Cold Steel and Secrets: A Neverwinter Novella, Part II by Rosemary Jones

Author:Rosemary Jones [Jones, Rosemary]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Random House Digital Wholesale
Published: 2011-11-21T16:00:00+00:00

They went to the Blacklake District at noon. The northwest part of the city held a quiet air of menace even in broad daylight. Sarfael noticed that Elyne looked carefully from side to side as they wove through the streets. She also shrugged back her cloak, despite the cold spring wind, clearly showing that she was armed with sword and dagger.

Montimort’s gaze darted to every dark doorway and shadowed alley. His arms were wrapped around a large covered basket.

“We’re being followed,” Sarfael quietly observed to his companions. Three ruffians, all hooded—two lean men armed with swords and one orc-looking brute with a cudgel—made the same turns and twists they did.

“I know,” Elyne said. “I was hoping they wouldn’t spot us. Or that they would be reluctant to attack with so few.”

“Do you know who they are?” Sarfael asked. “I always prefer to know the names of the men trying to cut my throat.”

“Dead Rats,” mumbled Montimort.

“Ah,” said Sarfael. Luskan’s infamous gang was growing in Neverwinter. He had heard the spymaster Dhafiyand complain more than once about the number of newly dead found floating in the river after one of the Dead Rats’ territory expansions.

Elyne looked right and left, then led them in a succession of quick turns into a long, narrow street overshadowed by boarded-up buildings. No one else was out on the pavement.

The three Dead Rats hung back.

Sarfael glanced over his shoulder at them. “They don’t seem too eager for a fight,” he said.

“They know me,” said Elyne quietly. She was obviously not boasting but making a simple statement of fact when she added, “It is not wise to challenge me. But there are a great many Dead Rats in this district, and they probably hope to encounter others soon.”

Montimort bit his lip and threw many glances over his shoulder, but he kept pace with them and said nothing, although Sarfael could see that the boy was practically bursting with the effort of holding his tongue.

“I’m sorry,” Elyne finally said to Montimort. “I shouldn’t have exposed you here. But I wanted to show Arlon how much I trust you.”

“No, it is all my fault,” the boy started in a rush. “You should go on. I can hold them off.”

“Nonsense,” began Elyne.

Sarfael cut off what was obviously about to become an argument between the pair. The boy’s eagerness to sacrifice himself for Elyne was indeed noble, as was Elyne’s refusal to accept such a sacrifice. However, nobility lacked practicality in such situations.

“Where can we turn and fight?” he asked Elyne.

“Next alley,” she said with admirable quickness. He did admire a woman who understood the practical at such times, another reminder of what he had lost when Mavreen was killed. “It’s broad enough for two abreast, but difficult for three. Montimort, move behind us when the blades come out.”

“I can defend myself,” the young wizard retorted.

“I expect you to do so,” she answered calmly. “But from a distance. They want you. If it’s a grab-and-run they have in mind, let us make it as difficult as possible.

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