Quickly, before he could change his mind again, Kovrim got up and unbolted his door. He slipped out and padded through the brightly lit corridors of the temple, making his way toward Grand Trabbar Lavant's offices. He knew the high priest would not be there during that time of the day, for it was common knowledge that he retreated to the gardens below to pray and meditate.

Kovrim chuckled, because what he knew that few others did not was that Lavant's "meditations" were actually simply an excuse for an afternoon nap before evening services commenced. Kovrim had no personal problem with the idea of resting when one could. He just thought it humorous that the Grand Trabbar was vain enough that he needed to fabricate a reason to cover up his rest. Either way, Kovrim felt safe in choosing that particular time of the day to skulk into the high priest's offices.

Though his heart was beating rapidly, Kovrim made a deliberate effort to nod and smile to anyone he met along the way. To do otherwise would cast suspicion on him, he knew, for his reputation as one of the more jovial and warm priests of the temple was strong. Indeed, he found that no one paid him a second glance so long as he maintained the facade of a merry priest strolling though the corridors on official business.

At last, he reached Lavant's office. Noting that there was no one around to witness him sneaking inside, Kovrim let himself in through the door and shut it softly behind him. Then he turned to the desk, where the high priest seemed to continually maintain a stack of parchment, records of numerous financial reports, business transactions, and proposals from underlings about potential deals the temple could make. Lavant was responsible for a great many things the temple was involved with monetarily.

Scratching his head, Kovrim realized he didn't really know where to begin. He'd thought it a simple enough matter to simply go through the records, but once he looked at them, he saw that there were a great many. He would have to eliminate some of them, or he would never make it through the entire search without getting caught. The priest decided to ignore proposals and balance sheets for the moment. He doubted that anything related to what he was looking for would be at either of those stages of development. Instead, he would concentrate his efforts on the piles that held business plans.

The priest sat down and began to rapidly sort through the appropriate piles, scanning each page quickly for some recognizable text, particularly the name of House Pharaboldi. Of course, as he worked, his nerves were on edge, and every sound out in the corridor, every person walking by, every thump from an adjacent office caused Kovrim to nearly leap out of the chair, a half-formed explanation on the tip of his tongue. After the fifth such incident, the priest chastised himself for his cowardice and redoubled his efforts.

Finally, when he was on the verge of considering other places to dig, he found something. It wasn't much, just a document containing some estimated figures of the full ranks of the mercenary armies the temple either controlled or had strong ties to. And there, at the bottom, was a note, scribbled quickly, showing another set of figures, and the names of three merchant Houses beside each figure. Kovrim recognized the figures themselves as financial. They were substantial amounts, the kind of wealth the merchant Houses in Arrabar might pay to hire an army. The Houses that would pay that kind of coin for a professional army usually spent those amounts when they expected to keep them around for a while, or when they foresaw particularly bloody confrontations in their future. It was the kind of wealth a House spent when it believed it was about to fight a minor war.

There were three Houses listed in a column, each one of them with a figure beside it, each figure enough coin to hire a mercenary army to fight such a war. Together, the funds were substantial enough to do something really serious, like invade another country or conquer a city. Pharaboldi was one of the three Houses, the name that had originally caught Kovrim's eye. But beneath that were the names of two other Houses. It was the third name on that list that made Kovrim freeze, made him reread the words three times to make certain he saw it correctly.

The third name was House Matrell.

Vambran paced like a caged animal in the barracks where his men were busily organizing supplies for the impending departure. He wanted to pound his fist against a wall, wanted to scream at someone. Captain Vertucio had refused to grant him any time to return to his estate, not even long enough to tell the family what was happening. The officer had explained, and rightfully so, Vambran had to admit, that the need to get the company ready had to be the lieutenant's first priority. If, after everything needed for the upcoming trip up the coast was readied-Captain Vertucio said the destination was confidential for the moment, and all Vambran needed to know was that they would be marching overland-perhaps Vambran could sneak away for a quick good-bye.

But those were not ordinary circumstances. Vambran realized that the change in orders, the accelerated pace of the departure time, even his own additional responsibilities to handle logistics for the entire unit, were all suspiciously convenient means of keeping him from pursuing the murderers' identities. Grand Trabbar Lavant knew enough to arrange it so that Vambran would have no choice but to abandon the investigation.

Unfortunately, that also meant that Vambran could not aid Emriana, nor could he warn her to back off without him there. His sister would be on her own against Denrick Pharaboldi that evening, plotting to wrest the truth out of the young man and falsely thinking that Vambran was nearby should she need him. And that didn't even take into consideration how devastated she would be that he'd missed her birthday party. It had all gone horribly wrong, and Vambran was at a loss as to how to manage both crises at once.

The irony of having come full circle was not lost on the mercenary. It had only been two short days before that he'd stood on the deck of Lady's Favor, hesitating to go home, loving the freedom and excitement that serving in the mercenary company afforded him. And yet, there he was, about to muster out again, on the verge of another interesting campaign with his soldiers, his friends, and he wanted more than anything to get clear of it, to run home. It nearly made him laugh, except that he was seething at the injustice of it.

"Sir, we're going to need to procure additional horses for the supply wagons," one of the young soldiers said, saluting Vambran as he stepped near.

The lieutenant sighed.

"How many?" he asked. "And what happened to our regular supplier?" The soldier shrugged.

"I don't have a clue, sir. Sergeant Grolo just told me I should pass that message on to you. He says to come to the stable yard immediately so the two of you can assess the situation."

Vambran paused in his pacing and turned to regard the soldier delivering the message.

"Did he, now?" the lieutenant asked.

"Yes, sir."

Vambran tried to hide a smile.

"Very well," he said, "I'm on my way. Get back to what you were doing, soldier."

The younger man nodded and ran off to whatever task he'd been about before the dwarf had interrupted his work.

Vambran began to head toward the stables, which were clear on the other side of the compound from where the barracks were. Grolo was the last officer Vambran would have put on horse detail; the dwarf hated horses and couldn't ride one to save his life. He would be a poor choice for making decisions about them when it came to supply logistics. Something else was going on.