Emerald Sceptre (15 page)

“Me?” the servant said meekly. “What can I do?”

“All we need to know is how to get out without getting caught,” Xaphira said. “Which way should we go? That’s all. No one will catch on, we promise.”

“I’m afraid,” the woman said, shaking her head. “Lady Lobra’s husband, Lord Mestell, was wounded in a fight tonight, and the guards are very alert. It will be very hard to get out unnoticed. And Lady

Lobra will be terribly angry if she finds out I assisted you.”

“Falagh Mestell was hurt?” Xaphira said. “What happened?”

“I don’t know, ma’am,” Patimi replied. “I was sent to fetch Lady Lobra so she could go to him, and I found you two in here with her. At first, I thought you might have had something to do with it,” she trailed off, obviously not comfortable voicing her accusation.

“If she was supposed to find Lobra, someone will come looking for her—and Patimi—very soon,” Emriana said, concerned. “We can’t wait any longer.”

Xaphira nodded. “Here’s what you do, Patimi,” she said. “First, tell us the best route to get out unnoticed. Then you go back out there and act like you’re searching other parts of the estate for Lobra. If anyone wants to know what you’re doing, you simply tell them she wasn’t here. No one will know you had anything to do with our escape.”

“All right,” the servant said, not sounding very sure of the plan. “But what about Lady Lobra? And all the glass? If someone else comes looking for her, they’ll know I was lying.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Xaphira said, reassuring the woman with a pat on her arm. “We’ll take care of it.”

“All right,” Patimi said again. “There’s an arbor not far from Lady Lobra’s balcony that’s little used and overgrown. On the back side, there are several trees close enough to the outer wall that the boys used to climb up and slip out at night. But the guards may think to watch there—some of them have been with the family for a long time and might remember that route from chasing Jerephin and Denrick for so many years.”

“Good,” Xaphira said, nodding. “That’s perfect. Now go, and act like you’re still looking for Lobra.”

They let Patimi out of the room after making certain no one was in the hall. The servant gave them one last panicked look before scurrying off.

When she was gone, Xaphira said, “I’ve been thinking. If Lobra acquired the mirror from Junce, then she must know some of what’s going on. We should take her with us.”

Emriana looked at Lobra. “Fine with me,” she said. Give me a chance to figure out a proper payback, she thought.

“Em,” Xaphira said, moving to stand before her niece. “What happened tonight?”

Emriana shook her head. “Later,” she insisted. “When we have time.” When I can talk about it, she silently added.

Xaphira gazed at the girl a moment, then nodded. She walked over to the still-unconscious woman. “Help me,” she said, and Emriana moved to the older woman’s side, ready to aid her.

Under Xaphira’s direction, the two of them bound Lobra Pharaboldi hand and foot using shredded clothing, and stuffed a hunk of cloth into her mouth-to silence her once she regained consciousness. Then they stepped back.

“It’s going to be a lot harder to sneak out of here dragging her along,” Emriana commented. “Just the two of us, we can sprint and hide, but carrying a trussed up Lobra is really going to slow us down, especially since you must be sore and weak. Why don’t you heal some of those bruises?”

Xaphira shook her head. “I did that as much as I could already.”

Emriana’s eyes widened at the implication of her

aunt’s words. She started to ask what happened, despite her own admonition earlier that they should wait until later.

“We’ll go through the arbor and hope for the best,” Xaphira replied, cutting the girl off and changing the subject. “If we get caught, we leave her behind and fend for ourselves. Ready?”

Though she felt immense sorrow for what Xaphira must have endured, Emriana nodded, thankful to have her aunt beside her once more. It’s so much easier with someone else by my— “Pilos!” she gasped. “What happened to Pilos?”

Xaphira paused in her attempt to try to hoist up Lobra. “Who? What?”

“Pilos Darowdryn,” Emriana explained as they got the unconscious woman between them and began shuffling their way toward the doorway leading out onto the balcony. “He came with me to the Generon to save you. I don’t know what happened to him.”

“And how did you manage to enlist the aid of a Darowdryn?” Xaphira asked as they maneuvered out into the dark of night.

“After Hetta died, and Grozier took over the house, I went to the Darowdryns for help.”

