Moonsea where they could be as lawless as their dark-booted little hearts desired.
That option always awaited, but Brorn and Steldurth loved Cormyr a little more than that. And hated the Knights of Myth Drannor a little more, too.
In their busy day in Suzail, they'd learned from a surviving Yellander spy at Court of the Knights' coming ride and the wealth the Royal Magician was about to hand them.
Brorn and Steldurth reacted to that news in the same manner, and together concluded it would be fitting revenge to slay the Knights, redeem themselves as loyal to the realm by claiming the Knights were butchering innocent upland farmers and merchants-murders they would do themselves, to gain coin, food, and goods-and relieve the Knights of all those coins, too.
So here they were, with only a handful of their foes still standing.
Brorn smiled. The revenge was going well. He threw up his hand to signal rhe ring of men should stop, closing no further.
'Spellhurlers, air of these,' he said curtly to the best bowmen among the bullyblades, indicating the last three Knights. 'Turn them into pincushions.'
'You miss her, don't you?' Torsard Spurbright murmured, refilling his father's goblet.
Two summers ago he would have uttered those words in a fury, enraged that his sire's dalliance with the lady envoy of Silverymoon- and the old, old friendship they so obviously shared-amounted to an insulting spurning of his mother, the Lady Delandra Spurbright.
But then, two summers ago everything Lord Elvarr Spurbright said and did had infuriated or at least embarrassed Torsard. Now, he understood his father-and the ways of the world, or at least Cormyr-rather better.
Now, he would have given almost anything to have an old friend he could trust as much as Lord Spurbright and the Lady Aerilee Summerwood trusted each other. And if that old friend could also be a lover…
And if he could have her-gods, if it was he, Torsard, the beyond-beautiful lady envoy wrapped her welcoming arms around and melted against! O, Sune and Tymora both, I would heap gold on your altars! — and still love and be loved by an unresenting wife… Well, either women were far greater fools than he'd ever thought in all his green years up until now, or Lord Elvarr Spurbright was someone… remarkable.
He'd never thought past the resentment before, to try to really see his father as others might. Now that he was doing so, much as he hated to admit it, his father was, he supposed, rather remarkable.
Which made his son, Torsard Spurbright, that much more important. And more obviously the green fool, too.
'I do,' his father replied, meeting his eyes with a level gray gaze that startled Torsard with its honesty. His father, speaking to him as an equal? Well, now…
Lord Elvarr Spurbright had always loomed large, dark, and a little terrible in his son's mind. The Great Forbidder who decreed this or that limitation on Torsard's behavior, yet was also the person whose approval the heir of the Spurbrights most craved. And found hardest to earn.
To step around that great darkness and look at the older man across the table as a… a fellow Spurbright, perhaps even a friend…
He found himself blinking at someone familiar, who at the same time looked utterly different.
For one thing, he'd never seen his father this melancholy before. Grim, yes, and snappingly angry many a time… but not this weary sadness that rode atop remembered joy.
He wanted the angry Lord Elvarr Spurbright back.
With that sire, at least, he knew where he stood. Cowering and disapproved of, but that was, at least, a familiar cloak.
Wherefore he ttied again to lift his father's melancholy mood. The cause lay like a great silence between them, obvious to the entire household in the wake of Lady Summerwood's departure for Silverymoon.
Gods, his mother must love this gray-eyed man across the table so much to smile and embrace him so earnestly and often, last night and this day!
Yet she did, and he so obviously loved her, too, kissing her more fervently than Torsard could remember him doing for years. It was as if the lady envoy was a fire that warmed and then ignited those she touched, kindling them into little flames of their own in her wake.
Torsard shuddered in remembered lust, seeing Aerilee Summerwood again, sleek and beautiful, all catlike swirling grace as she turned her head, laughing.
He'd stood watching, shaking with longing but not daring to speak or step closer. His father had met his gaze and had seen the longing in his eyes, and he had done nothing but nod in silent understanding. Not condemning or mocking, imparting no hint of anger, just… understanding.
They were two men smitten by the same laughing arrow.
That smiling, dancing-eyed face, the lush, flawless body below it… Torsard swallowed hard and had to clear his throat twice before he managed to ask, 'Will we… ever see her again?'
Again the level, direct look. 'King Azoun,' his father said carefully, 'has promised to send me to Silverymoon as Cormyr's envoy to the Gem of the North, but 'twould not be seemly to do so before next spring.'
'Send you,' Torsard echoed, not knowing quite what he dared to ask.
'I will go nowhere without your mother by my side,' Lord Spurbright said firmly. 'Neither I nor she wishes to be sundered from each other, and the Lady Summerwood wants to see us both.'
Torsard blinked, trying to imagine his mother abed with the Silvaeren lady envoy-and then trying hard not to imagine it.
'I'm sorry, Son,' his father murmured. 'You must keep the family banners high while we are away from home. However, envoys are housed differently in Silverymoon than here; visitors choose where in the city they wish to dwell, and the High Lady's purse pays for it.'
Torsard frowned. 'I–I don't follow you.'
'Aerilee promised to help her dear friends the arriving Spurbrights find suitable lodgings,' Lord Spurbright said gently. 'If I were to send you to Silverymoon some months ahead of us… well, you are Lord Spurbright, too. You saw how approvingly she measured you.'
'M-me?' Torsard knew he was blushing hotly and didn't care. Had she really?
His father nodded, ever so slightly, and smiled in a way that made Torsard suddenly grin and feel very warm indeed and want to be in Silverymoon right now. He settled for bringing his fist down on the table-gently, not with a crash-and asking, 'You'll do that, Father? You promise?'
'On one condition. Having tasted of the lovely Aerilee, you return here at an agreed-upon time and start to become truly Lord Spurbright. My successor and head of our house. The gods, after all, might decide I'll die in Silverymoon, yes?'
'If you do,' Torsard dared to say or rather said before he could stop himself, 'I can guess how!'
Then he stopped, staring into his father's eyes, suddenly afraid- until the sudden, boyish grin that appeared flashingly beneath them swept away all fear.
'There are worse ways to die,' Lord Elvarr Spurbright observed, apparently addressing the rim of his goblet. He went on staring at it for a long, long breath as his grin faded, and then shook himself and fixed Torsard with that steady gray look.
'However,' he said, 'let us be serious with each other now. You will be in charge of the affairs of House Spurbright in our absence. I want you fully mindful of what that means. Oh, the freedom to get drunk and spend imprudent coins on toss-skirts on more than one night, yes, but Torsard, heed me. It's time. You must now learn to be careful.'
Torsard found himself a little nettled. His father seemed to be treating him as a sullen boy in need of reprovement again. 'Careful, Father?'
'Watch out for Vangerdahast's plots. He'll be seeking to press the advantage he holds over us in the eyes of the common folk, that he does what is distasteful for the good of the realm, because we nobles shirk our duty. And why? Because all nobles are rich, sneering traitors who should be reined in, hard!'
Torsard spread his hands, feeling real exasperation. 'And just how am I supposed to even know what old Thunderspells is up to? He works behind closed doors, and anyone who tries to peek past them, even with magic, gets their brains fried!'
