“I don’t know, Pomindras. But I find it more than coincidental he boarded our ship and disrupted our events, then arrives here and participates. In fact, it is disconcerting. He cost me dearly in Throneport, and he has bothered me long enough. He will not return to the streets this evening. And this time, there will be no excuses. Do you understand?”
Pomindras looked at his master again. “I had already assumed as much, lord. I will make arrangements. And we’ll find his bed-warmer, too.”
“Him first. Haste, lest this fight end too soon. We’ll deal with his companion easily enough once we’re certain he is taken care of.”
“Of course, lord.” Pomindras bowed and ran off to attend to his task.
Minrah walked quickly down the rain-slicked alley, hunkering deep in her cloak. She glanced about nervously, afraid someone from House Ghallanda might follow her. Then a dark shape stepped out of the shadows and seized her by the arm. She gasped and collapsed to her knees.
“I did not expect to see you exit this early.”
“Four?” Minrah giggled in relief, a stilted, uncomfortable sound. “You scared me to death!”
“It has not yet been even one hour,” said Four. He hoisted Minrah to her feet. “I had thought I would be waiting longer. Either that, or I am so used to waiting that I misestimated the time.”
“No, I–I couldn’t stay. I can’t stomach the-the violence. Left before the second … second match even started. I waited around in the foyer, but even the sounds of the crowd, well, it all eventually got to be too much. Regardless, we were right about this place. One of the people in the first match was definitely a prisoner, probably both.” Then suddenly an eager smile shone across her face. “Oh, and I bet all your wealth on Cimmer to win.”
“What does that mean?”
“To you?” asked Minrah. “Nothing. You don’t need food or shelter or things like that, so what need do you have for gold? But to me, it means a lot. Listen, I want to get out of the rain and away from this place. Let’s go back to the inn and wait for Cimmer. With a little luck, come morning we’ll have even more coin.”
Four stalked out of the alley, battle-axe at the ready and Minrah trotting beside casting glances to either side. They turned up the street and made their way back to their lodgings as the drizzle continued to fall.
“How do we find this luck?” Four asked as they walked.
“Say again?”
“You said, that with luck, we will have more coins. How do we find some luck?”
“Oh, well, you don’t find luck,” said Minrah. “You just stumble on it. Or maybe it finds you.”
“It sounds dangerous.”
Minrah laughed. “No, Four, luck is like a … well, it’s like magic, or chance, or something like that. But no one can make it happen. It just happens by itself.”
“So it is like a god?” asked Four. “Does Cimozjen pray for luck, then?”
Minrah snorted, shaking her head. “Him? That old stallion prays to the Sovereign Host. Bah! They don’t care for us at all, you know. They couldn’t care less if we thrive or rot. They’re nothing more than absentee landlords that leave the souls of their followers wallowing in empty grayness after they die and aren’t any use anymore.”
“Then why does Cimozjen pray?”
“He hopes that they will deign to favor him with a morsel of their power, so he might survive to serve them another day. He’s made himself their slave for nothing in return.”
“You do not pray then?” asked Four.
Minrah giggled. “Oh, sometimes I do, when straits are dire. But I don’t bow and scrape to the Sovereign Host. My folks did, you know, and look where it got them.”
“Where?” said Four, looking around.
Minrah hesitated before answering. “It got them killed,” she said darkly. “They knew they were dealing with a dangerous group, so they left me behind, prayed for safety … and never returned. Fat lot of good their prayers did them.”
“Fat … lot … of good,” said Four.
“That’s sarcasm.” Minrah sniffed wetly. “I can never forget that day, that betrayal. They were betrayed by the gods they worshipped, and they were betrayed the mercantile slime they were trying to sell to. That’s why I swore never to deal in goods, just services. And that’s why I’d rather pray to those more likely to help me.”
“Who would that be?”
“The Six, Four. They’ve been thrown out of power by the Sovereign Host, and thence cast in the roles of villains. Consider this. Once there were thirteen dragonmarks, thirteen moons, and thirteen months of the year. That was before the Mark of Death was lost. Now think about this. There are seven gods in the Sovereign Host. Add that to the so-called Dark Six, and you get thirteen, right? So what makes those six gods evil? Why are they evil, but there aren’t six evil moons or six evil dragonmarks? Do you want to know why? Because they’re outnumbered, seven to six. The Sovereign Host kicked them out of the pantheon out of greed. That way they’d only have to divide the worship among seven gods instead of thirteen.
“So I figure I’m giving the Dark Six something they care about, which is prayer and worship-at least when they listen to me. So we have an understanding, the Six and I. They give me what I need if they’re in the mood, and when they do I’ll give them what they need, which is another follower, someone who recognizes who and what they are: those betrayed by their siblings in a grab for power.”
“And once you die,” asked Four, “they do not leave you in emptiness?”
“I haven’t the vaguest idea. But I figure they’ll reward those who helped them. It’s in their best interests, after all. They need more power to overthrow the Host, so they’ll probably train me to be in their army.”
“So you would fight on their behalf?”
“Not on a gnome’s bet,” she said. “I wouldn’t risk getting destroyed for that lot. They’re just as selfish as the other gods … as anyone else, for that matter. Sure, I’d scout for them, but let them fight their own wars. That’s what I say. Honestly, why should I risk myself for someone else? I sure can’t think of a reason.”
Four said nothing, but the rest of the way back to their suite he pondered how much her attitude differed from that of her companion, who remained behind in the building, facing the unknown.
As Cimozjen considered his options, Jolieni leapt to the attack. With her left hand, she flung an object at the ground, which burst with a flash of fire and a loud crack that cut through the crowd noise. Flustered, Cimozjen blinked rapidly and backpedaled, but felt her thrusting sword strike his abdomen.
Jolieni’s sword broke a link of his chain and cut through his skin, but the iron held otherwise, turning what could have been a lethal blow into a sharp jab that sent him stumbling. She struck again, a glancing thrust that ran along the links of his chain and tore the side out of his tunic.
Eyes still dazzled by the flash, Cimozjen swung a desperate overhand blow while still backpedaling, his staff hand held high to protect his face. He felt it strike something, so he struck again, but missed her entirely. Just to be safe, he swung upward with the inside edge of his sword, again catching nothing but air. Then at the last moment, he saw her thrusting again. He ducked his head to the side, and her blade traced a deep cut across his left cheekbone and took a cut through the curl of his ear.
Years of training and experience kicked in. Knowing that the thrust had left her extended and open, Cimozjen swung his left arm wide, placing the staff in a position to keep her sword arm out of the battle as long as possible. He stepped in and swung his sword low, striking her a solid blow on the ribs with the hilt of his sword, then swept his staff in, fetching her a blow on the side of the head. He pressed forward, pushing into her to knock her to the ground, but as she fell, she managed to trip him up. He stumbled over her and she kicked at him, sending him to the ground. His sword caught the clay awkwardly and, off balance as he was, he lost his grip as he fell.