Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [37]
"So, did you like my little ruse, Al'maren?" Cormik inquired coyly. The rotund man was sprawled across a pile of embroidered cushions, a glass of pale wine held loosely in one stubby hand. "I can't believe you fell for it a second time!"
"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not laughing," Mari griped. "Are you laughing, Morhion?"
An ironic smile touched the corners of the mage's lips. "Actually, I think I am."
Mari flopped sulkily onto a pile of cushions and treated Cormik to her best scathing look. It was an expression she had perfected in her years working with Caledan. After a moment, Cormik squirmed uncomfortably.
"Oh, stop looking at me like that," he said testily. "I'm sorry I had to have you thrown in chains, but you really should have given me some warning before you stopped by the Prince and Pauper."
"So this is all my fault?" Mari inquired dubiously.
"Everyone in Iriaebor knows you're good friends with the monk Tyveris. And everyone also knows Tyveris is City Lord Bron's closest advisor. I couldn't very well have acted as if we were the best of chums when you walked through my front door. If my clients thought I was in cahoots with Bron, I wouldn't have a customer left. I'd be ruined."
Mari was forced to admit, she could see the logic of his actions. However, she wasn't about to concede the argument that easily. "Couldn't you have thought of something besides throwing us in your dungeon?"
Cormik shrugged noncommittally. "I was rushed. It's hard to be creative under pressure, you know."
"All right, Cormik. I'll forgive you this once. But you owe me a favor."
The corpulent man gave her a sardonic wink. "Why, I'll do anything you desire, my sweet."
"I'm sure you would," she noted dryly. "But don't get your hopes up. It's your mind I need, Cormik, not the rest of you." Mari drained her wine, gathering strength, then proceeded to tell Cormik all they had learned concerning Caledan, the Shadowstar, and Stiletto.
When she finished, Cormik seemed visibly shaken. "Caledan is becoming a shadowking?" he murmured in disbelief. "I always knew the man had a dark side, but this is ridiculous."
"So, do you know anything about this Stiletto character or not?" Mari asked impatiently.
A calculating gleam appeared in his one good eye. "I'm afraid that's an answer that will cost the Harpers a good amount of gold, Al'maren."
"I'm not asking for the Harpers," she said quietly. "I'm asking for myself."
"Is there a difference?"
"There is now." Mari swallowed hard. She might as well get used to telling people. "I've resigned from the Harpers, Cormik."
His reaction surprised her. "Good for you, Mari! It's high time you left behind that meddling bunch of do-gooders. And don't worry about money. You can always come work for me."
Mari smiled wistfully. "I just might take you up on that offer when this is all over."
"What of Mari's question?" Morhion asked grimly.
Cormik shot him an annoyed look. "Don't worry, my good, repressed mage. I hadn't forgotten." His gaze returned to Mari. "Because the information is for you, my dear, I'll waive the usual fee."
"So you know where we can find this Stiletto?" she asked excitedly.
"No, I don't. However," he added in response to her crestfallen look, "I think I know someone who might."
*****
The sun was shining overhead as Mari and Morhion followed Cormik along a precarious stone bridge high above the streets of the Old City. Over the centuries, Iriaebor's myriad towers had been connected by a tangled web work of bridges, stone arches, and midair causeways. Many of the bridges were crumbling and in ill repair, and a few were trod only at great risk, but it was still possible to travel from one end of the Tor to the other without ever descending to the streets below. Some of the larger causeways were broad enough to accommodate merchants' stalls, and vendors hawked food and drink. Everything one needed to survive was available on the heights, and some folk who lived high in the towers