Black wizards - Douglas Niles [46]
"See you in a little while!" she called, striding purposefully toward the northern avenue.
"There's more to the lady than meets the eye," mused Daryth, staring after the bard. "I'm glad we'll see her again."
"Let's find that inn and get something to drink, then," said the prince. "I'm thirsty!"
"I shouldn't doubt it," said Pontswain sarcastically. "Although a hot meal would do me good."
The streets of Llewellyn were crowded, at least by Corwellian standards, but the Ffolk they passed seemed unusually quiet. There was none of the friendly banter that the prince was used to.
The Diving Dolphin stood a short distance from the park. The whitewashed facade was weatherbeaten and faded, and the wide steps leading up to the front door showed signs of many repairs.
"No dogs," grunted a huge, black-bearded man as Tristan started through the door. The fellow stood in the shadows but moved forward quickly to block the entrance.
The prince stopped, annoyed. Daryth spoke before Tristan had a chance to rebuke the man, however.
"He'll wait out here for us. Down, Canthus!" The hound-master pointed to a corner of the wide porch, and Canthus walked to it, flopping heavily onto his belly. He lay his head upon his forepaws and did not move.
The man stepped aside, and Daryth prodded the prince through the door. Tristan turned upon his friend as soon as they had entered the huge inn.
"What did you do that for? He had no right -"
"Actually, it's the custom in most places," said the Calishite. "Corwell is the only place I've lived where dogs are treated as well as people."
Tristan felt sick. His naivete had almost caused him to make a fool of himself! Some future king he was!
"Don't worry about it," laughed Daryth. "You've got me along to look after you! Now, let's get something to eat."
* * * * *
The Seven sat about their wide table again. Six black hoods rose in fascination, absorbing the words that came from the seventh – the wizard in the center of the group.
"The assassin will be here shortly. We shall give him his task, and the last of the heroes among the Ffolk shall presently be eliminated. Then we shall be able to direct our energies to more productive tasks, such as bending the other lands to the will of our liege." The last word, thick with irony, lay heavily in the air after he spoke.
Alexei, seated to Cyndre's right, sat quietly. He watched his master through narrowed eyes, thinking deeply.
How much he hated Cyndre! How he craved the power that the master selfishly kept for himself by doling out small tastes of it to those mages who pleased him.
He looked beyond, to Kryphon, and his hatred grew, threatening to choke him. The worm! He was certain that Kryphon tried to manipulate the master in an effort to unseat Alexei himself from his place at Cyndre's right hand. Alexei daydreamed of a time when he would watch them both squirm, rot, and die.
But Doric. The slender woman just beyond Kryphon would be his again – as she had once been and as she was meant to be. The thought of Kryphon's pleasure as he gratified his lust upon the woman that was Alexei's by right of conquest fueled the flames of jealousy into a white heat.
The other three – Talraw, Wertam, and Karianow – were the weaklings of the council. Alexei was certain that the three mages, barely beyond their apprenticeship, would follow the strongest leader. His heart pounded at the thought of his revenge, of the pain and humiliation he would inflict upon his former master.
"Alexei?" The soft voice called him back to reality.
"Master?" The word almost caught in his throat.
Cyndre turned his head slightly, fixing his assistant with a gaze of cool interest. "Alexei, you have raised many questions – about the cleric, about