Doom of the Darksword - Margaret Weis [78]
“I tell you, my good sir, that I am the mother of the Marquis of D’umtour! As to why his servants aren’t here to greet me upon my arrival, I’m certain I don’t know, except it is so difficult to hire quality help these days! He always was a young wastral anyway!” she snapped viciously, shaking her chins. “Wait until I see him …”
The Kan-Hanar had, of course, heard this all before and were listening patiently, having dispatched a winged Ariel to ascertain if the Marquis had, in truth, “forgotten” to send someone to escort the dowager to City Above.
The other new arrivals behind the dowager glared at her in impatience but there was nothing they could do. All had to wait his or her turn. Some drifted about irritably in the air, others lounged back comfortably in their carriages. The young men, standing on the ground, took off their wet cloaks and continued to look around curiously at the city and its people.
Affecting to be interested in the fluttering, silken wares of a ribbon seller, the girls stopped to admire his goods displayed in a gaudy cart near the Gate. In reality, they were watching and listening to the young men.
“Name of the Almin,” breathed one with blond hair and an honest, open face, “this is beautiful, Joram! I never imagined anything so splendid! And, it’s spring!” He spread his arms, awe and wonder in his voice and his eyes.
“Don’t stare so, Mosiah,” his companion said reprovingly. He had long dark hair and dark eyes and, too, was looking around him. But if he were at all impressed by the wonders of the city, there was no indication on the stern, proud face. The third young man, slightly taller than the others, with a short, soft beard, appeared amused at the reactions of his friends. He glanced about in bored fashion — yawning, smoothing his mustache, and lounging back against the wall, his eyes closed. Their catalyst, wet and shivering, huddled in his robes, keeping his hood pulled low over his head.
Looking at them, Gwen scoffed. “University students!” she whispered to her cousins. “With an uncouth accent like that? Look at the one gaping like a yokel. It’s obvious this is the first time he’s ever been here. Probably the first time he’s ever been anywhere civilized, from the way he’s dressed.”
Lilian’s eyes widened in alarm. “Gwen! Suppose they are bandits, trying to sneak into our city! They look it, particularly that dark one.”
Gwen examined the dark one for several moments out of the corner of her eye, her hands fingering one of the silken ribbons.
“Pardon me, my lady,” said the vendor, “but you’re crumpling the merchandise. Those particular shades are difficult to conjure, you know. Are you planning to buy —”
“No, thank you.” Flushing, Gwen dropped the ribbon. “Lovely, really, but my mama makes all mine….”
Scowling, the vendor moved off, leaving the girls hovering in the air, their heads together, their eyes on the new arrivals.
“You’re right, Lilian,” Gwen said decisively. “That’s what they are — highwaymen, bold and daring.”
“Just like Sir Hugo, the one Marie told us the tale of?” whispered Majorie in excitement. “The bandit who stole the maiden from her father’s castle and carried her off on his winged steed to his tent in the desert. Remember, he carried her inside and threw her on the silken pillows and then he …” Majorie stopped. “What did he do with her when she was lying on the pillows?”
“I don’t know.” Gwen shrugged her shoulders, a movement that showed them off to their best advantage. “I’ve wondered myself, but Marie always stops there and goes back to the girl’s father, who calls his warlocks to rescue her.”
“Did you ever ask her about the pillows?”
“I did, once. But she got very angry and sent me off to bed,” Gwen replied. “Quick, they’re starting to turn this way. Don’t look!” Shifting her gaze to Earth Gate, Gwen studied the huge wooden structure with such intense interest