Sapphire Crescent (4 page)

Emriana grunted, not really sure what her brother was talking about and not really caring. To her, all of the musty old parchment sheets and columns of figures Dregaul and Evester poured over every day were the worst kind of boring.

Evester didn’t seem to notice her sour reaction to his answer. He merely stared out over the city, his arms folded across the parapet.

“Do you realize how much of this city is controlled by only a handful of families?” he asked.

“No,” Emriana replied, thinking it was time to go. “A lot?”

“Nine-tenths of this city’s wealth is tied up in half a dozen family holdings. Ninety-nine one-hundredths is controlled by perhaps fifteen Houses. It really is remarkable. And it makes it exceedingly difficult for any true business breakthroughs to occur. No one is willing to explore the possibility of joint ventures, mergers, anything bold, because that would involve risk. And when you take a risk, there are other Houses perched around the periphery, waiting to gobble up your failures.”

“Are you going to tell Uncle Dregaul that I snuck out, or not?” Emriana asked at last, tired of playing the waiting game with Evester to see what his intentions were. “You know that tonight is Spheres. I really don’t want to miss it.”

“Er, what?” Her brother replied, apparently drawn out of much deeper thoughts. “No, Em. That’s between you and him. But if you ask me my opinion—”

“I didn’t.”

“—I would suggest,” Evester continued, ignoring the interruption, “that you think seriously about what’s to be gained versus what there is to lose. It’s really all about acceptable risk. A night on the town against possible danger to life and limb and a scolding from Uncle Dregaul. Every time you climb up onto the roof, every time you prowl the streets of the city

unescorted, you are risking much more than what you gain. In the business world, you’d be considered a poor investment. Too much risk.”

Emriana rolled her eyes.

“Look,” she said, “my birthday is in three days, Vambran is returning tonight with presents, and there’s a festival in the streets. I’m not sitting here while all of the fun is out there.”

“Ah, yes,” Evester replied. “My prodigal brother returns from high adventure on the open seas once again. No wonder you’re so eager to be on your way.” He shrugged and added, “Suit yourself, but be careful. You know what kind of trouble roams the streets on a night like this.”

“I won’t be wandering alone,” Emriana explained. “Uncle Dregaul is sending the carriage to fetch Vambran, and I just want to ride along.” The girl gave an exasperated sigh and muttered, half to herself, “I don’t know why he wouldn’t just let me go. I’m not a child.”

She rolled her eyes again, though she realized Evester probably couldn’t see the expression.

“Besides,” she added, “Vambran said he had a surprise for me, made it seem like he was standing right next to me, whispering in my ear. Can you imagine how he pulled that off?”

Emriana gushed, smiling as she got to her feet. She twirled once, imagining what it must be like out there, watching the Waukeenar clergy parading through the streets as they flung the glass spheres filled with coins, cheap trinkets, and tiny gems up into the air.

“And if you’re still worried, don’t be,” the girl said, “because I’ve got this….”

She withdrew a slender bejeweled dagger where it had been nestled in a finely tooled scabbard, which itself was tucked into the sash at her waist. The dagger had been a present from Vambran, brought all the way from Aglarond.

“Do you even know how to use that?” Evester asked.

“Yes,” Emriana retorted, rolling the dagger deftly through her hands then flipping it through the air before smoothly resheathing it. “I got Argen and some of the other guards to teach me a few things.”

Evester snorted. “A little sleight of hand is far different from a street fight, you know. And you’d better not let Uncle Dregaul catch you hanging around the barracks. You know he won’t consider that very proper.”

“Duly noted,” Emriana replied sarcastically, using a phrase both Evester and Uncle Dregaul seemed fond of and employed frequently. “If there’s nothing else, then, dear brother, I’m on my way.”

“Em,” Evester said, looking pointedly at the girl then.

“Yes?” she said, pausing before hopping up onto another section of wall to begin her descent toward the perimeter of the estate and the streets of Arrabar beyond.

“Be careful.”

Emriana smiled.

“I will,” she said, and waved once before she crossed over the wall and began to tiptoe along the peaked roof of the estate.

