The Alabaster Staff (19 page)

Tharrad turned to Kehrsyn. “Is that true?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.

Kehrsyn sheathed her rapier and snorted. She hoped it sounded more confident than it felt. “She lies. The only thing I’ve heard her say that’s accurate is that
I
stole the staff, and I’ll bet she didn’t even tell you that until just now, did she? I didn’t think so. She’s afraid I’ll upstage her. But yeah, I know who you are, and I have no problems living outside the law and doing what needs to be done.”

Tharrad looked at Kehrsyn again, then nodded.

“I’m Tharrad,” he said, extending his hand.

Kehrsyn flipped her concealed dagger into the air and caught it with her left hand as she shook Tharrad’s with her right.

“Glad to meet you,” she said. “I’m Kehrsyn.”

Tharrad paused, unnerved at the sudden graceful appearance of a dagger. He watched as Kehrsyn slipped it into her boot.

“Well, this isn’t the way I like to do things,” he said, “but Ruzzara leaves me with little choice, eh?

“Follow me,” he added, gesturing. He walked deeper into the building, to a staircase that descended to the first floor. “So when did you decide you wanted to join up with Furifax?” he asked as he descended the stairs.

Kehrsyn’s eyelids fluttered, as did her heart. She was thankful that Tharrad wasn’t looking at her at that moment. She’d thought she was joining a simple thieves’ guild, not the group of rebels that had plagued the land for nigh on two dozen years. For as long as she could remember, Furifax and his followers had first fought against Gilgeam and his church, then had worked to take the reins of power in Unther.

The Untheric Army, the Northern Wizards, several temples, and many rich merchants had all put generous bounties on the head of Furifax. Even his followers had bounties on them, so it quite surprised Kehrsyn to discover that they were operating in the heart of Messemprar.

“What’s the matter, missy?” asked Tharrad. “I didn’t brand your tongue, did I?”

“I’m sorry, I’m … just a little dazzled to finally be here,” said Kehrsyn. “You asked something?”

“Are you eager to join?” he asked.

He stepped off the last stair and opened one of the doors on the first level. He ushered Kehrsyn into what looked like a cross between a trader’s office and a general’s war room.

“Absolutely,” said Kehrsyn. “Something has to be done about this whole situation, and no one else seems to be able to get anything accomplished,” she added, hoping Tharrad would read into her vagueness whatever he wanted to hear.

“Quite true,” he answered.

Tharrad gestured her to a chair beside a table. She undid her rapier’s scabbard, leaned it against the wall, and took a seat. He sat opposite her, leaned back, and crossed his feet on the table.

“Life as a rebel and an outlaw isn’t nearly so romantic as the balladeers would have us believe,” he said. “It’s tough, it’s dangerous, and it’s full of ugly but necessary actions. Why should we allow you to join?”

“I think I’ve proven that I have skills, and I’d rather align myself with someone I can follow. And, frankly, if I were going to turn you all in, I would already have done so,” embellished Kehrsyn. “I could have gotten mintweight to lead a regiment of soldiers to your doorstep. Instead, I’ll add my head to the bounty rolls.”

“I can’t argue with that logic,” said Tharrad. “You’ll understand, however, if we refrain from telling you anything of our organization beyond our little group here until you’ve spent some more time proving your worth and we’ve gotten to know you better. Our own exposure is no worse off with you present, but infiltration is a grave danger these days and I can’t risk the rest of the organization.”

“That’s fine,” said Kehrsyn. “It’s just good to know I’m part of something larger. Speaking of infiltration, I understand we have an agent planted inside Wing’s Reach?” she asked, deliberately including herself in the pronoun.

“That Ruzzara,” Tharrad snorted, shaking his head. “No, we don’t, but we have an ally who has a spy planted. More exactly, we have an informant in that group who has given us evidence that we can no longer trust our ally, not really a big surprise, so we’ve made our own move. We got the map from said informant, in exchange for certain considerations.”

“Well, be sure to thank whoever it is for that map of the building; it was really useful.”

Tharrad nodded as he unrolled a map of Messemprar.

