It's good to be home, Vambran decided.
He turned to his sister to tell her so, but the words never came out. A loud, desperate scream issued from an alleyway between two blocks of shops, cutting him off.
CHAPTER TWO
"Stay here," Vambran instructed his sister. He stood up in the carriage and leaped over the side to the street before it had even come to a stop. The lieutenant broke into a run even as he hit the ground, sprinting full-out in the direction of the screams still reverberating from the alley, which was flanked by a bakery on one side and a chandler's shop on the other. Both businesses were dark and shuttered, as were the windows on the stories above, where the shop owners and their families dwelt. Only the light of the moon showed the soldier the route into the alley.
As he dashed down into the deeper darkness between the two businesses, Vambran slipped a narrow-bladed steel sword free of the scabbard that hung on his left hip. With the weapon in one hand, the lieutenant deftly reached inside a pocket of his shirt, pulling free a scrap of parchment with the other. Another scream echoed through the air, definitely the voice of a woman. That was followed closely by a second cry, delivered by a man. It was a cry of pain.
Surging forward, Vambran rounded a bend in the alley and into a small courtyard with no other apparent exits. The backs of several more shops and homes formed the barrier to the open area, which was perhaps twenty paces across at its widest point. In one corner, a handful of figures gathered in a clump.
Slowing for a moment, Vambran closed his eyes and muttered a quick prayer to Waukeen. He pulled out a gold medallion that hung from a chain around his neck and that displayed the Merchant Friend's profile. He brought the coin to his mouth for a quick kiss, the scrap of parchment held between his lips and the coin face. Crumpling the parchment and moving it in a circular motion around his body, he finished the prayer. The lieutenant felt the parchment fragment dissolve into dust in his hand and he opened his eyes to confirm that a shimmering, glowing aura surrounded him. He stepped out into the dead-end courtyard and advanced openly toward the gathering of thugs.
Half a dozen of the attackers were huddled with their backs to Vambran, weapons drawn. Most of the figures were standing, gathered around a trio of others who were down on the ground. One of the standing shapes held aloft a lantern, and by its light Vambran could see that two of the figures lay motionless on the cobblestones of the alley, while the third held a thin dagger in his hand. The kneeling figure thrust the blade into the body closest to it, which convulsed once at the attack, then lay still again.
"Hold!" Vambran said, slowing his pace only slightly as he closed the distance toward the assailants. "Stand down!"
Even as he spoke those orders, Vambran advanced warily, in a crouch, ready for the fight he was certain was coming. A part of him wondered what he was getting himself into.
As the group of assailants turned to face Vambran, the mercenary realized they were more than simple thugs. All armed and armored alike, with half-spears and crossbows, they wore matching clothing: dark-colored breeches with a white shirt. The lieutenant also noticed for the first time a crest or logo upon each man's breast, and as the group in front of him realized they were under attack themselves, they fanned out, bringing their weapons to bear.
Vambran skidded to a stop, his boots sliding on the damp cobblestones of the alley. The symbol of Arrabar-three golden balls on a field of white-shone visibly in the lanternlight on the group's breastplates, marking them as city watch.
Vambran frowned even as he held his free hand up in a placating manner. Something there didn't feel quite right, but that thought, along with the notion that he needed to diffuse the situation, passed through his head in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, he was not quick enough to demonstrate that he recognized the soldiers as official watchmen, for one of them fired his crossbow at the lieutenant.
In his unbalanced position, having just skittered to a stop so close to the men, Vambran had no way to twist clear of the missile. The bolt flew straight at his shoulder and would have pierced his flesh, had it not been for the magical protection he had thrown around himself just moments before. The glimmering aura of magic saved him, turning aside the bolt at a funny angle but wrenching his shoulder back painfully in the process. Vambran grunted and stumbled back, throwing his other arm up to protect his face well after the missile had already flown past.
"Easy!" Vambran managed to call out as he spun away from the group and went down to one knee, making his body a smaller target as a second bolt flew past. "I yield, watchmen!"
He heard a snort from behind him, and several footsteps closing, but no more shots were fired.
"Drop your blade now, pretty boy!" Vambran heard one gruff voice call out, even as two more soldiers fanned into view on either side of him, leveling their half-spears at his head.
Calmly, gently, Vambran laid his steelblade down in front of him and lifted both of his hands well out to either side of himself.
"All right, easy," he said, peering at the two men who were in view. "It's down, no need to get worked up."
He tried to offer a disarming smile, but he got nothing but scowls in return.
"Stand up! Get away from the weapon," the same gruff voice demanded.
Vambran did as he was instructed, backing away from where he had laid his sword down.
"Now turn around," the guard commanded.
Vambran spun slowly in place, keeping his hands up and out, trying to look as unthreatening as possible.
"I didn't recognize your uniforms in the dark," he started to explain as he turned in place, "I thought you were muggers or-"
"Shut up!" the soldier commanded, stepping closer as Vambran completed his turn. The lieutenant was facing the fellow and noticed that he was marked as a sergeant. "You have a death wish?" the sergeant asked.
He was a short, stocky, dark-skinned fellow, with darker hair that sat in greasy waves on his head. A full, unkempt beard matched the hair, and even in the weak lanternlight, Vambran could see streaks of gray in both. The man's eyes were dark and sunken, with big circles under them, like he hadn't gotten a good deal of sleep. As he stood in front of the lieutenant, he brought his free hand up to bite at the fingernail on his thumb, studying his counterpart.
"Of course not," Vambran answered, shaking his head. "As I said, I didn't-"
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Shut your trap."
The sergeant motioned for one of his men to move closer, then stood back and watched as the soldier handed his half-spear to a companion and stepped forward to search Vambran, patting him down.
Vambran suffered the examination quietly, but his sense that something was out of place was growing steadily. Though their clothing marked them as guards, none of the men had the bearing of city watchmen. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but they seemed somehow less professional than he remembered. That alone wouldn't be enough to convince him, he knew, but then there was the matter of the two other individuals, who still lay motionless on the cobblestones behind the row of guards.
Vambran peered in that direction, trying to see who was lying there as the guard completed his search of the lieutenant's body. From that distance, with the light so bad and with the soldiers screening his view, he could make out very little, but it was clear that a man and a woman were both back there, dressed in fairly simple clothing.
Once the guard was finished searching Vambran, he stepped back into the line. Vambran lowered his hands to his sides.
The sergeant noticed Vambran trying to get a better look at the two corpses and moved closer, blocking his view.