Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [16]
"But not if I can help it," Caledan growled to no one in particular. Then he laughed grimly at himself. That sounded like something Caledan the Harper would have said. He had always been so ready to play the hero. Fool was more like it.
He pulled on his black leather breeches and the matching jerkin over his white shirt. He jammed his feet into his boots, checking to make sure his dagger was in its sheath. He was about to head downstairs when the door to his room burst open.
Two very small people bounded through the doorway, laughing and giggling. They were Estah's children, Pog and Nog. Caledan had been surprised when Estah had introduced him to them the night before.
"It's time for breakfast, Uncle Caledan," said Pog. She Was the elder of the two, pretty yet impish.
"Eth, geckfebst!" echoed Nog. He was the younger, a tiny, round-cheeked boy who spoke in a language only Estah and Jolle seemed capable of deciphering.
Caledan let Pog and Nog lead him down the back stairway that led to a private chamber situated behind the common room. Neither one of them stood higher than his knee, and he felt like a great behemoth towering above them. Deciding Estah would be angry if he stepped on one of them, he grabbed both children and stuffed one under each arm. They squirmed and squealed a great deal, but he let them go when he reached the foot of the stairs. They promptly forgot their big new friend-much to his relief- and scampered off, probably to torture each other, or whatever it was children did. This uncle business was going to take some getting used to.
Jolle had suggested that both he and the Harper keep to the back room in the wing of the inn that jutted out over the edge of the Tor. Given yesterday's incident, it seemed best for Caledan and Mari to keep a low profile.
Caledan saw that the Harper was sitting in a chair pulled close to a small fireplace. She was wrapped in a patchwork quilt, and still seemed a bit pale, but otherwise looked little the worse for wear. Estah was with her, and Caledan found himself slightly perturbed to see the two talking animatedly. He ambled over and sat next to them. The Harper's smile quickly vanished as Estah looked at him worriedly.
"You might have told me, scoundrel," Mari said sullenly.
"Would you have believed me?" Caledan asked her with a wry expression. He winked at Estah. "I seem to remember someone saying I looked more like, let's see… what was it? Ah yes, more like a Vagabond cutpurse than a hero of renown.'"
Mari frowned at this, but after a moment she began to laugh. "It's true, you know. Though you are looking a bit more presentable today. I see you actually have a face beneath those mangy bristles."
Estah smiled hopefully at Caledan and then left them alone to discuss their "Harpery business" as she had always called it.
"You still look more like a highwayman than a hero," Mari added stingingly after the halfling was gone.
"Listen," Caledan said, anger suddenly flaring in his chest. "I'm sorry that I'm not the storybook knight you were expecting, but let me set one thing straight. I am not a Harper anymore. Nor do I wish to have dealings with them. When I left the order seven years ago, it was final. Is that understood?"
"Really?" she asked archly. "If you cared so little, why didn't you simply leave me there in the alley, Caldorien? It would have saved you some trouble."
"Gods, woman. I saved your life, and all you can do is mock me for it?"
She lifted her square chin defiantly. "For that I thank you," she said stiffly, "but from now on you needn't concern yourself about me. Next time you may be the one who needs rescuing."
"Is that so?" Caledan sneered. 'Well, maybe you wouldn't find yourself on the wrong end of a wizard's magic if you tried to be a little less conspicuous. Didn't the Harpers have the sense to teach you to keep that blasted sigil under cover?