Crusade - James Lowder [45]
"And your damned guild brothers will pay for their grumbling," the mail-clad warrior added, swinging his mug toward the table by the door. Brak grumbled something under his breath, but remained silent.
Azoun didn't miss the reference to the trappers and quickly moved to the table of the man who'd made the toast. "May I join you?" When the man nodded, the king took a seat on the rickety bench across from him. "What was that about the trappers, young man?" he asked in a soft voice.
After a long swallow of ale, the warrior leveled his gaze on the king. "A guild should be responsible for its members." He cast a withering glance at Brak, then added, "He's an influential member of the Trappers' Guild, so-"
Abruptly Azoun held up his hand. "The attack on the king," he finished. "So that's the source of your animosity." He studied the man across the table for a moment before he asked his next question.
He's probably a mercenary, the king decided. The warrior was by no means unhandsome, but the look of dogged obstinacy that clung to his square features made him appear contentious. After a moment, Azoun reconsidered his opinion. The man was fastidiously dressed; his mail shone as if recently polished, his leather breeches and silk surcoat were spotless. No, not a mercenary, the king concluded. More likely a paladin of some lawful order.
Azoun leaned close. "The name's Balin," he said. "Well met… er…"
"Ambrosius." The man reached out and clasped Azoun's forearm in a traditional greeting. "Ambrosius, Knight of Tyr." A slightly puzzled look crossed his face as he let the king's arm go.
Without letting it register on his face, Azoun cursed to himself. The man was a paladin, a holy knight of the God of Justice. Such warriors were difficult to fool, and it seemed for an instant, when Ambrosius had grasped his arm… . The king smiled wanly through his powdered beard and started to rise.
"No need to hurry," Ambrosius said flatly, clasping a strong arm around Azoun's wrist. "I am always at a loss for personable men to share conversation with me here." When the king hesitated, the knight whispered,
"Do not make a scene, good sir. I simply want to know for whom you spy."
With a sigh, Azoun took his seat. "I am here on the king's business," he replied. "Is my disguise so poor that you can see through it so easily?"
Ambrosius thrust his square chin out and looked at Azoun with that expression of doggedness. "Your arm is far too muscular for a man of the age you pretend to be," he whispered. "I do not approve of spies or subterfuge.
I've learned long ago to ferret out such as you."
The knight paused, then asked, "My toast to the king was sincere. What does His Highness wish to know?"
"The feelings of his subjects on the crusade," Azoun replied. "As well as the disposition of the Trappers' Guild toward the king himself."
Ambrosius laughed, a deep, robust sound that came from his heart. "The first is a simple matter to discern. There are hundreds of the king's loyal subjects-myself included- who have signed on already for the crusade."
The paladin leaned back in his chair. "The other is more complex."
After rubbing his chin for a moment, the knight of Tyr smiled broadly. "But, again, there is simple way to the truth." Without pause, he turned to Brak. "Ho, trapper! This man wants to know your guild's attitude toward the king," he said truthfully.
The bar quieted slightly, and Brak stared at the paladin and the king like an enraged cyclops. "I don't want to answer to the likes of you, Ambrosius," the trapper slurred.
The reason for that would have been obvious to anyone in the Black Rat who knew Ambrosius to be a paladin. Such holy knights, because of their devotion to their gods, were sometimes gifted with the power to detect evil in other men's hearts.
"You needn't fear answering unless the trappers were in league against the king," Ambrosius announced. Now the bar was silent, and everyone looked toward Brak. The one-eyed trapper shifted nervously in his seat. "Best answer right