The Shadow Fox’s heart started racing, fearing that Oargesha’s unnatural death would attract the attention of the other passengers, bringing the Silver Flame down upon her. She looked around quickly to see if Oargesha had garnered any notice. Fortunately, it appeared not. It was well after dark, the coach was sparsely populated, and the other passengers seemed content to stay in their chairs and doze as the rail approached Scions Sound.
Fox leaned Oargesha against the wall and pulled her travel cloak over her like a blanket. Then she sat next to her friend, put her feet up, and draped another cloak over herself in an effort to conceal the fact that the mage’s feet stuck out awkwardly, like those of an upturned crustacean.
The Fox sat and watched as the coaches rolled onward. All exhaustion had left her, replaced by a dread fear.
As the lightning rail pulled into Daskaran Ferry, the Fox turned her haunted eyes on her former traveling companion. Setting her jaw to guard against crying, she rummaged through Oargesha’s belongings for valuables and removed the mage’s coin purse.
She took a deep, trembling breath, leaned over, and kissed Oargesha on the temple.
She pulled Oargesha’s cloak a little higher up in an effort to hide her face better, but it slid back down again, dropping to her shoulder and revealing her frightful rictus to all.
“Farewell,” said the Fox.
She glanced both ways to ensure that no one was looking in her direction then departed the coach. By the time she stepped off the bottom step and onto the platform, her stride was graceful and sure, and she wore a bemused smile. She paused to look up at the night sky, but despite her demeanor, her eyes saw nothing but her friend’s terrified face.
“Care for a hansom, lady?” asked a young lad. “Two crowns to ride over the ferry and anywhere in the city, if you like.”
“That would be wonderful,” she said with a brightness she didn’t feel.
She followed the lad to a waiting hansom. She paid the driver two coppers, and he tossed one down to the boy.
Despite her veil of tourist pleasantry, she struggled to raise her foot to step into the hansom cab, for doing so was the final step in her abandonment of her team.
The lightning rail pulled into the Starpeaks border crossing under the watchful eyes of a hundred or more Aundairian guards. Before it stopped, even as the last flickers of the conductor stones played across the coaches’ surface, one of the doors opened and Teron stepped out.
“You there—” said one of the guards, but Teron pushed past him and walked swiftly across the boardwalk to one of the officers at hand.
The officer was resplendent in a long blue robe embroidered with a beautiful dragonhawk’s head. Tucked under one arm she held a high helm plumed with dragonhawk feathers and gold-inset engraving. She was surrounded by aides and junior officers.
As Teron made to walk through the circle of military personnel and approach the officer, one of the petty officers barred his way. “The lines form over there, citizen,” he said, grabbing Teron’s peasant shirt with one hand.
Without breaking stride, Teron snapped one hand up to pin the soldier’s fist against Teron’s shoulder. The other struck up under the soldier’s elbow, locked the joint, and forced the hapless warrior forward and down. He fell flat on his face.
The other soldiers jumped in surprise, and their hands flew to the hilts of their swords, but before anyone’s weapon cleared its scabbard, Teron had already stepped over the downed soldier. He bowed respectfully to the officer.
“Captain,” he said, proffering with both hands the prelate’s commission, “Prelate Quardov Donrain, High Archdeacon of the Cathedral of the Heavens in Fairhaven and Keeper of the Divine Wrath, sends his holy regards.”
“Holy?” muttered the junior officer as he started to regain his feet. “Maybe if you mean ‘holy havoc my arm hurts,’ they’re holy. What in the.”
“You are dismissed,” said the captain.
The soldier saluted and departed, still rubbing his arm.
The captain studied Teron for a long moment, then took the commission from his hands and scanned it. “It says here that you act with the authority and support of the prelate,” she said. Her words were a statement, not a question, Teron remained silent, his hands folded placidly at his waist. The captain studied him some more and licked her lips. “For someone acting on behalf of the church, you have less than ecclesiastical manners.”
“I apologize for your aide,” said Teron. “It was pure reflex. He startled me.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “No,” she said, “I think you planned for it. You have had extensive monastic training, and I surmise that if your reaction were truly pure reflex, then at least one bone would have been broken. Am I not correct?”
Teron dropped his gaze for a second, giving the captain all the answer she needed.
“I have great respect for your kind,” she said. “Personally, I would not dare to face a battlefield full of Thranes without a broadsword and a full suit of fine chain. You and your kind are either very brave or very mad.”
Teron nodded. “Most likely both, Captain.”
The captain laughed—a genuine if brief expression of mirth—before her face became the cold countenance of a military officer again, “What business brings you here, citizen?” she asked. “What help can I offer the prelate?”
Teron pulled out the folded drawings of Praxle and Jeffers from the waistband of his trousers. “Yesterday I, upon the orders of the prelate, personally put forth an alert to watch for a gnome named Praxle d’Sivis and a half-orc named Jeffers, who is a retainer. Here are portraits drawn from their papers, which we confiscated. I have been pursuing these people and have located them on this very run. I request that you therefore detain these two and clap them in irons. I also request that you gag them immediately. The gnome is certainly an illusionist, and the half-orc may have an arcane bent as well.”
The captain looked at the two illustrations, one after the other, then folded the papers and slapped them across the chest of one of her junior officers. He immediately took the papers and ran to where the guards were sorting the passengers, gathering a squad of soldiers as he went.
The captain inclined her head slightly toward Teron. “It is always a pleasure to be of service to the Sovereign Host and their ordained mortal servants,” she said.
“I will report your efficiency and accommodation,” said Teron. He bowed again and departed to await the capture of his quarry.
“Well, then, what’s all this to-do?” asked Praxle as they debarked the lightning rail. He stepped to the side, out of the flow of passengers, and surveyed the depot. “Look at them. There must be at least a hundred soldiers or more. I’ve never seen a border guarded like this.”
“I am completely confounded, master,” replied Jeffers, “I would surmise either that there are diplomatic tensions between the lands or else that the crown is throwing a dragnet for certain people. Might they be searching for us, master?”
“Yes, they might well be looking for me,” said Praxle, gauging the odds and reaching a result that did not please him in the slightest. “One can only assume that the prelate, thinking I stole the Orb, sent out an alert.”
“Would they then be searching the travelers for us personally, or searching our packages for the Orb? If the one, master, then we are safe, but if the other, we may have some difficulties.”
Praxle waved a hand dismissively. “Not a worry,” he said. “I have that monk working for me. I’m sure he can get me through this with no problem.”
Jeffers looked all around. “Where is our monastic companion, then?”
The steady stream of passengers parted up ahead, and a squad of a dozen soldiers cut through the line. Several had long bows, several had drawn swords, and one held two sheets of paper, one in each hand. The squad leader looked around, then he pointed directly at the pair and the squad started walking toward them purposefully.