Geran frowned. He had some skill with arcane lore, of course, but his education in magic was fairly narrow. When they had more time, he’d have to question Sarth closely on the topic of his observations about Rhovann’s magic. In the meantime, they had more pressing matters to deal with. “Can you destroy it?” he asked.
“Of course.” The tiefling changed his grip on his scepter, hiding the magical weapon from the small thing watching from the rooftop. Then he spun and pointed the device, shouting the words for a powerful spell. A brilliant green ray darted out and struck the little creature; it let out a startled squawk before bursting apart in a gout of dank clay and dark ichor.
Geran clapped the tiefling on the shoulder. “That’s one small spy who won’t trouble us anymore. Now, while we’re unobserved, I think it’s time to split up. Our enemies are looking for the both of us together, and-forgive me for being blunt-you stand out much more than I do. If you take to the air without trying to carry me along, I very much doubt that anyone will be able to catch you. Make your way to Thentia as swiftly as you can, and see to it that Kara learns everything we’ve learned about Rhovann’s guardians. I fear they’ll be a formidable obstacle to our plans to liberate the town.”
Sarth frowned, but he nodded. The tiefling was a very pragmatic man, when it came down to it. “Very well. What will you do?”
“I’m going to try for the mounts again.” He took Sarth’s arm in a warrior’s clasp. “Now go. I’ll see you in Thentia.”
“Be careful, Geran,” Sarth said. He glanced around, his eyes glowing crimson in the shadows, and murmured the words of his flying spell. In three heartbeats he shot up into the sky overhead, turned west, and arrowed away from Geran’s sight.
Geran heard a commotion behind him. He peeked around the corner of a building and saw a gang of Cinderfists coming in his direction. Quickly he turned and ran in the opposite direction, doing his best to stay under overhangs and awnings just in case more of Rhovann’s homunculi were about. He darted back into the nearest alleyway and began to work his way westward, looping back around toward the square by the Merchant Council’s grand hall. He paused between a taphouse and a bakery on Cart Street just a stone’s throw from the Merchant Council hall, and carefully risked another glance up and down the street.
To his right, a pair of the helmed guardians stood near the center of the small square, scanning the surrounding area behind their blank visors. To his left, another party of Cinderfists carrying lanterns hurried up from the waterfront. He muttered a curse and drew back out of sight, waiting for the foreign brigands to pass by. “At least the helmed creatures didn’t come for me this time,” he murmured to himself. Perhaps Sarth had managed to blind their pursuers for a time by destroying the winged spy.
Inside the bakery he leaned against, he could hear the clatter of firewood and pans as the baker and his helpers began to stoke their ovens. Dawn was approaching, and he didn’t want to be caught slinking around Hulburg in broad daylight. He might be able to blend in among the crowds, but he wasn’t at all certain that he could avoid Rhovann’s monsters indefinitely. What was it the dwarf had told him the other day? The creatures sensed the presence of those Rhovann wanted found? If there was even the slightest chance that was true, he could find himself at the center of a rapidly closing net even if he managed to outdistance any helmed guardian he ran into.
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?”