Brimstone Angels (30 page)

“Welcome, welcome,” the shopkeeper said as the bells rang again. “I’m so
pleased
you came back. Admiring my wares, hmm?”

“They’re very lovely in this light,” she asked. “Are they all for healing?”

He tapped the side of his nose. “All the ones out here. Come, come. I have tea and some cakes you’re welcome to. But first, I’m Yvon Claven.”

She smiled nervously. “Farideh.”

“Well met, my dear.” He ushered her behind the curtain and pulled out a chair at the small table there. As Yvon brought tea and cakes and cups and saucers, Farideh looked around the large back room. On one side, high shelves packed with boxes reached to the ceiling, and a rack hung with armor in need of repair dominated one wall, each piece tagged with names of owners and blacksmiths. The farther side of the room was given over to leatherworking, and hides of a dozen sorts waited to be shaped into armor. She peered at the grayish hide draped over the table, and wondered what sort of monsters one hunted in Neverwinter.

“You must have a thousand questions,” Yvon said, sitting down. “But I insist you have a cake before you start.”

Farideh took one gingerly, all too aware of the thin gruel she’d had for breakfast. “Thank you. I do have so many questions. But one is more pressing than the others. It’s about my … Lorcan, my devil.”

“Oh?”

“He is …” She searched for the proper term. “A bit aggressive. I want to keep the pact, but … I cannot keep on the way we have. Is there anything I can do?”

“Of course,” Yvon said. “You’re free to change your pact. I suspect it hasn’t mentioned that?”

She shook her head. “How?”

Yvon poured the tea. “Find another devil. Preferably a stronger one, in case it gets it into its head to hold on. But you’d prefer that anyway—there always comes a time to move up.

“Or,” Yvon added after filling his own cup, “you can kill him. He’ll come back eventually, but usually they’re vain enough to stay away. Still, you ought to get a replacement—no sense in tempting fate.” He chuckled to himself. “Lector’s first pact was with an imp, of all things. It took him years to get rid of it. He ended up having to lure it into a temple of Amaunator where their priests sorted it out. Sugar?”

“Oh. Yes. Please.” He dropped two brown lumps into the tea—it had been a long time since Farideh had had sugar, or tea for that matter. She wrapped her hands around the mug.

The steam rising out of her cup curled like the shapes of her brand. She nibbled on the cake thoughtfully. A stronger devil. It wouldn’t be Lorcan. It might be a devil who left her alone. It might be someone
who she didn’t have to worry about saying no to. It might be someone who gave her more impressive spells. It might be better.

And, too, it might be worse. She wouldn’t be so foolish as to say Lorcan was good, but she was not worried that he might force her to do anything unspeakable. Yet. All else aside, she knew Lorcan.

“Is it possible … Do you think there’s a way to keep the same devil, but … tighten its reins?”

Yvon smiled and sipped his tea. “No. As far as the devils are concerned,
they
hold the reins. And in a sense, they do. If you try to reason them out of that mindset, at best you’re only arming them with ways to needle you. The key, it seems, is not to hand the reins over too easily.” He gestured for her to drink her tea and put another biscuit on her plate.

She sipped reluctantly. The tea was bitter and earthy under the sugar, and it burned her tongue a little. Kill Lorcan, take on a different devil’s pact, or continue as she was. They were not the choices she’d hoped for.

“It isn’t easy,” Yvon said. “And to think you’ve been going at it all alone.” He clucked his tongue. “At least you have a little power, yes? It’s not as if you’re stuck with Lector’s imp.”

“A little, yes,” she said. She broke a piece off the biscuit and pressed it nervously to crumbs between her fingers. “I know most people would say it’s foolish of me, but … most days, I’m glad of the pact.”

Yvon leaned forward and gave her a very solemn look over the rims of his spectacles. “I wouldn’t say you’re foolish for that. After all, without the pact, you wouldn’t have seen the truth of the wider world, the path to true power.”

