Anthology - Realms of Mystery Part 24

"You fools! What have you been doing? This fight will bring the watch down on this house for sure!"

The landlord's voice ended in a shriek as Spielt seized him by the throat and pinned him against the wall with one hand, while his other drew a wickedly curved sword from beneath his robes. His friend stared grimly at the landlord's henchmen as they started forward."Call off your dogs," he growled, "unless you'd care to end the evening as a corpse." The landlord gestured frantically with one hand, and the large guard, Sirc'al, stepped back a pace. His hand was on his own sword, and his eyes looked death at the scarred man.

The ruffian nodded to his companion, who loosened his hold on the landlord. The fat innkeeper choked and gasped for a moment, then sank into a chair. Kreelan gave his friend a ghastly smile and the two stepped confidently toward the door.

Light flashed suddenly from a blade, as one of the innkeeper's men drew a broadsword and pressed it against Spielt's throat. "Halt! Or your friend dies!"

Kreelan stopped, his mouth slipping sideways in anger. He glanced down, making a visible effort to regain his temper. Then he looked up again. "Go ahead! He's less than nothing to me. I can pick up a better helper than him in any dockside brothel." He took another step.

Spielt's face had turned ashy, but his voice, when he spoke, was surprisingly calm. "Death's waiting that way, Kreelan. Another step and you'll be food for the Fallen Temple." He flicked his eyes upward, toward a shadowed balcony that ran around the second story of the room. "Right now there's a crossbow aimed straight at your head. Raeglaran was keeping an alternate escape route open for us.

Well, that's what he's doing for me, all right."

Kreelan began to look upward, then thought better of it. "You're bluffing, Spielt."

Spielt's laughter had a touch of hysteria about it. "Am I? Then walk ahead. You'll find out soon enough."

Sirc'al's stance appeared to relax slightly. He laughed deep in his throat and brushed a hand over his balding head, the skin mottled and scaly. "So you've betrayed each other. What more could I expect from such slime? Well, I'll have you first, Kreelan."

Kreelan grinned tightly. "Not quite." Slowly he brought up the hand that until now had stayed clenched in a fist by his side. It held a small gla.s.s sphere that the others could see was divided in half by a thin part.i.tion. One half held a black powder; the other contained a clear liquid. "Know what this is?"

The smile froze on Sirc'al's face. "What?"

"Smoke powder," Kreelan crowed. "And next to it, oil of phosphorus. You know what happens if the sphere breaks, don't you? The oil will ignite, and the smoke powder will explode."

Sirc'al laughed. "Go ahead, fool! There's barely enough powder there to blow yourself up."

Kreelan said calmly, "Ah, but there you're mistaken, my friend. This is just one sphere. In my pack, I have two more. True, there will be only one small explosion from this one, but it will be followed by a somewhat larger explosion. I shouldn't care to be standing next to me."

Sirc'al snorted. "You're bluffing."

"Am I? If your friend over there kills Spielt, Raeglaran will shoot me. I'll fall. And with me will fall this little sphere. This little gla.s.s sphere." He smiled nastily. "Spielt, if Raeglaran kills me, and the sphere breaks, I and our friend here will be dead. But his other friends will have no reason not to attack you.

Five against two? Not good odds. And that a.s.sumes you won't be taken down when I fall."

Kreelan s.h.i.+fted his eyes upward. "Raeglaran," he called. "In case you're getting some bright ideas, shooting me now will only get your boss killed. And do you think you'd make it out of the tavern with these fellows, not to mention the watch, on your trail?"

Sirc'al grunted contemptuously. "You needn't worry about the watch."

"Why not?"

"Because we're already here."

Kreelan started, and the hand holding the sphere wavered visibly. The guard tensed.

The scarred man's voice was brittle as fine crystal. "How did you come here tonight?"

"Ask your friend." Sirc'al made a minute nod toward Spielt, who smirked at his former comrade.

Kreelan's voice rose to an outraged shriek. "You? You b.a.s.t.a.r.d! You planned to betray me all along."

"No more than you were planning for me," Spielt snarled. "You'd sell your mother for a handful of copper pieces if the opportunity came along. But now the tables have turned, thank Umberlee."

Spielt's mercenary companion had recovered his aplomb and managed to give the impression ofshrugging his shoulders without actually doing so. "Well, well. Perhaps I would have. I've always admired initiative, Spielt. Possibly you have a bit more than I was willing to give you credit for, though any would be more than that. And now you're caught in your own trap, tightly as a Tharkaran lobster."

