Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [24]
“Leheren recognizing you may not turn out to be a good thing.”
They exited the lobby via the corridor the door warden had indicated. They passed three side halls and a total of twelve doors; Demascus couldn’t help but keep careful track.
Voices slipped around a door where the hallway terminated. Angry voices.
Chant put a finger to his lips, and they walked quietly to stand at the door.
“… is that the best you have to offer?” came a woman’s voice, tight with agitation. “With idiotic suggestions like that it’s no wonder the deputy commander put you on night duty!”
Another voice came through the door, but it was too muffled for Demascus to make out. A man’s voice.
The woman’s voice came again, louder, “What, you would have us do nothing? It falls to the Cabal to put right our mistake!” Mistake? That sounds promising, he thought.
Before second thoughts could dissuade his instinct, Demascus opened the door and entered the room.
A woman and two men were arranged around a large oak table. Maps of the city and the surrounding countryside lay across the dark-grained surface. Light from three hanging candle chandeliers gave the shadows in the room a life of their own. The men sat in high-backed chairs, but the woman was standing as if she’d been pacing. Each was dressed in a red jacket exactly like the one Demascus wore.
His eyes automatically swept the room, noting two additional exits, four unused chairs around the table, and three tall shelves along the wall. He saw from where the woman was standing he needed to take only two paces to engage her, while the other two genasi … He blinked. What in the name of the Nine Hells am I doing?
All eyes swiveled to fix on him. As the silence stretched, the second thoughts he’d beaten through the door caught up with him and perched on his shoulder. They whispered in his ear that he was possibly something of an idiot.
He coughed. “Sorry to interrupt. I’m here to see Lieutenant Leheren.”
The woman walked over to Demascus and looked him up and down. She said, “That’s me. But who’re you?” Silver lines traced swirls across the woman’s skin. She was a … stormsoul genasi.
“I’m Demascus. This is Chant, who—”
“And, why, Demascus, do you wear a lieutenant’s coat in the Order of the Firestorm?”
One of the genasi stood up. “An imposter!” The scarlet szuldar running across his bronze scalp marked him as a firesoul. A jagged spiral tattooed his neck in black ink, which seemed an odd counterpart to his natural designs.
The woman glanced at the firesoul, “It seems so, Jett. Or, at least a borrower of things he shouldn’t.” She returned her regard to Demascus. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Demascus felt as if the wind propelling him forward just died in his sails. They obviously had no idea who he was. Unless they were dissembling. Or—
“Answer her!” said Jett.
Demascus coughed. These people still represented his best bet at discovering his missing identity. He said, “I … was traveling west of Airspur, in the mountains, and stumbled upon an old shrine. Something terrible had happened. Nearly two dozen genasi, along with a few demons, lay dead. One genasi remained alive, just long enough to mumble something about an ‘elemental eye that watches’ or … something like that.”
The firesoul named Jett blanched, and glanced at Leheren like a child with his hand caught in the sweet jar.
Leheren didn’t notice. She was frowning suspiciously at Demascus. He added, “The genasi wore jackets like this one.” He patted his coat.
She said, “You’re saying you stumbled upon the bodies of a full patrol of Firestorm Cabal, all slain by demons?”
“Apparently. I found the bodies of demonic monsters anyway. Plus a live one feeding on the corpses. I dispatched it with a sword I took from the dead.”
“I see you also helped yourself to a coat,” said the stormsoul. “But this is foolishness. We’re not missing any patrols to the west. We don’t even normally send anyone that way.”
She turned and gazed at the other two genasi in the room.
Jett’s expression hardened. “He’s obviously some kind of spy,