Elfsong - Elaine Cunningham [65]
A stinging blow slapped Garnet's cheek, and then another. Her eyes snapped open, then widened in disbelief. The rain had turned to hail! She ducked back into the doorway of the warehouse, out of the way of increasingly larger pieces of ice. As the appalled half-elf watched, the sky darkened to the color of slate and hail began to accumulate on the stone-paved alley.
Garnet hurried through the warehouse to the front post where she had left her asperii. She quickly untied the frightened, battered horse and drew it into the building, soothing it as best she could with soft words and projected mental assurances The asperii quieted, and it fixed its liquid brown eyes on its mistress. For an instant the veil that the asperii had cast up between their two minds parted, and Garnet caught a glimpse of the horse's fear and indecision.
For the first time, Garnet understood the significance of the asperii's withdrawal; each magical horse only formed its telepathic, lifelong bond with a mage or priest of great power, and the asperii would not serve anyone whose goals or motives were evil. Garnet had never before doubted the rightness of her plan, and the quiet accusation in the asperii's eyes struck her like a physical blow. Pain flashed in the half-elf's chest and down her arm, and she sank gasping onto a nearby crate.
"I seek justice, not vengeance," Garnet whispered to herself when the waves of pain had subsided. She looked up into the asperii's eyes, and saw her twin reflections there as if in a dark mirror. "In all things, there must be a balance," she said earnestly.
The horse merely blinked and turned its gaze toward the open door. After a moment Garnet also looked out at the plummeting hail. The silence between them was com plete as they waited for the storm to play itself out.
*****
It was uncanny, mused Jannaxil Serpentil, but sooner or later every scrap of stolen paper in Waterdeep seemed to come across his desk. The proprietor of Serpentil Books and Folios sold everything from spellbooks to love letters, but this latest find was something quite new.
Deftly sketched on the paper was a picture of Khelben Arunsun. The archmage stood before an easel, dabbing at the canvas with an oversized brush while the faceless, black-robed Lords of Waterdeep stood by, holding his palettes and brushes. By Deneir, it was clever! The artist had caught perfectly the mood and fears of the cityfolk, condensing much gossip and speculation into a single, vivid image.
Jannaxil scratched his thin black beard thoughtfully. The first secret of being a good fence-and he was very good indeed-was to have a buyer for nearly anything. No one in Waterdeep would be so foolish as to attempt to blackmail the archmage, but the fence could think of several people who might have an interest in this sketch.
He affixed the would-be seller, an apprentice instrument builder whose gambling debts far outstripped his earnings with his most intimidating scowl. "Where did you find this?"
The young man licked his lips nervously. "One of Halambar's patrons dropped it in the shop. I thought that, perhaps-"
"I doubt that you thought at all!" Jannaxil glanced at the sketch again and sniffed disdainfully. The second secret of success was knowing the value of an object, and then convincing the seller to accept far less. "Who would have a use for such a thing? I can give you three copper pieces, no more."
Jannaxil pushed the coins toward the young man, "You have brought me a few interesting pieces in the past. These coppers are an investment, for I hope that you might do better in the future."
"Yes, sir." Halambar's apprentice looked disappointed, but he gathered up the coins and left the shop.
Alone is his dusty, book-lined kingdom, Jannaxil finally gave vent to a dry chuckle. He was tempted to keep the sketch himself, although he was certain that the sorcerer Maaril would be delighted