and surmounted each obstacle with matchless grace. Moments later the boy walked past her and the musky scent of him made her weak for an instant.
She did not know why the sight of him had affected her so strongly. She had never felt much of an interest in boys; most of those she had met were not worth her time. Nevertheless, since Ord had been paying her such close attention, Krystin had found herself thinking about them with increasing regularity.
Krystin suddenly felt a sharp tug at her waist. She looked down in time to see a curved blade slicing at the golden threads of her waist sash with practiced ease.
'No!' she shouted, realizing that she was about to fall victim to one of the city's many thieves. Twisting away from the blade, not caring if she was cut by its razor-sharp edge, Krystin unwittingly helped the thief slice open her waist sash. There was a slight ripping noise that was absorbed by the sounds of the crowd in the marketplace, and the fistful of gold that she had sewn into the lining rained down to the paved street. With a cry of agony, Krystin dropped to her knees, searching desperately for the emerald locket, which might have fallen as well.
'Krystin!' Myrmeen shouted in genuine distress. All she had seen was Krystin doubling over, as if she had been stabbed. From the periphery of her vision Myrmeen thought she had seen the pale gray arc of a steel blade slicing through the air like a hawk closing in for the kill.
Then she saw the gold at Krystin's feet. A frenzy had already begun. Strangers coalesced on the spot, dropping to their hands and knees to snatch at the gold pieces that were scattered on the ground. Hanging from the girl's sash was the emerald locket that Myrmeen had refused to purchase the day before. Myrmeen snatched the locket from her daughter's waist. Krystin looked up and parted with a wail of sheer agony that brought the crowd to an abrupt, eerie silence.
'Come with me,' Myrmeen said. Grabbing Krystin's limp body by the arm, she lifted the girl into the air and set her on her feet as if she were a child just learning to walk. The Harpers tried to hurry away from the pocket of rapidly swelling attention that they had caused. Only the intervention of the swarthy-skinned acrobat had kept the people from following them as if they were the newest attraction.
'Another show,' he announced, his gaze following Krystin. She was too grief-stricken to respond with anything more than a tear-filled nod of gratitude. Within minutes the Harper group was far from the crowd, but Myrmeen had no interest in talking to the girl until she had her alone. They arrived at the stables and Myrmeen ordered the others to remain behind while she dragged Krystin inside and found a recently vacated stall. The stench of dung rose to Krystin's nose and made her cough.
Myrmeen held up the locket as if it were a totem of her power over the young woman. 'Explain this.'
'Give it back,' Krystin said, her gaze riveted to the emerald surface. All of her strength was suddenly devoted to restraining the urge to leap at the woman. The palms of her hands became clammy.
'This means so much to you,' Myrmeen said in a tired, distant voice. It was the same voice that had pronounced death, life imprisonment, or worse in her tribunal of justice.
Krystin recognized the tone in her voice. Myrmeen had become detached. 'I'll tell you where the rest of your gold is buried if you give me back the locket.'
'Why don't you try taking it from me? You took what was mine without a second thought last night. Why should this be any different?'
'I had to have it,' Krystin said. 'You don't understand.'
'You're right, I don't.'
'What is it you want?' Krystin said, amazed by the tears that were leaking from the corners of her eyes. 'If you want me to leave, I'll go. Just give me the locket.'
'This bauble is more important to you than learning the truth?'
Krystin was suddenly struck with a new vision, one of a scarred, black-haired man with rotten teeth. He raised the shattered leg of a table over his head and was about to bring it down on her face. Instinctively, she backed away and cowered, her hands rising up to ward off the blow in the manner of a frightened child, not a trained warrior.
'I'm not going to hit you,' Myrmeen said.
Suddenly Krystin remembered where she was. The disquieting vision had faded. Myrmeen handed the locket to Krystin. 'Take it. If it means so much more to you than the trust I've placed in you, then go ahead.'
The young woman did not hesitate. She snatched the locket from Myrmeen's hand. The metal was surprisingly cold and offered little comfort as she watched Myrmeen walk away. The sight infused her with a sudden panic. She did not wish to be left alone.
'I'll retrieve the rest of the gold,' Krystin said.
Myrmeen did not stop.
'Just give me a chance. I'll go to the owner of the Bloodstained Sword and confess,' Krystin pleaded.
'As you will,' Myrmeen said, her voice hollow. She had not slowed.
Clutching the locket, Krystin hurried after her. 'I won't lie to you ever again!'
Myrmeen stopped dead, her body tensing. 'Two out of three, child. I'll believe two out of three.'
They walked on in silence, the fragile bond between them strained almost to breaking.
Thirteen
Lord Sixx and his guest were seated at a table in the Gentleman's Hall. The oddities of his flesh were hidden from the casual observer by one of his many sets of eyes, which he used to influence the manner in which he was perceived. 'Is that the one? The boy?' Sixx asked.
The fat man with gnarled hands and blackened teeth shook like a dying mare with palsy. His fear was all- encompassing; he did not seem capable of lying. Nevertheless, Lord Sixx would have felt more comfortable if he could have entered the man's mind and learned his secrets directly. The best time to have attempted this would have been when the man was asleep and fully relaxed. Once inside his mind, Sixx could have manipulated the man's dreams and forced him to reveal any truth he desired to witness. The man would have awakened and thought nothing of the fact that he could not recall his dreams; such occurrences were common. He would not have known that his dreams had been stolen, that they now belonged to Lord Sixx. Sixx was a generous man, however, and he would have left nightmares for the man to feast upon in the years to come.
There was, in truth, an element of danger to this enterprise, which explained why he chose instead to accept the fat man's words. Once'he would not have hesitated to overpower a man's will and invade his conscious mind; he would have looked upon the exercise as an adventure into the unknown, a grand hunt wherein he was the predator stalking his prey through the landscape of their very thoughts. Ten years ago, he would have laughed at the risks involved, for if the prey turned on him and Sixx was killed on the psychic landscape, he would die in reality, too. Today, Lord Sixx, ruler of the night people, consummate master of nightmares and terror, had trouble sleeping.
He needed the belief of his people, the unvarying surrender of their wills to his own. Without belief he would survive, but he would not grow and prosper. Inevitably, a day would come when rivals would try to slay him, just as he had slain his predecessor.
Lately, a significant portion of his time had been spent listening to oily little men like this one, then spending valuable time ascertaining whether or not their claims of dissent within the ranks of the Night Parade were valid. If he found a potential rival, he eliminated the threat. His role as leader of the Night Parade had never been in question. Under his unyielding command, the Night Parade had prospered and become a unified force that existed to best serve the needs of all its people. Their profits were measured not only in human wealth, but also in the contentment of their burgeoning numbers, who were flocking to this place called Faerun at a growing rate.
There is one threat you seem content to ignore, a voice within his mind called out. Imperator Zeal. He has the love and the will of the people within his fiery grasp.
Zeal is not an ambitious man, Sixx countered.
That doesn't matter. His wife, the widow Tamara, hates you. You know why. When you fall-when you are pushed- Zeal will have no choice but to fill the vacancy you will leave.
Do not delude yourself. No one can be trusted. Even your own blood will one day turn on you.
Lord Sixx knew who owned that voice within his skull. The voice had belonged to his father, the man from
