Elminster Must Die_ The Sage of Shadowdale - Ed Greenwood [102]
Dralkin shrugged. He caught sight of Arclath and Amarune’s pale and set faces at the rear of Tannath’s patrol, but went right ahead and said what he’d been going to say anyway.
“We’ve talked to two men who ran like stags before a forest fire and got away alive. They say two men who never stopped smiling, with blue flames that scorched nothing burning all over them all the time, did all this. They told everyone they were here to carve up Lord Seszgar Huntcrown—and did. His body’s missing, though Wizard of War Scorlound took away a finger he thinks was Huntcrown’s.”
“So these two flame-enchanted slayers hauled their prize carved meat back to whoever sent them, to prove they’d done the deed, and earned their fee,” Tannath said grimly.
“Of course. That’s not what’s riding me right now, though,” Dralkin replied. “Here’s why I want you upset and brooding, too: With all the nobles who want to get here camped in Suzail for this council, is this just the beginning? How many are these flaming murderers going to be sent to harvest, hey?”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
TO DREAM A LITTLE DREAM OF BEING KING
Gaskur’s face was carefully expressionless as he admitted the three tardy nobles, but he led them up the back ways of Stormserpent Towers in almost undignified haste. On another occasion that might have earned him kicks and curses from the young Lords Windstag, Dawntard, and Sornstern, but not in the common mood that governed them just then.
Their hasty departure from the Dragonriders’ Club had been followed by a near-race to Staghaven House, the Windstag family mansion, to shelter in its garden summerhouse until the Dragons who’d skulked along behind them from the club gave up and turned back to report their whereabouts. Then the three had taken the tunnel under the street that led from Staghaven’s walled grounds to the Windstag-owned luxury stables, and from there down more than one back lane to reach Stormserpent Towers.
The journey had taken more than time enough for their anger to cool into fear, self-cursing, and worry—not just of missing out on Stormserpent’s delicious schemes, but for stern consequences or at least annoyingly hampering war wizard suspicion ahead for themselves.
“There you are!” their host snapped as they came into the room in an untidy rush, Gaskur closing the doors behind them as he withdrew. “Too busy drinking to attend covert little meetings of treason on time?”
“Sorry, Marlin,” came a swift reply that left the room blinking in astonishment; none of the six nobles who heard it had harbored the slightest inkling Kathkote Dawntard even knew how to apologize—to anyone.
“Aye,” Broryn Windstag mumbled. “The family purse’ll be much lighter by highsun tomorrow, once the Dragons show up at Staghaven House.”
Sornstern was nodding; the three lordlings were the very picture of apologetic and chastened nobility.
Marlin Stormserpent sighed and turned from the board where he’d been filling himself a tallglass from his favorite decanter. “What happened?”
The explanation was an untidy collaborative affair that made the heir of House Stonestable snort loudly—and the other two nobles seated around Stormserpent’s table roll their eyes a time or two.
For his part, Stormserpent drained his glass at a gulp and had to refill it. When their mumblings died away, he barked, “None of you were so drunk or angry as to threaten retribution on the Dragons or Delcastle when you gained more power, did you? Did you?”
“No,” all three of the late arrivals replied with puzzled frowns, genuinely believing they hadn’t—and, luckily for them, therefore sounding convincing.
Marlin Stormserpent shook his head in exasperation and waved them toward his decanters. “Sit. Lack of self-governance—and tardiness—once court and palace are aware of us, will cost you your heads, so consider what you’ve just been through a warning to be remembered and heeded. Now, where were we?”
With Marlin still on his feet pacing excitedly, there were—or would be, once the tardy trio