The City of Splendors_ A Waterdeep Novel - Ed Greenwood [92]
She flew at the man, heedless of his drawn sword, and delivered a slap that spun his head sideways and brought roars of laughter from other Watchmen.
"We're crafters," she shouted at him. "Honest women doing an honest day's work, not the playpretties of titled men!"
By then, several Watchmen had tugged her arms down, and the swordcaptain she'd attacked had staggered back out of reach, more startled than angry.
"Naoni," Faendra cried desperately, afraid she'd see her sister stabbed right in front of her. "Have done!"
Her sister heard and fell silent but didn't stop struggling against the hands that held her.
"Well, we seem to have touched some nerves here," the grizzled rorden observed. "Not had your share of battle yet, m'dear?"
That "dear" and the patronizing tone it was delivered in brought Faendra to her feet. She flounced over to put herself between Naoni and the graying officer, hands on her hips and blue eyes ablaze.
"Surely Mistress Dyre, the daughter of a guildmaster, is worthy of more respectful address!"
The officers exchanged glances, and the men holding Naoni released her and stepped back.
"See now, young mistress, no harm was meant."
"Oh? Perhaps if your daughters and sisters were penned into a battlefield, left to fend for themselves, then mocked as dockside trulls," raged Faendra, "less rust would have collected on your weapons! Speaking of which, my sister's 'battles' are her own business, but no graybeard with 'rusted weapons' need apply as sparring partner."
A few uneasy chuckles arose. Faendra, however, was not quite finished. She turned and pointed at Naoni dramatically.
"And know this: my sister is a sorceress, goddess-gifted with the ability to spin anything into thread! She could conjure every sword you carry into scraps of fishing line."
She cast a scathing glance over the gathered Watch and added, "Not that most of you would perceive the change."
A young Watchman stepped forward, eyes narrowing. "Threatening the Watch with sorcery, are you?"
"Thellus," an older swordcaptain hastily interrupted, "I think we'd better take these lasses in for some proper questioning. Separately. I'll take-"
"No, goodsir," Korvaun announced then, his sword out and his voice even colder than his drawn blade, "you'll not. These women are now under my protection, and I'll fight any man who tries to-"
"Oh, gods drown all," the grizzled rorden said feelingly, "put up your steel, lordling! You, too, Lord Hawkwinter. There'll be no taking anyone anywhere-by us, anyway. Stand back, men."
He looked down at Lark. "I can see by their, ah, liveliness that your friends here are unharmed. How fare you?"
"Covered with the blood of a man whose weight prevents me from rising," she replied, "but otherwise unharmed." She turned her head to regard Taeros and added coldly, "Yet uncertain of what value lies in the protection of men who inherited titles rather than wits-and whose solution to all impediments seems to be drawing a sword."
A few Watchmen chuckled, at least one whistled in anticipation of fireworks to come, and everyone watched the face of Lord Taeros Hawkwinter redden.
In that expectant silence, Taeros sheathed his sword, inclined his head to Lark, and replied politely, "I bow to the wishes of a lady whenever possible, and as the good officer here has promised you'll not be imprisoned or interrogated, I'm content to let matters run their lawful course."
He turned to the rorden. "I assume you'll wish to interview other witnesses to ascertain the true cause of this disturbance. If you've further need of me or my friends, kindly send word and we'll happily answer any questions put to us."
"Prettily said," the old Watchman replied. "Down blades, men. I think our work here is done-unless, milords, you'd like us to carry Lord Roaringhorn somewhere?"
"I-I can carry myself," a quiet answer startled him, from the bloodstained form at their feet. "I think."
Taeros peered down. "Beldar, how badly are you-?"
"I'll live," was the curt