Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [53]
"You're sure you don't want me to come along?" Ferret had asked as they made their farewells at the inn.
"Thanks, Ferret, but not this trip," Caledan had replied. "We thought we'd try asking the monks to see the book first."
The thief had shrugged his thin shoulders. "Suit yourself," he'd said in a slightly wounded voice, fidgeting with a sharp-edged dagger. "It just seems like a waste of time to me, that's all. Asking is so… so indirect."
Tendrils of mist crept from the ground as they made their way down the Tor into the New City. When they rode into the wide plaza of the free market, Caledan laid a hand on Man's arm.
"Look above that archway," he whispered softly, "but don't be obvious about it."
She did as he instructed, and her breath caught in her throat. A spear had been wedged atop a stone wall bordering the plaza. Thrust upon the tip of the bloodied spear was a human head. It was a man with empty, wrinkled sockets for eyes.
Quickly Mari averted her gaze from the awful spectacle. 'Tembris," she whispered. "But why…?"
"It's a warning," Caledan growled softly. "Ravendas must know now that we're still in the city. But obviously she doesn't know where. Otherwise we'd both be up there with him."
A sick feeling settled in Mart's stomach. Serving Ravendas had first cost Tembris his eyes. In the end it had cost him his life. There was nothing to do now but ride onward.
The three companions made their way out Iriaebor's west gate, then left the main road shortly after midmorning, cutting overland to the northeast toward the distant, gray-green peaks of the Sunset Mountains. The mist had burned off the rolling plains, and the day had grown fine and warm. Mari pulled a felt-covered bundle from a saddlebag and carefully unwrapped it, revealing a very old-looking baliset. It was a beautiful instrument, built of ash inlaid with darker maple and reddish cherry. She strummed the four strings and smiled at the pure sound. The baliset's voice was as true as the day Master Andros had given it to her.
She had not played in several weeks, but her fingers plucked the strings with practiced ease, and she began a simple song. Tyveris, riding close by, smiled at the music. After a while, Mari added her rich, burnished voice to that of the instrument, singing one of the first songs Master Andros had taught her, a rollicking air about a sparrow in flight, and a man returning home to his true love.
"I spy her far above me, Against the wide blue sky. She's whirling swift and graceful, A sparrow soaring high. But my love is no less lovely. Her eyes are just as bright And while she may wear no jesses, She'll be my bonny bird this night. Aye, fly my love, and sing your song Like a sparrow on the wing. Don't be shy, for I won't be long, And I'll bring your wedding ring!"
When she finished, Tyveris applauded enthusiastically. 'Truly, the gods have blessed you with the gift of music, Mari," the big loremaster said, smiling broadly at her. "Why, Caledan himself couldn't play a better tune than that, could you Cal-" Tyveris stopped short, his dark eyes going wide as he realized what he was saying. Mari bit her lip and cast a glance at Caldorien, who rode on in silence, gazing at the far-off mountains.
Mari played a few more songs as they rode, but soon she packed the baliset away. She found she had little heart for it, at least not that day.
It was verging on midday when the attack came.
They had just crested a low, rocky ridge. Below them at the foot of the ridge rushed a small river, muddy and swollen with the runoff of melting snow from the nearby mountains. The ridge was crowned with a jumble of massive granite boulders. As Caledan rode by, something dark dropped down from above them, knocking him from Mista's back.
He fell hard to the ground, the