Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [121]
Caledan and Mari sat at one of the inn's freshly scrubbed wooden tables. Between them rested a small package which had been delivered earlier along with a sealed parchment scroll.
Mari deftly broke the wax seal and unrolled the scroll, watched her face carefully as she scanned the words on the page. Her hair glowed with a deep, rich hue in the sunlight streaming through the door, and blooms of color touched her cheeks. In the weeks since they had fled from the destruction of the crypt, she had already regained much of her strength.
"It's a missive from the Harpers," Mari said, rolling up the parchment. "From Belhuar Thantarth, the Master of Twilight Hall."
"And?"
"And this is for you," she said, pushing the package toward Caledan.
He looked at her questioningly. Her smile was mysterious. He sighed, swallowed hard, and undid the leather ties that bound the small parcel. He upended the pouch over his hand. A small, silvery object slipped out.
It was a pin, wrought in the shape of a crescent moon encircling a harp.
"Congratulations, Harper," Mari said.
Caledan stared at the pin in amazement. At most he had expected a word of thanks from Thantarth for helping Mari complete her mission. But this he had most definitely not expected.
"Here. You wear it," Mari said wryly, when it was clear all Caledan was going to do was stare at the pin. She carefully fastened the symbol of the Harpers to the shoulder of his new slate blue tunic. The pin glimmered brightly in the sunlight, a twin to the one that adorned Mari's forest green jacket Caledan laughed and took Mari in his arms. The two embraced for a length of time that might have seemed improper were they not alone.
Suddenly the sunlight that spilled through the doorway darkened. Caledan looked up in surprise to see a hulking shadow standing in the open door. The shadow took a step forward.
"Tyveris!" Caledan exclaimed. "It's about time you came by for a visit."
The big loremaster smiled, pushing his gold-rimmed spectacles up on his nose. 'Things have been busy at the city lord's tower," Tyveris said, joining the two at the table. He sighed ruefully. "Really busy."
Caledan laughed. Tyveris was working as an advisor to City Lord Bron, helping to plan the restoration of Iriaebor. It was a position Tyveris had taken reluctantly. After leading the victorious battle in the dungeons, the big lore-master had become nothing less than a hero in the city. The day following the battle the citizens had called for Tyveris to enter the High Tower as city lord. It was a job he did not want. He was a priest, and perhaps even a bit of a warrior still, but he was most certainly not a bureaucrat.
Luckily for Tyveris the old city lord, Bron, was discovered that same morning locked in a small, hidden chamber in the dungeons beneath the tower. Though pale from lack of sunlight and weak from over a year of confinement, Bron was still a man of considerable presence, and the cityfolk were overjoyed to see him alive and well.
However, despite Bron's reappearance, a significant number of citizens still called for Tyveris to take up rule. It was Bron who had proposed Tyveris accept a position as his advisor, and the loremaster, realizing he had little choice in the matter, had agreed. Everyone in the city was thereby made happy-except Tyveris, but apparently he did not count.
"You're looking almost respectable today, Caledan," Tyveris remarked, eyeing Caledan curiously. Caledan had finally traded in his worn black leather traveling gear for newer, less unsavory attire, and he had even taken to shaving regularly. However, much to Mari's chagrin, he still hadn't given up his road-worn, faded blue traveling cloak. He had to draw a line somewhere. "Nice pin, too," the big monk noticed.
"Thanks," Caledan said, almost surprised at the pride in his own voice.
"I thought you might like to know that the last of the Zhentarim from the dungeon have been sent in a caravan to Darkhold," Tyveris told them.
"I'm still not certain that