Elenthia nodded, and Vambran wasted no time positioning himself below the woman. As soon as she saw him below her, she began to scramble down the wall, stepping on Vambran's fingers and ear. The mercenary officer grimaced in pain as he felt her boots scraping his backside. She half-climbed, half-slid down him until she could drop the remaining distance to the street below.
Once Elenthia was away, Vambran made a mad dash down the wall himself. As soon as he reached the cobblestones, he sprinted as fast as he could from the building.
Even before he got to the other side of the avenue, Vambran heard the structure collapse, felt the vibration of tons of material striking the ground and the rush of heated air that burst out from the conflagration. He winced as that searing heat washed over him and he turned his ankle and stumbled to the pavement at Arbeenok's feet. Elenthia stood a little distance away, trembling and gazing back and forth between the alaghi and her ruined home.
"I did not think you would make it back out," Arbeenok said, helping Vambran to his feet. "You are either very brave or very foolish," he added.
Vambran gave the druid a wry grin and held up his satchel, wincing as he did so because of his painful ankle and the various patches of blistered skin on his body. "I couldn't let these burn," he said, unrolling the cloth from his sword and armor. "They're family heirlooms."
"I don't think your friend knows quite what to think of me," Arbeenok said, gesturing toward Elenthia, who eyed the druid, a wary look on her soot-smudged face.
Vambran limped over to the woman and pulled her to himself to give her a hug. "Are you all right?" he asked, looking into her red-rimmed eyes.
Elenthia sagged into the man, grasping him and weeping for a long moment. When she pulled back to look at him again, tears glistened on her cheeks, making tracks through the smudges of black soot. Her slap to Vambran's face was unexpected and stung. "What in the hells do you think you were doing, going back in there for your things?" she demanded as Vambran gingerly rubbed his jaw. "You almost got us both charred!"
"They were important," he said.
"More important than my life? Than yours?"
The mercenary officer shrugged. "I did what I did. You're safe." Changing the subject, Vambran turned back to the druid. "This is my companion, Arbeenok, from the Nunwood. You've already met, though you do not know it. He was my canine companion earlier this evening."
Elenthia's eyes grew wide for a moment, and she said, "A druid! I knew it!" The words were not kind. Then she turned to Vambran and asked, in a tone filled with ice, "What are you doing traveling with the likes of him?"
"Do not let what you think you know of the Emerald Enclave prejudice you against him," the lieutenant warned. "Arbeenok is both honorable and steadfast. If not for him, we'd be roasting in the fire or hip-deep in zombies-take your pick."
Elenthia sniffed, obviously unconvinced, but she said no more about the alaghi's allegiances. Instead, she turned and stared at the burning remains of her home and the bodies of both soldiers and undead strewn everywhere upon the street. "My father sent those soldiers to protect me," she said. "He must have realized the city was under attack. What is happening?" she asked in a near-whisper, her dismay making her voice crack. "Has the plague truly returned to Reth?"
"It has," Vambran said. "The zombies are spreading it. I fear it's now too late to get to my men." He sighed and added, "I've already found my uncle. It was too late for him." When Elenthia turned to look at the mercenary officer, horrified, he merely nodded. "We've got to get you out of the city."
"No!" Elenthia replied, her eyes wide with animalistic fear. "I must get to my father! Please take me to him!"
Vambran started to protest, but the words died in his throat as a soft groan reached the trio's ears from across the street. As the lieutenant turned to look, one of the watchmen's bodies stirred and began to rise.
The tower upon which Darvin Blackcrown arrived with the aid of his magical boots stood well above every other point in the city of Reth. From there, atop the Palace of the Seven, an observer could see well out into the Reach, watch either of the two roads-one that skirted the Nunwood approaching from the south and the other winding its way into the Akanapeaks to the east-or study the woods or low-ridged mountains. A visitor coming to that tower could also see almost every point in the city of Reth itself, though few of the palace's inhabitants ever did. Indeed, few even knew which back passages and stairwells to traverse to attain that high promenade. Nonetheless, when Darvin appeared in the center of the tower, another figure was already there.
Rodolpho Wianar barely gave the newcomer a cursory glance.
Darvin, known to most of Chondath as the assassin Junce Roundface, strode over to where Rodolpho rested against the crenellations of the tower, looking out over the city. Far below, the orange glow of several fires shone in the evening darkness. Darvin realized the fires were burning buildings, and that dismayed him.
"What is happening down there?" he inquired, peering across the landscape and counting conflagrations. "Why is the city burning?"
Rodolpho began to chuckle, but it was not a merry laugh. It sent a shiver up Darvin's spine with the insanity of it. "Yes," the man said, not looking at Darvin. "It burns. It is a beautiful sight, isn't it?"
"No," Darvin rebuked, turning to look at his counterpart. "Eles isn't going to be very happy to see Reth in flames. Why are you allowing this?"
Rodolpho snorted. "Allow? I'm not allowing anything. Events are simply taking their natural course. The plague has begun to spread outward from the sewers. The people are panicking, fleeing into the night, and some among them who most fear the disease have set fires in hopes of containing its spread. But they will fail," he said, finishing with another chuckle.
"How is it possible for them to become so panicked so quickly?" Darvin demanded, grabbing Rodolpho by the shoulders and turning him so they were face to face. "What did you do?"
"I did what my cousin demanded," Rodolpho snapped back. "I created the plague for him, just as he ordered! And now, it's taken on a life of its own! Now my creation will thrive, and you and Wianar can rot with it!" he said, cackling.
"By the gods," Darvin muttered, staring back down on the city. "You've made it too virulent. It'll kill them all."
"And what if it does?" Rodolpho cried out. "What if all of Reth burns to ash? What do I care? I did not choose this course. I did not ask to be here, hiding for twelve years, just so my dear, beloved cousin could stake his claim to another piece of land."
"You made your choice back then," Darvin said. "You agreed to his terms."
"I was given no choice!" Rodolpho screamed, jabbing a single finger into Darvin's chest. "You sent me to my grave, you craven worm, and I was dead!" The veins in the man's neck bulged in his fury, and spittle flecked his lips as he shouted. "Oh, certainly, my dear cousin called me back from the grave, gave me a chance at life again, but only if I agreed to his plans. Only if I took a new identity, came here to this gods-forsaken city, and did his dirty work for him. Yes, there was a fine choice." He spun away from Darvin and again stared down at the city.
"That's between you and Eles," Darvin said after a moment, not wishing to debate with the man any longer. "We're well beyond that, and it's time to put the last part of the plan in motion." He waited, but when Rodolpho did not answer him, he asked, "So, do you have it?"