The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [68]
Roldo lifted an eyebrow and his tankard together. They drank in silence, and it was almost a relief when swift footfalls on the stairs heralded the arrival of another Gemcloak.
Starragar Jardeth stumbled into the room, face even paler than usual. His air of quiet elegance was absent, and his garb uncharacteristically disheveled. His hematite cloak was twisted around and hanging over one shoulder, and his black jerkin gaped from shoulder to opposite hip, slashed open to reveal his tunic beneath. A tunic smeared with dirt and-
Korvaun's eyes narrowed. "Scods, man! Is that blood?"
"Aye," Starragar said grimly. "Who'd have thought a made-from-scrap fang could cut so well?"
"Sit," instructed Korvaun, pointing to a chair. "I'll get a healer."
Starragar flopped into it with a groan. "No need. A good jerkin reduced to rags, but I've naught but a scratch."
"What befell?"
"I was out dicing with the Eagleshield twins last night. By the time they ran out of coin it was so late we took rooms above the tavern. Come morning, they insisted on seeing me safely here, and for that I owe them my life. We were set upon by ruffians. Like all Eagleshields, they're keen brawlers and leaped right into the fray-so they took the worst of it."
"Badly hurt? Did the Watch come?" demanded Roldo.
Starragar looked up. "You're back," he said flatly. "Welcome home, and so on. Aye, to both: the twins'll mend, but not soon. The Watch came-again, not soon. Once come, they didn't move to protect us any too swiftly, either. Is there more of that ale?"
Korvaun filled a tankard to the brim. A thunder of booted feet below bespoke more arrivals, so he filled another three.
"A sad day, when Waterdeep's lowlives run in packs like wild dogs," Starragar grumbled. "'Tis time to run blades up a few backsides to teach some lessons!"
"Hear, hear!" Roldo echoed, raising his tankard.
Korvaun frowned. "What lessons?"
Starragar looked up from his ale. "Quelling talk of the Lords all being nobles working hard to enrich nobles, for a start. You should hear what they're snarling in the taverns! Some hold the Lords-yes, the Masked flaming Lords of Waterdeep!-to blame for the festhall collapse!"
Roldo frowned. "Festhall?"
"The Slow Cheese," Beldar Roaringhorn snapped, striding into the room to clasp Roldo's forearms in welcome. He continued straight to the three tankards, drained one without pausing for breath, and stared at the other two. After a moment, he picked up a second and drained it just as quickly.
Korvaun regarded him in puzzlement. Accustomed to servants, Beldar seldom gave thought to menial tasks but was as attentive to his friends' comforts as his own. It was unlike him to help himself to a tankard obviously meant for someone else.
"News travels fast," Taeros observed, limping into the room and leaning hard on a silver-handled cane. Sinking into a chair, he grimaced as he stretched one leg out before him. "Alas, faster than I do."
Korvaun frowned. "What befell?"
"An unfortunate choice of words," Taeros replied in a strangely flat voice. "The Slow Cheese fell. We three were inside at the time."
"Three? So where's Malark?"
"Dead," Beldar said bluntly.
A heavy silence descended.
"I left him," the youngest Lord Roaringhorn added angrily. "I left him there, and the whole damned festhall fell on top of him."
Taeros stirred. "If there's blame in this, Beldar should shoulder none of it. He was occupied with matters of lesser importance in the grand schemes of the gods, namely, carrying me to safety." His voice broke. "Don't think me ungrateful-never that-but Malark was worth two of me."
"As to that, Malark outweighed two of you," Korvaun pointed out, his voice gentle. "If Beldar had left you lie to help Malark, all three of you might have perished, and Faerun would be poorer by two good men."
"The matter before us now," Starragar said grimly, "is avenging our friend's death."
Roldo gripped his swordhilt. "I'm ready." He looked to Beldar, awaiting their leader's word.
Roaringhorn set down his tankard and