Finally, Pilos turned a last corner and found himself in a dead end.
Bolstering his courage, he moved right to the very end of the hallway and stepped on a smallish projection rising up from the floor in one corner. The resulting click was barely audible, but Pilos held his breath anyway, ready to bolt if there was any indication that someone on the far side of the secret portal had heard it open. The distinct sound of voices began to issue through the slender crack that had formed, but they did not change in pitch or volume. When he was at last satisfied that no one had detected his presence, Pilos pulled the door slightly more ajar, peeking through the crack that widened. The door opened into a small alcove in Mikolo Midelli's study where an elegant statue of Waukeen rested.
It was clear to the young man that several people had gathered in the Grand Syndar's study and that they were most likely clustered around Mikolo's desk. Pilos could recognize almost every voice there, realizing that many of the high priests of the temple had congregated in the chamber and were engaged in a heated debate. Their words stung Pilos as sure as if they had slapped him physically.
'And I say that the Grand Syndar has not yet gone on to meet with the Merchant's Friend, and you are blasphemous for even discussing a successor, yet.' That was the voice of Grand Trabbar Perolin, usually a soft- spoken priest who was kind to everyone. He was one of Pilos's favorites.
'Surely you are not so naive as to believe his recovery is possible?' asked another, Grand Trabbar Huleea, a diminutive, scowling woman who always seemed to glare at lesser priests unless they appeared busy or in prayer. 'You've been a part of the healing circle; you can sense as well as any of us here that Mikolo Midelli is not long for this world.'
Pilos nearly gasped out loud at that revelation, understanding for the first time the true cost of his eavesdropping. He had the knowledge he had feared to possess, that the Grand Syndar was dying. He could no longer pretend there was hope.
'Nonetheless,' Perolin countered, 'I find it noisome to discuss the Grand Syndar in such terms before he sheds his mortal coil and advances to the shores of Brightwater of his own volition. He does not need us driving him there prematurely.'
'It is not a lack of concern for the Grand Syndar's condition that brings us to discuss these matters,' a third voice said, the smooth, repulsively persuasive utterances of Grand Trabbar Lavant. 'Rather, it is a due responsibility for the temple, indeed the faithful among all of Arrabar, that leads us down the path before we would perhaps be comfortable exploring it.
'The simple fact is, our blessed leader and guide has come to the end of his stay here on Abeir-Toril and will soon leave us. If we are not prepared for a seamless transition when that eventuality is upon us, do we not do more harm than good to all of the works he strove for in his long and illustrious career at the helm? Do we not shame ourselves in the eyes of so many if, when we find ourselves leaderless, we cannot act with assertiveness and confidence? That is what separates those of us from the flock that follows us, a sure and indomitable spirit of conviction that we move in the right direction every moment, every day.'
'And I suppose you believe that you are best suited to lead us forward down that treacherous path?' Grand Trabbar Perolin said, his tone making it clear that he did not favor the suggestion in the least.
'If that is the will of the council, I would humbly accept the appointment,' Lavant responded, his tone thickly obsequious.
'You know good and well that the council is filled with your lackeys and confidants, and that, when it comes time for a vote, your name will head the list!' Huleea spat. 'Everyone in this room knows your game, Lavant. Do not think us the blindly pious fools Mikolo was. Your position as Grand Syndar is not secured, yet!'
More voices rose up in argument, but Pilos did not hear them clearly, nor did he particularly care. He had already gently pulled the secret door shut again and had turned and fled back along the narrow tunnel in the wall. He was surprised at the number of tears welling up in his eyes, though not the ache in his chest that was causing them.
For a moment, time seemed frozen to Emriana as she watched a crackling arc of roaring flame come rushing toward her head. Then the girl was falling, having let go of her perch between the walls of the two buildings where she had been climbing. Rough stone scraped at her knees and shoulders as she slid awkwardly down toward the ground, turning her head to avoid the worst of the heat from the fiery blast above.
Emriana's diminutive stature probably had as much to do with her successful escape as any quick reactions on her part. A larger person would undoubtedly have become wedged between the two walls, stuck in the narrow gap and helpless to evade the scorching blast. But the slender girl dropped easily, barely escaping the worst of the withering heat, though her hair was singed sufficiently that the odor of it filled her nostrils. She hit the bottom of the gap and tumbled out, away from the flames, sprawling, half blind from the flash of brightness, into the narrow alley leading back toward The Silver Fish. She landed with a rather soggy splat in the midst of something moist and foul smelling.
Emriana nearly gagged when she realized what she was lying in, and she recoiled as quickly as she could, holding her breath in disgust. In the darkness, she could not see the rivulets of filth flowing toward the grated sewer covers, but she had a pretty good idea what most of it was from the stench. Though the smell nearly overpowered her, the girl had to ignore the nasty stuff covering her front, for it became clear that she was not alone in the alley.
'Evenin', love,' came a male voice from the near-darkness, off to her right. ''Tis a shame for a comely wench such as yourself to be out alone, don't you think?' the man said. Emriana could just make out his silhouette in the light spilling from the doorway beyond. It was the short, gaunt fellow with the greasy hair.
'Aye, and I'll bet she's wishing for a handsome rogue such as yerself to link arms with,' came a second voice, that one female. She stood behind the wiry fellow, and Emriana could see it was the ponderous woman she had been watching inside earlier. 'Maybe we can show her how much more fun she'll have, spendin' the evenin' with us, eh?' the fat hussy added, chuckling unpleasantly.
'Get away from me,' Emriana said warily, backing away from the pair while trying to fling the worst of the filth from her hands. 'I don't need any company.'
'But of course you do!' came a third deep voice from the other direction, behind Emriana, cutting her off from her intended escape route down the alley. 'Leastways, you've got it whether you want it or not,' the man continued, sounding less friendly.
'You know what to do,' came a fourth voice, from above, floating down from the roof. 'You've got your gold. Take care of her.'
Emriana glanced up and saw her quarry, though she was no longer cloaked and hooded. The girl could see by then that it was the short-haired woman she had spotted before, staring at her inside the
Fool! The girl chastised herself, realizing she had blundered right into the trap despite her vigilance. Idiot!
As the two men began to close in on either side of her, Emriana spun and planted her back to the wall, feeling for one of her new daggers, which she had tucked into her belt. She wondered if it was enough to deter unwelcome advances, as her aunt's had been at the bar before. She doubted it, and she hoped her aim would be as good as it had been against the dire-jaguars.
'Now, little monkey-child,' the first man said, only a couple of steps away from Emriana, 'come along and play real nice, and maybe we won't stick you like a pig for roasting.' He was hardly much larger than the girl herself, and he crouched warily on the balls of his feet as he approached.
'I don't think so,' Emriana said, just as the man lunged at her. She slashed at the outstretched hand coming toward her, able to follow it by the glint of a ring shining in the dim light of the distant doorway. Her assailant must have guessed at her intentions, for he snatched his hand back at the last moment, and the girl's dagger sliced through nothing but air.
The bear of a man timed his attack well, though, for at that moment, his very large, muscular arm snaked around Emriana's neck from behind, locking her head firmly in the crook of his elbow. At the same time, she felt his thick, meaty fingers enclose her wrist, clamping down and preventing her from swinging her dagger about again. His grip might as well have been a steel manacle, for she couldn't free her arm at all.
Emriana screamed, and when the skinny man came at her again, she kicked with both feet straight out,