She could feel Evester’s eyes still on her as she reached the edge and dropped down over the side. From there, it was a simple matter to cross over to the kitchen, and the barracks, by way of the roofs. The back side of the barracks was close to a zalantar tree that grew near one wall of the property. Emriana dropped down into it from the roof of the barracks, using its many fanned-out trunks to stabilize herself. Making her way across carefully, she reached the wall and scrambled onto the walkway atop it.

She swung her legs out over the smooth parapet. Settling onto her stomach, she carefully lowered herself down the other side. She sought a small,

jutting stone that she knew would be there with her toe and, when she found it, she eased her weight onto it. She then slithered down the rest of the way and dropped behind some shrubs that ran between the wall and the cobblestone street.

Emriana smiled in the darkness, pleased with herself at her successful escape and somewhat breathless with the excitement of her misbehavior. The sounds of Spheres were definitely louder, and she could tell that the crowds were just a street or two over. She quickly slipped out of her dark, snug clothing and boots and exchanged them for a colorful, tight-fitting dress and matching slippers that she had hidden in the bushes earlier in the day. Then she stood in the shadows, waiting for the carriage that her uncle had sent to fetch her brother to roll past. It wasn’t long before the black, open-topped vehicle swung into view, drawn by a pair of white horses. Emriana saw Prandles, seated smartly on the driver’s bench.

Perfect timing.

Emriana stepped out of her hiding place in the darkness and into view, almost skipping in delight.

• • •

“Remember, now, I don’t want to see your ugly faces for a whole day,” Vambran Matrell said to the pair of soldiers standing before him on the deck of Lady’s Favor.

He stared down at the satchel resting at his feet, and toward the gangplank, then turned back once more and caught them both smiling.

“Aye, sir,” Horial Rohden said, snapping to attention and giving Vambran a sharp, if mocking, salute. “Twenty-four hours, on the nose.”

The man’s three-day beard and disheveled black hair contrasted noticeably with his pretensions of formality.

“A whole day, lieutenant? Are you sure you can bear to wait that long?” Adyan Mercatio drawled, a twinkle in his eye, his own grin exaggerating the white scar that ran diagonally down from the middle of his chin to the jawline on his left side.

Vambran dismissed their jibes with a quick wave of his hand.

“One day isn’t going to be nearly long enough,” he replied in jest. “Now get out of here. I’ll see you at the Crying Claw tomorrow night.”

The lieutenant motioned for the two men to depart, and the pair eagerly grabbed up their own satchel bags.

As the two men turned toward the gangplank, Horial turned back to Vambran and gave him a quick, meaningful look.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked quietly, and Adyan turned around, too, sharing the concerned look.

Vambran nodded and motioned again.

“I’m all right,” he said, trying to sound reassuring. “It’s only for a few days. Now go.”

Horial and Adyan frowned together, but they finally nodded in return and turned to go, scampering down the gangplank and disappearing into the hustle and bustle of the quay. Vambran watched his longtime friends vanish and sighed, not feeling nearly as confident as he tried to appear to the concerned pair.

Can I stomach my family for that long? he asked himself.

He wasn’t sure he knew the answer. The carriage Uncle Dregaul would have sent for him hadn’t arrived, but that wasn’t surprising, given the fact that it was the evening of Spheres. The streets would be packed with revelers, and Prandles, the carriage driver, would be having a hard time of it. Still, the lieutenant knew it was more than a lack of a ride that

had kept him standing on the deck of the ship for so long. He was simply stalling. After casting one more meaningful look around the deck of Lady’s Favor, he finally, reluctantly, scooped up his own bag of personal effects and started down the gangplank.

Once he was standing on the pier, the lieutenant had to pause for a moment and get his balance. It still amazed him how much adjustment was necessary to go from the gentle roll of the ship to the unwavering feel of dry land, and he had been aboard Lady’s Favor for merely four days. He could only imagine how hard it must be for a true sailor, living almost his entire life at sea, to get rid of his sea legs.

Then again, the man thought, I guess it wouldn’t be any harder than when I first boarded a ship.

As he stood there, remembering how to walk without listing to one side or the other, Vambran sighed, already dreading his visit. Every homecoming to Arrabar was a bittersweet affair, the palpable strain that existed between his uncle and him intertwined with the delight of returning to familiar surroundings. As if to reinforce that point, the familiar scents of Arrabar’s docks wafted past him, the smells triggering boyhood memories. Besides the sharp, tangy smell of pitch mixing with the stale odor of filthy saltwater in the harbor, the lieutenant caught a whiff of hot, spicy thaek buns from a shop nearby.

