Turn 92

"I do not *believe* this," an aggrieved voice complains from higher up. Ibn Fadil now recognizes the voice as that of his young stalker, who had given the warning, and who is leaning out from an open third-floor window, watching events. "You let them *go*?"
    The Zakharan looks up at the youth, his eyes narrowing into angry slits. "Dead men cannot answer questions," he says; by his tone there can be no doubt that the men would be dead if he wanted them to be.
    He ignores whatever response the boy has--
    which is a muttered, "All well and good for *you*..." and the sound of the window closing
    --and speaks quietly to Nyala in Elvish. "I recall you said you were an indifferent sword-fighter," he remarks.
    "They were worse," she replies with a shrug.
    He gives her a quick, pleased grin before turning his attention back to their surroundings.
    More running footsteps turn out to be those of Valarin and several guardsmen. Nyala prudently sheathes her weapon and redrapes her cloak to conceal its line somewhat.
    Ibn Fadil puts his own sword away a little more slowly and meets Valarin's eyes. "Bit of trouble with the locals, sir," he says blandly, though his posture still betrays a certain tension.
    "Who is that there?" one of the guards demands. A torch is brought closer. "Oh, you. What's all this about, then?"
    "Ambush, assault, and mayhem," the half-elf replies. "If you look, you'll find at least two wounded men..." He describes the wounds he dealt his two quite matter-of-factly, then turns to Nyala. "And how did you mark yours?"
    "Me, my lord?" Her fluttered lashes are alas, most likely wasted in the dim light. "I fear perhaps these ruffians have dealt you a blow to the head. They ran off in that direction."
    "Oh, very funny. As if I could run off five thugs by myself."
    "*Clearly* they were a cowardly lot of criminals," she says, giving him a quick warning look.
    "Glad you both didn't get hurt, then," the guardsman said, looking a trifle confused by the byplay. "Don't get that sort of thing in this part of town, generally. And five of them, you say? I don't suppose you saw anything that might identify them?"
    Val attempts to catch ibn Fadil's gaze long enough to imply "Go along with Nyala." Not quite grinding his teeth (what is Nyala *up* to?), ibn Fadil describes the two men in some detail, and the other three with rather less, knowing as he does so that there was nothing distinctive about them; and repeats the description of the wounds two of them are suffering. And he wonders if not mentioning the youth will bring him any benefit in the long run...
    The young captain keeps alert for any others in the area, anything out of the ordinary as ibn Fadil talks to the guardsman. Val relaxes a bit and begins to pay more attention to his crew, trying to figure out why the two of them got ambushed, and what is going on. Why were they out here in the open? What were they thinking? At least neither of them seems to be in serious need of medical attention.
    Of course, Nyala and Inez *have* been cooped up in the Distraction for a long time. Maybe it's time we all got out of here and had some room to stretch our legs, he thinks to himself guiltily.
    "I think we'd best get back now," Val says sliding behind a facade to deal with the guardsman in a professional manner. His tone suggests he isn't in the mood to be contradicted.
    The leader of the guard squad hesitantly offers an escort, but there's really no need. There is more noise, lights, and people around now -- guards fanning out to look for the attackers, a few awakened residents wanting to know what happened now that things seem safe.
    "I am sorry," Nyala says when they're out of earshot, "but on this at least Emmett is on the mark; if they think I am useless, they put themselves at a disadvantage -- as did these three men tonight -- and of course their estimation of your own prowess will rise." She gives him a little smile and a faint wince. "Truth, I was perhaps not *so* bored as all that, but this has certainly been an exciting evening."

* * *

Later on:

    "We need to look for someone with a collection of edged weapons made from a variety of metals," he informs the slightly groggy company. He adds, "I suspect a smith, black, white or orange, or perhaps an antique collector of some kind. The killing may also have some kind of ritual significance."
    "Master Alais, what, pray tell, is an orange smith?" Pham wants to know.
    Emmett leans back in his chair, pushing it almost to the tipping point. "He may be right about that. Yestin and I got a blood-curdling little tale from one of the locals about seeing some sort of animal slaughter in the woods that has all the wheels and spokes of a ritual activity. He described the figures as being inhuman, but we already know this city has a storehouse full of animal masks and costumes."
    "This place may look like it's functioning on the outside, but there are rats in the gears, and no mistake." He lets the chair drop back forward. "The question is, what do we do about it? Who do we tell - our drinking buddy said no one here wanted to listen to him, and it's not like we have any authority."
    "Is there a way I could talk to the person who mentioned the sacrifice?"
    There doesn't seem to be any reason not to, and the lad in question is quickly rousted from the barracks. Bleary-eyed barely begins to describe the young man, and it's clear that he's still suffering the immediate effects of his binge -- never mind how he'll feel in the morning.
    Emmett produces the waterskin he had prepared for this purpose, offering it to the young man "This'll help. Trust me."
    As Tomek is gingerly downing a few swallows, Emmett whispers to Alais "Go easy on him - he's had a rough time of it and you can be a little... intense."
    "Look, Master Alais, the wizard, is looking into the recent deaths. Why don't you tell him what you told us, to give him a better picture of what we're dealing with?"
    Somewhat astonished by all these attentive listeners, Tomek retells his story. He doesn't seem to be embellishing it beyond what he had previously said; whether or not he saw what he says he did, he certainly *thinks* he did. But he is also certain that the beings he saw were much smaller than a man.
    Brother Pham listens intently as well. "In many spheres there are stories of fey creatures that behave in ways similar to what you describe. I've never heard that precise combination before, but each sphere is, of course, its own. Tell me young man, when you were looking at the creatures, was there ever a case where you though that they are for one moment small, then for another man-sized?"
    He frowns, shakes his head. "I... I don't know. I could barely see them at all, most of the time."
    "Still, normally such creatures would stay well into the primeval forest, for they fear the cities of men. They fear the..." Pham strikes his forehead. "Of course. Master Alais, you know this - what's the biggest fear that the fey have?" Pham looks to the mage expectantly, but then before he can get the answer out "Cold iron of course! On a rockball like this there would be little to contain them!
    "The question remains, though - why these men in particular, and why now?"
    

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