Vambran staggered a few more steps to stay clear of the enraged, cudgel-wielding thug, frantically looking for a way out of the engagement. With his sword arm useless and his magic limited, he would be a fool to continue to stand toe to toe against the pair attacking him, and it would only get worse when the other one he'd sent running came back after the magic wore off. He was in trouble.
The thug Vambran had kicked struggled to stand, favoring his leg, and limped toward the mercenary, his jaw jutting out in fury. Overhead, the mage was digging into another pocket. Vambran frantically retreated, maneuvering so that he put a parked wagon between himself and the cudgel-wielder. Then he gave a measured look up at the mage and began another prayer to the Merchant's Friend. At the conclusion of the prayer, he opened his mouth wide and made as if to scream, but instead of his own voice issuing forth, a shrill and unnatural shrieking and whistling blasted out.
The clamorous noise was aimed at and focused on the mage, whose eyes flared wide. She dropped whatever she had been pulling from her pocket and clapped her hands over her ears, falling to her knees as she did so. Vambran watched for only a moment as the woman writhed in pain, trying in vain to escape the horrific cacophony of noise. Already, he could see trickles of blood running out from beneath her hands where they covered her ears, and he knew that she'd been deafened for the next few moments.
Maybe that'll stop all of her damned spell slinging, he thought, turning once more to the cudgel-swinging thug.
The large, hairy man was limping toward him around the back end of the wagon, and the lieutenant caught a glimpse of the third of the trio step back into the yard, his remaining dagger clutched tightly in his fist. The moment the short, wiry fellow spotted Vambran, his grimace deepened into determination and he stalked closer.
Vambran backed himself into a corner and fumbled the pendant dedicated to Waukeen out of his shirt with his good hand. He clenched it tightly as he offered up a plea to his deity to protect and defend him, then kissed the medallion once as he concentrated on manifesting holy energy into a form in front of him. Where the lieutenant envisioned, a glowing, pulsing image of a cloud of coins filled the air, swarming like a hive of angry bees. While Vambran continued to clutch at the medallion, he could feel the mental connection with the cloud of coins.
The larger of Vambran's two foes was closer, and the mercenary quickly directed the spiritual weapon in that one's direction. The bear of a man brought his cudgel up defensively and backed off a step, but his retreat was ineffectual, and the coins teemed around him, causing him to cry out and flinch from the dozens of painful strikes inflicted. He stumbled away, swatting with his free hand all around his own head, trying get free of the zipping, stinging coins.
Vambran turned his attention to the shorter thug, who had cleared the front end of the wagon and was closing fast, long-bladed dagger thrust out for striking. The mercenary mentally whipped the cloud of coins in that direction, directing them to swarm over his wiry opponent before that dagger got too close. The attack had a similar effect, causing the diminutive thug to cry out and duck away, twisting around and covering his head to protect himself from the slapping, buzzing cloud.
Already, though, the bigger man had recovered and was running toward Vambran with hatred in his eyes. The lieutenant couldn't hope to keep both of his attackers back on their heels with his one magical weapon. The best he could hope for was to slow them down, but the magic would dissipate in only a couple more moments, regardless. He was running out of options.
Just as Vambran began to mentally direct the swarming coins back toward the larger foe, a flash of red caught the corner of his eye. He glanced over to see a figure swathed in crimson on the roof next to the mage, who had recovered somewhat from the lieutenant's sonic attack and was preparing for another bit of spellcasting. She never got the chance, though, for the figure in red began to pummel her with several well placed kicks and punches. The flurry of attacks drove the mage back and off the back side of the roof, out of sight.
Vambran gawked at the new arrival, wondering who he was and why he was lending a hand. At that moment, though, the mercenary heard a shout from the doorway leading back into the aszraun, and when Vambran glanced back over that way, Kovrim was standing there looking bewildered. At the sight of all the different reinforcements showing up, the two thugs lost their desire to fight and scrambled toward the large wooden gate. The big man was the first to reach it, and he shoved against it forcefully with his shoulder. As the gap of the portal widened, both men slipped through and disappeared from sight.
Vambran felt the magic of his cloud of coins wink out. Realizing the threat was over, he sagged down to the ground, overcome with exhaustion.
"What in the Nine Hells happened?" Kovrim exclaimed, running over to his nephew's side. "By the Merchant's Friend, you're a sight! Who were those brutes?"
Vambran could only shake his head. All of the pain, from the shower of acid and the crushing cudgel blow to his shoulder, was enveloping him then, and he was woozy from it. His clothes were ruined, burned to shreds by the acid. He simply slumped into the corner where he'd made his final stand and let the blackness slip over him.
Emriana could barely concentrate on listening to Denrick's conversation, which wouldn't have been surprising under normal circumstances if she had stopped to think about it, given that he spent most of the day talking about himself. They were almost all stories the girl had heard numerous times during previous meetings with him.
But her distraction went far beyond growing bored with an uninteresting peacock. Her mind kept wandering back to the face of the woman she had seen the previous night, pale in the light of Vambran's odd magical flare, and Emriana was more certain than ever that it was the same woman she remembered working in the kitchens. Of course, she had only seen the girl a time or two, and she couldn't even remember the scullery cook's name, but she did recall that the woman had a distinctive face, with honey-colored hair that often fell down in ringlets around her eyes, giving her both a timid and flirtatious mien at the same time.
The private revelation made her more than a little jumpy, for Emriana would think that the tragedy of a death among the staff would have put a noticeable pall over the house. In fact, when Emriana considered it in its entirety, the logical thing to do would have been to cancel the tea. That certainly would have been the case at House Matrell.
Unless they weren't aware of the death, Emriana decided. But was she the person who should inform them, if that was true? Surely someone from the city watch had come around to the estate by that point to let them know. None of it was making much sense. She wanted to solve the puzzle, but something unsettling was holding her back, as well as Denrick's droning. She needed a way to find out for sure if the Pharaboldis were even aware that one of their own had died in the night.
Emriana forced herself to return her attention to the young man's comments, to try to reestablish some semblance of a conversation with him, lest he grow suspicious of her distracted demeanor. She smiled at him and nodded, pretending to be enraptured by his story.
"… and it was just at that moment that the boar came crashing out of the underbrush, heading straight for Jerephin."
He paused expectantly.
Emriana had heard it before. Jerephin was Denrick's older brother, and they had gone boar hunting a year or so before, at the Pharaboldis' country estate in the wooded hills to the southeast. She remembered something about Denrick supposedly saving the day from disaster, and she was pretty certain he was almost to that point in the story. He was waiting for her to give him the proper lead-in, she knew.