He wasn't sure he knew the answer. The carriage Uncle Dregaul would have sent for him hadn't arrived, but that wasn't surprising, given the fact that it was the evening of Spheres. The streets would be packed with revelers, and Prandles, the carriage driver, would be having a hard time of it. Still, the lieutenant knew it was more than a lack of a ride that had kept him standing on the deck of the ship for so long. He was simply stalling. After casting one more meaningful look around the deck of Lady's Favor, he finally, reluctantly, scooped up his own bag of personal effects and started down the gangplank.
Once he was standing on the pier, the lieutenant had to pause for a moment and get his balance. It still amazed him how much adjustment was necessary to go from the gentle roll of the ship to the unwavering feel of dry land, and he had been aboard Lady's Favor for merely four days. He could only imagine how hard it must be for a true sailor, living almost his entire life at sea, to get rid of his sea legs.
Then again, the man thought, I guess it wouldn't be any harder than when I first boarded a ship.
As he stood there, remembering how to walk without listing to one side or the other, Vambran sighed, already dreading his visit. Every homecoming to Arrabar was a bittersweet affair, the palpable strain that existed between his uncle and him intertwined with the delight of returning to familiar surroundings. As if to reinforce that point, the familiar scents of Arrabar's docks wafted past him, the smells triggering boyhood memories. Besides the sharp, tangy smell of pitch mixing with the stale odor of filthy saltwater in the harbor, the lieutenant caught a whiff of hot, spicy thaek buns from a shop nearby.
Hurrying up the pier, he turned onto the quay and moved briskly past the other ships in the harbor, deftly sidestepping the endless morass of longshoremen and sailors, merchants and harbor officials, and the endless stream of goods they loaded and unloaded, even at that time of the evening. They all worked ceaselessly under the light of huge lanterns hung from posts along the entire length of the harbor, and the light was more than ample for the lieutenant to move quickly and confidently.
Thaek buns and dockside memories aside, Vambran wasn't terribly happy to be back in Arrabar. Just thinking about coming face to face with Uncle Dregaul put his stomach in knots. The older man rarely had much to say to his nephew when Vambran returned home, and when they did speak, it was hardly warm. The lieutenant knew that Dregaul still greatly resented the trouble he had caused for the family, and he couldn't say that he blamed the man. They seemed to have come to a mutual if unspoken agreement to keep their distance from one another. Trips home to Arrabar were short-lived for a reason.
But beyond that discomfort, the lieutenant simply found life as a mercenary commander much preferable to the staid environment of a wealthy merchant House. Evester would eventually inherit the reins of the business and seemed to have a knack for it, which was all well and good, Vambran often told himself. He had no desire to be a part of bookkeeping and letters of credit.
Perhaps knowing I will never inherit it makes it easier to scoff, Vambran thought.
Just as quickly, though, the lieutenant dismissed the notion as wishful thinking. The truth was, the free and carousing lifestyle of a mercenary commander in Waukeen's own private military was satisfying. He was a prince among loyal men, he enjoyed visiting the many exotic locales throughout the Sea of Fallen Stars where his duties often sent him, and he could always find himself in the company of a lady if he so desired.
With all that life in the Sapphire Crescent had to offer, though, Vambran wasn't foolish enough to discount the benefits of being a member of a prominent mercantile family. His rank in the mercenary company, though not purchased, had been enhanced by his family connections, he knew. And even if he was one of the Crescent's best and brightest-or so his captain had claimed-the monthly stipend he received from Uncle Dregaul was nothing to sneer at, for it was in actuality far more than his lieutenant's pay. And truthfully, he got along well with most of his relatives. He was looking forward to seeing his grandmother, and Emriana of course. Thinking of his younger sister put a smile on Vambran's face, albeit a brief one.
Uncle Dregaul-and Evester too, more and more-apparently felt the need to make Vambran miserable whenever he returned home from a tour of duty. What was so galling to the lieutenant was the way the older man so prominently displayed his antipathy, despite the fact that only a small circle of older family members knew the truth. There always seemed to be questions surrounding his choices, out-loud musings concerning what he was really doing with his life. That, even though it was common knowledge he would never hold the reins of the family business himself.
