Dragons of Winter Night - Margaret Weis [159]
“I wonder what’s going on?” Tanis muttered worriedly.
“Maybe the war’s heating up for the Highlords,” Caramon began. “There, look, Tanis. Going into that bar—”
“I see. Yeah, he’s about your size. Duck into that alley. We’ll wait until they come out, then—” The half-elf made a motion of wringing a neck. Caramon nodded. The two slipped through the filthy streets and vanished into the alley, hiding where they could keep on eye on the front door of the bar.
It was nearly midnight. The moons would not rise tonight. The rain had ceased, but clouds still obscured the sky. The two men crouched in the alley were soon shivering, despite their heavy cloaks. Rats skittered across their feet, making them cringe in the darkness. A drunken hobgoblin took a wrong turn and lurched past them, falling headfirst into a pile of garbage. The hobgoblin did not get back up again and the stench nearly made Tanis and Caramon sick, but they dared not leave their vantage point.
Then they heard welcome sounds—drunken laughter and human voices speaking Common. The two guards they had been waiting for lurched out of the bar and staggered toward them.
A tall iron brazier stood on the sidewalk, lighting the night. The mercenaries lurched into its light, giving Tanis a close look at them. Both were officers in the dragonarmy, he saw. Newly promoted, he guessed, which may have been what they were celebrating. Their armor was shining new, relatively clean, and undented. It was good armor, too, he saw with satisfaction. Made of blue steel, it was fashioned after the style of the Highlords’ own dragon-scale armor.
“Ready?” Caramon whispered. Tanis nodded.
Caramon drew his sword. “Elven scum!” he roared in his deep, barrel-chested bass. “I’ve found you out, and now you’ll come with me to the Dragon Highlord, spy!”
“You’ll never take me alive!” Tanis drew his own sword.
At the sound of their voices, the two officers staggered to a stop, peering bleary-eyed into the dark alley.
The officers watched with growing interest as Caramon and Tanis made a few passes at each other, maneuvering themselves into position. When Caramon’s back was to the officers and Tanis was facing them, the half-elf made a sudden move. Disarming Caramon, he sent the warrior’s sword flying.
“Quick! Help me take him!” Caramon bellowed. “There’s a reward out for him—dead or alive!”
The officers never hesitated. Fumbling drunkenly for their weapons, they headed for Tanis, their faces twisted into expressions of cruel pleasure.
“That’s it! Nail ’im!” Caramon urged, waiting until they were past him. Then—just as they raised their swords—Caramon’s huge hands encircled their necks. He slammed their heads together, and the bodies slumped to the ground.
“Hurry!” Tanis grunted. He dragged one body by the feet away from the light. Caramon followed with the other. Quickly they began to strip off the armor.
“Phew! This one must have been half-troll,” Caramon said, waving his hand to clear the air of the foul smell.
“Quit complaining!” Tanis snapped, trying to figure out how the complex system of buckles and straps worked. “At least you’re used to wearing this stuff. Give me a hand with this, will you?”
“Sure.” Caramon, grinning, helped to buckle Tanis into the armor. “An elf in plate armor. What’s the world coming to?”
“Sad times,” Tanis muttered. “When are we supposed to meet that ship captain William told you about?”
“He said we could find her on board around daybreak.”
“The name’s Maquesta Kar-thon,” said the woman, her expression cool and businesslike. “And—let me guess—you’re not officers in the dragonarmy. Not unless they’re hiring elves these days.”
Tanis flushed, slowly drawing off the helm of the officer. “Is it that obvious?”
The woman shrugged. “Probably not to anyone else. The beard is very good—perhaps I should say half-elf, of course. And the helm hides your ears. But unless you get a mask, those pretty, almond shaped eyes of yours are a dead giveaway. But then,