Marga turned back to the railing of the balcony. Anger and helplessness welled up inside her, and she pounded her fist against the stone in fury. Then the tears began to flow. She stared down into the garden, watching the two half-sized creatures playing.
As if sensing her observing them, one of the two looked up at her and smiled.
Marga saw Obiron's face, but then, and for only a moment, it flickered and changed, becoming a featureless gray face on a bulbous head with a spindly body. The thing waved to her, still smiling, but she could sense the mockery behind the gesture. Then it was Obiron again, a laughing child running with his sister through the blossoms and orchards.
Marga wanted to retch.
Captain Beltrim Havalla, leader of the Silver Raven Mercenary Company, was reclining his chair back, leaning it and himself against the bole of a large tree, trying to take advantage of the limited shade, when he sensed that someone had arrived. He shifted his weight and looked over his shoulder to spot the visitor. In the midst of the open area where the command tents had been set up, Junce Roundface stood surveying the mercenary camp, his back to Beltrim. The mercenary captain sighed at the assassin's sudden appearance and rose to his feet.
Another good nap wasted, he thought.
"What are you doing here?" Captain Havalla called out as he approached his patron. "We're not due to relocate for three more days, yet." Then his eyes narrowed. "My boys had better not have forgotten to let me know you were coming."
Junce began to shake his head, gesturing for the captain to relax. "I didn't send word ahead of time. This is an impromptu visit."
Beltrim sucked his tongue between his teeth and nodded, relieved that his staff had not failed to deliver any urgent messages to him. "All right, then, what are you doing here?" he asked again as the two began to stroll toward the main tent.
Junce grinned. "Happy to see me?" he asked, obviously amused at the captain's abrupt query.
"I've got no quarrel with you being here," the captain replied, "so long as you keep putting coin in my coffers. I just worry that you're here to make things messy for me and my company. As in, maybe you want to command, too."
Junce's grin grew larger. "I'm not here to step on your authority, Captain Havalla," he said. "I just have a special assignment I want you to take care of. A unique mission, a side trip, if you will."
Beltrim let his own scowl deepen as they reached the opening to the command tent and stepped inside. He wasn't about to tell the man that side trips weren't part of the deal, as Junce-or rather, whomever Junce was representing-paid well enough to make even five side trips worthwhile. But sometimes, side trips had a way of turning into campaigns all their own, and as often as not, they created tactical problems with the original plan later. As the two men sat down at a table where numerous maps were spread out, Beltrim grunted, signaling that Junce should continue.
"There's a small group of mercenaries, a rival group, if you will, who just landed on the beach not far from here. Actually, they walked onto the beach after their ship went down out in the Reach, but that's neither here nor there," the assassin added, chuckling at his own humor. "I need you to go remove them from the field of battle."
"Mercenaries?" Beltrim asked, letting his scowl fade away a bit. "What's their name? Whom do they serve?" He was beginning to like the request more and more after all. His men had been itching to get into some sort of engagement for most of a tenday, and instead they had been forced to make camp, sitting in reserve to guard a larger force's flank.
"These are elements of the Order of the Sapphire Crescent," Junce explained, and he began looking at the topmost map on the table, which showed the region around Reth. "They're here," he said, pointing to a spit of land only a couple of miles from where the Silver Ravens were positioned. "There are perhaps two dozen of them, maybe a few more."
"What are they doing there?" Beltrim asked, already beginning to formulate strategy. "How well armed?"
"I told you," Junce answered. "They literally walked up onto the shore after their ship sank. They have sufficient magic that I would advise you not to take them lightly."
Beltrim eyed him appraisingly, trying to measure the man and his words. Thus far in their business relationship, Junce Roundface had neither exaggerated anything nor led Captain Havalla astray with misinformation. He was inclined to take the assassin at his word, but then again, there was always a first time for everything.
"All right, I'll get my men moving. But what, exactly, do you want done with them?"
At the question, Junce began to rub his chin thoughtfully. Finally, he said, "Capture as many as you can, and kill anyone who won't surrender. The prisoners, you will relocate to Reth, where I will deal with them myself. But don't let any of them slip through."
"Why are they so important to you?"
"I have my reasons. Suffice it to say that there are members of the group that I have a history with, and I can't afford to have them roaming around the area while we're having our little war."
Beltrim shrugged and nodded. "Good enough for me," he said, rising. "We'll be ready to move out within the hour."
"Good. I knew I could get results with you. That's why I made the pay so generous."
At that comment, Beltrim smiled. "We'll take care of it," the mercenary captain said.
"Good. Now I must beg my leave of you. Many other details to attend to."
As Beltrim nodded his understanding, the man across the table from him stood, gave a quick overly dramatic salute, muttered something unintelligible, and vanished. Beltrim snorted at the brazen display of magic then turned to find one of his aides and get his men rousted.
There was fighting to be done.
CHAPTER 6
The shift in temperature between the outskirts of the Nunwood and the Grand Trabbar's private chambers was abrupt, but Darvin was used to it. As the vista changed from coastal grassland to opulent study before his very eyes, the man couldn't help but smile in satisfaction. His magical boots were one of his most prized possessions, and even after all those years of owning them, he still delighted in their use. They had saved his neck on more than a few occasions, and being able to instantly teleport himself to distant places and back with a thought and a word had given him the upper hand in numerous scrapes over the years.
"I wish you would at least find some closet in which to appear and knock on my doors like a proper guest," Grand Trabbar Lavant muttered, not even looking up from the huge desk where he sat, furiously scribbling on a sheet of parchment. "I like you, but I enjoy my privacy more."
Darvin chuckled. "You would protect your privacy at the cost of having someone see me roaming around your grand temple?" he asked. "Spotting someone such as myself deep in its interior, knocking at your doors, would certainly raise some unpleasant questions, don't you think? How secure would your position be if the other high priests knew that you consorted with the likes of Junce Roundface, known scoundrel?"
Lavant sighed. "Enough. Your point is made. Just do not make a habit of showing up in the dark of night. I might confuse you for a burglar and slay you on the spot." Lavant did look up then, giving his visitor a level stare.
Darvin let the smile slide from his face and stared right back, but he did not say anything. He respected the priest sitting before him, for Grand Trabbar Lavant was nothing if not thorough and exceptionally competent, two qualities he appreciated.
He's just defending his territory, as a dog might, the man told himself. As I would, he had to admit, albeit grudgingly.
"I'll do my level best not to startle you during your beauty sleep," Darvin said with a second chuckle. "Or when you're in the midst of a dalliance with one of the maids," he added.