The Rose of Sarifal Read Free Page A

other members of the crew, out of a sense of racial solidarity that had worn away in time as his decisions became more and more erratic. That morning, aboard the
Sphinx
, he had spent an hour below deck, curling his moustache and rehearsing a short speech before the glass, inspiring words of liberation and hope.
    “Suicidal,” agreed Marikke, priest and healer to the rest of them. Red-cheeked and yellow-haired, she smiled cheerfully.
    Lord Aldon carried a salutation from the king, a message for the Winterglen Claw, a shadowy and secret corps of human runaways and rebels, Ffolk and Northlander, united in their struggle against the fey. He carried a promise of money and weapons at some future date, in return for an oath of loyalty to the king, as Lukas understood. The idea seemed vague and insubstantial to him, not worth the risk, except for the money he’d been promised. But still, to sail into the harbor in the bright afternoon, climb up among the empty civic buildings as if knocking on an enemy’s front door—all that was insane.
    “You there,” said Lord Aldon, addressing the gnome and the elf—Suka and the Savage—he hadn’t learned their names. “You’ve been here before. What do you suggest?”
    They stood in the old Court of the Moon, a stone expanse surrounded by crumbling, yellow-brick buildings and a long balustrade above the port. A dry fountain rose from the center of the square, an alabaster statue of Selûne, goddess of the moon, her face shrouded in an alabaster veil. One of her outstretched arms was gone, broken off at the shoulder.
    “You know the fey,” Aldon continued. “I suppose you are the fey, or were, in some cap—”
    He broke off as the Savage turned on him. The golden elf’s handsome face was twisted with contempt. “You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said so far,” he protested, his voice soft with anger. “This is the date and time and place of your meeting with the Claw. I myself am notconvinced these people exist, as I have told you. Yet here we are. What do you think? Is it possible we’ve walked into a trap?”
    The Savage made an imposing figure, the sun bright in his yellow hair, gold rings in his nose and lips, gold tattoos on his dark skin, his greatsword on his back. Still, his sarcasm was lost on Aldon Kendrick, who goggled at him briefly then turned to the gnome and asked, “What about you?”
    Suka laughed. “I think we’re not important enough. I mean, who would bother?” She was a small example of a small race, dressed in a leather jerkin. Her hair stood out in clumps, a curious and unnatural shade of pink.
    “She’s right about that,” muttered Lukas.
    He turned to Marikke, but she was gone. She had ambled over to the statue, and stood by the dust-choked bowl under the goddess’s feet. Water, in the old days, had dripped down from her fingers.
    “Bright Selûne,” murmured the cleric. As if in answer to her prayer, a single drop of water fell from the goddess’s finger into the stone bowl.
    Lukas looked up in surprise. “Ware,” said the genasi in his whistling, eerie voice. He drew his scimitar. Cold fire sputtered along its blade.
    The sun was halfway down the horizon. The shadow of the statue protruded almost to Lukas’s feet. As the ranger watched, arrow on string, the shadow faded, though there wasn’t a cloud in the blue sky. Instead, the sunlight itself had changed and weakened as the sky turned color, tending toward a deeper, colder purple,or as if dusk had suddenly come. At the same time, as if to compensate, the empty iron cressets along the balustrade came flickering to life, first tendrils of black smoke, then a gentle radiance.
    In a moment the crew had their weapons out, had assumed their postures of defense, while Lukas ran to the balustrade and looked down over the port, where the
Sphinx
still rode at anchor. Only Lord Aldon stayed where he was, winking vaguely at the sky.
    But all was still. Above them, the light had lost its