Brimstone Angels

Havilar and Farideh?”

“No,” Mehen said coldly. Brin took a step back.

“They’re not in their room. And Havilar’s glaive was just lying on the floor.”

Mehen didn’t answer, he just kept staring at Brin in that unnerving way.

“You don’t seem concerned,” Brin said. Again, no answer, and again, Brin felt an uncertain anxiety, like he was being stared down by a stern Tormtar, unhappy with his arguments about the nature of duty.

He backed out of the room. If Mehen wasn’t worried, perhaps Brin shouldn’t be either … but there was still the glaive that shouldn’t have been there, and the missing armor. Something was definitely wrong.

Brin turned and nearly ran smack into Brother Vartan. The priest didn’t move, but stared down at Brin over a box made of bleached driftwood planks.

“Sorry,” Brin said. “I didn’t see you. I’m looking for-”

“We are all looking,” Brother Vartan said. He pressed toward Brin, his eyes shining with a strange film that made them seem paler somehow. “But will we ever find? Not without new eyes. There is so much you cannot imagine. So much you cannot see.” He giggled, in a strained way. “Your mind is too ephemeral to hear the song.”

Brin swung the glaive between them. “Are you all right, Brother?”

“I brought a gift.” The half-elf giggled. “It’s not for you, not yet. They said to give it to her, and only her. They think perhaps she’ll suit better than Anthus ever did. And if she doesn’t?” He giggled again. “Tomorrow’s always another day!”

Vartan pounced toward Brin, and broke into maniacal laughter when the younger man blocked with the heavy glaive. Vartan turned away with the strange casket, and wandered his way up the corridor.

Brin watched him go, the glaive still held before him like a barrier. What, by every watching god, was happening in the House of Knowledge?

You need to leave.

Farideh sat up, startled, and glanced around. Night had fallen and the temple was dark but for the fall of moonlight that struck the statue of Selune. She was alone still, the temple quiet as a tomb. She stretched against stiff muscles. How on earth had she managed to fall asleep? She eyed the statue.

You need to leave.

Farideh startled. It was her own voice in her own thoughts, but it came so suddenly, so insistently. Not an order. Not a threat. A certainty. She needed to be somewhere else. Soon. Now …

The statue looked down at her with a beatific smile.

Farideh’s stomach tightened. She stood and backed away from the altar. She did need to leave. She’d known that. It wasn’t the statue telling her what to do. It couldn’t be. But the hazy memories of the hours before drifted back … the strange calm that had overtaken her with the scent of incense …

Please just make him go away. Please tell me what to do.

You need to leave.

The statue shone in the moonlight, still and quiet. A cloud passed overhead, shadowing the statue, but somehow it seemed to gleam just as brightly. Farideh backed away.

“Thank you,” she said as she reached the door, uncertain of the form, “for the … protection.”

Outside the shrine, all was quiet. Lorcan had left for the moment. She peered up at the broken rooftops around her. He might be anywhere.

“Stay calm,” she whispered to herself, as if hearing her own voice would ground her. The shadows reached out for her, and in turn, out of her more shadows crept, swaddling her like a blanket. She crept across the square and edged her way down the road.

Neverwinter loomed all around Farideh, a toothy monster all shadows and voids. With every step she put between herself and the chapel, her unease grew, and whatever had cooled and calmed her pulse, began to wear away. Her hip still ached where she’d fallen on it, and the rough fabric of the hospital’s robes rasped her scraped tail.

Somewhere, in the dark and broken city, Lorcan was looking for her. Somewhere Rohini might be more dangerous than she’d thought. Somewhere there were Ashmadai. Somewhere Sairche might be watching.

Farideh reached the bridge and scanned the sky. No dark shapes circling the river. No devils, all fire and talons or silver tongues and hungry hands, ready to pluck her up. She hurried across the river.

Lorcan had laid bare the full extent of her foolishness: he was a monster, he had always been a monster, and she was the only one who’d gone along hoping, wishing, pretending it wasn’t so. Such a lamb-brained little idiot, she thought. Only you would be surprised he’d sent an assassin after your family.

How Mehen would crow if he knew.

She passed near the House of Knowledge and thought of what Lorcan had said about Rohini. The biggest viper of them all. Because she was dangerous to Lorcan or dangerous to Farideh? She glanced up again at the sky, at the gathering clouds. A distant roll of thunder rumbled somewhere over the sea.

Lorcan first, she thought. Whatever threat Rohini was, she could wait until Farideh was sure Lorcan wasn’t going to kill anyone.

For Lorcan … she would go to Yvon.

She hurried down the road, glancing up at the darkening sky for the shape of Lorcan diving at her. Yvon had said his warlock friends would be gathering tonight. She’d be safer with them around. And after all, Yvon had managed to protect her from the orc and-

A great clash of thunder startled her, and moments later, the rain started pouring down. Farideh pushed aside her thoughts and sprinted the rest of the way to Yvon’s shop.

The door was locked, but when she tapped, the assistant-Kalam-peered out the window and unlocked it for her. He gave her a stiff nod. “They’re downstairs.”

“Thank you,” she said, trying to shake the rain from her borrowed robes. “Do you have any bandages?”

He shook his head. “You’ll have to ask Master Claven. I’m only on door duty.”

She thanked him again, and passed through the curtain and down into the room Yvon had led her through before. Cold-burning torches lit the room now, and Farideh could see it was much larger than the shop above. A dozen people sat in a rough circle near the center of the room listening to Yvon talking. He paused, looked up at her, and beckoned her down.

“This is the young woman I was telling you about,” he said, as she slid in behind a blonde elf woman. “It’s she who our late, ahem, ‘friend’ was sent after. Farideh, I shall have to introduce you around later, as we’re in the middle of discussing-”

“I don’t see what there is to discuss,” a big tiefling man interrupted. “We’ve dealt with the Glasyans.”

“This isn’t merely about Glasyans,” Yvon said, sounding annoyed. “So let me finish, Creed. The orcs were marked by Sixth Layer magic, but as before, only faintly.”

“And spellscarred,” the tiefling beside Creed said. “You’ve said that.”

“So the Glasyans are trying to use the spellplague,” the elf woman said with a shrug. “They wouldn’t be the first.”

“That would be the simple answer,” Yvon said, “but I suspect it would be the incorrect one. I followed them, you see. The house he brought the orcs to was most interesting. The edge of the Blacklake-”

“Yvon, get to the bloody point!” the elf said.

“The orcs didn’t come out. Not with our priest.”

“So?”

“So, the priest came out, one cask and one mark richer. The second mark overwhelms the first, in most unexpected ways.”

The tiefling man frowned. “Another archduke?”

“No. It was …” Yvon shuddered. “Something else. Let us simply say I did not wish to test it any further than I did. Either the Glasyans are arming some other force, or they are comrades to it. Or they are slaves of it. And more,” he added, “I did some asking. The man is no mere priest. He heads the hospital they run in the House of Knowledge.”

“Brother Vartan?” Farideh asked.

Suddenly a dozen pairs of eyes were on her. On the hospital robes she was wearing. She flushed deeply. Yvon gave her a quizzical look. “Do you know the good brother then?”