The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [73]
"I take no offence," the Helmfast scion said quietly. "Malark was fond of revelry. It's fitting we celebrate his life as he lived it."
"Hear, hear!" Roldo echoed, waving his tallglass. It hadn't escaped Taeros's notice that the Thongolir heir had drunk sparingly, not much more than wetting his lips with each toast. Roldo was wont to talk overmuch in his cups and probably feared what he might say if he drank freely on the night of Malark's funeral.
Beldar had no such qualms. Their leader waved his empty glass imperiously on high. Lark promptly arrived with a serving tray in one hand and a bottle of zzar in the other, and began pouring.
"Leave the bottle," Beldar ordered, not glancing up. "Yes, yes, Korvaun did well. Just as he said, I consider myself honored to have been counted among Malark's friends." He shook his head. "But what an appalling waste! Was it really meet to elevate a serving slut-a whey-faced chit with no grace and less bosom-to the same honor as noble friends and family?"
"If, my lord," an acid-laced female voice inquired, "the lass sported breasts larger than your head, would you find her more worthy of Lord Kothont's sacrifice and your regard?"
Taeros stared at Lark in both curiosity and horror. Serving wenches, even those pleasing to the eye and possessed of a swift and entertaining wit, simply did not intrude upon patrons' conversations-and certainly not with a rebuke!
Beldar gave Lark a drunken glare. "Sported? Aye, she might then be worthy of sport, if not the high honor Korvaun offered."
The servant regarded him for a moment. Then she set the bottle of zzar on the table with exaggerated care, turned to leave-and whirled back, serving tray held high in both hands. Before anyone could do more than gape, she brought it down on Beldar's head with a ringing clang.
He crashed to the floor, chair and all. Lark spun away and marched straight out of the Hippocampus, tossing the bent platter to the floor and her apron to the indignantly sputtering master of the hall as she went.
Chairs scraped as the Gemcloaks sprang to help their fallen leader. Korvaun, who'd been seated next to Beldar, did most of the honors, raising the dazed Lord Roaringhorn to his feet and briskly brushing floor-reeds from Beldar's ruby cloak. "Are you unhurt?"
Beldar explored his scalp with tentative fingers and nodded.
"Good," Korvaun said politely-and punched Beldar in the jaw, hard. The youngest Lord Roaringhorn reeled back, stumbled over Lark's twisted serving-tray, and found the floor once more.
As the hallmaster stared, aghast, Lord Korvaun Helmfast strode quickly to the front door, his sapphire cloak swirling around him like a stormcloud.
This time Beldar stayed down, groaning and unaided, as Taeros, Starragar, and Roldo stared open-mouthed at their departing friend's back.
* * * * *
"Thank you, Hoth," Mrelder murmured, when it became clear his father wasn't going to say anything at all.
The tall man bowed silently and departed, leaving Mrelder and his father alone in Golskyn's office with the tankards of hot cider Hoth had brought. The priest gestured imperiously, bidding Mrelder to go and bolt the door.
When he turned back from doing that, Golskyn of the Gods was sitting at his desk looking out the windows at the dawn, warming his hands around his tankard. "You have been here longer than the rest of us," he said abruptly, "and so seen more of this city of greed and bustle. Moreover, you are still of an age where dreams and fancies flourish, so tell me something of your thoughts: What should we of the Amalgamation strive for? Speak freely."
Mrelder's jaw dropped.
His father's gaze never left the street below, but the thin smile on Golskyn's hard, lordly face told Mrelder he'd seen his son's astonishment.
"Waterdeep," Mrelder said slowly, "is a city of secrets and strivings. Men clash daily with wits and coins-and too often with daggers and worse. Buy this, sell that, swindle and cajole and misrepresent: Folk here spend