The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [172]
"When? How…?"
"Let's start with 'who' and 'why,' shall we? I dealt that scratch with a blade poisoned to numb into immobility. You seemed determined to kill me at the time, so it seemed a prudent tactic. Remember you nothing of the fray?"
"I led you to the Amalgation," Beldar said slowly. "Through the tunnels, to take them by surprise."
"As we did, though they were not nearly as surprised as I'd have liked. The spell I cast on you wasn't equal to your will-"
"Which in turn, fell before Golskyn's magic," Beldar remembered bitterly. After a frowning moment, he asked, "How fares the half-dragon?"
"He's back among friends. How fares your eye? You seemed in considerable pain."
The Roaringhorn smile was grim. "A faint shadow of things to come."
"The potion," Elaith said flatly, drawing a gasp of surprise from the noble. "A brave notion, but somewhat premature. Better to uncover all the mad priest's designs and shatter them and him together."
The lordling's face emptied of expression. "I'll think on your words, and I thank you for your council." He turned away.
Elaith glided forward to smoothly the noble's sleeve, and said quietly, "If you require assistance, you need look no further."
Eye to eye, they studied each other for a long moment.
"Your word on it?" Beldar asked, just as quietly.
"I swear upon my honor as a Lord of Evermeet." Elaith grew a wry smile. "And, apparently, of Waterdeep as well!"
* * * * *
Every noble house employed errand-runners, but Korvaun Helmfast was surprised, to say the least, to see the steward of Helmfast Hall-a man of such years that he was white-haired to the tips of his downdagger mustache-come puffing up to proffer a small, neatly folded square of parchment. Gilt-edged, which meant the writer of the note was noble.
"What's this, Thamdros?"
"The Lord Roaringhorn impressed me with the urgency of his missive," the steward wheezed, "and urged me to deliver it myself."
"Urged you?"
"With a sapphire, Lord. The smallest such I've yet seen, but it must have been worth a good hundred dragons. I refused it of course, my Lord."
The steward's mustache fairly quivered with indignation. No honorable servant would accept such a gift from a noble not of his household, for doing so implied he wasn't adequately paid-or worse, that he was untrustworthy. Thamdros was clearly offended by this breach of etiquette, and Korvaun promptly committed another: he clasped the old man's shoulder as one close friend might reassure another.
"Lord Roaringhorn knows your measure as well as I do, and I promise you he meant no offense. He was counting on your integrity to relay something he dared not entrust to paper. He knew you'd report his behavior to me, letting me know without dire words that matters are not as they should be."
The steward's face cleared, and he bowed. "Thank you, Lord."
Korvaun broke Beldar's seal, unfolded the note, and read: Meet me within two bells at Tamsrin's? Firm friendship always. Beldar's rune was scrawled below. Shaky handwriting, obviously scribbled in haste.
What now? Tamsrin's Thirst was as bright and busy a wine-and-chat bower as North Ward offered-far too crowded for conspiracies or dirty work. Too noisy and too plagued by the preeningly self-important for Korvaun's taste, but like everyone who dwelt north of Waterdeep Way, he knew where it was.
"Trouble, Lord?" Thamdros dared to ask.
Korvaun held out the note. It might be wise to have someone know his whereabouts.
"An invitation to wine and idle chat?" The old steward was indignant.
Korvaun smiled. "That I don't believe for a moment. I'd best go see what's on Lord Roaringhorn's mind. Perhaps this most important matter is happy news rather than grave. He might even have fallen prey to a lady's charms at last."
"If so," Thamdros observed sourly, "you'd do better to hasten to the lady's door and attempt to bring her to her senses." He promptly purpled in shame, clearly regretting that the words had ever left his mouth.
His jaw dropped open when