“Ahh… Her Highness, Alusair Nacacia Obarskyr. She’ll vouch for me.”
The Dragons looked expressionlessly at Dauntless, and he looked back at them. None of them bothered to roll their eyes.
Silence fell, and stretched, until the ornrion grew tired of the view, and turned his head to peer harder at the handsome lad.
“Lad,” he growled, “I don’t know what your name is, except that it’s not Rathgar. I don’t know your game, but you lie like a sneak-thief. I don’t believe you for the time it takes me to draw one breath, and all I really know about you is that you come from Westgate-your speech tells me that-and that you own”-he squinted at what was lying on the older Purple Dragon’s palm-“three thumbs, five falcons, and a dagger too big for your hand. Which means you can feed yourself in this city for about five days, if you eat in the worst places, drink nothing that doesn’t come out of a horse-pump, and sleep on the streets. So, d’you want to be turned out of our gates? Or are you looking for work?”
“I don’t particularly want to be a sarcastic, bullying ornrion,” the lad replied, as his stomach rumbled loudly, “but if the job lets me keep my vow to lovely Aloos, I’ll accept your kind offer.”
Dauntless gave him a glare, and then smiled grimly, turned away, and snapped, “Jar him for the night. And give him something to eat. Leave the dagger here.”
“It starts with a dungeon inspection?” the boy asked impishly, as the Dragons lifted him off his feet, turned him, and started marching away. “Or does she want me in chains? She didn’t mention such tastes, but…”
A heavy door slammed behind them. Shaking his head, Dauntless turned back to his reports.
Chapter 9
Then the king spake the last words he ever said to me: “When you hear the wolves, lad, it is unlikely to be a night suitable for sleeping in your saddle.”
When Dauntless looked up again, just before dawn, the dagger was gone from atop his papers-and a key was lying in its place.
A cell key.
His eyes narrowing, the ornrion looked up at the key-board, clapped his hand to his belt-and swore horribly.
His purse was gone, its lacings neatly cut and dangling.
Striding heavily and breathing like a winded horse in his anger, Dauntless snatched up the key and headed for the door to the dungeons. With his luck, the lad had locked both Glarth and Tobran in the cell, wearing signs reading, “Kiss me, I’m the Princess” or some such.
Little rat.
But how by the blazing Dragon Throne itself had he known about the Princess Alusair being in Arabel this night?
Laughing, Horaundoon plummeted down out of the night like a striking hawk, plunged into the hard-riding Duthgarl Lathalance of the Zhentarim-and swirled right back out again, shrieking in pain.
“Yes, Horaundoon,” the Zhent said coldly, the voice clearly that of Old Ghost, “we meet again. You can burn this worm to ash in a day or three, if you want, but not now. And if you cross me, I’ll burn you — and the Realms will hold one fewer Horaundoon. I can. Believe me.”
“What… what d’you want of me?” Horaundoon gasped.
“Absolute obedience, all the time the Knights of Myth Drannor are in Halfhap. If you don’t give it, I’ll destroy you. If you serve me well, you can have Lathalance and your freedom in a few days. I’ll even help you destroy Manshoon.”
“ Manshoon? You know?”
“Oh, stop gasping, man. How high did you rise in the Brotherhood?”
The War Wizard Gorndar Lacklar flung open the door and rushed inside, gasping, “ Sorry I’m late, Ghoruld! Gods, what a night! Off to Arabel with the queen’s new blades, then back here again to see to the Andamus matter-and then Sarmeir tells me I’m to report to you again for another jaunt to Arabel! Queen’s own orders, he says! What’s up?”
“ This, ” Ghoruld Applethorn said sweetly, ramming a wand into Lacklar’s mouth and speaking the word that triggered it.
Even before the back of Lacklar’s head had finished spattering all over the old cloaks he’d pinned ready on the ceiling, Applethorn had laid hold of his underling’s slumping body and whirled him aside, into the glow of another waiting portal.
He’d be back before Lacklar’s brains started to drip onto the floor. Damned disloyal young war wizards-who’d have thought it? Better call in the best of the alarphons to investigate. Good old Applethorn.
Dragon-damned right he’d be back. There was Sarmeir to butcher before this night was out. And if Gorndar Lacklar, Sarmeir Landorl, and good old Applethorn, too, all went silent, Vangerdahast would have to send Laspeera to investigate. With whoever else she thought she’d need hurrying along right beside her.
Right into the trap he’d prepared in Halfhap, and thereafter, oblivion.
The sudden shrieks of pain were far behind them, but were certainly clear enough.
The Knights of Myth Drannor grabbed for their weapons and asked each other, “What was that?”
A wolf howled then, nearby in the trees off the road to the north, and the horses became very uneasy.
The Knights held their reins in firm hands and made gentling sounds and speech until their horses slowed again, and Semoor dared to answer their shared question: “Someone screaming in agony, obviously. It didn’t last long.”
“So much killing,” Florin muttered. “It goes on and on.”
Semoor nodded. “I’ll confess I was glad we were leaving Arabel, earlier, and gladder still that the rain stopped, but now…”
“Oh?” Pennae asked. “Is the stern and oh-so-certain Light of Lathander actually changing his mind?”
“The changing of my mind,” Semoor purred back at her, “is the best evidence I know for proving I’ve got one. Unlike certain barb-tongued present company.”
Doust managed the feat of rolling his eyes and yawning simultaneously-and so impressed himself that he promptly repeated the yawning part.
“ Don’t go to sleep and fall out of your saddle,” Islif told him, spurring her mount near enough to take hold of his elbow. Doust looked at her with heavy eyes, and she told him crisply, “Listen to the splendid entertainment Semoor and Pennae are providing, and stay awake. ”
Ahead of the battling tongues Islif had just heralded, Florin scowled into the night like he wanted to slay it. Jhessail frowned at him and asked gently, “What troubles you just now, Florin?”
“Narantha,” her friend told her. “We’re just riding away from her, leaving her unavenged, and every time I try to think of her and make peace with myself, someone else comes at me with a sword and snatches the time away from me again, and… and…”
He set his teeth, and shook his head. Jhessail put a hand on his thigh, looked up into his hard stare, and murmured, “I understand, Tall Sword, and I’ll do my best to see to it that you get plenty of time to think of her in days to come.”
He nodded curtly, and they rode on. After a time Jhessail hissed, “And to you I swear this: I will give all aid I can to help you deal with those who drove her to slay herself, when the time is right.”