"Ah, but what about you?" Spielt's voice was poisoned with hatred. "How are you going to get out of here, pray tell?"

Kreelan rolled his eyes. "I don't know. At present the situation's a bit of a standoff."

"And a remarkably entertaining one, I might add," observed Avarilous, stepping out of the shadows.

Kreelan's hand jerked, and the sphere nearly slipped from his fingers, bringing forth an anguished cry from Sirc'al. The other watchman's fingers whitened on his sword hilt.

Kreelan was the first of the group to recover fully. "By all the foul beings of the Abyss, who are you, and what are you doing here?"

For the merest instant, Spielt's eyes flicked toward Avarilous. "I know him. I thought there was something odd about him from the moment he sat down at our table." His hysterical giggle pierced the damp air. "I knew we should have taken care of him earlier."

Avarilous smiled agreeably, taking care to keep his hands in plain sight and make no sudden movements. "Gentlemen, a word from an impartial observer seems as if it would not come amiss just now." He picked up his ale from the window ledge where he had set it.

Kreelan spoke before the others. "Perhaps it would, but I don't know exactly what game you're playing. Are you an agent of one of the other cities?"

Avarilous permitted himself a small shrug. "My concerns in this affair are my own. For all you know, I could be an innocent bystander. But I know enough of what's occurring in the Five Kingdoms these days to understand something about who you're all working for."

Spielt sneered openly, the veins in his neck turning purple. The watchman's sword rested closely against the largest of these, and Avarilous could see the tip of the blade denting the dirty skin. "If you know so much about it, Whoeveryouare, tell us about it." The blond mercenary glared at Kreelan. "I'd love to know who this tanar'risp.a.w.ned b.a.s.t.a.r.d is working for."

Avarilous cleared his throat perfunctorily and, righting a chair, sat down. "Well, then. To begin, the political situation between the Five Kingdoms is, as usual, at a stalemate. But some people would like to change that, and here's where things get interesting. Who gains if the trade pact is signed between Konigheim and Doegan?"

There was a minute stir, as if both Kreelan and Spielt had s.h.i.+fted positions slightly. Spielt's hands, held stiffly up to his chest, caught a thread from his robe and began to twist it back and forth. Sirc'al shrugged. "They both gain. That's why they want to sign it."

"Correction." Avarilous picked up an unbroken plate from the table nearest him and, placing the center on his forefinger, spun it. "The two kingdoms want to negotiate about it. Neither wants to sign anything."

Spielt wet his lips. "That's ridiculous."

Avarilous's eyes followed the spinning plate. "The Konigheim slave lords see negotiations over the pact as a chance to gain breathing s.p.a.ce for their acc.u.mulation of naval resources, preparatory to an invasion of Doegan. The mage-king, on the other hand, sees an opportunity for a small step toward his eventual goal of unifying the Five Kingdoms under his rule. I suspect he planned to use the period of negotiation about the pact to infiltrate more spies and agents into Konigheim to undermine the council's power."

Abruptly he tossed the plate from his finger and caught it skillfully. "Edenvale, the Northrnen, and the Free Cities of Parsanic opposed the pact to different degrees. From their point of view, it's essential to maintain the balance."

Sirc'al spoke. "I see. So these two were working as agents of one of the other three kingdoms to sabotage negotiations and prevent the pact."

Avarilous smiled tolerantly. "Not quite. It's a bit more involved." His eyes moved slowly from Ereelan to Spielt to the watch commander. "I've developed something of a nose for sniffing out treachery. And there's a good deal of it here tonight."The Watch commander gave a short bark of laughter. "Yes, by Tempus, I should say so. These two soldiers of fortune were willing to cut each others' throats simply in order to earn their pay."

Avarilous shook his head. "Not quite. It's true they were prepared to trade each others' lives, but the motive was stronger than mere money. In fact, neither intended the other should leave the tavern alive."

"Explain!" Sirc'al's voice was sharp.

"Well, our friend Kreelan here, judging by his clothing, has pa.s.sed himself off as a native of Tharkar.

But if you look just where his neck meets his robe, you'll see something else.

The Watch commander craned his head and stared in the flickering lamplight. "G.o.ds be d.a.m.ned!

Gills!"

"Yes, gills. The man's from Doegan. On the other hand, looking at Spielt, we find something else a bit curious."

