Кейт Новак - Azure Bonds

But the plan had backfired drastically, and now she was trapped, a little spider in a larger spider’s web. She could think of only three options: Escape somehow and flee, living in fear of retribution; find a way to free the others and fight; or join the alliance for real, submitting herself to whatever Phalse and Cassana had in store for her.

She did not consider the lich’s plan. It was entirely too dangerous. Cassana would fry me like a banana, Olive realized, if I came within twelve inches of her wand.

Olive didn’t much care for the idea of sticking around. Besides disliking her role of low woman on the totem pole, an alliance with these people was very risky business. Their partners had a habit of dying off.

Olive granted that she was greedy and ambitious, but these people were cruel and hateful and perverse—no act of hers could ever bring her to their level of perdition.

Still, despite herself, and despite Prakis’s warnings, she felt drawn to Phalse. He had treated her with courtesy and rewarded her with more cash than anyone else had in a long time. He understood her halfling heart.

The door creaked open behind her and then closed. Someone tiptoed over to the bed. The bard snapped her eyes shut, and began breathing shallowly with a melodic semi-snore.

A small hand touched her knee, and Olive shifted slightly to cover her startled movement. Small fingers danced up her thigh and then cupped her breasts. After a moment or two they withdrew. It wasn’t until the door opened and closed again that Olive realized she’d been holding her breath.

She sat bolt upright after Phalse’s retreat, gritting her teeth against a scream. She scratched one option from her list. She couldn’t stay here. She would escape—with or without the others.

Olive crept about the room, slipping some of the more pawnable and valuable items into her backpack and her pockets: ivory combs, a silver mirror, crystal perfume vials, a gold wine goblet. After scavenging for half an hour she noticed sounds of greater activity in the hallway.

Olive crept over to the door and pressed her ear against it. She could hear men in the hallway, panting as if from strenuous labor, accompanied by a dragging sound. Olive peeked out the keyhole. Two Fire Knives were hauling something behind them. Olive caught sight of a scaly, green arm—Dragonbait. A thumping noise came from the staircase—they were being none too gentle with the saurial.

Two more assassins flicked by the keyhole, carrying Akabar by the arms and legs. Cassana’s new toy, he was given preferential treatment. He was not thumped down the steps. Olive heard Phalse say, “Leave him in the cell next to the crafter’s.”

Last of all, Zrie Prakis floated by with Alias cradled in his arms. He paused by Olive’s door, blocking her view. Olive heard a bolt sliding across the door.

She waited until all noise in the hall had ceased and no sounds came from the stairway. Then she tried the door.

Prakis had unlocked it for her. The bard poked her head out of the doorway. The house was silent. After closing and bolting the door to Phalse’s room behind her, she crept down the hallway and tiptoed down the stairs. She dashed through the entry hall. The front door beckoned her. She twisted the knob, but it was locked.

Olive reached into her hair and drew out a pick, but before she began working on the bolt, she noticed a blue line drawn across the threshold, with three interlocking circles sketched above it. A magical ward—one of Prakis’s. Was it the type that warned the designer something had crossed over it, or the kind that disintegrated into dust whatever crossed over it? There was no way for Olive to tell.

“Boogers,” Olive muttered. “What’s the matter? Don’t you trust me, Prakis, old bones?”

Dodging into the dining room, the halfling slipped behind the heavy curtains. The lock on the large windows was easily unfastened, but another blue mark was scrawled along the window sills. Grinding her teeth in annoyance, Olive dashed back into the entry hall and up the steps. There was a window in the upstairs hallway, but it, too, was warded.

Zrie Prakis had made sure she would stick to her side of the bargain. He’d unlocked her cell door, but he was not going to let her escape from the prison. As she saw it, she had one chance. Unlocking the door to Phalse’s room and slipping back inside, she examined the window within. Unguarded. The wards must have been a last-minute thought on the lich’s part, and he had neglected to come back to Phalse’s room to set one there.

Olive climbed out onto the window sill. The roof sloped away gently. She would have an easy time slipping down to the gutter—a perfect halfling’s footpath—and walking along that until she found a rain spout to slide down. But what then? she wondered as she sat with her feet dangling over the roof tiles.

She’d have to find another adventuring group to travel with, one that could help protect her from Phalse and family should they decide she was worth chasing.

Finding a new party wouldn’t be easy. Alias and Dragonbait were perhaps the finest sword wielders she’d ever seen, and Akabar had helped destroy a god, and the three of them had been defeated. Of course, she hadn’t been there to help them out, she consoled herself. She wondered idly if her presence would really have made a difference. According to Prakis, Cassana had been concerned that it might have. Is it possible, Olive wondered, that Cassana put me to sleep because she was afraid I might interfere somehow in this ceremony to remove Alias’s will?

Although Phalse had not told her, Olive knew the ceremony would involve the sacrifice of Dragonbait. Alias had said something about it to Akabar the day before, back at The Rising Raven. The loss of the paladin would not have made too much difference to the halfling before yesterday. Yet Olive had to admit, he hadn’t done her any harm so far, and his death would seal the fates of Alias and Akabar.

Akabar would remain in Cassana’s clutches, not something Olive would wish on anyone, certainly not on Akabar, whom she liked a little.

Alias was another matter. Olive found it difficult to like someone so perfect, but she felt more guilt about abandoning the swordswoman. For one thing, Olive realized, I owe her for rescuing me from the dragon and saving my life. She let me join her party, and she shared her songs with me. She stole my audience once, but she’ll never do that again. After the ceremony she’ll probably never sing songs again. Without a will she’ll be a zombie, and zombies don’t sing. All those lovely melodies and haunting lyrics would be lost to the world. That would be a crime, Olive sighed.

Not that people like Cassana, who liked kidnapping, torture, and murder, would care about such a loss to the musical world. Of course, I’d be just as responsible if I didn’t do anything to stop the witch and her merry band, Olive acknowledged.

Jump, Olive-girl, the halfling told herself, before you wind up doing something you may regret later. The halfling could not get out of her head the image of Akabar being beaten and the sound of Dragonbait’s head hitting each step as the Fire Knives dragged him downstairs.

But the thought of Alias never singing again was even worse.

Olive swung her feet back into the building, jumped to the floor, and left the room. The upper hallway was still empty, but she heard men’s voices coming from somewhere below. Pausing to listen, she noticed great drops of red dotting the steps below her. Blood. Akabar’s or Dragonbait’s? she wondered. She followed the red spatters down the stairs.

The voices were coming from the kitchen. The trail of blood went through the entry hall in the opposite direction. Olive tracked it to an alcove that featured a particularly obscene statue of an overly endowed succubus.