[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
distasteful danger was, after all, what Elminsters did.
Threading his way through the guards with the purposeful stride of a man who has
every right to be present and considers himself greater in rank than all others, he
advanced and was two long strides from the archway that opened into noise and
full lamplight when the challenge came.
Blades suddenly slid out to bar his path and rise up behind him. "Down steel," he
ordered curtly.
The swords menacing him moved not a fingerwidth.
"And who are you," an unpleasant voice hissed from the other end of one of them,
"to be giving us orders? Or coming up from cellars we searched very thoroughly?"
The tall, scarred man with the jet-black hair and the grand rapier at his hip turned
his head coldly. "My name is Cormaeril, my lineage noble, and my patience limited.
Who are you to be stopping me?"
"You're older than the other Cormaerils," a different voice observed coldly from
behind another sword.
"Easy, now! They said they hoped some of the older branches would make an
appearance," a third voice said hastily. "Some Cormaerils were out of the realm long
before the order of exile, with no chance to make claims nor set affairs in order. Let
him pass there's only the one of him."
"Have you any magic on you?" the first voice demanded.
"Of course," the scarred newcomer replied icily. "But no spells up my sleeves nor
things I can hurl doom with, if that's what you fear."
Reluctantly, the blades drew back, and Elminster was aware of a lot of armed men
drifting disappointedly away into the far corners of the room again. There wasn't
going to be the fun of watching a little bloodletting after all.
The scarred Cormaeril glanced all around to make sure no covert blades were
within reach, gave the grim bladesmen a wordless nod, and stepped out into the
revelry.
* * * * *
The Silken Shadow reached into the bodice of her leathers and drew forth the
black cloth hood she'd made several seasons ago but so rarely used. It made her
look like some child playing at being hangman, with its eyeholes and ragged edge,
but it covered the pale flash of her skin in dim light and might hide her femininity for
a few moments from an inattentive observer. Which was most folk, really.
Narnra pulled it on, sheathed her knife, and flexed the too-long-clenched fingers
that had held it. She stretched like a lazy cat and hunched down to the floor to smell
and listen.
Yes, this smelled different than Waterdeep, somehow. More dead things in the
water but fewer taints of spilled strange cargoes from afar.
Revels meant servants, or guards, or people peering in at the fun from around the
edges or all three. She'd have to be very careful as she went on from here.
Why, gods bless me, how unusual for a thief. . .
* * * * *
"So which noble family are you part of?" the masked merchant half-shouted
through the chattering din, wine sloshing in the warhelm-sized metal goblet he
clutched in both hands.
The cold-eyed warrior in worn and much-patched leather armor eyed him sourly
and replied, "None of them. The benevolent Obarskyrs have exiled many more folk
than our precious nobles. Most of us lowborn were hurled out by personal
proclamation because they couldn't get us with their blades or nooses before we
scampered."
"Oh?" the tipsy merchant leaned forward to peer at the warrior more closely. "So
what'd you do?"
"Wounded Duke Bhereu for dallying with my sister. Cut him good and proper and
gave him a limp that lasted through two seasons of high-coin healers. Id've had his
life, too, if he hadn't had a dozen bodyguards within shout. Cursed Obarskyrs can't
even go out rutting without help!"
Elminster swayed around the warrior's elbow and edged past in the press of
bodies.
"Ho for the conspiracy!" someone bellowed across the crowd again. Several
other someones took up the cry, as they had done on several previous occasions.
"The Rightful Conspiracy!"
"A new king, a new hope!" someone else bawled.
"Aye! Let Cormyr rise again!"
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]