Heirs of Prophecy - Lisa Smedman [4]
From the study came a second male voice, this one with a slight wheeze to it.
"The Hulorn was not the only one to cast a vote in favor. The council will stand behind its decision, come what may. Your opinion is that of the minority-even the Overmaster recognizes the necessity of responding to the attacks with swords, not words. The Dales have declared themselves neutral, and Cormyr has shown no interest in the squabble."
The voice paused, then added in a seductive tone, "Thamalon, I hope you will give this matter careful thought. This may provide Sembia's only chance to push the Red Plumes north. It may even provide an excuse to march on Hillsfar itself-an opportunity you've long been waiting for, or so I'm told."
The master's voice grew thoughtful. "We shall see.",
From inside the study came the clink of a glass being set upon a metal tray. It was followed an instant later by the rustle of robes and the thunk of a staff against the floor as someone approached the door. Cale's hand dropped from the latch, and he moved away from the door, pulling Larajin with him as he made room for the departing visitor.
As the door swung open, Larajin's eyes widened in alarm. The master's visitor was a tall, dark-skinned man wearing smoke-gray hose and a doublet with crimson-slashed sleeves. Perhaps fifty years of age, he had eyes
that glittered like polished jet, dark, wavy hair, and a neatly trimmed beard that was no more than a thin line framing his jaw and chin-a Sembian affectation he had adopted, together with the doublet, since the last time Larajin had seen him. He leaned on a knotted blood-wood staff studded with dark thorns that had been pushed point-first into its blood-colored wood like tacks, forming a spiral design. A halo of upturned thorns crowned the top.
A tiny corner of Larajin's mind screamed at her to drop her eyes, as Erevis Cale was doing, to play the part of servant, to avoid drawing attention to herself. Instead she stared, mesmerized, at the staff. She had seen firsthand the deadly black bolts of magical energy that staff could produce, had watched in horror as they reduced a wild elf to a smoking husk in the Hunting Garden-and all because Larajin had seen what the Hulorn had done to himself with his foul magic.
Please, Goddess, don't let him recognize me, Larajin silently prayed, dropping her eyes at last and staring hard at the carpet. I'm a servant, only a servant. Invisible and silent.
If only she had stopped a moment to put her turban on. Perhaps he would not recognize her, even with her hair unbound. She'd been wearing different clothes then, had…
The Hulorn's wizard paused, directly in front of her. Ice flowed through her blood as his gaze slithered down, then up her body, coming to rest on her face.
"You look familiar to me, girl," he wheezed. "Do I know you?"
Somehow, Larajin found her voice. "I do not think so, sir. I'm just a servant. Perhaps you saw me waiting tables, during a previous visit to Stormweather Towers."
"This is my first visit to your master's house."
"Or you might have seen me on the streets or in the market," Larajin quickly added. "I'm often sent to do the shopping."
The wizard's eyes grew bored. "Perhaps that was it," he agreed.
Inwardly, Larajin sighed with relief as the wizard turned to leave, but just then, a familiar sound echoed down the hall.
Mrrow?
The tressym padded out of the open library door, into the hallway. Head turning, she looked in Larajin's direction-and her ears flattened as she spotted the wizard. Baring her teeth in a hiss, she backed slowly away, then suddenly spun and leaped into flight, her brilliant wings flapping furiously. Landing delicately on a window ledge, she batted at the latch with a paw, opened the window with a shove of her head, then disappeared through it.
Erevis Cale muttered, "That's enough of you, cat."
He strode down the