He started walking quickly and purposefully through the dark, deserted streets, back toward the Crystal Spider. No one called after him or tried to stop him. Indeed, had anyone seen how quickly he’d dispatched those men, that would have been discouragement enough, but in the elven market, people had a tendency to mind their own business, for their own good.
“If those men were not from the Alliance, then who were they, and why did they attack us?” Eyron asked.
“I do not know. Perhaps they were merely cutthroats, after our money,” Sorak suggested.
“They did not have the look of common cutthroats,” the Guardian replied, “and they were armed with iron blades.”
“If they were not Alliance members or cutthroats, then whom does that leave?” asked Eyron. “Soldiers?” Lyric said. Sorak stopped. “Soldiers?” “Soldiers are well armed, after all,” said Lyric, and then promptly lost interest in the discussion and started whistling a jaunty tune.
Soldiers, Sorak thought. Indeed, those men could have been soldiers in disguise. And that, of course, implied that they had been sent by the council, or perhaps the templars. But why would they want him dead? To avoid paying him a reward for his information? Surely, that was much too petty a reason. There had to be some other explanation. If, in fact, they truly were soldiers. Sorak had no proof of that, though it suddenly seemed the most likely possibility. And that would explain their being disguised as beggars. It would not do for the new government to have soldiers of the city guard seen assassinating someone in the streets. Krysta had cautioned him about the templars. But what did the templars have to fear from him?
“The templars once served the defiler king,” said Eyron. “Perhaps they have not truly forsaken their old ways.”
“But it is said the templars lost their magic when Kalak was slain,” said Sorak. “And defiler magic is outlawed in the city.”
“Outlawed does not mean eliminated,” Eyron reminded him. “Under Kalak, the templars had a great deal more power. They were once the law in Tyr. Now the council has superseded them. They may not be satisfied with their new, diminished role.”
It made sense, Sorak thought. But it still did not explain why the templars would see him as a threat. Unless, of course, they knew that he was seeking the avangion. However, he had not mentioned that to anyone but Rikus and Krysta, and he knew neither of them would share that knowledge with the templars.
Somehow, without intending to, he had stumbled into some sort of an intrigue. The balance of power in Tyr was teetering precariously, and without really understanding how or why, he found himself at the fulcrum of that balance point. What, exactly, was the nature of his involvement? The question kept gnawing at him as he made his way back to the gaming house, and he was so preoccupied with his thoughts that he did not notice the tattered beggar who was following him discreetly, at a distance.
The templar made certain he kept as much distance as possible between himself and the elfling, just enough to keep him in sight. After what he had just seen, he had no intention of getting any closer. He had followed Rokan and the others, for it was his responsibility to report back to Timor, and much as he feared Rokan, he feared Timor even more.
He dreaded having to go back to Timor and tell him what had happened, but he knew that he would have no choice. He would put the blame on Rokan. The marauder and his underlings had bungled it. Watching from the shadows at the far end of the street, the templar had seen two of the marauders rush out at the elfling, and he had seen the devastating, terrifying swiftness with which the elfling had dealt with them. He had seen Rokan, ready to join the fray, stumble in the street, though he had not seen the crossbow bolt that struck the marauder leader. He had simply assumed that Rokan had stumbled as a result of trying to stop his forward momentum when he saw what the elfling had done to his men. The coward had turned and fled, and the other two marauders had never even come out of their hiding place in the alleyway. Doubtless, thought the templar, they had fled, as well. That was what came of using scum like that on such a job, he thought. They were criminals, and criminals could not be trusted. But the elfling...
The templar had withdrawn deep into the shadows when the elfling passed, and he had heard the elfling talking to himself—a disjointed conversation, as if he were speaking with invisible spirits. The templar had heard nothing but the elfling’s voice, but the elfling seemed to be speaking to someone and giving answers. The templar had shuddered when he heard that. The elfling was insane, or else he was inhabited by spirits. Either way, he was incredibly dangerous.
The templar had never seen anyone move so quickly, and he had never seen anything like the way the marauders’ blades had shattered on the elfling’s sword. Those had been iron blades! Iron simply did not shatter like that. And that sword! Even in the darkness, the templar had seen the glittering blade, and it was steel! Shaped like no sword he had ever seen before. A steel blade like that would be worth a fortune, and it was no ordinary steel, at that. Iron did not break on ordinary steel. The templar knew magic when he saw it.
He followed the elfling and watched him go back into the gaming house, then he made his way back to the templars’ quarter. It was very late, and Timor would undoubtedly be asleep at this hour. He did not relish the thought of having to wake the senior templar, but this new information would not wait, and Timor would want to know of it at once. The templar did not know who this elfling was or what he intended, but he was clearly someone very extraordinary. And he had met in secret with Councilman Rikus at the gaming house.
This meant trouble, certain trouble for the templars and for Timor’s plan. Perhaps Timor had underestimated Rikus and Sadira. In particular, perhaps he had underestimated Sadira. How much did they really know about the sorceress? She had risen from obscurity to become the most powerful woman in Tyr, and though she had forsworn her former defiler ways, she possessed powerful magic. What had she done to accumulate such power? And what forces had she been in contact with while she had been away from Tyr?
It was rumored that she had traveled with the Sun Runners, one of the most fearsome of the elf tribes.
And now, out of nowhere, an elfling appears in the city, posing as a simple herdsman who has inadvertently discovered a plot to infiltrate Nibenese spies into Tyr. And this self-proclaimed “herdsman” has a clandestine meeting with Sadira’s pet mul, Rikus, and then suddenly he is working at the Crystal Spider, whose owner is half-elf. Suddenly, in the middle of the night, he goes to a wineshop known to be a contact point for the Veiled Alliance, and when attacked, he demonstrates a skill for fighting that none of the soldiers of the city guard could hope to match, and with an enchanted blade, at that.
No, thought the templar, there are too many coincidences here. Rikus and Sadira are clearly plotting something, and this elfling is the key to it. Killing him had seemed such a simple thing. Well, now he has demonstrated that it won’t be so simple. Brute force won’t get the job done.
It will take magic.
11
The gatekeeper of the Crystal Spider greeted Sorak with a slight, respectful bow when he came in. The entire staff of the gaming house knew him now and treated him with friendliness and courtesy. Nevertheless, the attitude of the gatekeeper seemed different, more than courteous. He had never actually bowed to him before. Sorak ducked under briefly and allowed the Guardian to probe his mind.
“He knows” the Guardian said.