chapter TWELVE
As if in answer to his name, two of Ephitel’s guards slammed open the tavern’s door and burst through. Corin cursed and shook off the woman’s hand. He spun around, hiding his face from the men at the door, and stared down at the table while his mind raced.
Before Corin could fabricate a plan, Ephitel’s voice rang out from the direction of the doorway. “Ho! Tavernkeeper!”
The lady shrank against him, breathless. “What do we do?” Corin almost thought she sounded excited.
“We make a desperate plan and hope for the best,” he said. He snatched up his glass and swallowed the rest of his wine at a gulp, then reached instinctively into his cloak for a purse that wasn’t there.
Instead, his hand closed on the washed-leather bag that had served him so well when he’d rescued Iryana. He threw one quick glance over his shoulder, surveying the room, and saw the tavern’s owner emerge from the kitchens, wiping his hands anxiously as he headed toward Ephitel and the guards.
Time was short, and the circumstances were imperfect, but he saw no other way out. A pinch of the dwarven starburst powder had served him in the slaves’ tent, but this common room was not as dark, and his opponents were better prepared.
He cursed softly to himself and dropped the whole bag on the table. After a moment’s consideration, he turned it upside down, careful that none should spill, and ripped away the braided cord that tied it closed. Now it was little more than a leather cloth gathered over a pile of dust more valuable than a prince’s ransom.
The lady bounced upon her toes, anxious to be away. “Really? At a time like this, you pay your bill?”
“Something like it,” Corin said. He darted to the nearest table and grabbed the sleeve of the lord seated there, shaking his attention away from Ephitel.
“Please,” Corin panted, “please, for the love of Oberon, do not let Ephitel see what’s on that table!”
Then Corin grabbed the lady’s hand again and, without a backward glance, dragged her hastily toward the kitchen. His clothes were well suited to skulking through the gloom, and once the lady stopped protesting, her dark-purple cloak served just as well.
The noisy arrival of the guards had caused some commotion, and as the patrons farthest from the door stretched up on their toes to gain a clearer view, they made a screen for Corin and the lady to slip behind. They went together through a narrow door and right into the sear and clatter of a busy kitchen.
A servant’s entrance in the back wall stood open on a narrow alley. Corin grinned and started that way, but he’d barely gone a pace before the lady said, “He’ll have guards on that escape.”
Corin snatched a pair of heavy knives from a nearby counter, eyed them critically, then tossed one aside in favor of a corer. “Of course he will,” Corin said. “But likely only one or two. I can handle one or two guards in a narrow alley.”
“Do you mean manling guards or Gesoelig’s elves?”
The question stopped Corin in his tracks. He turned to her. “Are they much better?”
She rolled her eyes. “Better than a manling? Yes. Stronger. Faster. Smarter.”
“Then arrogant and self-assured,” Corin said. “I’ll take them by surprise.”
“Not Ephitel’s men. Careless men do not last long in his command.”
Corin rolled his eyes and sighed. “Then let me think.” He scanned the room, meeting the curious eyes of a scullery maid and the glare of a cook too outraged to find his voice. Corin offered him a nod, then peeked back out into the common room.
Ephitel and his two guards had found Corin’s abandoned table. The tavern’s owner was standing behind them, talking frantically, but Ephitel focused entirely on the other patron Corin had spoken to. The ugly little lord was telling everything. At a gesture toward the kitchen, Ephitel nodded and sent the two guards rushing that way.
Corin waited still, just long enough to see Ephitel’s eyes dart toward the overturned bag, then Corin grabbed the lady’s arm and ran for the back door. He ripped the door open and shouted out into the alley, “Help! Help! He’s in the kitchens, dressed up like a cook!”
Then he stepped behind the open door a moment before a uniformed guard came charging in, with another on his heels. Corin dropped the coring knife, caught up a heavy pan from the counter there, and dealt the second soldier a vicious blow to the back of the head. The leading soldier turned at the disturbance, but Corin caught him on the upswing and dropped him senseless.
The lady was still standing where he’d left her, her jaw hanging open. Corin shook his head. “And you said they were smart.”
The door to the common room flew wide, one of Ephitel’s guards looming nearly large enough to block the gap. Corin glanced over the man’s shoulder, then cursed and dove toward the alley door, dragging the lady behind him. He closed his eyes and flung his cloak over his face, but even so—even in the alleyway outside the kitchen—the flare of light and sound stabbed through his head and sent him sprawling.
The effect would have been worse within the kitchen. The guards would be no more threat than those that Corin had assaulted. And in the common room itself, Ephitel would be as good as blind and deaf for hours, if not days. Corin grinned despite the pounding in his head. He blinked to dissipate the purple haze across his vision, then swallowed hard when at last he could see.
A contingent of the Guard was waiting in the alley. Not one or two, but more than a dozen. Some were armed with swords and some with bows. Far more men than Corin could have felled with a stolen pan. But every one had been staring at the open doorway. Now they lay upon the ground or crouched in pain, clawing at their eyes and putting up pitiable wails.
A dozen in the back. How many more out front? It seemed an awful lot to capture one informant. But then…how much did Ephitel know? The druids had expected Corin, had recognized him from something Oberon had said. Could the king have shared the same predictions with his once-trusted lord protector? Could Ephitel know from their short encounter how much a threat Corin truly was?
