Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [36]
Seven
Mari groaned. Why did these things always seem to happen to her?
"I thought Cormik adored you," Morhion said coldly.
"I thought he did, too," she said through clenched teeth.
"Well, if you don't mind my saying, he has a rather peculiar manner of expressing his affection."
For emphasis, Morhion rattled the heavy iron shackles that bound his wrists. He and Mari were chained to a rough stone wall in a dank underground chamber. The muffled sounds of raucous laughter and clinking coins drifted down from above. They were somewhere in the basement of the Prince and Pauper, the seamiest gambling house in Iriaebor.
"In case you're wondering, you really aren't being helpful, Morhion," Mari replied in a surly tone. "Can't you get us out of here with a spell?"
"No, I can't. Casting a spell requires ritual gestures as well as magical words"-he cast a rueful look at the thick bands of iron that held his hands immobile-"a fact of which your dear friend Cormik seems well aware."
"Everyone's entitled to a few mistakes," Mari grumbled. She seemed to remember Caledan saying that exact phrase once when the two of them were caught in a similar predicament. Things were worse than she thought if she was starting to sound like Caldorien.
Mari racked her brain, trying to think of what she might have done to get on Cormik's bad side. Cormik was the proprietor of the Prince and Pauper, but he was also one of the most powerful underworld lords in Iriaebor. Officially, Mari could not condone Cormik's illicit practices, but he had helped the Fellowship to defeat Ravendas. Besides, she had always liked his daggerlike wit and impeccable sense of taste.
It must have been that incident a year ago, she decided. Cormik had wanted her help in prying some compromising secrets out of a particularly wealthy nobleman. Mari had haughtily told Cormik to go ask one of the painted ladies on the Street of Lanterns instead, and had run him out of the Dreaming Dragon. She had not spoken to him since that day. Well, if he was still holding a grudge, she was going to have to find a way to-
The chamber's ironbound door flew open. Mari blinked against the glare of crimson torchlight that gushed through the opening. When her vision cleared, a figure stood before her. Cormik. He was a corpulent man with a florid, pockmarked complexion and a jewel-encrusted patch over one eye. As ever, he was clad in gaudy finery that involved voluminous quantities of blue silk, wine-colored velvet, and gold brocade. Flanking him were two hulking bodyguards, each bearing a jeweled sword.
Mari licked her hps. "Cormik, if you'll let me explain-"
He cut her off with a wave of a chubby, ring-laden hand. "Haven't we been through this once before, Harper?" he said impatiently. "I didn't want to hear Caledan's explanation then, and I don't want to hear yours now. I'm a busy man, you know." He made a sharp gesture to his bodyguards. "Jad, Kevrek-deal with these two for me."
Cormik strode from the chamber. His two bull-necked servants stepped forward, grinning fiercely as they reached into leather pouches on their belts. Mari's eyes widened as she caught a glint of silver and a wisp of steam. She shut her eyes, bracing herself against the coming attack.
"A mirror and a hot towel?" Morhion's incredulous voice said beside her.
Mari's eyes fluttered open. She gaped in surprise. Sure enough, each of the bodyguards held a small silver mirror and a steaming cloth towel.
"Of course," one of the muscle-bound men said in a surprisingly cultured voice. "You'll both need to freshen up before your audience with the Master."
"Dungeons can be so messy," the other hulk added in an equally genteel tone. "Don't you agree?"
Jad and Kevrek held up the silver mirrors while Mari and Morhion wiped themselves clean of dust and cobwebs. The towels were deliciously hot and scented faintly with ginger. Mari was forced to admit that she felt refreshed. However, she was still furious with Cormik.
A few minutes later, Cormik's bodyguards led Mari and