Again, a flash of insight. These tiny countries needed trade, they needed mercenaries to fight their battles, they needed wealth and power. All of it could be given them by a route that was half land and half sea. Ships would dock right here, in this steamy seaport, and their loads would be transferred to elephants for the overland leg. Returning caravans would stop in Eldrinpar to transfer their cargoes to ships. Doegan could tax items going and coming.
That was why Eidola had been kidnapped, Noph thought bitterly. For cash. Cold hard cash.
While Noph ruminated, Trandon continued to question the assassin. But he learned nothing more of the man's mission or his employer. The only further fact that emerged was that Entreri had hired the pirates, straggling survivors of a shipwreck, for a chest of gold coins apiece.
"What if your employer is no friend of Piergeiron's?" Noph broke in. "What if Eidola is an innocent woman, not an agent of evil?"
"I don't care about whom I kill or whom I kill for. The only thing I care about is whether I get paid. If I don't, whom I kill and whom I kill for become the same person."
"Let me out of this Tyr-blasted rope, Noph," Miltiades groused, "before your clumsiness kills me as it killed Harloon!"
Noph winced. For a moment the world around him disappeared. The tan cobbles softened and melted to form a face-the face of Harloon, whose life had bought Noph from death, and whose death had granted him the golden lasso he now held.
Except that the rope looked red. Everything suddenly looked red. The white sprays of water had turned to bloody crimson.
Noph shivered, blinking, but the stain remained. He looked down at the sanguine fountain. Captain Jander Turbalt's body bobbed in the water, one of Entreri's daggers jutting from his head.
I betrayed Harloon, Noph thought bitterly. He stared at the captain's gushing head. That's who I am, right there. A traitor.
"Let me loose, you immature imbecile!" Miltiades demanded. "How can I baby-sit you if you've got me all tied up?"
He sounds just like Father, Noph thought angrily. I traveled half the world to escape my father, but he's still here. This preening, self-important, unappreciative paladin has become my father. Noph couldn't bear the thought of spending another moment with him, and his shoulders stiffened in sudden resolve.
"I'll let you both go on one condition," he said. He climbed steadily down the bloody statue. "That you, Miltiades, let Master Entreri and his crew slip away with their wounded and dead into the city."
"What?" Miltiades demanded of Noph. "You would let these black-hearted brigands go, though you know they seek to kill the very lady you are sworn to rescue?"
As Noph climbed down the slippery slope, he said, "That was your oath, not mine." He reached the bloody pool at the base of the fountain, and sloshed purposefully through it, drawing the rope tight all the while. "Besides, as you said, you'd probably never rescue her with me along."
Miltiades's eyes shown as with battle fury. "You are quitting our band? How dare you? You will not survive an hour alone in this city!"
An arm was on Noph's shoulders, a slender and strong arm, and he was whirled forcefully around into a hot embrace. The she-pirate Shar kissed him long and full on the lips. She drew her head back, staring with promise in her eyes and laughing scornfully. "You may not survive the hour, my luscious little lad, but I've got arms you can die in." She tossed a grin toward the pair of roped leaders, both of whom looked equally mortified. "The kid's coming with me. Call him a spoiled little spoil of war. And don't get too jealous, Entreri. He just saved your skin. I'm simply returning the favor." She bent closer to the dark little man and hissed so only he could hear, "You've kept enough secrets from us. Perhaps now I'll start making some secrets of my own." She swung her eyes back to the boy and gave him a delicious smile.
Noph turned his hurt gaze away from his erstwhile mentor and toward the brazen, voluptuous she-pirate. "I'm one of you, now."
The paladin's eyes strayed to the tatter-clothed and sensuous woman. "Agreed. Go with them. You deserve each other. As for you, Entreri, I will slay you another time."
% %*
Into the bloodstained Plaza of the Mage-King came the most feared man in Eldrinpar, followed by forty of his picked men.
Perhaps a year ago, Ikavi Garkim would have brought only twenty men, but now, every last soldier of Doegan's native forces was weak with the Gray Malaise. The city's priests had failed to find a cure, and those infected grew slowly, agonizingly worse. Already hundreds of civilians had died from it, and the malaise was beginning to cripple the army.
Even Garkim, King Aetheric's right-hand man, felt the prickling itch beneath his collar, the sluggishness of his feet, and the chronic headaches. He would not coddle himself, though. A telepath, a matchless warrior, and a Mar, Garkim held Eldrinpar together. Morning sunlight shone from his keen eyes and black hair, drawn back in a tight skein. He looked anything but ill. He cut a commanding figure, bearing the full authority of his master-and his master's bloodforge.
Garkim halted his weary troops, and he studied the scene.
Blood was everywhere. The statue of Aetheric-which peasants thought to be merely a man wrestling a kraken-was painted in blood. Who had died here, and why? The Mar had reported a riot among outlanders, but surely Miltiades and his paladins would not riot, and what other outlanders had come to Eldrinpar since the siege of the fiends?
"Fan out. Search the surrounding hovels* Garkim commanded his troops, dressed in the light leather armor of battle. He flung his arm out, pointing at the bloodstains. The sun glared like lightning from the lining of his cloak. "There and there. Find out what happened to the bodies."
As his soldiers complied, images flooded into Garkim's mind… a man as small and sharp as a stiletto… another as huge and powerful as a two-handed sword… a woman of mystery… a disguised mage… a young man with a heart the size of Faerun…
Noph. The boy. So, Miltiades and his paladins had been here, had fought someone. Garkim could glimpse seafarers… privateers. But who led them? Ah, it was that small stiletto of a man, with a mind as poisonous as any Garkim had ever encountered. The presence of that mind in his own only intensified his migraine. What lay within the man's thoughts was too dark, too violent to be easily perceived. But there was something here of murder-no, of assassination. Not the mage-king, but a lady of high station. Eidola. The woman for whom the paladins were searching. And there was something else-something about the heart of Doegan…
That was all. Garkim could stand no more. His head felt as though it were splitting beneath a cording wedge.
"Do not bother to question witnesses."
The voice that spoke was an unmistakable one, like the basso rumble of a sounding whale or the depthless churning of the sea. Usually Aetheric III spoke directly into Garkim's mind; this time, the Thorass words came from outside, from nearby.
"We heard and saw it all."
Garkim spun, just in time to see the lips of the bloody statue close. He glared up at the stone figure, utterly still above him. Another of Aetheric's damned golems. The king could see through thousands of eyes in this city.
As if in confirmation, the statue's lips opened again. "We heard and saw it all."
Chapter 3
Sweating beneath the midday sun, Miltiades and his three companions marched down a roadway of glaring adobe and staring Mar. Other Ffolk who ventured into these slums might not venture out again, but these four were well armed, and clearly insane. That fact was obvious not just from their plate armor and sunburned faces, but also from the questions they asked: