“Who said this trifle would protect the grand duke?” Seeing that his captive was about to pass out, Yder loosened his grasp. “Describe them.”
The prisoner took a ragged breath, then said, “It was a red-haired beauty and her manservant.” His voice was hard, as though he was angrier at the ones who had deceived him than at his tormentor. “She introduced herself as Lady Emmeline of Berdusk, but I knew the moment her servant arrived that she was no lady. A true gentlewoman would never tolerate such an odor.”
Yder nodded and returned the prisoner’s feet to the deck. His spies had already identified Joelle Emmeline as an accomplished Berduskan jewel thief with unusual powers of beguilement. Her foul-smelling “servant” was actually an accomplice, a barely competent spy and murderer who went by the name Malik el Sami yn Nasser.
There were reports of Malik claiming to be a Chosen of the dead god Myrkul, but Yder had his doubts. The spy’s name was the same as that of the Seraph of Lies who had served Cyric the Mad a hundred years earlier. Besides, with the entire world on the verge of a new age, the gods were vying for worshipers like rival crime guilds fighting for turf, dispatching their Chosen to advance their interests and sabotage the plans of their rivals. And sending an impostor to steal another god’s domain seemed like exactly the kind of scheme that Cyric-the god of strife-would relish.
Still holding the prisoner by his neck, Yder turned to study the main deck. Soaked in blood and strewn with corpses and moaning wounded, the Wave Wyvern looked more like a charnel house than a ship. Most of the casualties wore tabards over chain mail, but Yder had suffered losses, too. A long row of dusky bodies lay atop the center cargo hatch, their severed heads tucked under their arms and wisps of shadow still seeping from their neck stumps.
He saw no sign of Malik or Joelle-or the Eye.
He began to seep black wisps of shadow, a sign of his growing frustration. He had brought along only fifty of his Night Guards, believing that number more than adequate to hunt down a single pair of thieves. But the big watchman had proven a nasty surprise-first by stepping forward to protect the thieves at all, then by killing a quarter of Yder’s company almost by himself. It was not the kind of resistance his spies had led him to expect from the Marsember Watch, and he could not help seeing the hand of his goddess’s enemies in the unanticipated interference-and especially in that blue agate on the watchman’s sword. The way it glowed when he and his warriors came near, the way it weakened and blinded them, pointed to divine favor.
And now the hulk had sounded the alarm and was actually leading a hunt for him and his warriors. It would be a simple matter to summon reinforcements from Shar’s Hall of Shadows in Thultanthar, but that carried even greater peril. Less than two years earlier, Yder’s brother Rivalen had attempted to initiate Shar’s world-destroying Cycle of Night, and now many of Netheril’s most important figures-including the Most High himself-feared her power over the empire. If Yder removed too many warriors, someone was certain to raid her temple and undermine her power in Netheril.
And that was a risk Yder dared not take. Rivalen had failed to bring the Cycle to a successful close, but Shar remained one of the most powerful deities on Toril-and one who intended to grow even more powerful by eliminating the boundary that separated her Shadowfell from the world of stone and soil.
After a few moments, Yder grew certain that the thieves could not be among the dead. Had they been, one of his warriors would have informed him by that point. He turned back to the prisoner.
“Where are these liars now?” he asked. “Why can’t we find them?”
A look of confusion came to the majordomo’s face, and he glanced forward. “They should be here,” he said. “They were right behind us when we boarded.”
Whispering through the shadows, Yder ordered the survivors of the battle to continue the search for the thieves and their prize below decks, then turned back to the majordomo.
“Did you actually see them board?” he asked. “Or do you assume?”
The majordomo’s eyes widened. “I didn’t see them, no,” he admitted. “The situation was chaotic, and they were behind me.”
Yder resisted the temptation to crush the man’s throat. “Then why do you believe they followed you aboard?”
“Where else could they have gone?” he asked. “You were coming right behind us.”
“And they knew it,” Yder said, more to himself than the prisoner. “That was my mistake.”
Yder looked aft, debating the wisdom of returning to shore. Cyric’s blessing-at least he assumed it was Cyric’s blessing-kept the Eye and its bearers hidden from the divination magic of even the Mistress herself. So if he lost track of his quarry now, there was a chance he would never be able to find them again.
But the big watchman had no doubt sounded the alarm, and that meant the entire Marsember Watch would soon be mustering to hunt down his company. If he returned to the city to search for the thieves, his Night Guards would be outnumbered ten-to-one. And that meant he would lose a lot more of his force-probably most of it.
Fortunately, Yder saw no reason to believe that he needed to find his quarry in Marsember. Contrary to what the prisoner had seemed to think, the Eye of Gruumsh was not a giant gem, and the thieves had not come to the city to sell it. They had probably come to Marsember because it was a port-and that meant they intended to board a ship.
And now Yder had a ship of his own.
In their haste to escape Marsember with their lives, the Shadovar were fleeing in their stolen vessel with all oars pulling. Malik could hear the cries of their wounded captives echoing off the buildings that lined the canal banks, and he could see their craven leader standing on the quarterdeck, looking back toward the great arcing bridge where Kleef Kenric and his brave fools stood watching in anger and despair.
The crazed watchman had hoped to reach the High Bridge in time to drop onto the Wave Wyvern’s decks and avenge the death of his murdered duke, and so the entire group had spent the last ten minutes racing through the streets like madmen. But Malik had wanted to avoid being seen by the Shadovar, and it was on that account that he had contrived to stumble and fall so frequently that his companions had finally begun to drag him along by his elbows. Even so, he had managed to slow the company enough to save it from the slaughter that would surely have followed had it arrived in time to execute Kleef’s foolish plan, and the group had raced onto the bridge to find the Wave Wyvern’s stern just beyond leaping distance.
Taking care to keep one of Kleef’s courageous buffoons between him and the Shadovar at all times, Malik reached out to tug on the topsword’s tattered cape.
“It is a sad thing that we have missed our chance to deal those Shadovar devils the death they deserve,” he said. “But Lady Emmeline and I have urgent matters beyond the Lake of Dragons. If you and your men will kindly escort us to Starmouth Harbor and help us find the ship we have hired, I’m certain you will find Lady Emmeline most grateful.”
“Indeed,” Joelle said. Like Malik, she was taking care to remain hidden from the Shadovar-in her case, by standing directly behind the big watchman. “Most grateful.”
She took Kleef’s arm and graced him with a beaming smile, and Malik knew they would soon be on their way to the harbor. As a Chosen of Sune, Joelle had but to smile at a man to bend him to her will-and when she deigned to touch him, he became her happy slave. Malik knew this from his own experience. It was the only reason he been foolish enough to accompany her into the orc stronghold at Big Bone Deep and remove the Eye of Gruumsh from the great statue in the Hidden Temple of Nishrek.