It was a strange way to say it, but Farideh supposed he was right. If she hadn’t taken Lorcan’s pact, she would still be in Arush Vayem, she would never have seen a Neverwinter full of tieflings, she would not know she was capable of protecting a caravan or trapping a bounty.

“And I would guess this Lorcan is the one who introduced you to the Raging Fiend?”

Farideh set her cup down and frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“Asmodeus. The king of the Hells. We often prefer his epithet.”

“Oh.”
The king of the Hells’ own blood runs in your veins
. “Yes. I mean, I knew some things. Before.”

The bells over the door jingled as a customer came in. Yvon shook his head with a weary smile. “Business intruding on pleasure. I’ll be just a moment.” He stood and passed through the curtained door.

We often prefer his epithet
. Farideh sighed. There was so much she didn’t know about warlocks. A whole way of speaking of devils, for one. She wondered if Lorcan’s lady had such an epithet. She took a bite of teacake.

When she heard the rasping voice from the front room, her mouth dried up, threatening to choke her on her mouthful. “I’m looking for people. Not things. A boy, a dragonborn, and a pair of tieflings.”

“Oh?” Yvon said. “Friends of yours?”

Farideh stood too quickly, scraping the chair against the floor, her heart in her throat. The voice continued, “One of the tieflings wields a glaive. The other has a silver eye. Have you seen them?”

“Perhaps. I believe I saw two tieflings of that description just the other day. Young ladies?”

“Yes. Where are they?”

“I must admit I don’t know,” Yvon said. “Are they
friends
of yours?”

Farideh crept to the curtained door, angled her head so she could see through the sliver of a gap between the pieces of fabric. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from crying out.

The orc from the forest, the one who had shot Havilar, the one who returned in her nightmares, stood in Yvon’s shop, a naked axe in his hand. Yvon listened to him as politely as he had anyone who came into his shop, giving no clue that he might have noticed things weren’t quite right.

The orc curled his lip. “Good friends. You tell me where they are.”

“As I said, I don’t know.” Farideh felt her shoulders drop. At least Yvon knew that much. “But I believe I can be of some assistance to you. You see, they were looking for someone I am acquainted with. If you’d like, I could bring you to our mutual friend right now, and he might be able to shed some light on where your friends lie.”

The orc peered at Yvon, as if he didn’t quite believe his luck. He turned the axe over in his hand several times. “Now?”

“As soon as I get my things.”

The orc snorted. “I’ll be outside.” The bells jangled again, and Farideh stepped back from the curtain just as Yvon came through. The kindly expression had grown tight.

“I don’t need to ask if you know him,” he said.

“He tried to kill me,” she whispered, shaking her head. “He almost killed my sister. I don’t know why he’s hunting us.”

Yvon squeezed her arm. “It will be all right. We’ll take care of him, don’t you worry. I had hoped to invite you to our gathering this afternoon, Farideh, but under the circumstances, I think that is a poor plan. Come along.” He ushered her through the closed door, down a set of stairs, and through a dark cellar room that felt as if it were much larger than the building upstairs. Yvon led her through the dark without hesitation, and aided her up another flight of stairs. He unlocked a second door and held it wide as she exited into a small yard with a quartet of chickens and a dozy donkey.

“Wait here a bit until I’ve led him away.”

“You must be careful—”

Yvon held up a hand. “You’re not to worry, remember? We can handle him. Now, later on, after nightfall, if you’d like to come back, we’ll have a more informal meeting right here. You can meet Lector and the others. And I’ll let you know that your little problem is taken care of, all right? We protect our own.” Farideh nodded and stepped back.

“Keep clear of the wood for a few hours,” he added, and he shut the door tight.

“Why?” she asked, but the door was closed and Yvon was gone. Why should she stay out of the wood? Why should she even think of going into the wood? Perhaps he was going to get the garrison and they would sweep the forest for more orc assassins. Perhaps Yvon’s friends didn’t want to worry about her seeing them kill the orc. Perhaps they were worried she was too new to use her powers. She remembered the orc’s cruel eyes and shuddered.