Xaphira nearly dropped Lobra. “Mother’s dead?” she asked, her voice meek, and Emriana could see the woman shivering.

You’re an idiot! Emriana screamed at herself. “Not exactly,” she said hastily, “but she’s in a ring, which—oh, no! The ring!” The girl nearly dropped Lobra then, realizing she had been separated from her grandmother. “Oh, no,” she said again, feeling despair wash over her once more. “I lost her, Xaphira. I lost Hetta.”

“Shh,” Xaphira said, and Emriana thought she was

trying to comfort her, to tell her it was all right. In the next moment, though, the woman crouched down into the shadows, and Emriana did likewise just as a patrol of House guards stalked past below the balcony. It was not the casual sauntering Emriana was accustomed to seeing in House Matrell guards.

“They don’t look happy,” Emriana said once the soldiers had passed.

“I guess not, after everything that happened tonight,” Xaphira said. “If I say run, you let go of Lobra and go as fast as you can. Do you understand me? Don’t look back, just run for safety.”

“All right,” Emriana said, knowing her aunt was suggesting that they might get separated. Not on your life, she thought silently. Never again.

Once they were certain the guards had moved out of earshot, they started down the steps of the balcony, hauling their still-unconscious prisoner between them.

Horial landed hard on his back, and though the ground was soft and spongy beneath him, the sudden appearance of Edilus directly above him made the mercenary’s journey through the magical portal a painful one. As the druid collapsed on top of the sergeant, the weight of both of them together drove Horial down hard against the earth, and the arrow still rammed in his shoulder sank deeper into his flesh. The sergeant gasped and barely refrained from crying out fully.

“By the gods,” he groaned, panting. “Get off me,” he pleaded, pushing at Edilus with his good arm.

The druid scrambled off Horial and stood, muttering in that language the sergeant had heard the Enclave use back in the Nunwood. It sounded like Edilus was cursing.

“You two be quiet!” Adyan hissed from nearby, his drawl exaggerated with his insistence. “You want to draw the entire Generon down on us?”

Horial groaned again and tried to sit up, but Edilus was there in front of him, grabbing him by the collar of his tunic. “Why, you traitorous wolf? Why did you bring me through the portal with you?”

Horial stared at the man, his mouth agape. “Why? Because those soldiers were going to kill you!” he hissed. “If you want to die so badly, then go back!”

Edilus swore again softly. “I would if it were possible, but it is not! The passage conveys those who use it in one direction only! I cannot return!”

“You hate us so much you’d rather die than come with us?” Horial demanded, controlling his voice only a little more than before. “I saved your life. Maybe some day, you’ll get back to your precious forest and do something worthwhile with what’s left of it.” And with that, he grabbed Edilus’s hand, the one still clutching at his tunic, and slung it off.

“I’m not kidding!” Adyan said, his voice also a, whisper. “We’re smack in the middle of the Generon’ grounds, and they will hear you if you don’t quiet down!”

Horial could see the scar along Adyan’s chin glowing faintly in the moonlight. It was twitching from the other man’s agitation.

Grolo, sitting nearby, said, “He’s right. You two are making enough noise to draw the whole city watch here.”

Horial glared at his companions, disliking the rebukes while he was in the middle of a good fight, but he realized the wisdom of their words. Finally, he

said to Edilus in a whisper, “Like it or not, you’re here with us, and unless you want to ruin what all of your brethren—and my other soldiers—just died to help make happen, let’s save this argument for later.”

Edilus stood very still, staring at Horial for a long moment as if thinking. Finally, the druid nodded. “I will help you as I can,” he said, “because Shinthala believed you had a purpose that did not cross us. But my aid will not include anything that would harm my people in some way.”

Horial spread his hands in acceptance and said, “None of us would expect any less of you. And so you understand, I grieve for your brethren as much as I do for my own soldiers.” He tried to roll over onto his side, but the arrow embedded in his knee would not allow it. Wincing as he jarred it, Horial sank back to the ground in pain.

“Let me see your injuries,” Edilus said, kneeling next to his counterpart. “I may be able to tend them.”

Horial nodded and tried to sit still while the druid worked on him, several times stifling cries of pain as Edilus’s touch became too ambitious. As he waited, the sergeant tried to get his bearings.

