A Dragon's Ascension - Ed Greenwood [134]
So popular was the tavern in this regard, in fact, that there were times when its most desirable meeting rooms were all in use by a variety of cabals, and conspirators belonging to others were forced to wait in the comparatively public taproom downstairs, murmuring less important business to each other in various of the discreetly separated, dimly lit groupings of chairs and tables.
So it was that a number of Ieiremborans sat in the deepest, darkest corner of the Basket of Eels on this day, with almost as many wealthy and prominent merchants of Sirlptar. Tonthan "Goldcloak" was in no particular hurry to ascend any of the well-hidden flights of stairs anyway, because Sathbrar was late, and he depended on the silk merchant's capable support to carry his will over the stubborn stances of men of Sirl who considered that their greater riches gave them the right to dictate everything-the vintner and wine importer Anglurdiaul, for instance, whose barrels were widely believed to carry more man occasional slave cargoes. Anglurdiaul was seated at the other end of the table right now, and as far as Tonthan was concerned, that wasn't far enough away. He had no doubt that the vintner entertained similar opinions.
None of the conspirators looked up when new arrivals stepped into the cool dimness of the taproom; one never did. Nonetheless, every one of them knew, by sidelong glance and use of certain cleverly placed mirrors on the tavern walls, that the newcomers were three in number, and that largest one-a fighting man, by the size of his arms and shoulders and the way he moved, with a long scabbard at his hip-was cloaked and cowled, and had gone straight to a small, empty corner table. He took a seat there facing the Ieiremborans, who as usual had taken the westernmost benches across from their Sirl backers, and would have been promptly dismissed by Tonthan but for the behavior of the cowled man's two companions.
These were a small, little man-a procurer, by the looks of him-and a beautiful young woman of the tallish, slender sort who might have been described by some as "all bones" were it not for the smooth grace of her movements. They strolled steadily across the taproom, neither signaling for wine nor pausing to look about, and went straight to Hardiman Anglurdiaul, who was by far the fattest, most richly garbed merchant mere.
The procurer stopped just out of blade reach of the vintner, tendered a pleasant smile, and said crisply, "News for you, Goodman: there's a new King in Aglirta. One anxious to make peace-and trade-with the Isles and with Sirlptar. Best save your coins and hides, and conquer in markets, not in castles."
The Ieiremborans froze, as one.
Anglurthaul looked up at him coldly. "And just who asked you?"
The procurer displayed another airy smile, and bowed with a flourish. "Ah, I forget myself: Craer Delnbone, Overduke of Aglirta. You may place yourself at my service, Anglurthaul."
The vintner sneered without bothering to speak, and waved almost lazily over one of his shoulders.
A man lounging at a table across the room stood up, cloak falling away from leather harness, and threw a knife with deadly speed.
Craer plucked it casually out of the air and extended it to his female companion.
She smiled tightly, palmed it, and murmured a swift spell-and there were sudden, hastily stilled sounds of