Cormyr_ a novel - Ed Greenwood [151]
After all, wasn't he?
"Glarasteer Rhauligan, sir, dealer in turret tops and spires, stone and wood both-you order 'em, and we'll build 'em, fast and cheap an' they won't fall down!" the merchant introduced himself grandly as the newcomer tried to sit down next to him and Dauneth.
The newcomer peered at him suspiciously, snorted, and turned away from the table. "I was seeking someone else," he said curtly over his shoulder, leaving the young man and the merchant in peace. Rhauligan gave him a cheery wave of farewell that somehow became an impolite gesture and then-as chuckles from other tables made the man whirl around again-a signal for more service.
A waitress with the longest, smoothest legs Dauneth had ever seen on a human drifted over. "My lord?"
"A flask of firedrake," the merchant told her, "and two tallglasses-one for my friend here."
The waitress started to turn, and Dauneth gave her a smile that bought him a frank and admiring one to match before she bustled away to see to warm firedrake wine and cold, salt-rimmed glasses.
"Well, lad?" Rhauligan asked in a low voice as the scion of House Marliir shifted to a more comfortable position in his chair.
Dauneth shot a dark look across the table. "No bodies falling out of doors or knife-wielding clusters of masked nobility," he muttered, "but I did hear Aunadar Bleth comforting the crown princess."
"And?"
"Something didn't seem quite right," Dauneth murmured. "He seemed just a little too happy about the king dying."
Rhauligan shrugged. "And why not? If he's Tanalasta's favorite and she becomes queen, he can run Cormyr without any of the perils of ruling it. He wouldn't be the first noble to be more in love with a woman's position than with the lass herself, now, would he?"
"That's true," Dauneth agreed reluctantly and sat back with a sigh-in time to look up with a hasty smile as the waitress bent over him and set their drinks on the table, gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze, and was gone again. Despite himself, he turned his head to watch her go.
Rhauligan grinned, shook his head, and poured them both firedrake wine, watching the glasses steam and fog as the warmed liquid met chilled glass. Ah, to be young again…
"On me, lad," he said as the young noble turned his head back to the table. Dauneth hadn't even managed to open his mouth to protest that it was his turn, even past his turn, to pay for things, when the merchant asked, "Did anyone see you? Should I expect Purple Dragons to come in here hunting young Marliirs?"
Dauneth shook his head.
"Did you have to show your scroll to anyone?"
Dauneth shook his head again, then frowned, set down his glass, and reached into the open front of his shirt, and fumbled with the wooden toggle that held his safe pouch closed. When he drew it forth, the scroll was only a little crumpled at one end. He stared at it curiously, turning it a little in his fingers. "I wonder what it says," he said slowly under his breath.
"So open it," the merchant urged, sipping warm wine.
"Oh, but Emthrara-" he started to protest.
"Gave it to you to let every hairy-nosed guard who might ask your business have a read," the merchant put in. "So…?"
Dauneth looked at him doubtfully for a moment, and then, as if of their own accord, his fingers went to the ribbon that bound it, slid it along without untying Emthrara's knot, and let the parchment loosen of itself. Then, in sudden impatience at himself, the young noble spread the scroll out on a dry area of tabletop and read it.
There were only a few lines, in a fine, flowing hand:
"The bearer of this note is Dauneth Marliir, of noble blood and on a mission of the greatest importance to the crown. If he would