Beldar's neck ached, and there was a fire in his head that made him wince and groan whenever his boots came down just a trifle too hard on uneven cobbles. He had vague memories of finding a rusting ladder, shoving aside a rotting trapdoor that had spilled squeaking rats in all directions, and staggering through a warehouse that sported more of the same, to find himself in the lamplit darkness of last twilight.
Shortly after sunset, which meant his fellow Gemcloaks would be at the clubhouse.
Well, this wasn't going to be one of his more triumphal entries, to be sure. Setting his teeth against the pain, Beldar stumbled to the nearest street-moot and peered around, seeking landmarks. The city wall yonder meant that way was east, so the waulking-vat reek was coming from the north-which meant his destination couldn't be more than about three streets that way.
Not even Watchmen bothered him during his painful plod to the familiar guard and stair, so Beldar supposed he looked dirty and drunken enough to be mistaken for a true Dock Warder. He was well past caring. There'd be cold ale in the clubhouse, and if Korvaun was true to form, fresh cheese and meats, too.
He almost fell on the stairs but fetched up with a relieved sigh And froze, staring at the unexpected tableau.
His friends were at ease in the cozy lamplight, tankards in hand and platters of food in their laps, talking earnestly to two sisters who were becoming all too familiar.
'We saw nothing untoward,' Starragar was saying with his usual sourness, 'but that means little. For all we know, some of the rats might be spies for the Lords. We may all be marked right now! 'Tis not every day nobles take pleasure excursions into Dock Ward sewers!'
Which was when Naoni Dyre caught sight of Beldar, and her widening stare made every head in the room turn. Silence fell in an instant.
Naoni and her sister were cradling tankards and dining on lap-platters of cheese and fancy pickles, feet up on the footstools just like Beldar's fellow Gemcloaks. They were co-conspirators and trusted friends now, not awkward common lasses, all prim and glaring and scandalized. Well, at least they'd left their blackmailing servant-wench behind!
'Ale for a thirsty warrior,' Beldar croaked, managing a smile and thanking Tymora to the depths of his heart that he'd remembered to put his eyepatch back on.
'Where've you been?' Starragar snapped.
Beldar's heart sank. Korvaun might still trust him, but the same could not be said of the others. Starragar and Roldo were regarding him grimly, and even the face of Taeros betrayed wariness.
'I've been strolling through sewers, not far from here,' he replied lightly. 'Can't you smell?'
'You certainly do,' murmured Taeros.
'There you have it,' Beldar said lightly, heartened by the familiarity of an acerbic Hawkwinter comment. 'I took the dwarf's medallion to my spellhurler-to no avail, I might add-and ran into a bit of trouble on the way out: Three slayers after my head, one of them half a dragon by the looks of him. Others came, swords clashed, spells were hurled.' He shrugged to indicate that it had all been a minor annoyance.
'So how,' Starragar asked his tankard, 'did the valiant but lone Lord Roaringhorn escape?'
Beldar grimaced. 'In truth, I know not. At some point in the battle I hit my head. I was alone in the dark when I… woke up. I blundered around until I found a way up to the streets and got myself here as fast as I could. Not my finest foray, but there 'tis.'
'Did any of the Watch see you?' Korvaun asked. 'Or anyone who might be inclined to report this fray to them?' The Watch wouldn't look kindly on Gemcloaks sword-brawling, so soon after the street fight wherein Piergeiron had been wounded.
'I don't think so,' Beldar replied, going to the ale-keg. 'I didn't seek battle this night, and I doubt those who did are likely to air their business before magisters.'
Korvaun frowned. 'Why d'you think they came after you?'
'I don't know,' the Roaringhorn replied wearily, discovering some cheese and his own great hunger in the same instant. 'Truly.' He munched, reached for the spigot, and asked, 'So what befell, and what do we do next?'
The only reply he got was an uneasy silence.
'Friends,' Beldar said grimly, hefting his tankard, 'you were talking of such matters when I arrived. What god's stolen your tongues now?'
'We…' Taeros began, then fell silent again.
'We were down in the sewers, too,' Starragar said. 'Great spell-blasts, you said?'
'I did.'
'We heard and felt nothing like that,' Taeros said quietly.
A short, uncomfortable silence fell.
'There was a time,' Beldar said softly, 'when my friends the Gemcloaks would have unhesitatingly taken my word, a time not so long ago. Starragar, hand me your ring and let's be done with this.'
'No,' Korvaun said firmly. 'Your word is good enough.'
But the other three nobles neither nodded nor smiled.
The silence returned, and this time its weight was crushing.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Taeros sighed. 'The slipshield's gone.' Asper stiffened. He added hastily, 'We think we know who has it.'
Shapely eyebrows rose. 'So get it back.'
Korvaun winced. 'That may be difficult. We believe it's now in the hands of Elaith Craulnober.'
It was Asper's turn to wince. 'I see. I quite see.'
Her tone was dry and light, but her smile was wry, and concern stood in her eyes. 'By and large, we leave the Serpent be. He conducts himself carefully, with an eye to not threatening governance of the city overmuch-and were we to eliminate him, the struggle to take his place would inevitably cause much bloodshed.'
'We didn't come here to beg aid,' Korvaun said quietly. 'We consider this matter our responsibility, but if Taeros and I are to have any hopes of recovering the slipshield, we'll need help. To get it, I need you to relax my vow of silence, so I may share this secret with my lady. Naoni Dyre's a sorceress whose gift is to spin anything into thread. She does business with a gnome weaver in the Warrens, spinning precious stones into this.' He patted his glittering cloak.
'A young woman carrying such treasures needs guarding. The halflings of the Warrens are as good as watchblades come, and have some swift fingers among them. The best hands to recover the slipshield are those of a thief. Am I right?'
'About most things, I'd wager,' Korvaun murmured.
Her grin was impish. 'Been talking to Mirt, have you? Lord Helmfast, you may tell your lady about the slipshield, swearing her first to the same oaths that bind you. I leave its recovery to you. Send swift word if the Serpent does anything… significant.'
'Lady, we shall,' Taeros replied. 'Assuming, of course, we're still alive to do so.'
Korvaun and Naoni stood together in the moonlight, gazing up into the Moon Sphere with unseeing eyes.
At least a score of laughing, chattering revelers floated in its softly glowing haze. On the balcony overhanging it, a pair of well-oiled young tradesmen were playing tickle-slap with an equally inebriated lass. She bubbled false protests and delighted giggles as they tipped her over the rail, skirts flashing, into the globe. She plunged into the iridescent haze like a sea-diver, righted herself, and joined an ongoing, languorous midair dance.
'I can't believe this,' Naoni murmured. 'Never once has Lark stolen from us-not so much as a honey cake! Why would she lie about Lord Hawkwinter's charm?'