With both hands raised, he stepped closer to the blond man. Then, with extreme delicacy, he plucked the scarf from the mercenary's head. Light gleamed on a complex array of tattooed lines and swirls, surrounding a perfectly formed, lidless, golden eye set in the middle of the man's forehead. It stared angrily at the rest of the room.

There was an audible gasp from the others. Sirc'al was the first to recover and gave vent to a burst of foul oaths invoking Umberlee and the blackest inhabitants of the deep. "A Konigheimer, by all the fiends!"

Avarilous smiled and mopped the sweat from his brow, using the scarf he had wrenched away from the disguised slaver.

The watch commander's eyebrows were wrinkled in thought. "But wait a minute! Why in the name of the G.o.ds would Komgheim and Doegan want to break up the pact. They were the ones signing it."

"Not signing it," patiently corrected Avarilous. "Negotiating about signing it." He sighed. "As long as discussions dragged on, both the Konigheim Council and the mageking benefited. Meanwhile both secretly planned to sabotage negotiations at the last minute. Each planned a murder of a member of its own delegation in a public place on neutral ground, so the other could be accused not only of murdering an innocent delegate, but so that the Free Cities could be drawn into the conflict on the side of whichever party's delegate was killed.

"For that reason I'm quite sure Kreelan, as an agent of the mage-king, had orders to murder a Doegan delegate. Spielt, working for the Konigheim Council, was supposed to kill one of their representatives." He sighed again. "It seems a bit ironic, really."

He paused and the stillness seemed to grow thicker in the heavy night air. The landlord, long forgotten where he lay against the wall, stirred and b.u.mped against a metal cup, knocking it over. The dull metal thump sounded loud.

Sirc'al, looking thoroughly confused, broke the silence. "So who was murdered? A Doeganer, or a Konigheimer?"

Avarilous turned and regarded the corpse with a touch of regret. "Well, now, that's the odd thing.

Neither."

"Neither?" The overwrought commander was practically screaming. "How can you possibly say that? Both these sc.u.m provoked the fight in order to gain cover for their planned a.s.sa.s.sinations-I can work that out, thank you very much! One of them was successful before the other, both prepared to flee.

Now you say neither completed his mission?"

Avarilous walked over to the fountain. Setting down his tankard, he reached in and, with an expression of distaste, grasped the corpse by the scruff of its jerkin. With a sudden heave he brought it out, dripping, onto the flag-stones. He cautiously turned it over with his foot so they could all see the face. Water ran from the fat seams, from the mouth and nose, and merged with the smeared blood on his cut throat. From the inside of his sodden clothing a small scarlet viper emerged, hissed angrily at the merchant, and wriggled quickly into the bushes.

One of the watch behind Sirc'al started and cried out, "Sir, that's Sergeant Vilyous. Him that's on the north gate. I spoke to him there yesterday."The commander's eyes widened. ."Vilyous! Whoever helped him out of this world did us all a favor.

He'll not be missed." He chuckled and spoke to Spielt and Kreelan. "A fine pair of a.s.sa.s.sins you turned out to be! Couldn't even kill one of the men you were aiming for."

Spielt giggled. "Yes, Kreelan. I imagine if you get out of this, you'll have a pretty time trying to explain things to the squid-master of Eldrinparr. He'll turn you into fish bait."

Kreelan scowled. "Come off it, Spielt! You bungled this completely. I wonder to what slave pit they send a.s.sa.s.sins who kill the wrong man."

There was a moment of painful silence. The watchman holding the blade to Spielt's throat gave a slight murmur of one whose arm muscles are beginning to ache intolerably. The sword in his hand shook, drawing a thin line of blood on Spielt's neck muscles.

Sirc'al broke the pause. "Do you two mean to tell me," he said ominously, "that neither of you killed this lout?"

Spielt said cautiously, "I mean to tell you that I didn't."

"Liar," snarled Kreelan. "I never touched the fellow. I saw him fall while you were near him. Since I thought you were working for Doegan as well, I a.s.sumed you'd completed the mission and we should get out."

"Wait a minute," sputtered Spielt. "I thought you were employed by Konigheim."

There was another silence while everyone digested the import of these words. It was broken by Avarilous casually moving toward the wooden doors that led outside, still holding a nearly full tankard of ale. Spielt's eyes followed him. "There!" he shrieked. "There, commander! There's the murderer!"

