Dragons of Spring Dawning - Margaret Weis [60]
“Shut up!” The cleric’s wrapped hand went from Tasslehoff’s shoulder to the collar of his shirt. Gripping it expertly, the cleric twisted it with a sudden jerk of its hand and lifted the kender off his feet. Although kender are generally immune to the emotion of fear, Tas found that being unable to breathe was an extremely uncomfortable sensation.
“Listen to me carefully,” the cleric hissed, shaking the frantically struggling kender as a wolf shakes a bird to break its neck. “That’s right. Hold still and it hurts less. I’ve got a message for the Golden General.” Its voice was soft and lethal. “It’s here—” Tas felt a rough hand stuffing something into his vest pocket. “See that you deliver it some time tonight when she’s alone. Understand?”
Choked by the cleric’s hand, Tas couldn’t speak or even nod, but he blinked his eyes twice. The cloaked head nodded, dropped the kender back to the ground, and walked rapidly off down the street.
Gasping for breath, the shaken kender stared at the figure as it walked away, its long robes fluttering in the wind. Tas absently patted the scroll that had been thrust into his pocket. The sound of that voice brought back very unpleasant memories: the ambush on the road from Solace, heavily cloaked figures like clerics … only they weren’t clerics! Tas shuddered. A draconian! Here! In Kalaman!
Shaking his head, Tas turned back to the cartographer’s stall. But the pleasure had gone out of the day. He couldn’t even feel excited when the lock fell open into his small hand.
“Hey, you!” shrieked a voice. “Kender! Get away from there!”
A man was running up to him, puffing and red in the face. Probably the cartographer himself.
“You shouldn’t have run,” Tas said listlessly. “You needn’t bother opening up for me.”
“Opening!” The man’s jaw sagged. “Why, you little thief! I got here just in time—”
“Thanks all the same.” Tas dropped the lock into the man’s hand and walked off, absent-mindedly evading the enraged cartographer’s effort to grab him. “I’ll be going now. I’m not feeling very well. Oh, by the way, did you know that lock’s broken? Worthless. You should be more careful. You never know who could sneak in. No, don’t thank me. I haven’t got time. Good-bye.”
Tasslehoff wandered off. Cries of “Thief! Thief!” rang out behind him. A town guardsman appeared, forcing Tas to duck into a butcher’s shop to avoid being run over. Shaking his head over the corruption of the world, the kender glanced about, hoping for a glimpse of the culprit. Seeing no one interesting in sight, he kept going, and suddenly wondered irritably how Flint had managed to lose him again.
Laurana shut the door, turned the key in the lock, and leaned thankfully against it, reveling in the peace and quiet and welcome solitude of her room. Tossing the key on a table, she walked wearily over to her bed, not even bothering to light a candle. The rays of the silver moon streamed in through the leaded glass panes of the long, narrow window.
Downstairs, in the lower rooms of the castle, she could still hear the sounds of merrymaking she had just left. It was nearly midnight. She had been trying for two hours to escape. It finally took Lord Michael’s intercession on her behalf, pleading her exhaustion from the battles, that induced the lords and ladies of the city of Kalaman to part with her.
Her head ached from the stuffy atmosphere, the smell of strong perfume, and too much wine. She shouldn’t have drunk so much, she knew. She had a weak head for wine and, anyway, she didn’t really like it. But the pain in her head was easier to bear than the pain in her heart.
Throwing herself down on the bed, she thought hazily about getting up and closing the shutters, but the moon’s light was comforting. Laurana detested lying in the darkness. Things lurked in the shadows, ready to spring out at her. I should get undressed, she thought, I’ll wrinkle this dress … and it’s borrowed.…
There was a knock at her door.
Laurana woke with a start, trembling.