me anything,' she continued, pouting again. 'It's supposed to be a complete surprise.'
'As well it should. It's not every day you turn sixteen, you know.'
The carriage continued on, passing the houses of the truly great merchant families. On the left was the ever-private House Darowdryn, whose occupants all sported hair so fair as to be almost white. Several blocks down and on the right was the sprawling Cauldyl estate, home of the most sneering and pretentious family Vambran had ever had the displeasure to meet. Up the next rise, the spires of House Mestel rose up, peeking over a whole grove of suth trees strategically planted around the entire perimeter of the grounds, just behind the outer wall, for privacy.
Vambran grimaced slightly, thinking of the Mestels, and how his grandfather had been born a bastard to one lordling of that family. Even after Obiron Matrell had changed his name and made a fortune with his own merchant company, the Mestels still looked down their noses at what they considered cousins born on the wrong side of the district. Vambran doubted it would ever be any different. House Matrell was a fine merchant empire, but it was small compared to the half-dozen or so truly ancient ones, in existence almost since the founding of the city.
The lieutenant shook his head, ridding his mind of such unpleasant thoughts.
Instead, he turned to his sister and said, 'So, Em, tell me what's been going on in the great halls of our beloved homestead. How's Mother?'
Emriana shrugged and replied, 'She's fine. Spends all day with Grandma, or staring out the window daydreaming, as usual.'
'Hmm,' Vambran grunted. 'How about Evester? How are the twins?'
'Evester is turning into Uncle Dregaul more and more every day,' Emriana replied with a sour tone. 'The two of them go off to the offices and hunch over their books all day. He hardly has time for his own children, much less me. But the twins are fine, though I can't keep Quindy out of my rooms, lately. She wants to try on my clothes all the time. And Obiron is just a wild thing. He actually went running through the garden the other day with a loaded crossbow, screaming at the top of his lungs. I thought he was hunting one of the panthers or something.'
Vambran swallowed hard at that image and shuddered. Emriana seemed not to notice. Recovering, the lieutenant forced a chuckle.
'Now you see why I joined the Crescents. Too much niece and nephew is never a good thing.'
'Yeah, well, I've been lobbying Grandma to build me a private wing. After the crossbow incident the other day, I think she was almost convinced.'
Vambran laughed out loud at that. He could only imagine how Grandmother Hetta, the matriarch of the family, would have reacted. He found himself honestly smiling again, thinking fondly of seeing her. He doubted she would have retired for the evening-the woman kept long hours, even at eighty-one years of age. Uncle Dregaul might have managed the day-to-day operations of the family business, but Hetta Debrinne Matrell was still the head of the household.
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.'
