Thomas Reid: The Sapphire Crescent

"No," he said. "Please, don't do this."

Gently, Xaphira disentangled herself from her nephew's embrace, though she wanted in the worst way to grip him just as tightly.

"I do it for you, Vambran-" He began to shake his head and protest, but Xaphira placed her finger on his lips to quiet him. "Don't worry for me. I can make my way in the wider world just fine. You're still young, and you have endless futures ahead of you, to do with whatever you want. Don't waste my gift to you; make it count."

Vambran was crying again, perhaps realizing for the first time that he would never see his aunt again. He clung to the breastplate she had given him.

Xaphira began to unwrap her uniform sash from around her waist as she turned back to Dregaul.

"Get them out of here," she said. "You cannot be seen near the body."

Dregaul nodded and replied, "And you cannot be caught, or the plan is ruined."

"I know," Xaphira replied, wrapping the sash around her head, disguising her face. "I won't be." She managed to conceal her face entirely, hiding all except her eyes beneath the red cloth. "Tell Grandmother Hetta that-" and she had to stop, for she was choking back her own sobs.

Dregaul took her hand in his and nodded.

"I will," he said, his voice tight, too. "I'll tell them all."

Xaphira nodded back, then motioned for them to go.

Vambran lingered, staring hard at her, but she turned away, to watch the oncoming guests and to avoid his gaze. Finally, she heard him slip away, pass back through the gap in the hedge. She closed her eyes once in sorrow, thankful the cloth would hide her tears.

It was time to vanquish her emotions then, time for the real test at hand. Taking one long, deep breath, Xaphira cocked the crossbow and set a bolt into the channel, then watched and waited. The woman had been joined by two others, a man and a second woman, more guests of the Night of Ghosts festival.

Momentarily, Xaphira wondered if they would even believe her as genuine. They might instead perceive her as just another of the many hired entertainers instructed to pretend to be ghosts, abruptly but playfully scaring the guests throughout the evening. She would have to make certain they recognized her as a legitimate threat right away.

When the trio of guests drew close enough, Xaphira darted out of the protection of the undergrowth, as though she was fleeing from something behind her. She paused for a moment, staring back, waiting for the guests to take note of her.

"Hey there!" the man in the group called as both of the women gasped. "You're quite a frightful little spook," he added, laughing, the women joining in.

Xaphira whirled to face them, letting a low snarl escape her. She raised the crossbow and fired, aiming low, right at the wide skirts of the first woman, the one who had originally been calling for Rodolpho. She squeezed the release on the weapon and felt it jerk as the bolt jumped free. The missile whistled through the air, slicing through the expensive dress, and struck the trunk of a large pear tree behind her with a loud and solid thunk. The woman gasped again.

"Beware!" the other woman cried out, realizing Xaphira was truly threatening them. "He means to strike us down!"

With those words, the woman stumbled backward, trying to flee from the would-be assassin. Beside her, the man and the woman with the ruined dress stared in confusion for a heartbeat, then they, too, began to retreat, shouting for help in frantic voices. Xaphira made a defiant gesture at the three of them, then turned and sprinted away, working to reload the crossbow as she did so.

That ought to draw everyone's attention, the mercenary officer thought. Now to see if I can get over the walls before the cry is raised in full.

For a moment, Xaphira allowed herself to think of Vambran, of her family. She prayed to Waukeen that her actions would be enough to draw the attention from them. She hoped that Dregaul would be clever enough to conceal their involvement, to tidy up the loose ends. And she began to doubt the wisdom of her decision, wondering if she had been rash.

Too late to change my mind now, she realized grimly. Farewell, Vambran, she thought, sending her thoughts out to her nephew. Do good in the world.

Xaphira dashed around the edge of the pond toward the opposite side, leaving behind the frantic calls for aid, hoping that the moonlight was bright enough for the trio she had threatened to see which way she had fled without making it impossible to hide later. She tore through blooming plants and shoved her way past tendrils of hanging vines, all of which soaked her billowy white shirt and gray trousers with moisture. She was thankful she was not wearing the breastplate then, for it would not only have been cumbersome for such light-footed work, it also would have made her even more miserably hot than she was at the moment. Even without it, she was soon gasping for breath, almost choking on the warm, cloying air. Finally, she broke clear of the dense undergrowth and was running through the orchard itself. The woman turned directly toward the perimeter of the palace grounds, then, sprinting between two rows of tall peach trees, ducking low to avoid the occasional dipping branch.

As she neared a wall, Xaphira spied a way to get to the top. As she approached, she did not slow down much, but instead slung the crossbow across her back. Reaching the wall, she redirected her momentum upward, planting her feet against the stone and jumping at the same time. As she rose high off the ground, she spun in the air, turning back toward the nearest tree. A single thick limb jutted out from its trunk, parallel to the ground, and it was that branch that Xaphira hoped to grasp. The leap seemed to go on forever, her fingers outstretched desperately as she drifted toward the limb.

She had given herself just enough of a push to reach the branch, and once she had a hold of it, it was a simple matter to swing her legs back and forth a couple of times until she could fully flip over and get her weight on top of it. Xaphira was just struggling to her feet when the first of the palace guards began to arrive. The mercenary officer knew that, even in the thick, concealing leaves of the tree, her white shirt was too easily seen in the moonlight. She dared not slow her ascent and look back down. She frantically climbed higher in the tree as a crossbow bolt sliced through leaves near her shoulder, working her way toward another limb that might be close enough to the top of the wall.

A second and a third palace guard arrived, and each of them began to fire missiles at her, even though she was difficult to see. She wasn't bothering much with stealth, so perhaps they were tracking her by the sounds of rustling leaves.

The mercenary officer swallowed hard and flinched as a bolt struck the trunk of the tree near her head, showering her with splinters of bark. Thankful that the sash wrapped around her head protected her from the stinging chunks of wood, she eyed her jump. It didn't seem terribly far, but then again, if she missed, it was a long way down, and the fall would drop her into a hornet's nest of guards, too. Mentally urging herself on, Xaphira took three quick but careful steps along the branch, propelling herself forward toward the wall and thrusting her arms out slightly to each side to try to keep her balance. As the branch began to sag under her weight, she took one additional step, practically running, and leaped again, lunging up and forward.

She ignored the scratching of leaves and branches along her face as she dived out into space, reaching forward toward the edge of the wall, where a walkway traversed its length. She heard the sound of another crossbow firing, felt the bolt zip past her ribs, rustling the cloth of her shirt, but she steadfastly kept her attention on the edge of the walkway. Her hands hooked over the edge of the stone and held tight as she slammed against the wall with a grunt.