Элейн Каннингем - Silver Shadows

Tinkersdam looked at her at last with the expression of one who hardly dared to hope he might have heard aright. “ How would I like to? As in, what method would I prefer to use?”

“Bad choice of words,” the Harper agreed dryly. “You can use any method you like, but there must be enough of an explosion to throw all who are within the palace walls into confusion. The explosion must come from inside, and it must happen quickly, so as not to alert whatever passes for a city guard in Zazesspur these days.”

The alchemist scooted out from under the carriage, bounded to his feet, and bustled over to a table. Muttering all the while, he began to toss odd-smelling powders and tip flasks of liquid into a large caldron, working with apparently indiscriminate haste.

“I’ve been wanting to try this for years,” he said happily, briskly stirring all the while like a goodwife beating a batch of biscuits. “Oh, I’ve run the odd small test or two, but nothing truly substantial.”

“That mansion you rendered into rubble in Suzail—that wouldn’t by any chance have been one of those small tests?” Arilyn asked cautiously.

“Oh, yes, indeed. I’m looking forward to seeing what this can do when given a bit of time and space. What palace are we destroying, if I might ask?”

“The home of Abrum Assante.”

“Not the master assassin?” demanded Ferret, speaking for the first time since they had entered the cavern. “Are you utterly moon-mad?”

Arilyn turned to the incredulous elf. “Assante has something we need. You remember the story you told of the Soora Thea, the hero who will return? Well, she can and will, but first we have to get her from her resting place—in Assante’s treasure chamber.”

The elf’s eyes lit with hope and then blazed at this sacrilege. “So that is what the dwarf has been blathering about! The liddle blue-haired elf woman,’ indeed! Of course I will help. But you said the explosion must come from within the compound. How is this possible? Its defenses are nearly proverbial!”

Arilyn quickly outlined the story of her previous mission and described the water-filled tunnel they would need to swim to get in. “But we cannot take her out the same way. We will have to go out by the front door. And the only way to do that is to create enough chaos to convince Assante that he must use his escape tunnel. We will await him there and persuade him to see us safely out of the complex.”

“And then he will die,” Ferret added. “I can think of no man who would be more dangerous if left alive to nurse such a grievance. Even within the safety of Tethir, I would be ever looking over my shoulder! But what then? How are we to carry the sleeping hero into Tethir?”

“As luck would have it,” Arilyn said dryly, “I have a friend working in the shipping guild. He will help make the arrangements.”

“Here you are,” the alchemist said, handing each of the elf women a small bowl. Arilyn glanced at hers. It appeared to be fine Shou porcelain, and around its rim was painted a ring of fire-breathing serpent dragons. A clear, waxy substance, still somewhat pliable, filled the bowl, and a cotton wick thrust up from it. At the bottom of the bowl was a layer of multicolored crystals.

“To all appearances, a candle,” Arilyn said with admiration. “How long before the fire burns down?”

Tinkersdam shrugged. “An hour. Perhaps a bit less. Just be sure you are well away from it when it ignites. And put the bowls so that the fuchsia dragon—see that one over on the side?—points in the direction in which you want to direct the most damage.”

“Assante’s palace is fashioned of Halruaan marble, and the walls are a good foot thick. Are you sure these two will be enough?”

The alchemist’s face took on a pinched, peevish expression. “Five of them would destroy a good part of the city! Why is it that the ignorant and the uninformed insist that anything of Halruaan make has an edge on the rest of the world? Bah!”

An idea, one that Arilyn would have dismissed as insane in less desperate times, leaped into her mind. The rivalry between Lantan’s priests of Gond and the artificers of Halruaa was legendary.

“How would a Halruaan wizard prepare a fortress for attack?” she asked.

“Badly,” Tinkersdam said with a sniff of professional disdain. “An artificer might do somewhat better, but even so!”

“You could anticipate such traps and dispel them? Of course you could,” Arilyn said quickly. “All right then, here’s what we’re going to do. We four must go to Zazesspur to tend to Assante’s palace. We will then return here, pick you up, and take you to the battle. Can you have ready the things you’ll need?”

“I expect so,” the alchemist said absently, his attention turning back to the wooden conveyance. “You might pick up a few things for me in the city. Some coal, some powdered sulphur, a good-sized bag of alum, and a jar of pickled herring. Lunch, you know,” he added by way of explanation.

Arilyn swallowed a smile and led the way out of the caves. If it was herring that Tinkersdam wanted, she’d see that the Harpers and Amlaruil bought the alchemist his own fleet of fishing vessels! Provided, of course, that any of them survived the mission ahead.

By early morning they were in Zazesspur. Jill and Kendel took off to the parts of the city where non-humans would be less conspicuous. The two elf women made their way to Hasheth’s home. Before they’d reached the outskirts of the city, Ferret had paused to don the disguise she used to walk among the humans. For some reason, in her face paint and jewelry and silken clothes Ferret looked even more feral and deadly than the elven hunter and warrior that she truly was.

“Who is this friend of yours?” the wild elf asked in a low voice as they strolled along the broad streets, to all appearances, two elegantly clad women out for a morning promenade.

“Hasheth. A son of Pasha Balik.”

“Ah. The Harpers have many threads in their webs,” Ferret said approvingly. “But I have seen this human; he is very young, is he not? Not quite a man.”

“He is not quite a friend, either,” said Arilyn with a rueful smile. “But he hears many things and passes most of them along. And he is becoming skilled in the sort of intrigues such as we might need.”

She opened the gate to a small marble town house and led the way through the small garden that fronted it. They were met at the door by one liveried manservant and ushered into a sitting room by another, who advised them that the young master had recently arisen and would be with them shortly. Apparently, Arilyn noted, Hasheth’s fortunes were on the rise.

After a few moments the young prince joined them. He greeted Arilyn with a bow and slid an appraising gaze over the silk-clad Ferret.

“Your business in the east is completed? This visit is, I hope, a celebration of your success?”

“Not quite yet. We need some information. But first, how goes your apprenticeship?”

“Very well, actually,” Hasheth said in a smug tone. “Hhune is an ambitious man who carries out some rather audacious plans.”

“Just remember that one of those plans was the attempt to oust your father,” Arilyn said, hoping to temper the young man’s admiration of the lord. From what she had seen of Hhune, he was not particularly worthy of such adulation.

“I will remember and be on my guard,” he said in a conciliatory tone. “But tell me what you need to know, and I will begin the search.”

“I need anything you can get on a man who goes by the name of Bunlap. He has a fortress on the northern branch of the Sulduskoon.”

“The name is already known to me,” Hasheth said with satisfaction, delighted to be a step ahead of the Harper. “He is a mercenary captain from the northern lands. There is much demand for his services. His men are well trained and as loyal to their captain as is reasonable. My Lord Hhune occasionally employs his men as personal or caravan guards.”