Hand of Fire - Ed Greenwood [49]
She glanced about the room, seeing two other doors besides the open one next to the one she was standing in, but no other immediate menaces, and added, "I'd like that tradition to continue, if possible, between us. I've no quarrel with you, Master of the Shadows – though if you fire that toy of yours, things may change on that score rather swiftly."
Bradraskor lifted one world-weary eyebrow. "So you're here why, exactly?"
"I'm trying to catch up to two friends of mine – a young couple, he a mage, she a kitchenmaid. Their names are Narm Tamaraith and Shandril Shessair, and Tessaril sent them here to Scornubel to join a caravan under the mastery of Orthil Voldovan. You can't have failed to notice them or learn all of this already; Tess holds you in no small respect."
The Master of the Shadows did not – quite – smile.
"So you seek no more of me than information?"
"Indeed."
"Learning things costs me, therefore I sell what I learn."
"I'm quite prepared to pay the going market rates," his visitor said with a smile, "and reward outrageous overpricing appropriately, too."
The fat man behind the desk sat back, his chair creaking in protest, but the aim of his bowgun strayed not one fingerwidth from her right eye. "Are you now? That's good to know. So we come to an agreement, and I impart information to you on, say, the current whereabouts, conditions, and pursuits of this Narm and Shandril – then what? Do you attack me? Leave Scornubel forthwith? Call in lurking allies? Seek for yourself what everyone else interested in these two persons seems to be after?"
"Well, now," the lady who was not Tessaril Winter replied with a twinkle dancing in her eyes, "it begins to seem as if I have information I could sell to you, too."
Belgon Bradraskor sighed. "I'm not interested in crossing tongues with you just now. I'm busy, and be aware that my time costs coins, too. You've already wasted about as much of it as I'm willing to part with freely." The bowgun lifted warningly, and then returned to its former dead-on aim.
"Let's trade truths," his lady visitor said calmly.
"Simple, utter truth, line for line. I desire to reach Narm and Shandril as swiftly as possible so I can escort and protect them. Now, what can you tell me of where they are, right now?"
Bradraskor raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Protect them? You? Lady, do you know what spellfire can –
"
"Ah, careful!" the beautiful woman in leather armor said warningly, raising a finger. "You don't want to leave yourself owing me two answers, do you?"
The Master of the Shadows sighed, sat back, and waved a dismissive hand. "Lady, who are you?"
"Three answers, I'm afraid," Sharantyr told her finger disappointedly.
Belgon Bradraskor stared at his visitor – gods, but she was beautiful, too! – leaned forward, and said flatly, "If you promise me you don't intend to harm me or my works or work any magic on me or my goods at all and also tell me who you are, I'll give you safe conduct out of Scornubel, tell you exactly where your Narm and Shandril may be found, and give you a fast horse to catch them on – without delay. I'll even throw in whatever wine and food my men can swiftly find, ere you ride. Deal?"
"Add to it that you won't harm, detain, or deceive me in any way, and yes, we do," the lady in leathers told him. "Acceptable?"
"Agreed," Bradraskor told her.
"Good," she said with a smile. "Put your bowgun down, and I'll quell this slaying spell I've been holding back from you, all this time."
"What slaying – ne'er mind." The man behind the desk set down his bowgun, lifted both hands and waved them, palms out and open, so she could see that they were empty and where they were, and then said, "I'm going to ring a bell now, and summon here a man who'll fetch you that horse. 'Twill not be lame or unbroken or of nasty temper, I assure you."
Sharantyr nodded. "Do so," she replied, "and know that I am Sharantyr by name, a Knight of Myth Drannor and a friend