He ducked under a low arch leading into the courtyard by the east wall, between a series of lean-tos, shanties, and other indications of those who live a life without a real home. Toward the gate itself, where the courtyard widened enough to admit the throngs of people, he could see the gnome and Gredchen sitting in a shaded spot.
“So,” he said, walking over to them as bold as brass. “Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
Highmaster Rivven Cairn gazed into a pool of water that had collected on the top of an ale barrel.
Rivven knew many divination spells, most of which she used to discern the nature or strength of her opponents or to communicate with her underlings. The latter was the chief purpose of the spell she had just invoked, conjuring a watery window onto a far place currently occupied by the wizard Cazuvel.
“So what news do you have for me?” she asked as she noted the locals keeping their distance from the exterior of the Monkey’s Ear Tavern. Rivven had arrived there to find the place abandoned, and she was hearing news not only of a bloody duel elsewhere in Pentar but of disturbances to the east.
“My lady,” Cazuvel spoke, his bone-white face swimming on the surface of the water. “I have arrived at Castle Glayward, though I believe it is North Keep that demands the most of our attention.”
Rivven rubbed at the back of her neck, where sweat and leather had irritated the skin and where her great helm would usually keep the rain out. She’d left the helm on the saddle, and the saddle was on Cear. The dragon was presently perched on the roof of the tavern, another reason for the locals to stay the Abyss out of her way.
“Is that young idiot making public speeches again?” she asked the mage’s image. “Doesn’t he know we only let him out of his room if he promises not to rouse the rabble?”
“The king has indeed been making speeches, my lady,” said Cazuvel, as smug as ever. “He forgets what that did to his father a decade ago.”
King Huemac Kerian, the previous king of Nordmaar, had refused to submit to the Red Wing when it had swept into Nordmaar. Proud and stubborn, his army had made its last stand at Qwes, a frontier keep on the edge of the khan’s lands. The khan at the time, always one to throw his lot in with the winning team, joined the dragonarmy forces; without the support of the horse nomads, King Huemac couldn’t hold the line, especially not against red dragons. Nordmaar fell before the Red Wing’s assault, and Rivven had been there to enjoy the spectacle. Shredler Kerian had watched his father die at the end of Highlord Phair Caron’s spear, and since that time the newly crowned king had remained sequestered at North Keep. It was the capital city of his inherited kingdom and his own personal prison.
“He is supposed to be watched at all hours by his personal guard,” Rivven said, exhaling. “They are sivaks, second only in rank to the Red Watch that the highlord keeps with him in Kern. They’re not blind idiots, are they?”
The mage betrayed no knowledge of the truth. “Not blind … perhaps idiots. I am but Your Ladyship’s servant.”
“Oh, that’s enough of that nonsense,” Rivven said. “Make sure the baron’s …
“Cear!” she called out impatiently.
The dragon’s neck craned down from the roof, lowering its head to level with Cairn’s own. “You called?”
“Any sign of more disturbances?” she asked. “Do you see the sellsword walking about with the gnome I told you about?”
Cear bared a row of enormous ivory teeth. “Not as such,” he responded, his hot breath washing over Rivven.
“Not as such?”
“What I mean is I don’t usually pay much attention to gnomes. The human? Literally dozens of dark-skinned humans walking about the city, even now.”
Pentar was a hotbed of piratical activity as well as being home to a diverse population, so Ergothians and Saifhumi weren’t uncommon. Vanderjack was both, or so it was said, and thus, his ability to blend in there was to be expected. It was a fact that Vanderjack had become just famous enough to have a cult following almost the like of any Hero of the Lance. It was also a fact that Cear, like all red dragons, didn’t really know how to tell one human from another until he’d roasted them with his breath.
“He may already have left Pentar,” Rivven said, waving Cear away. The dragon’s head rose up again, out of sight above her. “I’m tired of being one step behind this man, and if he’s already hooked up with the gnome, then I can only imagine he’s headed east.”
Rivven pushed open the door to the Monkey’s Ear. Inside, a handful of mercenaries who had been foolish enough to come back once Annaud and his men had gone off in search of Vanderjack were sitting around a table, plainly upset at being discovered by the highmaster.
Even without the great helm, she was a frightening woman when she wanted to be. “You men have a new employer,” she said, stopping before them with her hands on her hips. “New contracts, new uniforms.”
One of the mercenaries cleared his throat. “No disrespect, Highmaster, but we’ve got legally binding contracts with the gnome. Shinare’s seal on them and all.”
Rivven smiled, no trace of humor in it. “And you are signatories to those documents, correct?” The men nodded.
“Then you should know that you can, under Shinarite code, voluntarily excuse yourself from such a contract citing irreconcilable differences.”
The mercenary who had spoken first spoke again. “Begging your pardon, and I’m not sayin’ you’re wrong or anything, but what differences would those be?”
Rivven said, “Here’s one,” and with one swift, sure stroke, she drew the curved scimitar from her back and removed the first mercenary’s head from his shoulders, sheathing the weapon again before it hit the floor.
The other mercenaries hurriedly searched through their pouches, knapsacks, and pockets for their contracts.
Rivven stalked off to the bar, helping herself to a drink while she waited for the collection of ragtag mercenaries to sort themselves out. The Ergothian had eliminated all of her current employees in the town, even Captain Annaud. She needed a fresh set of eyes, ears, and sword arms.
Turning around at the bar and leaning back, she pointed a thin finger at one of the more professional- looking hired swords before her. “You. Congratulations. You’re my new captain. In a few minutes, some local people I paid well are going to show up here with a few … used dragonarmy uniforms. Put them on, pack up all of your gear, and get ready to head out.”
The new captain saluted nervously and immediately started ordering the others around, going over travel details. Rivven smiled, looking at the headless body on the tavern’s wooden floor. Discipline, she thought. It’s all about discipline. She walked outside the tavern with her mug of beer and called up to her dragon.
“Give them another twenty minutes,” she said. “Then set fire to the place.”
Her business at the Monkey’s Ear Tavern attended to, Rivven Cairn went off in search of a good fish vendor.
CHAPTER NINE
Vanderjack tightened the straps on his new magical armor and fastened his cloak around his shoulders.
Theo and Gredchen were poring over a map, practically fighting each other to see who would retain hold of the yellowed parchment. The baron’s aide had the advantage of height, but Theo was quick and wily, and by the time Vanderjack walked back to them, the gnome had claimed more than two-thirds of the map.
“What do you think?” asked Vanderjack, showing off his new acquisition-the finely crafted scale mail, with its
