Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [41]
Greyt cared not. When Tamnus was gone, Greyt flicked the blood off his rapier and sheathed it. As he wiped the sweat from his brow, he assumed a more comfortable stance.
"Come," he called.
The doors swung open and the massive Unddreth entered Greyt's ballroom. The floorboards, hard, good wood, did not creak, even under his heavy boots. Situated in the center of the mansion, the ballroom was the largest-if not the finest-room in Quaervarr. Tapestries of scarlet, bold white, and vibrant purples adorned the walls, laced with ivory and gold thread. In the center of the ballroom, marble statues of dancing nymphs poured water from basins down into a great copper fountain. If it had not been so dismal outside, sunlight would have cascaded through high, stained glass windows depicting dancing fey, dueling heroes, and wheeling dragons.
If Unddreth was impressed as he entered the grand ballroom-useless in such a small town-he showed no sign of it. His blocky face was stoic, as always.
"What is it, Captain?" Greyt asked.
"I bear grave news," the earth genasi growled.
"Of course you do," the Lord Singer said. He started away, toward a tapestry depicting a dragon in flight. Unddreth did not follow. Greyt thanked the gods for that.
"I have come to inform you of a murder that transpired last night," Unddreth said. "Sir Torlic, a lieutenant in the Quaervarr guard, was killed in his house last night."
"What do I-" Greyt started angrily, but stopped himself. "Why bring this to me?"
The genasi's lip twitched. "He was once of the Raven Claws," Unddreth said. "I thought perhaps you might help me find the one who killed him."
"Ah." Greyt wanted to claim that he knew nothing, but that would make Unddreth suspicious. "I well remember our days on the road, but I know of no enemy who would kill him, nor even seek to attack him in his humble abode."
He had thrown out his hand in imitation of a performance and now became aware of a small spot of Tamnus's blood on his palm. He clenched his fist and looked back at Unddreth.
"Perhaps Jarthon and his People of the Black Blood. They have been quiet for long enough. Could your soldiers have relaxed their guard, I wonder, Captain?"
Unddreth's already dark complexion became black. "I personally fought the man responsible," he said. "And he was no werebeast. We are dealing with another attacker, one very skilled with a blade, and possessing powers I have never seen before."
"Powers?" Greyt asked idly. He peered intently at a tapestry of a military victory, with a knight of Cormyr leading a host of soldiers. One of the Azouns, perhaps? He could not recall.
"The villagers are whispering about a shadowy man named Walker," Unddreth said. "That may have been him."
That produced a stir in Greyt. The name sounded like a discordant note on his yarting. He rubbed his gold ring, as was his habit.
"And what do you want me to do, kill this shadow for you?" Greyt said, suppressing his reaction. "You and your soldiers find this attacker and deal with him as is proper.
"Or…" He drew his rapier with a flourish. "Could it be you have come to ask for the aid I can offer?"
"We need none of your thug rangers, Greyt," Unddreth spat. His animosity toward the Lord Singer was matched only by his contempt for Greyt's servants-as Greyt well knew. "Undisciplined scum, all of them. Especially Meris the bastard."
"I can't argue," the Lord Singer laughed, unsurprised. "It's very true."
Nor was he surprised that Unddreth had spoken so crassly. Unddreth had always been free with his tongue-it came from being raised a commoner. Greyt waved the captain away and sheathed his sword.
Blaming the Black Blood was a ruse-for all Greyt knew, the bastard werebadger and his kin were all prowling Malar's infernal forests in the Abyss, or wherever Malar's forests were. He cared little for theology.
After a