Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [38]
Jansibal snarled wordlessly and charged forward. There was a flash of light and a spray of scattering sparks as the blades of the two nearest bodyguards met some invisible shield of magic around the charging dandy-and then Jansibal came to a sudden halt as Thelorn Selemban, moving without apparent haste, drew a blade and pointed it at Jansibal's nose. Tiny white lightnings spiraled along the steel as its own enchantment cut through Jansibal's shield. Around the two nobles, their bodyguards surged forward, blades out and up.
"Hold, men of Otharr and Selemban, in the name of the king!" came a sudden deep bellow from behind them all, in the direction of the bar. The liveried men halted as their masters stiffened-and the crowd around parted as if before a drawn sword.
A man with a short-trimmed, graying beard came into view, a tankard in his hand. "Swordmaster Adarbron," he identified himself flatly. "I'll report any deaths or bloodletting here to the magelords when I see them this night… And I'll also let them know if either of you disobey me, my lords. Now order your men out of this place, and back to your homes-now!"
He stood hard-eyed, and the two dandies saw men drift up to stand at his back. Off-duty armsmen, to be sure, faces not quite masking their glee. If the dandies defied the swordmaster, the soldiers would do their level best to 'accidentally' slay or maim them both-and none of their bodyguards would leave the tavern alive.
"My men have had enough to drink anyway," Thelorn said easily, but a vein was working near his jaw. He did not look in Otharr's direction as he said almost gently to the men around him, "You may go. I shall follow after I drink to the health of this excellent and dedicated officer-whose word I utterly support, for the honor of Athalantar."
"For the honor of Athalantar," half a hundred men muttered in reply, waving their flagons and tankards halfheartedly. Unimpressed, the swordmaster watched the men go. Then, ignoring Thelorn Selemban's smile, he shot a cold look at Jansibal Otharr, and said, "My lord?"
Sullenly, without a reply, Jansibal waved a hand at his men. Then he turned back to the Shadow, who still knelt fearfully in the alcove, and said coldly, "My lords, I was occupied before Selemban took it upon himself to interrupt. If you'll excuse me-?"
"Through there," Elminster murmured, pointing, "is rather more private. I'm sure the folk who were sitting here before thy enthusiastic men shoved them aside would like to resume what they were doing before thy interruption, too, my lord."
The dandy snarled at him, promised death again in his eyes, but the swordmaster said firmly, "Take the young man's advice, Otharr. He but tries to rescue your family name… and remind you of a few simple basics of courtesy."
Otharr did not look around, but his shoulders stiffened, and he turned without a word, fingers firmly wound in Shandathe's hair so that she gave a little shriek and then hurried along on her knees to avoid being dragged.
Elminster took a step forward, but the noble had already halted to fling the curtain wide. "A light in here," he ordered curtly. The young alcove-lass unhooded a slow-wick lamp and blew it into brightness before slipping hurriedly away.
The curtained pleasure-alcove normally cost six gold falcons-but before the fury of the noble and the watchful gaze of the swordmaster, the young girl did not tarry to try for the price… and the bodyguards who stood to defend her and her demand kept to the walls and held their silence. Jansibal Otharr surveyed the cushioned, draperied bed that almost filled the niche, nodded in satisfaction, and curtly waved Shandathe to the bed. The curtains fell into place behind them with an angry switch.
Farl reached up the wall with a slow, stealthy hand and dimmed the lamp there by pinching down its wick. He caught the eyes of a lady across the benches, and she did the same, dimming that side of the taproom into