Elminster_ The Making of a Mage - Ed Greenwood [59]
"Well, I think it's so much smart lies and fancy-castles talk," Klaern snarled, "an' I'll not listen to more of it. Ye're fools, all of ye, if ye listen to these two dreamers. What have they but smart tongues?" He strode out of his corner to stare around the room, and like a silent wave rolling in his wake his two brothers came to stand at his back in a solid, threatening wall of flesh. "If there's to be a band to rival the Moonclaws, I'll lead it. 'Velvet Hands,' indeed! While these two perfumed dancing lads are strutting an' crowing, my brothers 'n' me can make ye rich… guaranteed."
"Oh?" A very deep voice rumbled out from one dark corner. "And just how, Blaenbar, are ye going to manage to make me trust thee? After watching thy bullying and blustering in the alleys these past three summers, all I know of ye is that I'd best never turn my back-or thy blade'll be in, right sharp."
Klaern sneered. "Jhardin, everyone in Hastarl knows ye're as strong as an ox-but anyone might give ye a good run in a race of wits. What can ye know of planning, or-"
"More than some folk," Jhardin growled. "Where I come from, 'planning' always means some clever jack is going to try to trick me."
"Why don't ye go back there, then?"
"Enough, Klaern," Farl said with cold scorn. "Trust is something the rest of us can never have when you're near, that's for certain. You'd best leave."
The red-maned man turned on him. "Afraid ye'll lose mastery of this little band of Pawing Hands, eh? Well, let's just see… who speaks for ye, here?"
Elminster stepped a silent pace forward.
"Yes, yes, we know yer pretty boy does… as well as anything else ye ask him to."
Amid his coarse laughter, Jhardin lumbered forward a pace, eyes hard. Rhegaer leapt lightly down from his barrel, and Chaslarla wheezed forward too.
Klaern looked around. "Tassabra?"
The lithe figure in the deepest shadows shifted slightly and said in a low, musical voice, "Sorry, Klaern. I side with Farl, too."
"Fah! Gods frown upon all of ye fools!" Klaern spat on the floor, turned, and strode grandly out, his silent brothers Korlar and Othkyn backing watchfully away to guard his going.
"I thought he was thy lover," another man murmured from the shadows.
"Take care, Larrin!" Tassabra's voice was testy. "That rutting boar my lover? Nay, he was but a plaything."
Jhardin looked to Farl, who nodded. The huge man walked out of the room, moving with surprising, silent lightness. Klaern might well have less time left in life than he realized. Farl stepped forward. "Are we agreed, then? Do the Velvet Hands fare forth in Hastarl from this night on?"
"Aye," came the rough voice of one-eyed Tarth. "I'll follow your orders."
"And I," Chaslarla said, wheezing forward, "so long as ye turn not into one of those cold-hearts who thinks himself the true ruler of his city an' sends us out to stab armsmen and magelords all the night through."
There was a general rumble of agreement. Farl grinned and bowed. "We have agreement, then. As our first work together, let's get out of here with blades ready, and as I bid-in case the Moonclaws are waiting for us with bows, or've told a patrol when and where to expect us."
"Can I have first blood?" Rhegaer asked eagerly.
Behind him, they heard Tassabra's low laugh. "Just be sure it's not yours," she said. The darkness covered the look he gave her… but they could all feel it. There were chuckles in the night as they went down the stairs together.
*****
All Hastarl knew the noble Athalantan families Glarmeir and Trumpettower had been joined that same night in a true love-match. Peeryst Trumpettower had worn a high-plumed hat and cloth-of-gold doublet specially crafted for the occasion, with his usual bell-trimmed hose and best curl-tip shoes. Strapping on his father's lightest sword, he proudly paraded his lady to the shrines