Even though the priest believed he had restored Grand Trabbar Lavant's office to its original condition, he was fearful of being discovered. A sense of dread pervaded his mood, made him worry that he'd forgotten some minute detail, some crucial piece of information that would make none of his concerns real. But every time he examined it, Kovrim came to the same conclusion. He had the information that had been eluding him and his niece and nephew for the past three days. He knew who was behind the murders of Jithelle and Hoytir, the two servants who'd worked at House Pharaboldi. Not only that, but he had a pretty good idea just what the three Houses were plotting, and it made his stomach heave to contemplate.
Just considering the possibility made Kovrim quicken his steps, and he had to force himself to slow down to avoid looking suspicious. He continued across the grass, past the tall trees and the benches in the little groves, down the hill toward another boulevard that he could take up to the next district, and he would cut across a small plaza and head directly toward the merchants' district. He had to let Vambran know.
The priest kept telling himself that he had a perfectly good explanation in case anyone stopped him and demanded to know where he was off to. After all, he actually was supposed to be attending Emriana's birthday party that evening. Of course, he had put off departing until the last minute, and it was those final precious moments that had allowed him to discover the truth. He would have to hurry to avoid being late, but at the same time, he sensed that hurrying too much would draw unwanted attention.
His thoughts swirling back and forth with all of his knowledge, Kovrim didn't at first notice the pair of figures standing casually at the far end of the path he was following through the gardens. When he did glance up, he did a double take. It was a pair of Halanthi priests, apparently wrapped in conversation. He carefully avoided directing his gaze straight at them, looking for an inconspicuous alternate route. It was too late to turn aside and avoid them, though. He would either have to continue on, coming face to face with them, or double back, making it clear that he was trying to avoid them. His hands trembled, fearing that he'd been found out.
Despite his desire to avoid looking guilty, Kovrim faltered a step. Were they really waiting for him? It was possible that they just happened to have been on a walk themselves, out for a stroll and stopping for a respite. He could walk right by them, he thought. But in his heart, Kovrim knew they were not there by chance. Some premonition told him they were there specifically to waylay him. Lavant knew that he had discovered the Grand Trabbar's secrets. The high priest had sent those two to intercept him, prevent him from revealing what he knew.
Whether his fears were accurate or he was just losing his nerve, Kovrim made the decision to turn away. He could not be caught. He had to warn Vambran. He stopped and half turned around, snapping his fingers, hoping he made it appear that he had simply forgotten something. It was a feeble hope, but he could think of nothing else.
The moment it became clear to the two priests that Kovrim was not going to walk any closer to them, they both came alive, watching him overtly. He spun completely away, ready to sprint back down the path. But two more Halanthi were blocking his exit, about equidistant from him. His heart sank. They had him cornered.
Kovrim considered just turning and running into the midst of the gardens, losing his pursuers in the lush undergrowth of vines, bamboo, and trees. But the four priests were much younger than he, and he doubted he could outrun them, even if he did manage to vanish from their sight temporarily. The other option was to confront them, try to browbeat them to back off, but he doubted that would work. They had their instructions, and Lavant undoubtedly made it clear that they were to prevent him from leaving at all costs. That left just one more possibility. And despite the fact that he was more advanced than any of the other four, and his divine magic powerful enough to rebuke them, given enough time, their advantage lay in their numbers. Kovrim doubted he would be able to cast more than twice before they incapacitated him.
Hells, he thought, they don't even have to get close to me. They can just stand back there and take their shots.
When it came down to that, the priest knew he only had one choice. He spun and scrambled into the thick cover of the garden.
Behind Kovrim, back on the path, the four priests began to shout. He ignored them, pushing his way through the dense plant life, struggling to find a way to freedom before they either caught up to him or circled around. His heart was pounding, and a sense of panic welled up in him that he was about to be caught.
Suddenly, Kovrim felt a tingle of magic wash over him. One of the four was attempting to stop his flight magically, and he believed he knew the type of holding magic the Halanthi was using. He steeled himself mentally, fighting to resist the spell, and thankfully continued to churn his legs, moving forward. He knew that he was making noise, that the crashing of the foliage was giving away his position, but he had no choice. If he stopped, they would be on him.
Another wave of magic passed over Kovrim, and he heard an insistent voice from behind him, ordering him to halt. The urge to follow that instruction was too great to resist. Despite his own inner voice screaming at himself to keep going, he pulled up, panting and swaying breathlessly, waiting. He was doomed. The four Halanthi priests would surround him and grab him. He groaned, hanging his head.
But the priests did not catch up to him, and after a moment, Kovrim was willing to run again. Only then, he didn't charge full force through the bushes, but instead began to creep through them, listening to the sounds of pursuit. There was the occasional shout, sometimes from behind, sometimes from up ahead. Whenever he heard such, he altered his direction, angling always to keep clear.
Something in the back of the priest's mind told him that they were herding him, that he was being driven right toward another of their group. One who was being quiet and waiting for Kovrim to stumble onto him. He stopped moving, then, listening to the sounds around him, and he began to believe more earnestly that it was exactly his pursuers' plan. They were on three sides of him, slowly trying to drive him in the direction he'd been going. He would try to outwit them by doubling back.
Just as he turned to retrace his steps, one of the four Halanthi priests jumped up from behind a barricade of shrubs only a few feet from where he was about to pass by.
"Syndo Lazelle," the priest said, gesturing for Kovrim to stand down. "You can't escape. Please," he said, looking expectantly at his quarry.
Kovrim sighed despondently, and briefly thought of bolting back into the brush, fleeing again. But the Halanthi, whose name was Javoli, the Syndo remembered, shook his head as though reading the older man's intentions.
"He's here " Javoli called out to the others. "We've got him surrounded." He turned his gaze back to Kovrim. "You see? You only make it more difficult for yourself."
It was at that moment that a figure cloaked in red flashed into view, smacking Javoli in the back of the head with a sap. Kovrim heard the solid thunk and watched the junior priest drop to his knees with a groan and topple over and lie still.
He turned to look more closely at his savior. The figure had a cowl wrapped around his face so that the priest couldn't see it. The hands were gloved in red, and the figure wore soft boots of the same color.
Ah, Kovrim thought, Vambran's savior. And perhaps mine, now.
"Come on," the figure insisted, and it was the voice of a woman. "We have little time."