot Aeron a wink.
“It would be healthier,” Miri said. “The rest of the Border Kingdoms scorn Oeble for the nest of robbers it is. Someday, one of your neighbors is going to clean it up. In other words, conquer, rule, and exploit you to suit themselves. Unless you mend your ways.”
Ombert added milk and sugar to his tea.
“Mistress ranger,” he said, “you have some interesting notions. But I must tell you, I don’t aspire to be a god or even the Faceless Master, and I’m not prepared to take responsibility for the welfare of every wretch in Oeble. I have enough to do just looking after my own followers. And as for the threat of someone marching into town and taking over, well, I’ll deal with it when and if it happens. The Gray Blades have never managed to stamp out the Lynxes, and I doubt that an outlander garrison would fare any better.”
Miri scowled and said, “Then you won’t fight alongside us.”
“No,” Ombert said, “certainly not. Aeron should have known better, even if you didn’t.”
“I did,” Aeron said.
The halfling eyed him quizzically and asked, “Then why did you come to see me? Surely this isn’t just a social visit.”
“Naturally,” Aeron said, “you aren’t going to wage open war against Kesk simply for my sake, or my father’s. It’s not in your interest.” To his surprise, Aeron felt angry at Ombert, as if Miri’s extravagant fancies about duty and honor had infected his own practical thinking. He strained to quash the irrational feeling. “But there is a way you can help us and yourself, too.”
“I’m listening.”
“Miri and I have been raiding Kesk’s various operations,” said Aeron. “You can do the same. Steal his profits and destroy ventures that compete with your own. Kill the Red Axes responsible for controlling particular pieces of territory, then move in yourself. You won’t ruin Kesk, but you’ll weaken him, and improve your own position.”
“How does that differ from declaring all-out war?”
“It’s different if you make it seem like I’m the one doing all the damage,” Aeron replied. “That way, it doesn’t come back on you.”
“No, but rather on you,” said the halfling. “However this business with the coffer turns out, Kesk will never forgive you.”
“It’s already too late to worry about that. I just need him driven crazy, and all the Red Axes running around town hunting me even more frantically than they already are.”
Ombert shrugged and said, “In that case, I agree to your proposal, and I pray the Master of All Thieves will receive your spirit kindly when the half-demon sends it into Shadow.”
By midday, the rain had stopped, and the sun had broken through the clouds. As she prowled the streets, Sefris rather wished it were otherwise. A good many people were wandering around enjoying the warm golden light, and it would be inconvenient if someone recognized her as the same woman who’d killed two Gray Blades and worked dark magic in the vicinity of Slarvyn’s Sword.
She suspected she mi
ght have done as well to stay in her hideout until dusk, for after all, her quarry had likely gone to ground. Yet once she’d slept for a couple hours, she found it impossible to linger. She was too impatient to take up her errand once again. Her seeming lack of progress evoked an unaccustomed feeling of frustration.
As the arcanaloth had promised, Miri had led her to Kesk, who had in turn brought her into contact with Aeron. Then, however, everything had gone wrong. The thief had eluded her, the wizard in green had subsequently turned the Red Axes against her, and as a result, she was more or less right back where she’d started.
But obviously she couldn’t let it rest there, couldn’t fail the Lady of Loss and the Dark Moon. Born a slave in Mulhorand, Sefris had suffered the abuses of a master and mistress who used her cruelly. Finally she escaped their household, only to discover a life in the streets—picking through rotting garbage in search of edible scraps, freezing on cold nights, selling herself for coppers—that was equally terrifying and degrading. It was then that she truly learned to hate the world, to recognize all its bright promises of freedom and happiness for the lies they were.
When the order of the Dark Moon recruited her, it rescued her from want and squalor, and cured her of fear by teaching her to kill. But even more importantly, the Lady of Loss gave her disciples the assurance that the vileness of creation would one day dissolve into the purity of oblivion, and it was that knowledge that truly sustained Sefris. She thought that without it, she might have lost her mind.
She knew that every errand she completed brought universal obliteration a small step closer, albeit generally in a way no mere mortal could comprehend. Such being the case, she’d never allowed herself to fail, and never would.
But how was she to proceed? She’d considered summoning the arcanaloth again, but experience had taught her it was generally pointless to seek a second such consultation on the same problem. The spirit likely wouldn’t have anything new to tell her.
She could stand watch over one of the markets full of smuggled and stolen goods, brothels, gambling halls, mordayn dens, counterfeiter’s lairs, or other enterprises the Red Axes still had running. Kesk had given her a list. But the odds of intercepting Aeron at any given one of them were slim. He simply had too many to choose from, and wasn’t likely to strike before nightfall anyway. In the meantime, one of the Red Axe sentries might spot her lurking about. Ordinarily, she would have pitted her trained aptitude for stealth against their vigilance without hesitation, but she didn’t know what magical devices the wizard might have supplied to heighten their natural abilities.
After some consideration, a vague instinct prompted her to visit those locations Aeron had already raided. She didn’t know what she might discover there, but thought it would be easy enough to find out. Spread thin, the Red Axes were unlikely to mount much of a guard over a place the red-bearded thief had already attacked.
She hadn’t learned anything at the blackened ruin of the floating wine shop. The place had burned down to the waterline. She could only hope the slave market off Dead King’s Walk would prove more instructive. As she made her approach, she scanned the busy street for signs that someone was keeping an eye on the place. If so, she couldn’t tell it from outside the high fence all a-bristle with nails.
She marched up to the entrance as if she had every right in the world to do so, and no one paid her any mind. The gate was locked, so she whispered a charm of opening. For a split second, she stood in cool shadow, as if a cloud has passed before the sun. The latch clacked, yielding to the magic.
