Black wizards - Douglas Niles [75]
"May I inquire, sir, whose coffers are being fattened by these ill-gotten gains?" asked the prince.
"Ill-gotten?" The bandit chief looked distressed. "Sir, you wound me! Consider it a toll, if you will… A toll for keeping these paths free of the king's scum! Your contributions will go to the coffers of Hugh O'Roarke – that is, myself!"
The name meant nothing to Tristan.
"We are no friends of the king ourselves. We ride these forest paths expressly to avoid the scum you refer to."
"Could it be that you are fugitives?" O'Roarke's expression was mildly curious.
"It could. In fact, we have a small pouch of the king's own gold that we would happily contribute to your cause in exchange for passage through your domain and perhaps information that may aid us in our mission."
"Heyl" Pawldo hissed. "That's mine! You can't -"
"Be still," growled the prince out of the side of his mouth.
"Travelers with a mission, eh? Let us have a look at this pouch, and perhaps we can talk."
"My squire has it in his pack. Pawldo, pay the man."
Muttering curses, Pawldo drew forth the sack he had lifted from the officer's cabinet and tossed it to O'Roarke. As he did so, Tristan realized that they had never checked to see that the pouch contained gold. But the gilded metal was clearly visible in the bright light, and even some of the archers wavered their attention as the bandit ran a glittering stream into his hand.
"Very well," he said, smiling broadly through his red beard. "You will enjoy our protection for a time." He looked at their weapons and apparently liked what he saw. "It may be that there is a place for you among our band of cutthroats."
His last remark worried Tristan more than anything else the bandit had said. The prince wondered if they would ever get the chance to leave.
* * * * *
The wizard turned from the mirror and stalked angrily across the council chamber. His cool detachment had vanished the moment he had learned of the events in Llewellyn. The prince had escaped!
Forcefully, Cyndre brought his emotions under control. The sorcerer knew that only through calm reflection could he hope to devise an effective plan for dealing with the young upstart. Not until the prince was out of the way would Cyndre have any opportunity to expand his own power. Already, Callidyrr seemed too small – and Corwell was the logical next step in the wizard's dream of conquest. For a second, he wondered if the prophecy of Bhaal, warning of the danger inherent in the Prince of Corwell, had meant more than he suspected. Could it be that the prince was destined to defeat all of the council's plans?
Of course not! Cyndre knew that the young man had been very lucky several times. And that the assassin Razfallow had failed him for the last time. The half-ore was marked for death, though this task must take a lower priority than the slaying of the prince. There would be time enough to deal with the assassin.
"Kryphon." The wizard's command was spoken softly, and its target was sleeping soundly in a distant part of the castle. Nevertheless, within seconds Kryphon had materialized beside his master. Kyrphon's black eyebrows were raised inquiringly and his tight, narrow face betrayed a look of interest as he waited for his master to explain the summons. The thin black beard encircling his jaw twitched nervously, and he licked his thin, almost nonexistent, lips.
"Kryphon, our friend Razfallow has failed us again. We shall have to take matters into our own hands."
"Yes, master," the young mage said. He tried, unsuccessfully, to conceal a thin smile of anticipation. Absently, he stroked one of the bright diamond brooches he was prone to wearing on his robe.
"The prince escaped from the Scarlet Guard in Llewellyn, so you should start there. I shall continue to seek him in the mirror. When I find him, I will let you know where he is."
"I should like to take Doric with me. Her powers can be a great asset in a task like this." Kryphon said.
"Indeed," agreed Cyndre, although he looked carefully at his subordinate. "I sense it is