The Alabaster Staff - Edward Bolme [59]
A small rivulet of blood began dribbling through a crack in the ceiling, and Kehrsyn recoiled in disgust. She drew back to Tharrad's office, but then thought better of it and moved into one of the other rooms, a bunkroom apparently shared by a pair of Furifax's followers. The room had three beds, but one was covered by assorted pieces of armor and the bare mattress had grease and oil stains all over it. Kehrsyn closed the door most of the way and peered out the gap on the hinge side to keep an eye on the staircase. A few stray shafts of light speared through the boarded-up windows, their occasional fluctuations hinting at the movements of the crowd outside.
After a few long, heart-pounding moments, she saw someone tumble backward down the stairs. She had no idea who it was, though the nondescript attire proved it was not one of Tiamat's people. The unfortunate landed in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, limbs and neck at awkward angles that Kehrsyn had previously seen only at public executions.
A few scant heartbeats later, a Tiamatan stepped down the stairs hefting a pick in his hands, his red-and-black robes tied back for combat. The pick was small enough to be of use in such close quarters, but solidly built, with its head fashioned in the shape of a beaked dragon. Blood dripped from the dragon's vicious, fanged mouth. The pounding in Kehrsyn's ears competed with the crowd noises filtering through the building's walls as she watched the man-cruel-looking, with a pale, sallow face and black hair pulled back into a ponytail-probe his victim for any signs of life. He raised his head and scanned the downstairs for further opponents.
Kehrsyn pulled back from the door and used a trick she'd learned as a child, based on the fact that people almost never look up. She climbed up the corner of the room, using the corner itself as well as the top of the door for her hand- and footholds. She pushed herself into as small a space as possible in the upper corner, hoping that her dark clothes would help her escape notice. Two hands pushed out for support against the ceiling beams, one foot was flat against one wall, and the other foot found a precarious toehold on the hinge of the door for extra balance.
She heard the man stalking around the lower level. Upstairs, it sounded like the Tiamatans were pressing the Furifaxians into the rear portions of the building.
Kehrsyn heard doors creak open and heard the man's footsteps and the swish of his robe as he searched the area. He was breathing hard and occasionally sniffling, recovering his oxygen from the combat he'd just fought. He searched room by room, swinging doors to check for people in hiding.
He glided into the room, pick held high in one hand. He scanned the room, then turned toward the door. Kehrsyn held her breath and tried to think small and invisible thoughts. Following an old Untheric superstition, she stared at a nail in the base of one wall. The man swung the door open, ready for combat, but saw no one hiding behind it. He exhaled sharply, a mix of relief and disappointment, and started to leave the room.
For some reason-to eliminate hiding places, Kehrsyn assumed-the man pushed the door all the way open. The movement caught her by surprise. Though she tried to pull her toe up from the hinge, she was not fast enough. The door pinned her foot between it and the wall for the merest instant before her foot pulled free. The man stopped, then quickly shifted back into the room, pick at the ready. He edged the door open again, squinting into the darkness, until his gaze rose to spot Kehrsyn up in the darkened corner.
"I have protection," blurted Kehrsyn, wracking her brain for the name of the priestess.
"Not from me," the man replied.
"I have the sufferance of Tiglath," blurted Kehrsyn with relief.
"Oh, you're one of Tiglath's, eh?" He hefted his pick with a smile. "Horat will be most interested to know you're here. You'd