She slipped through the gate and pushed it shut behind her. The hinges squeaked a little. Before her, the enclosure was deserted. Peaceful. At first glance, only the splashes of dried blood and discharged crossbow bolts on the muddy ground gave evidence of the violence that had erupted there the night before.
Well, those and the taunting “A” chalked in bold white strokes on the roof of one of the low, unwalled slave kennels. Sefris surmised that Aeron sar Randal didn’t know how to write his name, but could manage his initial.
Once satisfied that none of Kesk’s minions was going to leap out and attack her, Sefris prowled around examining the ground. She found the broken fetters and the hammers and chisels the thralls had used to strike them off. On the ground nearby were the distinctive tracks the brass mantis had made as it hopped and scuttled about. The rest of the scene was a muddled confusion that only a ranger might have deciphered.
Sefris felt irritated with herself for even trying. Suppose she could read the tracks. Suppose she could follow the course of the battle from the first flight of quarrels to the final knife thrust. What difference would it make? This was all just a waste of time.
She started to turn to go, and a pang of intuition spun her back around, just in time to glimpse movement inside the window of the tumbledown shack at the back of the yard. Somebody had peeked out at her, then ducked back down under cover, but not quite quickly enough.
Probably just a Red Axe with the good sense to be leery of tackling Sefris by himself. That meant he was no threat at present, but since she and the gang were overt enemies, she saw no point in leaving him alive to get in the way later on. Sefris extracted a chakram from its pocket, charged the shed, and sprang through the doorway, hands poised to deflect a missile or blade.
But it wasn’t a weapon that assailed her. Rather, a shrill scream pierced her ears. Huddled on the floor in the far corner, a young woman with an upturned nose and straw-colored hair squinched her eyes shut and shrieked again and again.
The blonde seemed to be rather comely, though it was hard to tell with her features contorted, tears streaming down her cheeks, and snot glistening on her upper lip. She had shackle galls on her ankles, but otherwise appeared relatively free of bruises, scars, or other signs of abuse. She looked well fed, too. Sefris knew what tender young female slaves had to do to earn soft treatment, and felt a surge of contempt directed in equal measure at the wretch before her and the child she herself had been.
The feeling was a distraction, and she stifled it with practiced ease. Viewed properly, the blonde was despicable, but no more so than any other created thing. Which was to say, she was of no importance except as a potential resource to further Sefris’s mission.
Assuming the thrall knew something of significance, how best to extract it? Ordinarily, Sefris would have opted for threats and torture, but the blonde was already frightened beyond the point of hysteria. It seemed unlikely that heightening her terror would render her any more coherent. So, distasteful though it was, the monastic rearranged her features into the same sympathetic simper she’d worn while drifting about with Miri.
She tucked the chakram away, crossed the grubby one-room shack with its few sticks of rickety furniture, and kneeled beside the slave. The blonde cringed away from her gentle touch.
“Easy,” Sefris said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”
The thrall sobbed.
“Really,” Sefris added. She took the blonde’s chin between her thumb and forefinger and turned her averted face until they were eye to eye, compelling the other woman to take note of her own compassionate expression. “I’d never hurt a slave. I was a slave myself, once upon a time.”
“I’m not a runaway!” wailed the thrall.
“It’s all right. I’m not a slave catcher, and I’m not interested in returning you to your master.”
The blonde said, “I have to go back. What else can I do? But they’ll blame me. They’ll whip me to death.”
She was afraid to seize the opportunity Aeron had given her and even try to be free. The realization gave Sefris another twinge of disdain, even though she knew that, ultimately, liberty was as foul as bondage or any other condition or thing to which one could put a name.
In any case, if all the thrall cared about was escaping punishment, then that was the lever Sefris would use to pry some sense out of her.
“If you mean to return to your master,” the monastic said, “then
maybe I can put in a good word for you. Help you convince him it wasn’t your fault.”
The blonde snuffled, “You’d do that?”
“I follow the Broken God, and he teaches us to help those in need. The only thing is, I won’t be able to persuade another of your innocence until I myself understand exactly what happened. I mean, you say you didn’t want to run away, but you did strike off your leg irons.”
“All the other slaves were doing it. I was afraid they’d hurt me if I didn’t let them break my chains, too. I went off with them for the same reason, but sneaked away as soon as I could. By the time I got back, though, some more of the masters were already here, loading the dead bodies into a wagon. They’d seen everyone was gone, me included, so I was scared to approach them. I hid until they drove away, then came into the shed to try and figure out what to do.”
“Well, that explains it to some extent,” said Sefris, “but you’d better tell me the whole story from the beginning. How did the red-bearded man get inside?”
“He rang the bell. Or she did, the woman who was with him. When Master Durth went to answer, the man shoved through and clubbed him.”
Sefris nodded. Durth, the half-orc Aeron had knocked unconscious but left alive, had only a cloudy memory of the attack, but thought he recalled a woman. The ruffians the thief had ambushed along the docks likewise had a vague impression that Aeron hadn’t acted alone, and it certainly seemed unlikely that he’d defeated five Red Axes and an enchanted construct unaided. Sefris had already concluded that he’d found an accomplice foolhardy enough to stand with him against the gang.
“Master Evendur came out to see what was going on,” the thrall continued, “and the man and woman killed him. Afterward, they fetched the tools to strike the chains off, and told us to run away. I said it was madness, but nobody would listen to me.”
“Then the other Red Axes—the masters with the big metal insect—came to investigate the noise?”
“Yes. I thought that then, everything would be all right. I didn’t have my shackles off yet, so they wouldn’t punish me. But the man, the woman, and Yagan—a hobgoblin, one of us thralls—killed the masters. The man threw knives. The woman shot arrows, then fought with a broadsword and buckler. Yag—”
The Black Bouquet Page 19
