Crypt of the shadowking - Mark Anthony [97]
"I'm not going in to confront Ravendas," he had growled.
"At least not yet. All I want to do is try to find out how close she is to locating the Nightstone." Caledan had planned to try to bluff his way through the tower's gate disguised as a Zhentarim warrior, but Ferret had suggested the ancient, forgotten storm drain as a less conspicuous method.
Caledan watched as black-booted feet marched by on the other side of the iron grate. After a minute Ferret motioned that the coast was clear. Quickly the thief shifted the grate to one side, slipping out. Caledan swiftly followed, replacing the grate behind him. They brushed the dirt from their black leather garb. They had stolen the uniforms from a pair of guards whose corpses were still cooling in a dim alleyway not far from the tower.
"I look like a buffoon!" Ferret swore softly as he futilely tried to adjust his swordbelt. Even though one of the guards had been nearly his size, the little thief looked ill at ease in the stiff leather uniform.
Caledan himself had fared quite a bit better than the thief in terms of fit. Unlike Ferret's, his uniform included an embossed, black enameled breastplate and an ornate helm with a visor that concealed his face.
As Ferret had promised, the two found themselves inside the wall that surrounded the tower. The sun was just on the verge of setting. Streaks of angry crimson and molten gold crossed the evening sky, silhouetting the single, unblemished spire.
Ferret nudged Caledan. A half-dozen Zhentarim were marching across the barren courtyard toward them. Caledan clenched his jaw and kept walking, doing his best to look as if he were at home. However, the guards did not accost them as he feared. Instead, much to his astonishment, they saluted him as they marched past. Hurriedly Caledan returned the formal salute-a fist clenched before the forehead.
"It looks like I've got the livery of someone important, he noted under his breath. "You'd better act like my subordinate so we don't attract undue attention."
"Lucky me," Ferret replied acidly.
Eight guards stood, swords drawn, to either side of the tower's massive bronze doors. Just as Caledan and Ferret approached, the great doors swung open, and a flock of gaudily attired men and women, followed by pages and scribes, began to exit the tower, streaming down the expansive stone steps. Some of them wore self-important expressions on their faces, a few wore looks of disgust, but most simply looked like small, frightened animals.
"The city's lords," Ferret whispered.
Caledan nodded. "They must be getting out of a session in the Hall of Argument."
The two took advantage of the confusion to thread their way through the crowd and slip across the threshold.
Nearly the entire base of the tower was taken up by the vast Hall of Argument. Its high ceiling was supported by countless arches soaring up in graceful vaults. The ceiling was covered with luminous frescoes, and the light of a hundred torches reflected off the hall's polished stone floors. Ferret allowed Caledan little time to gaze at the splendor of the place, however. He ducked into a side corridor, roughly pulling Caledan with him.
'That's no way to treat your superior," Caledan snorted under his breath.
"I thought you'd like it better than a knife in your back," Ferret replied.
They moved swiftly down the corridor. Several more Zhentarim passed the pair, saluting Caledan. Caledan returned the gesture, trying his best to keep his bearing stiff, as one would expect of a commander. They soon reached a spiral staircase leading up to the tower's higher levels.
"Breldurn, there you are!" a voice suddenly exclaimed behind them.
Caledan felt his heart lurch in his chest. "Keep walking," he hissed to Ferret.
"I say, Breldurn, wait there!" the rough