The Vondish Ambassador

Sella and Lar exchanged glances.

"I don't know," Lar admitted.

"It sounds to me as if the Lumethans just hired a couple of thugs from the Hundred-Foot Field," Imrinira said.

Emmis shook his head. "The one with the stick was too well dressed for that. The other one, maybe."

"How would anyone from the Small Kingdoms know how to find assassins to hire here in Ethshar?" Zindrй asked.

"A

The others exchanged frowns. "Would a god tell him that?" Lar asked.

"I don't think so," Zindrй said. "But I'm no priestess. If he phrased his question right, maybe he could get an answer."

"They've been paying a tavern wench for favors," Emmis said. "Maybe she knew of someone."

"That could be," Zindrй agreed.

"Does it matter?" Sella asked. "As long as there's no magic involved, and the assassins aren't working for the overlord, the guards ought to be able to handle it. Just go to Camptown or the Palace and tell someone."

Emmis nodded. "I think she's right."

"For now," Lar said. "But if they really want me dead, they'll hire someone the guard can't stop. The stories say ordinary guards can't stop Demerchan, or they could hire a magician."

"Well, we'll just have to convince them they have no reason to kill you!" Emmis said.

For a moment no one spoke; then Lar asked, "How?"

Chapter Twelve

The conversation trailed off after that, and a few minutes later Lar and Emmis were turning the corner onto Games Street, bound for Camptown to talk to the guards. On either side they saw broad, open doors into gaming halls or card rooms of one sort or another; the murmur of voices and the smell of oushka reached them.

"Is it far to Camptown?" Lar asked.

Emmis turned up an empty palm. "I don't know," he said. "I've never been there."

Lar glanced at him. "Never?"

"Never. If I needed a guardsman, I could find one in the shipyards or the markets, or the towers at Westgate, or the Palace. Camptown's the far end of the city from Shiphaven."

"Then why are we going there?"

"Because it's closer to here," Emmis said. "We aren't in Shiphaven, we're in the Wizards' Quarter. We could have gone up to Southgate, but that's the opposite direction from the house. If there were a show at the Arena, we could find guards there, and it would be right on our way, but there's no show. So Camptown seemed best. Or we may just find a guard along the way."

"Maybe I should just buy another sword and defend myself," Lar muttered.

"You could," Emmis agreed, "but the guards are paid to protect the city, and that includes you, so why not?" He pointed. "Besides, it looks like we won't need to go all the way to Camptown."

"Hm?" Lar followed the pointing finger. "Is that a guardsman?"

Emmis threw his employer a baffled glance. "He's wearing a helmet and breastplate, isn't he? Of course he's a guardsman!"

"But his kilt is bright red, and he doesn't have a sword!"

The man in question was standing in front of one of the shops, holding a smaller man against the wall by the front of his tunic. He wore the yellow tunic, red kilt, and polished breastplate and helmet of the city guard, and a businesslike truncheon hung from his leather belt.

"Well, of course it's red," Emmis said. "What other color would it be?"

"Green. Don't Ethsharitic soldiers wear green kilts?"

"Not that I ever saw. I think the idea is to have them stand out in a crowd."

That was certainly happening in this case; a small crowd was gathering around the guardsman and his prisoner, though they were being careful to stay well out of reach. The guardsman's bright uniform definitely stood out – as did his height, as he was a very large man. Emmis was a big, strong man himself, but he did not think he would be any match for this fellow.

"They did in the old pictures."

"They haven't in my lifetime. And they hardly ever carry swords on the street."

He and Lar kept walking as they talked, and were now drawing within earshot of the soldier.

"…won't mind if we take a look in your purse, then?" The guard's voice was a low rumble, but not angry or hostile.

"I had that money when I came in!" the man pi

"Would you care to tell a magistrate that? With a witch in the room?"

"I don't… why should I? I just stopped in to see what the game was like! You have no business making these unfounded accusations!"

"Well, if I'm wrong, I'll apologize very politely, and give you two bits from the beer fund for your trouble. If I'm right, and these two young men who pointed you out to me are telling the truth, well, then you'll be right there in front of the magistrate, who can decide whether to make additional charges for wasting his time and costing him the witch's fee."

The pi

"Hai, I don't want to waste the magistrate's time any more than you do," the soldier rumbled. "I'm sure these players will be reasonable. I do understand the temptation, believe me – they should know better than to leave their stakes out in plain sight, unguarded, like that. They probably thought that it would be safe enough there in a respectable gambling hall, with me standing by the door, and as it turns out it was, but still, it was asking for trouble. Which I would tell the magistrate when he figured up his fee."

"All we want is our money," someone called from the door of the shop. "If we get it back he can go."

"There, you see?"

The thief lifted his purse. "I had seven bits of my own," he said miserably.

The guardsman released his grip on the man's tunic. "We'll leave you four, if that's all right." He reached for the purse.

"Three bits to avoid a flogging?" someone called from the crowd. "What a bargain!"

"Good enough," the thief said. He handed over the little leather pouch.

"You should probably stay out of this gaming house for a few sixnights," the guardsman said, as he spilled coins out onto his hand – mostly copper, but Emmis saw the unmistakable glint of silver, as well. The soldier plucked one triangular copper piece from the little pile and popped it into his own purse, then counted out four more and returned them to the bag, which he handed back to its owner. "In fact, I'd be careful about this whole block. I'm sure you understand."

"Yes."

"Then you can go."

The guard straightened up, and watched as the thief turned and ran, past Emmis and Lar. Two young men burst from the shop door and trotted over eagerly. The soldier turned and dumped the remaining coins into the first man's outstretched hands. "You two split that up," he said. "And I'd recommend playing somewhere else tonight."

"Yes, sir," the pair chorused.

That business attended to, the guardsman started to turn away, but Emmis reached out. "Excuse me, sir," he said.

Startled, the soldier turned, one hand falling to the truncheon on his belt.

"I'm Emmis of Shiphaven," Emmis said, "and this is Lar Samber's son, from the Empire of Vond, and we could use your help. Someone's trying to kill us."

The guard frowned. "Why?"

"It's a political thing, from back home," Lar said. "I never thought they would dare try anything here in Ethshar!"

The guard studied Lar's hat, which was definitely not anything he would normally see on the city streets – certainly not on Games Street, at any rate. "You're sure?"

"Sure of what?" Lar asked.

"That they're trying to kill you."

"Yes!" Emmis said. "They broke into our house, and one of them took a swing at me with this… this sword-thing."

The guardsman stared at him for a moment, then glanced back at the door of the gambling hall. He sighed. "Wait here," he said. He turned and marched to the door, where he bellowed inside, "Hai, Kelder! Send someone up to the camp and tell the Lieutenant I'm investigating a break-in. You're on your own until either I get back, or he posts a replacement – but don't worry, I'll take it as a personal insult if anyone tries anything while I'm gone. A very personal insult. And you all remember what happened to Terrek when he insulted me."