34. A Visit Gone Awry #3
When the path neatened and the shadow of a bulky house appeared, it was a welcome distraction.
Set right in the middle of a perfectly circular clearing, lush grass and massive old trees surrounded the estate house. A swing dangled from the largest tree, pushed by a gentle breeze.
The soldiers settled in the shade while Tefka, Almatra, and Imalroc changed into fresh tunics and tried to make themselves presentable. Almatra wheedled with each of the soldiers, trying to get them to take her place at the meeting, but without success.
“Come on.” Tefka glanced up at the sun’s path. “The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can go back to River.”
Imalroc and Almatra followed him up a pathway of blue stones and toward studded brass doors. Everburn lanterns flared on either side of the doors, emitting a soft hiss.
“If we convince this man, we won’t have to show up for any more social calls, right?” Almatra asked.
“Convince him, and we’ll be too busy preparing for war,” Tefka answered.
“Right.” She nodded sharply. “So the plan is, Tefka, you take his left flank, and Imalroc will go for the right, and I’ll—”
Tefka twisted around with a wild look. “We’re not attacking him!”
“I was merely suggesting the seating arrangement at a fine table, you barbarian.”
Imalroc laughed and was about to continue the joke when he got a better look at the doors.
He stopped, teetering on one foot with three steps left to climb.
The skin across the back of his neck prickled, and he was suddenly aware of how many strides separated him from the Draalish sword, resting with the soldiers.
“What’s wrong?” Almatra’s gaze flashed over the empty porch, searching for threats.
“Something’s wrong?” Tefka’s voice was too loud, and Imalroc flapped a hand at him.
Both of them went still, watching him.
“The doors,” Imalroc muttered. They turned, and he could feel the shift in them as they too saw the danger.
One of the heavy doors was ajar.
“Maybe… maybe they left it that way on purpose,” Almatra whispered. All three remained poised on the stairs.
“Better to be safe,” said Tefka. “Let’s get the others.”
Imalroc darted back the way they had come. Almatra quickly filled the soldiers in while weapons were distributed. Imalroc found a scrap of twine and pulled his hair back into a tighter braid.
“It might be nothing,” Almatra said, as they all crept back up to the porch, “but stay silent. There’s a chance someone else is in the house.”
Tefka took the lead and eased the door open with the point of his sword. It groaned as it swung inward, just wide enough for them to pass.
The inside of the house was dim and silent.
Imalroc floated across the entryway and into the grand room beyond.
Heavy curtains were drawn across every window, but a little light snuck in and caught on crystal goblets beside porcelain and silver cutlery.
The table was only half-set. A faint smell tickled his nose, a spicy scent that he could not quite place.
It was so quiet he could hear the wind moving through the trees outside. Far too quiet for a home that was supposed to house a family and a retinue of their servants.
“Maybe they left?” Martau offered once they had made their way through all the empty rooms on the ground floor.
“With nothing packed, and the kitchen halfway prepared for a meal?” Tefka voiced the same doubt running through Imalroc’s mind. “If they left, it was in a rush. And it must not have been that long ago. We should search upstairs.”
They climbed the staircase. Imalroc followed Tefka’s tracks. They faced a long hall of doors. Two were open.
Tefka gave swift orders that split the group, leaving three of the soldiers in the hall while Imalroc and Martau went for one door and he and Almatra took the other. With Martau on his heels, Imalroc stalked through the nearest open doorway.
No one was in sight, but it looked as though its owner had just left and might pop back in at any moment.
Open curtains let sunlight stream across a neatly made bed.
In one corner stood an elaborate vanity.
Imalroc ran his fingers over the gleaming wood, free of dust. A little dish sat in the open, holding gold rings and a ruby-studded choker that fairly glowed in the light.
Imalroc looked back at Martau, whose brow wrinkled at the sight.
If it had been thieves, none of this would have been left behind.
Someone shouted.
Imalroc dove for the doorway, flying out of the room just as Almatra and Tefka came charging down the hallway, both of them with hands clapped across their faces.
“What is it?” Martau’s frantic shout jumbled with similar calls from the other soldiers.
Almatra muffled her answer with the hand she kept over her mouth, but it was enough to send the entire group sprinting for the stairs.
“What did you just—” Imalroc began, half-turning toward the room they were running from. The smell was stronger in the hallway, something he’d smelled before, like tea. Like cloves.
“Come away!” Tefka seized his wrist and tried to pull him. “They have the sleeping sickness!”