Finder's Bane - Kate Novak [14]
Seated at the head of the table, in the largest chair, was a man dressed in worn leathers. He was an older man with handsome features, long brown hair combed down his back, and a neatly cropped beard. As Holly approached, he rose to greet her, calling out, "Harrowslough. Welcome."
Holly dropped to one knee before the man. Joel stood uncomfortably behind her, not sure what he should do. The older man raised Holly to her feet.
"My lord," Holly said, "allow me to present Joel of Finder. I owe the success of my mission to him. Bard, this is Lord Randal Morn, rightful ruler of the lands you now cross."
Joel's mouth went dry. Although Branson had few kind words for the people of Daggerdale in general, the caravan guard had spoken of Randal Morn with the respect and awe reserved for a legend. Daggerdale's beleaguered lord was a tough guerilla fighter who had been harrying the Zhentilar patrols for years now. The Zhents had a sizable bounty on his head. Wordlessly Joel bowed deeply. Not only had Joel not expected to meet Morn, but Morn was not what Joel anticipated at all. The lord of Daggerdale was several inches shorter than Joel. His physique was more like a farmer's-lean, with muscular forearms. His movements were graceful. His hazel eyes did not pierce one to the bone, but looked dreamy and sad.
"Joel has another title, my lord," Holly said, filling in the void Joel's silence created. "He calls himself the Rebel Bard."
Morn laughed as Holly stood there, grinning at some joke.
Joel looked from Holly to Morn, confused.
"Then it is destined that we meet, Rebel Bard," Morn said, his voice as smooth as polished wood, "for I am known in theses parts as the Rebel Lord."
Joel flushed at the coincidence. Finally he found his voice. "I thank you for the opportunity to visit your fair land, your lordship," he said. "It has a beauty unknown to many."
"He's a polite one, Harrowslough," Morn noted with a chuckle. "Would that the Zhentilar were so well-mannered."
"That could hardly be, sir," Joel replied, "seeing how they come without invitation and leave such rude calling cards."
Morn snorted with amusement, and Joel allowed himself to relax a little.
"You must excuse us, Rebel Bard, but I need to speak privately with young Harrowslough. Take my place here," Morn insisted, tapping on the chair from which he'd risen, "and we'll see that you get fed." He looked about the room and shouted, "Kharva!"
A dwarven woman carrying a large tureen wove her way through the room's inhabitants. A younger dwarf carrying bowls and spoons trailed behind her. Randal Morn spoke some words in dwarvish, then led the young paladin away. They disappeared into the crowd, doubtlessly to another room far from prying ears.
Kharva had set down the soup tureen and stood staring up at Joel expectantly. The Rebel Bard lowered himself nervously into Randal Morn's seat, wondering if he were usurping the traditional throne of the rebel leader. Kharva's assistant clattered a wooden bowl and spoon in front of him, and the dwarven woman, standing on a chair, removed the top of the tureen.
The odor of beef stew wafted across Joel's face, and his stomach growled. He realized his last meal had been over eight hours ago, and that had been nothing but dried fruit and hardtack. The beef stew before him was bountiful, with huge lumps of beef that peeled apart in delicious strings, potatoes and carrots that were neither undercooked nor too soft, tiny onions that glittered like pearls, and a rich broth flavored with wine. Another secret of the Daggerfolk, Joel noted, was that they could cook.
From an apron pocket, Kharva pulled out a round loaf of warm, crusty bread and pressed it into Joel's hands. Waving her hand at the tureen, she said, "Take all you want, but-" the woman hesitated ominously- "leave room for dessert," she finished with a wink. A second young dwarf laid a brimming mug of ale by the tureen. Then all three melted into the crowd of the room.
Joel tore off a hunk of bread and, sampling