Rumor said nothing of the body of a woman with a scarred face.
If Helgre lived, they were not safe in Mulmaster, or anywhere on the Moonsea’s shores.
He put a hand on the great slab of oak that served as a door for the Throatcut Sparrow, then paused. Out of the corner of his eye he caught the flicker of a dark-clad figure ducking into a doorway down the street behind him.
It wasn’t his imagination, then. Someone had been tracking him ever since he left Mage Magaster’s rooms. Could it be a local thief, suspecting he had something valuable and following him in case he proved inattentive and therefore vulnerable to sly fingers in his purse or to a slim blade between his ribs? Or might it be a spy of Bane’s fellowship?
Or could it be Helgre, with vengeance on her mind?
Despite the warmth of the day, Gareth shivered.
Two sturdy fellows, dockworkers, judging by the bulk of them, clattered up behind him and interrupted their banter to call out to him that if he insisted on being a door, he’d better open. He grinned at them good-naturedly and opened the door with a flourish, bowing and gesturing for them to precede him into the tavern’s dark interior. With a guffaw and a slap on the back they did. Before he entered himself, Gareth glanced quickly down the street. There was no sign of his follower.
Very well. He hadn’t survived this long by not being alert at all times. It was a reminder to always stay alert, to always check behind him, and never assume he hadn’t attracted the interest of something malevolent.
Once his eyes adjusted to the gloom inside the tavern, he spotted Ivor talking to the innkeeper, a dwarf of gloomy mien and a magnificent braided beard. Ivor dropped a couple of coins in the dwarf’s palm and nodded to Gareth. He had sold two of the tattooed creature’s rings to one of the least dishonest jewelers in the Mulmaster gold district-evidently his education in a merchant town in Turmish had given him a fair instinct for when he was being cheated. The platinum coins would bring unwanted attention, he had told Gareth, especially with the possibility of Helgre on the loose, so they had divided the elongated coins between them and used the proceeds from the rings for day-to-day expenses.
But that store of coin was going fast. They needed to find a way to replenish it or get out of Mulmaster-preferably both. He was tired of looking for Helgre behind every corner.
It was the faint scrape of iron on iron that woke him. Every muscle in his body tensed, but he remained still. He reached for the knife he kept beside his bed, his hands tight on the sheath.
His cot was on one side of the room, Ivor’s on the other, equidistant from the door. Gareth had barred and bolted it before retiring. Now in the darkness he saw a faint green glow around the bolt. He watched, fascinated, as the forged metal cylinder worked itself free as if by disembodied hands and slid back from the loop affixed to the doorway. The light faded, and there was a pause, as if the spellcaster on the other side were taking a deep breath.
Gareth made himself breathe deeply as he counted: one, two, three. He’d reached fifty when a tiny worm of green light insinuated itself from the crack where the door met the doorsill and snaked around the thick, heavy slab of wood that served as a bar. He wondered if Ivor was awake.
Gareth pushed aside his coverings and rose, still grasping his knife. Silently he approached Ivor’s cot, but his friend gestured him back with a two-fingered wave. The Turmish man’s short sword hung beside his head. Silently he reached for it with his left hand and drew it from its scabbard with scarcely the ring of metal. They both watched as the green worm divided and spread over the wood, individual threads of it nosing all over the surface as if they were exploring the grain. Soon the whole bar was tainted with its light.
Making a sign to Ivor to wait, Gareth took his thin pillow and humped it under the sheets, shaping the bedcover into the approximate bulk of a sleeping man. He left his boots standing beside the bed and tiptoed to one side of the door. Drawing his knife, he put his back against the wall, making sure he would be out of the light that would illuminate the room when the door opened. Ivor did the same with his own bed and likewise ranged himself on the other side of the door.
The green-glowing bar shifted in its wooden cradle, then slowly started to lift. Impressed, Gareth watched as it floated free of its restraints, then was slowly lowered to the floor, where it landed with the softest of thunks.
In the green glow, Ivor lifted an eyebrow. Whoever was on the other side of the door knew what he was doing.
Again the unnatural light faded, and there was another long pause. Seconds stretched to minutes, and Gareth was about to seize the door and fling it open for the satisfaction of taking the thief by surprise, when a crack of yellow light showed the invader was finally entering.
A slim hand pushed the door open just enough to allow entry, and a dim triangle of light from the flickering torch in the hall outside fell into the room. A shadowed, robed figure inched into the doorway. A hood hid its face, but it didn’t seem to spot him as he leaned against the wall beside it.
Despite the danger, a wave of relief passed across Gareth’s body. The thief was much too small to be Helgre.
The hooded head turned from one bed to the other, where their improvised decoys lay.
The figure ventured forward another step. It lifted its left hand, and a small ball of blue light flared and formed there. Cautiously the figure moved all the way into the room. Its right hand was raised in a warding gesture, the fingers slightly spread. It didn’t hold a weapon, but then, a spellcaster didn’t have to in order to be a deadly threat.
It paused as if making up its mind, then moved silently toward Ivor’s bed. The wrinkles in the coverings were cast into sharp relief by the blue glowball as the figure approached. It paused and drew breath.
Surely it was about to utter an incantation. Gareth was about to shout a warning, when Ivor launched himself at the invader.
It didn’t see him. Just before Ivor made contact, Gareth heard a feminine voice say, “Excuse me.”
There was a muffled shriek as Ivor bore the intruder down on the bed, grasping it by the approximate location of its neck and drawing the short sword back with the sharp point under the intruder’s chin. The blue glowball went out with a fizzle, and the hood fell back from the face.
It was a young woman, staring up at Ivor with wide, startled eyes. Gareth kept his knife ready. He knew enough women, old as well as young, who were as deadly as the most brutal pirate.
One of them was the most brutal pirate.
Ivor’s face was inches from the girl’s, his muscular right arm heavy across her chest and neck, her legs pinned to the bed by his own. They stared into each other’s eyes with mutual astonishment. Then, with an oath, Ivor pulled away his sword and scrambled off her slight body. He muttered something that sounded like an apology.
The girl didn’t move, but she opened her lips to speak. Gareth swore to himself as Ivor stood staring at her like a poleaxed ox. He shoved Ivor aside and clasped his free hand over her mouth.
“I’ll have no spellcasting, you understand me?” Gareth said in a hoarse whisper. “Try anything like that and I’ll cut your throat before you can get it half out.”
He turned to Ivor, who stood opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “And you-get your wits about you and check the hallway. We’ll get knifed from behind while this one charms us.”
Ivor nodded and moved to the half-open door.
Gareth turned back to the girl. “Silence, mind. And keep your hands where I can see them. Am I heard?”
Beneath his hand, she nodded. He paused, assessing her. But she remained still, and she didn’t glance behind him as she might if she expected help. Ivor vanished into the hallway and swiftly returned, shaking his head.