Hell, Dregaul was the one who encouraged me to join the temple, Vambran thought, though he knew good and well that, at the time, the man was simply trying to get his nephew out of his sight. Anything to avoid reminding him of what happened, Vambran mused, sighing.
Even so, Vambran knew that soldiering was not what Dregaul had had in mind, and he made a point of expressing that any chance he could. And that was really what the lieutenant's reluctance was all about. Every time Vambran returned home, his uncle and his older brother would poke and prod, hoping to hear that he was finally going to give up the soldiering, join the ranks of the true temple clergy, and rise to a position of prominence, which would in turn strengthen House Matrell's position with the Waukeenar. He hated it, and he wanted more than anything just to avoid the whole issue.
When are you going to grow up? the lieutenant could hear his uncle asking. When are you going to stop wasting your time and opportunities doing a common man's work?
What you really mean is, when am I going to make amends by being more useful to you, right, Uncle?
Just thinking of the impending confrontation set the lieutenant on edge. Common or not, Vambran liked commanding soldiers, and he wasn't planning to give it up any time soon. But though the young man might have the firmest of convictions, Dregaul had a habit of manipulating his nephew with guilt. Sooner or later, his uncle would win. He always did. Standing up to Dregaul just made Vambran's stomach roil.
Though that could be hunger, too, Vambran thought, smelling the thaek buns again. He supposed he was hoping a little wry amusement would ease his tensions, at least for a time.
Turning onto a cobblestone-paved street winding up the hill from the harbor, Vambran left the wharf behind and moved deeper into the city of Arrabar, keeping half an eye out for the Matrell carriage. The street was alive with people gathered together or moving in large clumps, many of them dressed gaily and laughing together or singing. Lengths of rope or chain had been strung between buildings or along balconies, from which dangled hundreds of lanterns and multicolored pennants and streamers that wafted in the lazy, salt-laden breeze. The celebration of Spheres was in full swing, he realized.
Vambran spotted a thaek bun cart offering the delicious meals and his mouth began to water. He shifted his satchel to his other shoulder and pulled his coin pouch free of the hidden pocket where he kept it inside his naraebul. He fumbled a pair of coppers out, slipped the pouch back underneath the short cloak, and strolled up to the cart. The proprietor passed him a large bun and took his coin with a smile, and Vambran was on his way, biting into the snack gingerly. His first mouthful rewarded him with spicy meat, mushrooms, and onions soaked in a tomato-and-peppers sauce. He closed his eyes in contentment, savoring the taste.
It's always the food I miss the most, the lieutenant mused, taking another bite.
At the next corner, Vambran was forced to stop, for the crowds there had gotten a lot thicker, and he could see why. One of the many parades common to Spheres was passing by, led by a mite red Halanthi bedecked in his overly gaudy vestments. Even from that distance, Vambran could see the numerous gems and thread-of-gold sparkling all over the Waukeenar priest's scarlet cloak, as well as the robes themselves. The lieutenant thought he recognized the Halanthi, though he wasn't certain. Not that seeing an unfamiliar face bedecked in Waukeenar vestments would have surprised him. The temple swelled with new priests almost every day, drawn to its resurgence since Waukeen had returned to Brightwater. In the two years since the Merchant's Friend had reappeared, the temple's ranks had nearly doubled.
The priest waved and smiled at everyone as he strolled past, followed by a horde of musicians playing a lively dancing tune. They in turn were followed by a large oxen-drawn wagon, also brightly decorated, upon which sat a handful of Telchar and Coins, the most novice of priests in the temple. As they rumbled by, those young men and women alternated between smiling and waving at the crowds and tossing fist-sized spheres of glass up into the air that were filled with cheap pretties-small imperfect gems, a few coppers or silver coins, and perhaps a necklace of beads or two. The spheres shattered whenever they struck anything, though they had been magically altered so that the fragments of glass became as soft as parchment afterward. The crowds who'd gathered along the parade route laughed and ran, trying to scoop up the treasures where they landed, or even attempting to catch the delicate orbs as they fell from the night sky.
A drunk man, amber foam flecking his thick beard, staggered past Vambran, his eyes twinkling in
