Lord and Lady Hightower stood together, a little apart from the rest of the guests. Lord Roderik looked out over the gathering, his eyes vague and far away. Lady Elaine put a gentle hand on his arm.
'You look pale, my dear. Are you feeling all right?'
'I'm fine. Really.'
'You don't look it.'
'It's the heat, that's all. I hate being trapped in the city during the summer. Damn place is like an oven, and there's never a breath of fresh air. I'll be all right, Elaine. Don't fuss.'
Lady Elaine hesitated. 'I saw you talking to the Guards. That is him, isn't it?'
'Yes. He let our boy die.'
'No, Rod. It wasn't that man Hawk's fault, and you know it. You can't go on blaming him for what happened. Do you blame yourself for every soldier under your command who died in battle because you didn't predict everything that could go wrong? Of course you don't.'
'This wasn't a soldier. This was our son.'
'Yes, Rod. I know.'
'I was so proud of him, Elaine. He wasn't going to waste his life fighting other people's battles; he was going to make something of his life. I was so proud of him;'
'I miss him as much as you, my dear. But he's gone now, and we have to get on with our lives. And you've more important things to do than waste your time feuding with a Captain of the city Guard.'
Lord Roderik sighed, and looked at her properly for the first time. For a moment it seemed he was going to say something, and then he changed his mind. He looked down at her hand on his arm, and put his hand on top of hers. 'You're right, my dear. As usual. Just keep that man out of my sight. I don't want to have to talk to Captain Hawk again.'
Stalker picked up one of the canapes and studied it dubiously. The small piece of meat rolled in pasta looked even smaller in his huge hand. He sniffed at it gingerly, shrugged, and ate it anyway. When you're out in the wilds for days on end you can't ever be sure where your next meal's coming from. So you eat what you can, when you can, or risk going hungry. Old habits die hard. Stalker looked about him, and his gaze fell on Graham Dorimant, talking with the witch Visage. Stalker's lip curled. Dorimant. Political adviser. Probably never drew a sword in anger in his life. All mouth and no muscle. He had his uses, but; Stalker shook his head resignedly. These were the kinds of people he was going to have to deal with, now that he'd entered the political arena. Stalker smiled suddenly. He'd thought life in the wilds was tough, until he'd entered politics. These people would eat you alive, given half a chance.
And politics was going to have to be his life, from now on. He was getting too old for heroics. He didn't feel old, but he had to face the fact that he just wasn't as strong or as fast as he once was. Better to quit now, while he was still ahead. He hadn't lasted this long by being stupid. Besides, politics had its own rewards and excitements. The pursuit of power; Long ago, when he was young and foolish, a princess of a far-off land had offered to marry him, and make him king, but he'd turned her down. He hadn't wanted to be tied down. Things were different now. He had money, and he had prestige, so what was there left to reach for, except power? The last great game, the last challenge. Stalker frowned suddenly. Everything had been going fine. He and William had been an unbeatable team, until; Damn the man. If only he hadn't proved so stubborn; Still, there wouldn't be any more arguments after tonight. After tonight, he'd be free to go his own way, and to hell with William Blackstone.
Stalker looked over at the young witch Visage, and smiled slightly. Not bad-looking. Not bad at all. Not quite to his usual taste, but there was a quiet innocence in her demure mouth and downcast eyes that appealed to him. <em>It's your lucky night, my girl</em>. He moved over to join her and Dorimant. They both bowed politely to him, but Stalker didn't miss the barely suppressed anger in Dorimant's eyes.
'Good evening, sir warrior,' said Dorimant smoothly. 'You honor us with your presence.'
'Good to see you again,' said Stalker. 'Keeping busy, are you? Still digging up secrets and hauling skeletons out of the cupboards?'
'We all do what we're best at,' said Dorimant.
'And how are you, my dear?' said Stalker to Visage. 'You're looking very lovely.'
'Thank you,' said Visage quietly. She glanced at him briefly and then lowered her eyes again.
'Not drinking?' said Stalker, seeing her hands were empty. 'Let me get you some wine.'
'Thank you, no,' said Visage quickly. 'I don't care for wine. It interferes with my concentration.'
'But that's why we drink it, my child,' said Stalker, grinning. 'Still, the alcohol in wine needn't always be a problem. Watch this.'
He poured himself a large glass of white wine from a handy decanter, and then held up the glass before him. He said half a dozen words in a quick, rasping whisper, and the wine stirred briefly in the glass, as though disturbed by an unseen presence. It quickly settled itself, and the wine looked no different than it had before.
'Try it now,' said Stalker, handing the glass to Visage. 'All the taste of wine, but no alcohol.'
Visage sipped the wine tentatively.
'Good trick,' said Hawk.
Stalker looked quickly round. He hadn't heard the Guard approach. <em>Getting old</em>, he thought sourly. <em>And careless</em>. He bowed politely to Hawk.
'A simple transformation spell,' he said calmly. 'The wine doesn't change its basic nature, of course; that would be beyond my simple abilities. The alcohol is still there; it just can't affect you anymore. It's a handy trick to know, on occasion. There are times when a man's survival can rest on his ability to keep a clear head.'
'I can imagine,' said Hawk. 'But I always thought you distrusted magic, sir warrior. That seems to be the one thing all the songs about you agree on.'
'Oh, them.' Stalker shrugged dismissively. 'I never wrote any of them. When you get right down to it, magic's a tool, like any other; just a little more complicated than most. It's not that I distrust magic; I just don't trust those who rely on it too much. Sorcery isn't like a sword or a pike; magic can let you down. And besides, I don't trust the deals some people make to gain their knowledge and power.'
He looked at Gaunt on the far side of the room, and his eyes were very cold. Hawk looked thoughtfully at Stalker. Dorimant and Visage looked at each other.
'Thank you for the wine, sir warrior,' said Visage. 'It's really very nice. But now, if you'll excuse us, Graham and I need to discuss some business with the Hightowers.'
'And I must return to my partner,' said Hawk.
They bowed politely, and then moved quickly away, leaving Stalker standing alone, staring after Visage. <em>You rotten little bitch</em>, he thought finally. <em>Ah, well, she wasn't really my type anyway</em>.
The sorcerer Gaunt raised his voice above the babble of conversation, and called for everyone's attention. The noise quickly died away as they all turned to face him.
'My friends, dinner will soon be ready. If you would like to go up to your rooms and change, I will be serving the first course in thirty minutes.'
The guests moved unhurriedly out of the parlor and into the hall, talking cheerfully among themselves. Gaunt disappeared after them, presumably to check on how the first course was coming along. Hawk and Fisher were left alone in the great parlor.
'Change for dinner?' said Hawk.
'Of course,' said Fisher. 'We're among the Quality now.'
'Makes a change,' said Hawk dryly, and they both laughed.
'I'm getting rid of this cloak,' said Fisher. 'I don't care if we are representing the Guard; it's too damned hot to wear a cloak.'
She took it off and draped it carelessly over the nearest chair. Hawk grinned, and did the same. They looked wistfully at the great table at the rear of the parlor, covered with a pristine white tablecloth and gleaming plates and cutlery. There was even a massive candelabrum in the middle of the table, with all the candles already lit.
'That looks nice,' said Hawk.
'Very nice,' said Fisher. 'I wonder if we're invited to dinner.'
'I doubt it,' said Hawk. 'We probably get scraps and leftovers in the kitchen, afterwards. Unless Blackstone decides he wants a food taster, and I think Gaunt would probably take that as an insult to his culinary arts.'
'Ah, well,' said Fisher. 'At least now we can sit down for a while. My feet are killing me.'
