Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [25]
Unfortunately, the information about Cutter's tax collectors wasn't the only news Mari and Caledan had learned at the Prince and Pauper. The body of Cormik's apprentice, Dario, had been discovered that morning on the north highway outside the city.
"I suppose it was brigands," Cormik had said, his round face haggard. "Gods know the roads are crawling with ruffians these days, what with no guards riding out on patrol. It's Ravendas's fault the highways aren't safe anymore."
Caledan felt responsible and tried to say something, but Cormik had waved his words away. "No, Caledan," he said wearily. "It was I who devised the little charade, not you. Besides, the culprit couldn't be Ravendas. You and I both know that Ravendas would prefer you alive, not dead. No, Dario has always been lucky-until now."
Despite his grief, Cormik had been ready to help plot this night's adventure. He was eager to help organize a resistance movement against Lord Ravendas. And for that they needed gold.
As the wagon drew close, Man lifted the hood of her tattered gray cloak and gripped her stout walking stick tightly in one hand. Back bent, she hobbled out onto the avenue, directly in the wagon's path. The driver swore loudly, pulling back on the reins. The wagon clattered to a stop just short of Man's shambling form.
"Hey there, old woman!" the driver shouted. "Make way, unless you want to spend the night in Cutter's dungeon." Mari just stood there, muttering under her breath as if she were some simpleminded old crone.
"Gods, Brim, get the old witch off the road, will you?" the driver snapped. "Cutter'll have our heads if we're late to the countinghouse."
"All right, all right," the other Zhentarim said in annoyance, climbing off the wagon. He swaggered toward Mari. "You're in our way, hag. Be off with you, before we do something to you that you wouldn't like." He flashed a lurid grin at his partner, but in the moment his head was turned Mari hefted the gnarled walking stick and swung it in a whistling arc. It struck the Zhent's jaw with a resounding crack, and the guard sprawled to the ground.
"I guess that will teach you to respect your elders," Mari said with a grim laugh.
"By all the bloody gods!" the driver shouted in shock. "You'll pay for that, you crazy old witch!" He stood up, drawing his short sword, but he never had the chance to swing it. A dark form leaped from the overhanging branch of an oak tree, landing nimbly on the roof of the wagon. The driver turned around in surprise-just as Caledan's boot caught him square in the face, shattering his nose. The Zhent tumbled out of the wagon and rolled into the foul muck of the gutter.
"Care for a ride, old woman?" Caledan asked with a smirk. Mari smiled back. The two took a moment to strip the dead Zhents of their dark leather uniforms.
"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you, scoundrel?" Mari hopped up into the wagon as Caledan flicked the reins.
“It never hurts to take pride in your work," Caledan remarked as the wagon bounced along into the night.
Before guiding the horses onto the steep road that led up the face of the Tor, Caledan halted the wagon. Quickly he and Mari donned the uniforms of the dead Zhents. Then they continued up the Tor, winding through the dim streets of the Old City. Both tensed when a trio of city guards rode by on horseback, but the guards simply saluted and continued on their way.
Caledan brought the wagon to a halt at the base of a tall spire in the shadow of the city lord's tower. Cormik's multifarious eyes and ears had learned that this was Cutter's primary countinghouse. The lion's share of the money that her guards extorted from Iriaebor's ships and caravans