The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [149]
He'd heard the voice coming out of the darkness before.
"Flaeros Delcamper," it greeted him warmly. "Come and sit over tankards and talk to an old lion."
Flaeros of Ragalar flushed with pleasure as the three arrogant bards he'd been trying to impress all night gasped, and one of them murmured, "You know Inderos Stormharp?"
He nodded pleasantly to them as he swirled away to where Stormharp was sitting. "Of course," he replied gently. "Don't you?"
The darkness gave him a chuckle. "Your blades are as keen as they are gentle, youngling. So, now: tell me what Sirlptar knows of the battle at Castle Silvertree."
Flaeros sat down. "My thanks, sir, for your interest and for this tankard." He interpreted the dismissive wave of a hand correctly, and without further ado added, "Sir, they speak of nothing else. The Lady's Tower, if I'm calling it right, lies open to the stars this night, that whole end of the castle riven. They say the baron is dead or missing, and all the Dark Three-his mages, that is, but of course you know that, my pardon-too."
The old, lion-maned bard chuckled. "Slowly, slowly, lad… unless of course a lady or a challenge waits for you, and I'm keeping you from it!"
"No, no," Flaeros replied, with an embarrassed laugh. "Nothing so grand, I'm afraid. Just… nerves. It's all so exciting. Some bargemen saw the Lady of Jewels, you see-"
"Yes?" Stormharp asked sharply.
"Uh, ah, yes, Lady Embra Silvertree herself. She was seen to destroy a turret of the castle, and a balcony that she and others were standing on, sending it crashing down into the river. Neither she, nor her mysterious companions, nor the baron and his mages have been seen in the days since."
"She still lives," the old bard told the table softly, seeming for a moment to have forgotten Flaeros was there. "I'd be able to tell if she died."
Sometimes it seemed to Flaeros Delcamper that he stood like a fencepost while important folk galloped by, rushing past before he could even learn their names, let alone understand their hastes. Hesitantly he clutched the reassuring, heavy coldness of his tankard and asked, "Ah-why?"
"Hmm?"
Flaeros never knew, later, how he dared to ask that question, with one old eye staring at him across the table like a hawk who's just realized that helpless prey is sitting right under one of its talons. "You'd know if she died-how so?"
The hawklike gaze dropped, and Stormharp said, "I was one of the four commoners used in a spell cast on Embra Silvertree when she was but an infant. 'Anchors,' her father's wizard called us, then; I heard later that the magic, which had to do with stone, as I recall, and calling to us through it, was part of something mages call a 'Living Castle.' I've never been able to get any of them to explain that or even to admit those words mean anything. But perhaps it's just that I never had cartloads of coins enough to go with my questions, if you catch my meaning."
Flaeros nodded, and they sipped from their tankards in companionable silence. The young bard glanced around, but could see only a few figures, sitting at other tables-none close, though the three bards were looking longingly in their direction-in the gloom of this shadowy back leg of the taproom.
"Ah, Flaeros," the old bard said then, as much hesitation in his voice as Flaeros had felt earlier, "have you ever heard the tale of why Blackgult and Silvertree, rivals down long years, became in latter days such, ah, deadly foes?"
"No," the young bard said eagerly. "Please, tell me! This is one of those things that everyone seems to think all folk know-and shouldn't speak of. Please!"
"Well," the old bard said from behind his tankard, "I just haven't the stomach for all the grand phrases and trappings, right now-so to say it simply: the man they called the Golden Griffon was well favored and caught the