in between this little courtyard and the Crafting Hall less than one hundred feet from here. All while about a dozen people and their iron dogs milled around, including a handful of Cannith monitors. Yes, that makes
perfect
sense.”
“In the bushes, then!”
Well, that
was
barely possible, she supposed, though it would make Guisarme the stupidest thief she’d ever encountered. Either that, or the cockiest.
“Look for yourself,” she said magnanimously. As Kanjira’s mother moved forward, Sabira shook her head. “No, not you.” She didn’t trust the woman not to cut herself behind the bushes and drop her own pouch to fabricate evidence against the warforged.
“You.” She pointed at an orc who’d wandered over to the edge of the crowd, attracted by all the commotion. “What’s your name?”
“Skraad Walor,” he replied. “It’s a travesty, seeing a proud warrior treated this way.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant Guisarme or Kanjira’s mother—or possibly Kanjira herself, who was conspicuously absent from the mob that had formed to avenge her.
“Actually, a travesty is what I’m trying to prevent. So, if you wouldn’t mind …?”
The orc pushed his way through the crowd, which had grown in number, though it didn’t yet include any House Cannith monitors. Surely the enclave’s security must be aware of the situation by now. Sabira had to wonder what they were waiting for.
He crossed the dirt yard in three steps and shoved the bushes aside, bending low to examine the ground and disappearing behind the greenery in the process. After a moment of searching, he reappeared, holding up something in his left hand.
A bloodthirsty cheer went up from the mob until the orc stepped back out onto the dirt and proceeded to smooth out the crumpled up paper he’d found. It was a copy of the Stormreach Chronicle.
“Droaam Expedition Lands in Xen’drik!” he read, in a surprisingly good imitation of a Chronicle newsboy. “Invasion Rumors Spread!”
He made a show of examining the broadsheet front and back.
“No blood. No pouch. No warforged prints, either. Sorry.” He balled the paper up and threw it back into the bushes.
Sabira turned to Kanjira’s mother, who was even redder than before, though Sabira would have bet a hefty sum that particular shade of crimson wasn’t humanly possible.
“It seems like you have the wrong warforged. Maybeyou might want to get back to Kanjira and try tracking down the real culprit now? Though he’s probably halfway to the harbor by this time.”
Several of the members of the crowd started to move away, murmuring in disappointment. Sabira was relieved to see more than one sword make its way back into its sheath. It would be nice to settle this without having to bloody her shard axe.
Kanjira’s father placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she shrugged him off. Another man moved up behind her, and by his size and florid complexion, Sabira guessed he was either Kanjira’s maternal uncle or her brother.
“I don’t care what you say, I don’t care who you are—I
know
that warforged attacked my daughter, and he’s going to
pay
!”
“Melcare!” her husband yelled in warning, but it was too late. The woman pulled a dagger from her voluminous skirts and darted around Sabira to try to get at Guisarme.
With an annoyed sigh, Sabira set her feet and grabbed the woman’s long braid as she passed. Just as the slack played out, Sabira put all her weight on her right foot and yanked as hard as she could. Melcare’s head snapped back and she was lifted several inches off the ground as Sabira pivoted and then released her hold in one smooth motion. The woman went tumbling into the dirt courtyard, skirts fluttering as she fetched up against the base of the tree and lay there, unmoving.
“What have you done to my mother?” the red-faced man shouted, drawing a pair of long knives from sheathes hidden in his sleeves and advancing toward her.
“Pulled her hair
perfect
sense.”
“In the bushes, then!”
Well, that
was
barely possible, she supposed, though it would make Guisarme the stupidest thief she’d ever encountered. Either that, or the cockiest.
“Look for yourself,” she said magnanimously. As Kanjira’s mother moved forward, Sabira shook her head. “No, not you.” She didn’t trust the woman not to cut herself behind the bushes and drop her own pouch to fabricate evidence against the warforged.
“You.” She pointed at an orc who’d wandered over to the edge of the crowd, attracted by all the commotion. “What’s your name?”
“Skraad Walor,” he replied. “It’s a travesty, seeing a proud warrior treated this way.”
She wasn’t sure if he meant Guisarme or Kanjira’s mother—or possibly Kanjira herself, who was conspicuously absent from the mob that had formed to avenge her.
“Actually, a travesty is what I’m trying to prevent. So, if you wouldn’t mind …?”
The orc pushed his way through the crowd, which had grown in number, though it didn’t yet include any House Cannith monitors. Surely the enclave’s security must be aware of the situation by now. Sabira had to wonder what they were waiting for.
He crossed the dirt yard in three steps and shoved the bushes aside, bending low to examine the ground and disappearing behind the greenery in the process. After a moment of searching, he reappeared, holding up something in his left hand.
A bloodthirsty cheer went up from the mob until the orc stepped back out onto the dirt and proceeded to smooth out the crumpled up paper he’d found. It was a copy of the Stormreach Chronicle.
“Droaam Expedition Lands in Xen’drik!” he read, in a surprisingly good imitation of a Chronicle newsboy. “Invasion Rumors Spread!”
He made a show of examining the broadsheet front and back.
“No blood. No pouch. No warforged prints, either. Sorry.” He balled the paper up and threw it back into the bushes.
Sabira turned to Kanjira’s mother, who was even redder than before, though Sabira would have bet a hefty sum that particular shade of crimson wasn’t humanly possible.
“It seems like you have the wrong warforged. Maybeyou might want to get back to Kanjira and try tracking down the real culprit now? Though he’s probably halfway to the harbor by this time.”
Several of the members of the crowd started to move away, murmuring in disappointment. Sabira was relieved to see more than one sword make its way back into its sheath. It would be nice to settle this without having to bloody her shard axe.
Kanjira’s father placed a hand on his wife’s shoulder, but she shrugged him off. Another man moved up behind her, and by his size and florid complexion, Sabira guessed he was either Kanjira’s maternal uncle or her brother.
“I don’t care what you say, I don’t care who you are—I
know
that warforged attacked my daughter, and he’s going to
pay
!”
“Melcare!” her husband yelled in warning, but it was too late. The woman pulled a dagger from her voluminous skirts and darted around Sabira to try to get at Guisarme.
With an annoyed sigh, Sabira set her feet and grabbed the woman’s long braid as she passed. Just as the slack played out, Sabira put all her weight on her right foot and yanked as hard as she could. Melcare’s head snapped back and she was lifted several inches off the ground as Sabira pivoted and then released her hold in one smooth motion. The woman went tumbling into the dirt courtyard, skirts fluttering as she fetched up against the base of the tree and lay there, unmoving.
“What have you done to my mother?” the red-faced man shouted, drawing a pair of long knives from sheathes hidden in his sleeves and advancing toward her.
“Pulled her hair
Similar Books
