Dragonriders’ staff right behind her, a motley array of improvised weapons in their hands. A swift breath later, the street doors beside the bar burst open to let hard-faced Purple Dragons pour into the room with their swords drawn.
“A rescue! A rescue!” Amarune shouted, pointing straight at Dawntard and Sornstern. “Yon three nobles just felled a palace messenger and tried to kill Lord Delcastle!”
Tress brought the Dragonriders’ staff to a hasty halt. The bodyguards and hangers-on were slower to stop but soon faltered under the cold glares of advancing Purple Dragons.
Back by the stage, three bodyguards were helping a groaning, groggy Windstag to his feet, his arms about their shoulders.
“
She pointed. When her finger reached Kathkote Dawntard, he sneered, “Hah! The word of some lewd dancing wench against the sworn testimony of lords of the realm?”
“I, too, am a lord of the realm,” Arclath Delcastle snapped, “and my words will support every one of hers against you.”
“Ah, but there’s just one of you, and these lying low-life riffraff who will, of course utter any falsehood against a noble, against
The Purple Dragon swordcaptain had heard enough. “Him senseless and you so drunk you can barely stand? I think we’ll be needing our wizards of war to peer into your minds before I believe you!”
Dawntard paled and raised his sword threateningly. The Dragon officer gestured disgustedly to one of his men, who had stolen around to stand behind Dawntard. The soldier obediently and efficiently used the pommel of his belt dagger to club the sneering noble to the ground.
“Saer Swordcaptain, I’m ready to freely answer all questions,” Arclath offered affably, shooting Windstag a stare of challenge.
“Uh, urh … so am I,” that noble said sullenly. “We … we were drunk, is the truth of it.” He looked around, wincing at all the blood among the sprawled bodies, and added reluctantly, “The House of Windstag will make amends for all of this, Swordcaptain. We were in the wrong.”
Then he gave Arclath a long and murderous look.
The Purple Dragon officer wagged a finger. “I
Windstag’s reply was short, emphatic, and extremely rude.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The two door guards were enthusiastically discussing their chances with the prettiest of the junior chambermaids when the bent old man in ragged clothes shuffled between them, gave them both a pleasant nod, and stepped out of the palace into the night.
The younger guard stiffened, but his older companion-after a swift, craning look that told him the departing man was empty-handed-nodded back and said affably, “The gods grant ye a fair night and a pleasant one.”
The reply to that was a silent, smiling wave, ere the old man trudged off, bent over and moving none too swiftly.
“You just let him go!” the younger guard hissed then. “That was this Rhauligan we’re supposed to-”
“Supposed to promptly usher out of the palace if we see him,” the older guard growled. “And that’s just what we did. Aye?”
The bent figure dwindled into the distance down the well-lit promenade.
“It … it doesn’t feel right, what we did,” the younger guard protested as the old man vanished from sight somewhere in the night gloom.
“What doesn’t feel right is some of these overly hasty and bullying orders our younger war wizards are all too fond of giving,” the older one replied heavily. “A little too eager to command, they are, and a lot too lazy to think through consequences before they open their mouths. Some of them need to get their fingers burned and learn a little wisdom. Hopefully, before this council dumps some
“You think it’ll go ill, then?”
The veteran Purple Dragon’s answer took the form of a long, meaningful look.
Both Dragons might have felt rather differently if they’d been able to see old Elgorn Rhauligan at that moment. He’d straightened up and was striding along far faster and more steadily than when he’d shuffled his way between them.
Elminster was in a hurry as he headed into the heart of the city.
“H-here,” Belgryn Murenstur said in a rush, turning to face the two burning men and hastily backing away, even as he indicated the carved hanging sign of the woman poised on a forest rock with bent bow above the heads of many snapping wolves. “The Bold Archer!”
“Thank ye, goodman,” the shorter of the two replied. “Strangely enough, reading plain Common is something we can manage for ourselves.”
The taller man made a swift movement toward Belgryn, but his companion shook his head. “We need to leave one witness, Treth.”
He looked back at Belgryn. “Go in and see if Huntcrown’s still in there. Warn him-or anyone-that we’re here, and ye will die. Very slowly.”
“We’ll slice off thy tongue first,” the taller man murmured almost gently. “Then thy nose. Then one thumb, and then the other …”
“Enough, Treth. He’s starting to shake,” the shorter man interrupted-and lunged forward to slap Belgryn across the face so hard that the proprietor of Murenstur’s Imported Vintages banged his head on the front wall of the club, lost his breath, and ended up blinking dazedly into the man’s wide, endless smile.
“Just go inside, see if Huntcrown’s in there, and come right back out and tell us so. Through
The presence inside him rose up to fill him with dark confidence, and Belgryn found himself nodding furiously and rushing almost eagerly inside the Bold Archer.
In the space of three swiftly gulped breaths, he was back out again, eyes wide with terror. All his dark confidence, wherever it had come from, was gone.
“Y-yes,” he stammered. “He’s the one in the jerkin with the horned shoulders and black musterdelvys with white luster-stars all down it. Fair hair, green eyes, sharpish nose. H-has at least six bodyguards with him.”
Those fierce smiles never wavered. “Good,” the taller man wreathed in blue flames rumbled. “I’ve never liked bodyguards.”
“There-,” Belgryn started to blurt then fell silent.
“Yes?” the shorter burning man asked silkily.
“There … there are a lot of other nobles in there, saers, and all of them have bodyguards.”
“Thy concern,” the taller man told Belgryn, “is touching. Live, then, man.”
He clapped Belgryn on the shoulder-a light, brief touch that scorched nothing but left the wine merchant chilled to the bone and shivering uncontrollably-and strode past into the Bold Archer.
The other man in flames waved to Belgryn and hastened into the club on the heels of his blazing companion.
Belgryn knew he should run away, far and fast. When he could master his trembling enough to keep his feet, he dashed as far as the other side of the street, where his reeling made him bounce hard off the wall of a shuttered-for-the-night bakery. Panting, he turned as something made him stop and turn to look back at the Archer.