“Forgive me,” he said, “I’m still trying to transfer all of the credit for the heist from Ruzzara to you. Tell you what, tonight I’ll pour some brandy and you can tell me how you did it.

“In the meantime, you’ve given us a good tool, once we figure out exactly how to use it. You’ll be doing a lot more of that, because it’s far better for us to steal something than it is to kill its owner and take it from them. Makes the targets wonder if they have a turncoat. We can also use you to plant evidence or leave threats that’ll make people knuckle under, but we still have quite a puzzle to solve before we can take control of Messemprar and the rest of Unther. The challenge lies in figuring out who can be bought, who can be browbeaten, and who must be fought. Unfortunately, with the pharaoh’s army roving just across the river, we find ourselves having to rely on people and factions whom we would not trust, were the times less perilous.”

“Believe me,” said Kehrsyn, “I understand.”

A
heavy fist knocked at the door, interrupting Kehrsyn’s discussion with Tharrad, much to her dismay. She had found out much more of Messemprar’s history and chaotic political situation than she had expected.

“Come in,” said Tharrad.

The dwarf archer stuck his head in the door and said, “Someone to see you. The Tiamatans, by the look of them.”

Tharrad glanced at the messenger’s fingers drumming on the door. “And?” he asked.

“Well, there’s kind of a lot of them, and she’s not with them.”

“Tell them I’ll be right up,” Tharrad said with a frown.

The archer left, and Tharrad rose and crossed to a small end table.

“Who’s not with them?” Kehrsyn asked.

“Tiglath, their high priestess.”

“Oh, I know her,” said Kehrsyn.

Tharrad’s eyes narrowed as he turned back to look at Kehrsyn.

“Do you?” he asked.

Kehrsyn wasn’t sure why her acquaintance with Tiglath was cause for concern, though their coincidental appearance half a watch after her arrival might trigger some suspicion. She pinched herself to quell an onrush of nervousness and continued chatting casually, embellishing on the truth.

“Yeah, I ran into her and her thugs on the streets,” she said, using choice words to distance herself from them. “I fair angered them, but she managed to keep her rabble in check.”

Tharrad laughed as he said, “It’s good to see that she still does.”

He pulled two long, thin daggers from the end table’s drawer and slid them into the leather wrappings that bound his forearms, then pulled a small vial from a padded case and concealed it in the palm of his left hand.

“You look like you’re expecting trouble,” observed Kehrsyn, by way of broaching a potentially sensitive subject. “I thought you said the Tiamatans were our allies.”

“For a long time they have been,” he said, grimacing, “and I hope they still are, but as we’ve drawn closer to power in Unther, they’ve gotten more … testy. More demanding. Furifax and Tiglath always kept things smooth, but since the war began, our relations have become more … strained. All the changes, everyone moving into Messemprar … the treasure’s all in one chest now, and everyone knows it.”

“And everyone wants to be the one with the key.”

Tharrad winked at her and said, “Let’s see what they want, shall we?”

Kehrsyn followed Tharrad up the central staircase but hung back as he approached the Tiamatan delegation arrayed in their distinctive red robes. Concerned that she might be seen and recognized, for she had no idea what
complications that might bring, Kehrsyn loitered in the background, keeping her face concealed by shadows and obstructions.

She saw that the Tiamatan speaking for their delegation was the same bulbous-nosed, high-browed, arrogant cleric whom she’d begged for help when Demok and his thugs had first caught her.

She tried to eavesdrop on the conversation, but, as Tharrad faced away from her, his words were swallowed by the muffled roar of the crowds outside. Many of the Tiamatan’s words were inaudible, as well. Their body language, however, told Kehrsyn that the meeting was not congenial: clenched fists, narrowed eyes, mouths drawn into snarls, accusing fingers thrust forward like swords.

The Tiamatan raised his voice, cutting through the ambient noise as he said, “How dare you undertake that theft without us! And including the Red Wizards is unthinkable. You have no idea the damage you’ve caused!”