Hurrying up the pier, he turned onto the quay and moved briskly past the other ships in the harbor, deftly sidestepping the endless morass of longshoremen and sailors, merchants and harbor officials, and the endless stream of goods they loaded and unloaded, even at that time of the evening. They all worked ceaselessly under the light of huge lanterns hung from posts along the entire length of the harbor, and the light was more than ample for the lieutenant to move quickly and confidently.

Thaek buns and dockside memories aside, Vambran wasn’t terribly happy to be back in Arrabar. Just thinking about coming face to face with Uncle Dregaul put his stomach in knots. The older man rarely had much to say to his nephew when Vambran returned home, and when they did speak, it was hardly warm. The lieutenant knew that Dregaul still greatly resented the trouble he had caused for the family, and he couldn’t say that he blamed the man. They seemed to have come to a mutual if unspoken agreement to keep their distance from one another. Trips home to Arrabar were short-lived for a reason.

But beyond that discomfort, the lieutenant simply Found life as a mercenary commander much preferable to the staid environment of a wealthy merchant House. Evester would eventually inherit the reins of the business and seemed to have a knack for it, which was all well and good, Vambran often told himself. He had no desire to be a part of bookkeeping and letters of credit.

Perhaps knowing I will never inherit it makes it easier to scoff, Vambran thought.

Just as quickly, though, the lieutenant dismissed the notion as wishful thinking. The truth was, the free and carousing lifestyle of a mercenary commander in Waukeen’s own private military was satisfying. He was a prince among loyal men, he enjoyed visiting the many exotic locales throughout the Sea of Fallen Stars where his duties often sent him, and he could always find himself in the company of a lady if he so desired.

With all that life in the Sapphire Crescent had to offer, though, Vambran wasn’t foolish enough to discount the benefits of being a member of a prominent mercantile family. His rank in the mercenary company, though not purchased, had been enhanced by his family connections, he knew. And even if he was one of the Crescent’s best and brightest—or so his

captain had claimed—the monthly stipend he received from Uncle Dregaul was nothing to sneer at, for it was in actuality far more than his lieutenant’s pay. And truthfully, he got along well with most of his relatives. He was looking forward to seeing his grandmother, and Emriana of course. Thinking of his younger sister put a smile on Vambran’s face, albeit a brief one.

Uncle Dregaul—and Evester too, more and more— apparently felt the need to make Vambran miserable whenever he returned home from a tour of duty. What was so galling to the lieutenant was the way the older man so prominently displayed his antipathy, despite the fact that only a small circle of older family members knew the truth. There always seemed to be questions surrounding his choices, out-loud musings concerning what he was really doing with his life. That, even though it was common knowledge he would never hold the reins of the family business himself.

Hell, Dregaul was the one who encouraged me to join the temple, Vambran thought, though he knew good and well that, at the time, the man was simply trying to get his nephew out of his sight. Anything to avoid reminding him of what happened, Vambran mused, sighing.

Even so, Vambran knew that soldiering was not what Dregaul had had in mind, and he made a point of expressing that any chance he could. And that was really what the lieutenant’s reluctance was all about. Every time Vambran returned home, his uncle and his older brother would poke and prod, hoping to hear that he was finally going to give up the soldiering, join the ranks of the true temple clergy, and rise to a position of prominence, which would in turn strengthen House Matrell’s position with the Waukeenar. He hated it, and he wanted more than anything just to avoid the whole issue.

When are you going to grow up? the lieutenant could hear his uncle asking. When are you going to

stop wasting your time and opportunities doing a common man’s work?

What you really mean is, when am I going to make amends by being more useful to you, right, Uncle?

Just thinking of the impending confrontation set the lieutenant on edge. Common or not, Vambran liked commanding soldiers, and he wasn’t planning to give it up any time soon. But though the young man might have the firmest of convictions, Dregaul had a habit of manipulating his nephew with guilt. Sooner or later, his uncle would win. He always did. Standing up to Dregaul just made Vambran’s stomach roil.