Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [65]
Mari nervously adjusted the silver Harper's sigil on her jacket, making sure it was concealed for the journey. "She's been digging for months now. She must be close."
Cormik patted her shoulder with a chubby, ring-covered hand. "Don't fear, Mari Al'maren. My associates and I will keep Ravendas occupied while the Fellowship is away." He smiled broadly, his eyes gleaming wickedly. "Of course, if you wanted to stay behind, my beautiful Mari, I'm certain I could find some… er, shall we say 'suitable tasks' you could help me accomplish while your friends here are gone."
Mari patted Cormik's cheek fondly and deftly extricated herself from his grasp. "Not in a thousand years," she said with a sweet smile.
"That's impertinent of you, Mari," Cormik said chidingly, and then he laughed. "I like that in a woman. Take care of her, Caledan."
Caledan regarded Mari sourly. "I'll try," was all he said.
After Cormik departed, the companions gathered in the garden behind the inn. As the first amber rays of dawn streaked across the sky, changing it from burnished silver to brilliant azure, Ferret kept watch for any city guards that might wander down the lane. Jolle had retrieved their mounts from the inn's stable, and the companions saddled their horses and loaded their saddlebags. Mista stamped a hoof impatiently.
"Patience. We're almost ready," Caledan told the gray mare, affectionately scratching her chin. She responded by trying to nip his fingers.
As they mounted their horses, Mari took in a sharp breath of surprise. There were five riders assembled in the garden, not four. The mage Morhion was there, clad in midnight blue leather and a cloak of misty gray, sitting astride a black gelding. But she had not heard him and his horse approach. Nor, by their reactions, had the others.
"I see you didn't change your mind," Caledan said, making no attempt to disguise his dislike of the mage. If the words stung Morhion, he did not show it. His regal visage was placid, his blue eyes like iced sapphires.
"I gave you my word I would come," Morhion said. "My word is binding."
Caledan snorted but said nothing more. Mari nudged her chestnut gelding, Farenth, toward the mage.
"I am glad you've decided to come with us," she said to Morhion, trying to keep her voice steady under his disconcerting gaze.
"Is that so, Harper?" the mage asked. His tone was not hostile, but neither was it especially friendly.
Mari shifted uncomfortably in her saddle, doing her best to meet Morhion's eyes. "Yes, it is," she said firmly. "The Nightstone is an artifact of legend, Morhion, of magic. It's simple. We need a mage on this journey."
"Is it as simple as that?" Morhion asked with a faint smile.
Mari gathered her cloak more closely around her shoulders to ward against the damp morning air. "Caledan thinks that you're coming with us for your own purposes. He thinks you wish to obtain the Nightstone so you can wield it for your own ends. Should I listen to him?" She searched the mage's face carefully for any trace of a reaction. His face, however, was as smooth and unreadable as a marble statue's.
The mage shrugged, his golden hair glimmering in the sun. "You yourself must choose what to believe, Harper."
It was time to be off. Estah was scurrying busily about. Every few moments she remembered one more thing the companions just might need and hurried to tuck it away in a pack or saddlebag.
"Enough, wife," Jolle chided her gently, holding her hand firmly. "If you put anything more in those packs, the poor horses are going to collapse."
Estah sighed and nodded. "I suppose you're right, husband. I've packed some balms and bandages, Tyveris. You know how to use them if…"
"Of course, Estah," the big loremaster said warmly, reaching down to grip the hauling healer's hand.
Estah nodded with a smile. Then the expression faltered. "But what will you do without a healer?" she said, worry showing in her brown eyes. "If one of you were to get hurt, and I wasn't there to… and especially you, pretty one." She reached up to touch