Yvon had told her not to worry, but she had a very bad feeling that things were going to turn out differently than he’d expected.

L
ORCAN OPENED THE PORTAL TO THE
N
EEDLE OF THE
C
ROSSROADS
and stepped from the courts of Amn to his mother’s treasure room in the Hells. Bloody djinn, he thought. What a mess. At least he’d managed to convince his Phrenike heir to get out of Calimport. There might be a half-dozen others like him, but Lorcan had better things to do than hunt down another one and convince him to take up the pact. A day or so of reminding the Phrenike heir what he stood to lose, what his foremother would have done, what Lorcan was going to do if he didn’t start packing his things before the bloody genasi realized they very much wanted the Phrenike heir dead—well, it had been time better spent.

And it had kept him busy and away from the scrying mirror.

He stood before the iron mirror and scowled at his reflection. As crowded as Calimport and Amn were, he’d had no choice but to alter his appearance. The face that looked back at him was built on the same bones as Lorcan’s, but he didn’t look like himself. His skin was no longer red, but a middling tone that was acceptable most everywhere on Toril. His hair a dark, murky blond. His eyes were still black, but the whites that surrounded them made him look as if he were goggling like an idiot. No horns, no wings, no pointed teeth—everything devilish stripped out of him, and only the human left behind.

And, he thought glancing down at the back of his hands, though it wasn’t supposed to, the spell that shifted his appearance hurt like
the Hells. He reversed the enchantment slowly, wincing against the pain. It took him nearly a quarter hour to change back, and left him sweating and sore—but still, it hurt less than doing it quickly. When he opened his eyes, the backs of his hands were red again. He sighed. Someday he ought to put a little more effort into learning that spell properly.

But not today. Fidgeting with the scourge-pendant, he waved the activating ring over the mirror. After that night in the forest, he’d decided to leave her to her own devices for a while. See how she liked things without her “sword.”

With any luck, Goruc would have caught up with them, dealt with the priest, the acolyte, and Mehen, and Farideh would be nothing but grateful to see Lorcan turn up again.

The mirror’s surface swirled. It started to form a mountain road. Then stopped, swirled again. Started to form the gates of a city. Stopped. Swirled. The city again. A broken-down temple. A street. The city.

And no Farideh.

Dread coiled in his stomach. Goruc would not have gone against him, not after seeing all Lorcan threatened. Lorcan waved the ring over the mirror again. This time it showed him Goruc, wild-eyed and storming down a street, his axe still clearly in hand.

Lorcan cursed under his breath and waved the ring over the mirror. This time the image closed in on a building—a shop with a large sign he had no time to read—before leaping back to the gates.

“Godsdamned, piece of—”

“Troubles, Lorcan?”

Lorcan cried out and spun around, fire in his hands. Rohini raised an eyebrow at the spell—a spell that would not so much as singe a succubus.

“Not at all,” Lorcan said, more calmly than he felt. He shook the flames out. “You surprised me.”

“Not as much as you surprise me.”

Lorcan eyed her a moment. Rohini’s voice was no longer a purr but a growl, and she looked more ready to physically tear his heart out than to break it. “What do you mean?” he said carefully.

“What is your warlock doing in Neverwinter?” she asked.

“Neverwinter?” he said, trying hard to sound puzzled. The mountain road. The city gates in a towering wall. Oh, shitting Hells, Farideh, he thought. No, no, no!

“Invadiah didn’t tell me you were involved.”

“I’m not,” he said. “If one of my warlocks has gone off to Neverwinter, it’s simply a coincidence.”

“A coincidence?”

“There are a lot of cities in the world. Is there any
reason
she shouldn’t be in Neverwinter?”

“You know damned well there is,” Rohini said. She jabbed a taloned finger into his chest. “You pretend like you don’t know or care what happens in the Hells, but you haven’t fooled me at all, half-blood. You know Invadiah’s plans. Are you acting on her orders?”