The group had arrived in a lush garden, and in fact, the portal that had delivered them there seemed be anchored to an overgrown archway that formed a lopsided arbor. It looked very old and neglected, and thick vines and shrubs had completely enclosed it on every side, providing a welcome screen of camouflage for the four of them. Though he could not distinctly remember seeing the location before, something about the place convinced Horial that Adyan was correct. They were on the grounds of the Generon.

“Why does this look familiar?” he asked, looking

over at Adyan, who was just returning from a quick foray into the underbrush to scout. “Have you been here before?”

“You don’t remember?” the other man asked softly, squatting down beside Horial.

Horial shook his head. “It reminds me of something, but …” Whatever memories were hidden away were giving him an uneasy feeling.

“It was a long time ago,” Adyan drawled, sounding pensive. “Vambran was with us.”

Horial looked at his friend, remembering it all. “That night,” he breathed. “The plantains.”

Adyan nodded. “Yes. The plantain trees are just that way,” and he pointed in the near-darkness, “and the pond where we found—” he stopped himself then, pointing but not finishing the thought.

“Of all the ridiculous luck,” Horial said, bracing himself as Edilus took hold of the first arrow, the one in his knee. When the druid jerked the missile out, Horial had to clench his teeth to keep from yelling. “How did Tymora see fit to drop us right here?” he asked after he got his breath back.

Edilus handed the sergeant a little leather pouch. “Eat it,” he said, moving around to Horial’s shoulder:

Opening the pouch, the sergeant could see something gray and moist inside. It did not look tasty. As Edilus took hold of the second arrow, Horial tipped the pouch back and let the contents slide down his throat. The mixture tasted sour, but he did not have long to reflect on it, for Edilus yanked hard.

Horial squeezed his eyes shut to deal with the burning pain, but whatever Edilus had given him warmed his body and eased the discomfort. He suspected it might have been some druidic variation of a temple-issue healing potion. Soon, his wounds had

closed and he felt good enough to walk. He climbed to his feet and peered around.

“So,” Horial asked of no one in particular, “which is the fastest way out of here?”

“Through the front gates,” Adyan said.

“Yes, I’m sure that the guards won’t bat an eye as three members of the Sapphire Crescents and a fellow from the distant woods go strolling past with no explanation of how they came to be on the grounds,” Horial said wryly. “That’s not one of your better plans.”

“I’m serious,” Adyan replied. “We might look a little odd, but tonight’s Sammardach. Next to Spheres and the Night of Ghosts, it’s one of the biggest parties of the season. Why shouldn’t we be visiting the Generon tonight?”

“Sammardach,” Horial said, musing. “That just might work,” he agreed. “Though it’s pretty late to still be here.”

Adyan shrugged. “We got to drinking with some stable hands,” he offered, “or we got lost in the gardens and had to find our way out. Sounds reasonable to me. The palace is huge, after all.”

Horial shrugged, too. “Let’s do it,” he said.

Grolo snorted. “What was that you were saying about Tymora?” he muttered as the four of them began to push through the bushes, forcing their way out from the forgotten arbor.

“I was saying,” Horial answered, shoving aside a low-hanging branch dripping with moisture, “that we ought to remember to drop a coin in her fountain next time we pass by. And I thought we were done tromping through wet bushes in the middle of the night,” he added, drawing a soft, if brief, chuckle from the rest of the Crescents.

It did not take them long to break through onto open ground. Once they were visible, the group began to stroll casually, trying to look as if they had just been meandering through the grounds of the palace, minding their own business at the party. A couple of times, Horial suggested to Edilus that it wasn’t necessary to prowl, but the druid couldn’t quite grasp the concept of acting natural.

Or rather, Horial realized, he’s acting as naturally as he knows how. He’s probably never been to a city before.

Indeed, as Horial watched, Edilus stared about in wonder and amazement at the grand edifice known as the Generon. More than once, the sergeant thought he saw the druid shake his head in dismay or heard him mutter some unintelligible expletive, but otherwise, Edilus seemed able to keep calm.

The foursome made its way across the grounds and along the paths toward the front of the palace, where the gates stood, and Adyan began to whistle a cheerful tune as they walked. They spotted a guard or two along the way, and both times they were given careful scrutiny, but no one challenged them.