Kehrsyn, her heart beating rapidly, ducked through a doorway and out of sight. How had the Tiamatans known? How had they found her? And, since they surely knew, would Furifax’s gang turn on her?

The Tiamatan yelled, “Give us the staff! Now!”

Kehrsyn twitched toward the dagger in her boot just as one of Furifax’s rebels stumbled backward through the doorway, an arrow sticking from his chest. Kehrsyn saw him pull it out. The shaft trailed the oily glint of poison, and the arrowhead remained in the wound.

Kehrsyn hazarded a glance around the door and saw the two groups locked in vicious, hand-to-hand combat. She had seen some of the battles against the pharaoh’s army, but that was something different. Kings’ battles were filled with crashing, shouts, roaring charges, trumpets, drums, and thundering chariots. The fight was between shadow factions, conducted with brutal silence to avoid the unwanted attention of the city guard. She heard
the swipe of steel through flesh, gasps of pain, the twang of bows, and the murmur of spells. The loudest noises were not the sounds of blazing rocks plowing through massed formations, but rather crockery being upset and smashed, chairs buckling under the weight of wrestling bodies, and the cracking of bones.

Kehrsyn ran through the building, raising the alarm first on the top floor, then down the staircase to the rooms below. She remained below, fearful of both sides, for indeed it was likely that in the heat of combat, those who followed Furifax would consider her, a stranger, to be an enemy.

Not knowing what else to do, she remained under the stairs, trembling with fear as the battle developed above her. She feared such combat—mindless savagery in dense groups—where her only advantages, speed and agility, would avail her little when there was no room to escape.

She wondered if there was another exit, a secret underground tunnel, something that might help her escape the danger. She made an effort to locate a trapdoor, quickly poking from room to room, but nothing was easily seen, and the sounds above troubled her. She heard the Tiamatans pressing the advantage, driving the bandits farther back into the building. Their footsteps moved across the wooden floor above her head, the beams creaked with the weight of the assailants, and dust fell from the trembling planks as bodies dropped for the final time. She heard grunts, curses, bottles rolling across the floor, and the strange, whetstone sound of spells being cast. Fear that the Tiamatans might charge downstairs kept drawing her eyes back to the staircase, and she awaited her fate uneasily, wondering whether she could bluff or bargain her way to safety.

A small rivulet of blood began dribbling through a crack in the ceiling, and Kehrsyn recoiled in disgust. She drew back to Tharrad’s office, but then thought better of it and
moved into one of the other rooms, a bunkroom apparently shared by a pair of Furifax’s followers. The room had three beds, but one was covered by assorted pieces of armor and the bare mattress had grease and oil stains all over it. Kehrsyn closed the door most of the way and peered out the gap on the hinge side to keep an eye on the staircase. A few stray shafts of light speared through the boarded-up windows, their occasional fluctuations hinting at the movements of the crowd outside.

After a few long, heart-pounding moments, she saw someone tumble backward down the stairs. She had no idea who it was, though the nondescript attire proved it was not one of Tiamat’s people. The unfortunate landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, limbs and neck at awkward angles that Kehrsyn had previously seen only at public executions.

A few scant heartbeats later, a Tiamatan stepped down the stairs hefting a pick in his hands, his red-and-black robes tied back for combat. The pick was small enough to be of use in such close quarters, but solidly built, with its head fashioned in the shape of a beaked dragon. Blood dripped from the dragon’s vicious, fanged mouth. The pounding in Kehrsyn’s ears competed with the crowd noises filtering through the building’s walls as she watched the man—cruel-looking, with a pale, sallow face and black hair pulled back into a ponytail—probe his victim for any signs of life. He raised his head and scanned the downstairs for further opponents.

Kehrsyn pulled back from the door and used a trick she’d learned as a child, based on the fact that people almost never look up. She climbed up the corner of the room, using the corner itself as well as the top of the door for her hand- and footholds. She pushed herself into as small a space as possible in the upper corner, hoping that her dark clothes would help her escape notice. Two hands pushed out for support against the ceiling beams, one foot
was flat against one wall, and the other foot found a precarious toehold on the hinge of the door for extra balance.