Ghostwalker - Erik Scott De Bie [64]
Greyt cursed under his breath, translating Claudir's words into tactical terms. "What is the general mood of the crowd?" he asked.
"They seem somewhat… ill at ease."
Greyt cursed again. "Angry mobs never 'wait upon your pleasure.' " He wrapped a blanket around his body. "Fetch my robe, yarting, and sword. I'm going out."
"Of course, my lord." Claudir bowed slightly. "Shall I send for several guards, two to escort you and half a dozen to filter through the crowd?"
"Naturally."
Claudir moved to leave, but Greyt stopped him with a call.
"And bring me a bottle of elverquisst after," he said. "I'm either going to toast a great success or the bodies of a dozen ignorant villagers. Or more."
"Of course, my lord," said Claudir with a bow.
* * * * *
The crowd gathered in the courtyard of Greyt's manor, spilling into the main plaza of Quaervarr, was just as "ill at ease" as Claudir had described. Almost three hundred villagers stood in the plaza; nearly a third of the town's population. Most bore weapons, whether new purchases or dusty heirlooms, and others carried the saws and axes they used in woodworking. Those who did not carry weapons carried torches. Frowns were smeared across most of the faces and angry shouts rang out from the crowd.
"Well, sounds like the Lord Singer's going to get it," a thin voice observed, as though to no one in particular. "This reminds me of that time in Newfort, when we-"
"Derst, must you bring that up again?" the hulking man by his side whispered. Facing away from one another, the two warriors seemed totally unconnected, and their soft words were lost in the crowd. "That was not the best of experiences, and I'd rather not-"
"As I recall, we had gathered before the Hero's Reward and called out Mayor Uhl-"
"The situation quickly turned on us, and we had to flee the town," said Bars.
"Well," argued Derst. "That was hardly my fault."
"Your plan."
"Well, if you'd remembered the horses-"
"You distinctly said: 'leave the horses behind. We'll be back for them later.'"
"No fair pointing fingers," argued Derst. "But since we're on the subject, if you hadn't exposed our identities-"
"If you hadn't slept with Uhl's maid Emmi, we wouldn't have had to hide our identities."
A smile crossed Derst's face. "Ah, Emmi," the roguish knight said silkily. "Bars, you know I can't resist a pretty smile and a well-rounded ankle-"
"I suppose you didn't notice her chest," murmured Bars.
"Well, a little," he admitted. "It was hard not to, with a bodice like-"
At precisely that moment the Lord Singer swept out from the double doors that marked the entrance to his manor. He stood upon the raised entryway overlooking the crowd in his golden robe of office, carrying his fine yarting under his arm. To all appearances, Greyt looked as though he had been up all night and might be heading out to a dinner party. Bars and Derst knew better, though. Greyt's eyes gave him away: red-rimmed and containing a hint of savage anger. The eyes of a tired man on edge.
"My neighbors and friends," Greyt said in his smooth baritone. "To what do I owe the honor and pleasure of this visit?"
At his tone, the crowd quieted, except for a few discordant shouts. Derst swore. Greyt's disarming manner had just that effect: disarming.
One man, however, was not so affected. Black cloaked, he stood tall in the middle of the crowd and spoke in a rumble.
"Lord Singer," he called. "We demand justice."
"Sounds like you, Bars," said Derst. "Always straight to the point."
The paladin did not reply.
"By all means," Greyt called back with a smile. "I didn't think you'd all risen early to bid me a good morning."
There were a few scattered laughs.
"Really? That's exactly the reason I'm here," murmured Derst.
"Derst, that wasn't funny," Bars muttered in reply.
"In Speaker Stonar's absence," the cloaked man continued. "You are our defender and our lord. We demand protection. The fighting on the streets must cease, and your soldiers-"
"I