The lady’s groans dragged Corin from his thoughts. She’d had her back to the blast, chasing Corin out into the street, so she was not as badly stricken as the ambushers had been. Still, she stumbled after Corin, eyes strained wide but obviously unseeing.
Corin pulled her close to tell her, “It will pass.”
“I’m blind!” she cried.
“You’re not blind. It will pass.”
“I am! And deaf as well!”
“You’ll end up dead or Ephitel’s prisoner if you don’t shut up. Stay close to me. The powder’s effects are not permanent.”
When she did not cry out again, Corin nodded and led her down the alley at a trot. There was at least another contingent of the lord protector’s guards stationed on the street, but most of them were worse off than the ones he’d left in the alley, and the rest were caught up in a crowd of curious onlookers attracted by the commotion.
Corin and the lady bumped and shoved their way against the current, then finally broke free of the press and settled into the flow of traffic two blocks over. They mixed in with the crowd, moving ever away from the tavern. When Corin judged he had at least two miles behind him and no suspicious eyes watching, he pulled the lady into the shadow of a doorway.
For some time he simply leaned against the stone wall, exhausted, while the lady caught her breath. Then he asked her, “How’s your hearing?”
“I hear the sound of bells,” she said. “But I am not deaf.”
“And your sight?”
“I couldn’t stalk a fox by moonlight, but I don’t think that’s required.”
“Not at all,” Corin said. “And whatever remains will pass soon enough.”
“That is not what troubles me,” she said.
“Then what?”
“I did not know there were manling sorcerers. It is a fearsome thought.”
Corin chuckled. “I’m no sorcerer. I’m just a man with useful friends.”
The lady’s eyes narrowed. “What manner of friends? I’ve never seen the druids do anything like that.”
“Not the druids. A dwarf from Aerome.”
“Oh, dwarves,” she said, dismissive, but a moment later her eyes went wide. “A dwarf! Was that black powder?”
“Not black powder, or everyone in that tavern would be dead. But something like it, yes. Something far more expensive.”
The lady wasn’t really listening. She tapped a finger to her chin, then shook her head. “Friends with the dwarves. No wonder Ephitel is so interested in you.”
“What?”
“The prince has sought for years to get his hands on a good supply of black powder. If he heard of a mere manling who had found a way—”
“I grow tired of that name.”
She shrugged. “It is the way of things.”
“Still, that cannot be the reason behind Ephitel’s interest,” Corin said. “I haven’t used that powder before in this…place.”
“Something about you caught his interest! He is offering a large reward for your head.”
“He brought half a regiment to arrest me.”
“And now he knows about your alliance with the dwarves.”
“I don’t have an alliance with the dwarves! I stole a leather pouch from a wizard’s study.”
“Oh.” She brightened. “Good.”
“Good?”
She shrugged. “It means you will still take me to the king. If you could have offered Ephitel black powder, he’d have bought your loyalty.”
“You overestimate his generosity and overlook the larger problem.”
“Which is?”
“He’s hunting for me now. Our only hope of thwarting him lies in the palace, and I suspect there are more than a few of Ephitel’s guards between here and there.”
“Thousands,” the lady said. “Those who aren’t on the streets are stationed—”
“In the palace?” Corin didn’t even wait for her nod. “Then I’m out of ideas. We’ll have to leave.”
A melancholy silence settled over the two of them. Corin peeked out from their nook, searching up and down the street for any sign of Ephitel’s guards, then shrank back into the shadows.
The lady was staring at him. “Leave?”
“It’s our only chance. We’ll slip out of town, find some quiet country place to hide until—”
“Country?” Her voice was shrill. “I’m not leaving the city!”
“Would you prefer to fall into Ephitel’s hands?”
“No, but—”
“Then we have to run,” Corin said. “It’s part of the game when you’re playing against powerful enemies. If we give him time to forget about us, it’ll give me a chance to learn more about the situation. Make some connections. If I had half the resources here that I commanded back home—”
“What resources?”
The lady’s question brought Corin back to himself. He shook his head. “Useful friends, again. I was well connected back home.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Connected to what?”
“The city’s darker element. There are those who trade in secrets—”
“Oh, thieves,” she said, in the same way she’d dismissed the thought of dwarves before. “You’ll certainly find more of them here than you would hiding in some manling farmer’s barn.”
“Yes, but only if I’m at liberty,” Corin said. “This is delicate work. It takes time.”
“Not really. Just meet with the Nimble Fingers. They call themselves thieves.”
This time it was Corin’s turn to stare. His mouth worked for a moment before he found his words. “Nimble Fingers? Jezeeli has a Nimble Fingers?”
The lady frowned. “Are there others? I thought it was Avery’s own idea.”
“Avery? Avery of Jesalich?” He blinked. “I never made the connection.”
“What connection? You’re a bit obsessed with connections.”
“Avery of Jesalich is a legend. He founded the Nimble Fingers.”
“He’s a bore,” the lady said. “But if that’s the sort of folk you want to spend your time with—and more importantly, if that will keep me out of the country—I’ll be happy to introduce you to him.”
“You know Avery of Jesalich?”
“Gesoelig,” she said. “And yes. He’s my brother.”