Slowly Sirc'al's eyes swung toward Avarilous. "Who in the nine h.e.l.ls are you?

The merchant looked at him apologetically. "The Ulgarthan government rather prefers to see the political situation in the Five Kingdoms remain the same," he observed. "I came here to make sure the balance was preserved. And the man was extremely rude to me when I entered the city."

He turned to go.

"Hoy!" cried a half-dozen voices simultaneously.

Avarilous turned back toward the yard. At the same instant, his left foot kicked back against one of the doors, slamming it as hard as he could.

The terrific crash precipitated a flurry of action within the courtyard. The watchman's sword arm jerked violently, and his blade slid into Spielt's neck. The blond man fell to the ground, writhing in his death throes. Almost at the same instant there was a dull tw.a.n.g, and a crossbow quarrel suddenly protruded from the back of Kreelan's head. He staggered forward against the commander. Two of the watchmen whipped crossbows from beneath their dark robes and fired at the balcony where Raeglaran was standing. There was a cry and a crash of rending wood as Raeglaran's lifeless body plummeted to the floor of the inn.

Kreelan's nerveless fingers jerked in a dying reflex, flipping the gla.s.s baIl upward. The commander s.n.a.t.c.hed it out of the air. "Thank the-" he started to say, then watched in horror as the ball slipped from his sweaty grasp.

Sirc'al screamed in frustration and anguish. Then he felt a sudden blow to the back of his knees and unexpectedly sat down in the chair thrust beneath him. The gla.s.s ball landed on his lap, unbroken, and his hands clasped round it. He could feel his heart thudding against his ribs.

There was a quiet cough behind him, and he looked around to see who had saved him.

Necht, Avarilous's driver, stared at him with his hands still outthrust. Avarilous himself stood before the door watching calmly the havoc he had wrought. In the silence that followed, the merchant stepped carefully back into the courtyard and strolled over to the still rec.u.mbent landlord.

"Daltrice," he observed calmly, "I do have time for one short drink. And I think you owe me something." He picked up a tankard and drained it. At the same time, he bent and effortlessly jerked a heavy purse from the landlord's belt. He scattered its coins on the polished bar top and, swiftly flicking his forefinger, counted out one hundred and forty pieces. No one moved as he scooped them up and dropped them in his own pocket. Jingling slightly, he put down his drink and moved toward the door.

"I forgot to tell you," he said to the landlord. "I won't be back again. Urgent business elsewhere.New accounts to service. You know how it is." He grinned, beckoned to Necht, and was gone.

Lynaelle

Thomas M. Reid

Lynaelle awoke suddenly to find herself face to face with a c.o.c.ked crossbow. Hurlonn Davenwiss was at the other end, aiming it at her with a snarl on his face. Hurlonn was a generally sour fellow who had lost his wife two winters ago in an orc raid. "Get up, you ungrateful wench!" he yelled at her, even as she noticed others looming over her bed. The girl blinked, trying to clear the cobwebs of sleep, even as the sheets were yanked back and she was dragged to her feet. Teress Turigoode's husband Shastin was there, and behind him Gorlin the hunter stood, a long dagger in his belt, a lantern in one hand, and a coil of rope in the other.

"What's the matter?" Lynaelle asked, s.h.i.+vering from the cold in only her thin s.h.i.+ft.

"Shut up!" Hurlonn spat, keeping the crossbow trained on the girl. "Tie her, Gorlin. Don't let her use any of her infernal magic on us. Ungrateful little whelp."

Shastin spun Lynaelle around and pushed her against the bed, then grabbed her arms, jerking them cruelly behind her back. "Ow!" she cried out, not understanding. "Please! What's wrong?" She could feel rope being threaded around her wrists, burning her skin as the slack was drawn up. "Please, Gorlin, someone, tell me what's going on!" Lynaelle sobbed, desperately wis.h.i.+ng Ambriel would arrive and call off this mob. She did not struggle as Gorlin finished tying her hands and began to bind her fingers, immobilizing them completely.

"I say we kill her now and be done with it," Hurlonn raged. "No sense in waiting."

"No," Gorlin said quietly but firmly as he helped Lynaelle to her feet. "The Lady's law says she gets a trial. There will be no killing."

"Fah!" spat Hurlonn. "A trial is a waste of time." Outside her small one-room cottage, Lynaelle could see that dawn was breaking, but the sun was still behind the mountains.