Richard Baker - Avenger

The Cinderfists passed by his hiding place with no more than a cursory look down the narrow lane between the buildings. They’re taking steps to seal the town, he realized. He looked to his left, toward the bay, where House Sokol’s walled compound stood. For the moment the way was clear.

In the distance, he heard the clatter and shouts of a Council Guard patrol moving into the yards he’d just left. “Cinderfists, Rhovann’s constructs, and now the false harmach’s men,” he muttered aloud. Simply escaping from Hulburg, with or without his mount and provisions, seemed less and less likely. He needed a place to hide for the day. It couldn’t be Erstenwold’s, it was far too likely that Marstel’s men might look for him there. The tinsmith’s shop might serve, but he might be spotted as he tried to slip through the net of searchers closing in. He needed someplace close by … he glanced again at the Sokol compound at the end of Keldon Way. It was close, and as a House represented on the Merchant Council, it enjoyed protections against the harmach’s authority. And it was conveniently sited on the west side of town for when he did decide to attempt escape again. The question was: did he trust Nimessa Sokol with his life?

She didn’t betray me when I spied out Hulburg a few tendays ago, he answered himself. Then again, there was quite a difference between turning a blind eye to his comings and goings and sheltering him from the harmach’s soldiers after a brazen attack on the Cyricists’ temple.

Before he could second-guess himself, he darted across the street and hurried down Keldon Way toward the Sokol compound. He was careful to stay out of sight of the yard’s front gate, which would be guarded by Sokol armsmen; the fewer people who knew where he was, the better it would be for all concerned. Instead he headed down the lane that ran behind the walled yard, fixed his eye on the wall top, and used his teleportation spell to blink himself up to it. Quickly he dropped to the ground inside and made his way to Nimessa’s comfortable house, knocking softly at the door.

There was no response at first, and Geran began to wonder if perhaps Nimessa might have returned to Phlan before the ice set in. But then he heard footsteps coming to the door. A moment later, a gray-haired valet in a nightcap opened a small spyhole to peer out at him. He looked at Geran and frowned. “Who are you?” he demanded in a hard whisper. “What business do you have here?”

Geran didn’t particularly care to announce his identity unless he absolutely had to. “I have an urgent message for Lady Nimessa,” he said. “Could you please wake her?”

“Do you have any idea of the hour?” the valet demanded.

“I know it’s not yet four bells after midnight, but trust me, she’ll want to hear what I’ve got to say.”

The old valet scowled. “You’ll have to be more forthcoming than that, young master. I’m not about to admit a stranger to my lady’s house in the middle of the night, especially one who refuses to give his name. Now be off with you, before I summon our guards!”

Geran frowned, considering what he could say to convince the servant to rouse the lady of the house. But then he heard a small rustle behind the valet. “Who’s at the door, Barrad?” Nimessa called from somewhere inside.

The valet glared at Geran, and looked away to answer. “An armsman who claims he has a message for you, m’lady,” he replied. “He’s not one of ours and he hasn’t identified himself. I was about to tell him to come back in the morning.”

“You might as well admit him,” she replied. “I’ve already been roused twice tonight, after all.” Geran heard light footfalls inside, a brief murmur of conversation, and then the valet Barrad opened the door and motioned for him to enter. He stepped into the house and found himself in a comfortable foyer with rich wood paneling; a sitting room lay through a doorway to his right, and a dining room to his left. On the stairs leading to the house’s upper floor stood Nimessa Sokol, wearing a dressing gown with a warm blanket draped around her for warmth against the winter chill. Her long golden hair fell loose to her shoulders, and her eyes-an enchanting shade of greenish blue-settled on him with a mild curiosity. He noticed that she kept one hand tucked into the sleeve of the other arm. Dark wood gleamed in her fingers; she had a wand ready in case he turned out to be less innocuous than he claimed.

He pushed his hood back over his shoulders and looked up to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry to wake you, Nimessa, but I’m afraid I’m in need of your help,” he said.

She looked more closely at him, and her eyes widened in surprise and recognition. “I can imagine,” she replied. She tucked her wand back into her sleeve and hurried down the last few steps. “Are you hurt? Were you caught up in whatever trouble’s afoot in town this night?”

Geran glanced down at himself. He noticed that he was scratched and bleeding in several places where the barbs of Valdarsel’s spectral chains had caught in clothing or skin. His shoulder and back ached where the point of the guard’s sickle sword had snagged him. I look like a ruffian who’s just come from a riot, he realized. No wonder the valet hadn’t liked the look of him. “Only scratches,” he said. “Otherwise, I’m well enough.” He cut his eyes toward Barrad before saying any more.

Nimessa took his meaning. She glanced to her servant and said, “Barrad, you can go back to bed. I’ll be fine.”

“As you wish, m’lady,” Barrad answered. The valet looked at Geran dubiously, but he bowed and withdrew.

Nimessa waited for the old servant to leave before turning on Geran, a small frown fixed on her face. “What are you doing here?” she asked urgently. “You shouldn’t be anywhere near Hulburg!”

“The Cyricists attacked my family in Thentia,” he answered. “I had to settle a score with Valdarsel.”

“We heard about that, of course, but I can’t believe that you’d dare to come into Hulburg alone. You must be out of your mind.” She leaned close to peer at his cuts and the torn clothing, and frowned. “This is no scratch. I’d better fetch some bandages.”

“It’s nothing,” he said, but he grimaced when she poked at a bad cut on the back of his left hand. She raised an eyebrow at him, and hurried off to what he presumed was the kitchen. He heard cabinets creaking open and thumping shut. A moment later she returned with a basin of warm water and a roll of linen bandages.

“Are you behind the fire at the Temple of the Wronged Prince, then?” she asked. “My armsmen woke me an hour ago to tell me the place was burning to the ground.” She took him by the arm and ushered him into the sitting room adjoining the foyer.

He nodded. “It wasn’t my intent to burn the place down, but I’m not sorry to see it destroyed.”

“For Selune’s sake, what have you done? Half the town’s been turned upside down to find those who attacked the temple.” She steered him to a couch, and sat close beside him, dipping a clean bandage into the water to begin washing his cuts. “Was Valdarsel there? What happened?”

“Valdarsel’s dead,” he said. “And more than a few of his guards and acolytes with him, I suppose.”

“You killed the high prelate?” she asked in amazement. She frowned and looked away, quickly thinking through the consequences of his actions. After a moment she sighed and took his hands in hers. “You must flee Hulburg at once, Geran. It’s far too dangerous for you to remain here after tonight.”

“That was my intent. Unfortunately, I hadn’t reckoned with the capabilities of Rhovann’s gray guardians or the alertness of his spies. I couldn’t reach the horse I’d left for my escape to Thentia. In fact, it’s not possible to set out on foot at the moment.” He made himself look into her eyes, bright with worry for him. “Listen, Nimessa … I know it puts you in a difficult position, but I need a safe place to lay low for a day or so before I attempt to set out again. I’ll understand if you can’t allow me to stay. But if that’s the case, I’d better leave immediately.”