The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [66]
The mages, the Spellmaster had proudly explained, had used hair from her hairbrush to link the protective enchantment specifically to the Lady Embra alone-and they'd added "hooks" to the enchantment so they could fling a pain-inducing spell, such as bloodfire, onto it from afar, should "control of a wayward armaragor become necessary." No effort would be stinted, indeed.
"Go first to Sirlptar," the baron continued. "Fugitives and outlaws always run straight to Sirlptar, thinking they can hide from us amid the teeming folk. It's not all that large a place, really-just be sure they don't slip aboard a ship without you seeing them."
"Four falcons and the barracks? No, I don't think so," Embra said softly, looking up at the recruiter. He glared at her, peering to see if she held a weapon-but no, she was merely juggling a handful of copper coins in her hand.
The greasy mustache leaned closer, twisting in a leer. "What's that, wench? Not finished with these lads, yet?"
"Look into my hand," she murmured, ignoring the recruiter's foul, beery breath, "and tell me what you see there." And she opened her fingers.
There were four roundels of metal in her palm, but they weren't copper coins. Four miniature silver shields shone back the flickering candlelight, and each one proudly displayed the arms of Adeln.
"We serve the baron already," Embra murmured, "carrying secrets to him, and for him. For hampering us in our work, the penalty is-death. I know the baron very well; do you?"
The recruiter's face slowly turned the color of old, yellow cheese. "Uh-urrgh-uh, well…"
"I thought so," Embra continued, her voice acquiring a snap of steel. "Now leave this place, swiftly, and I'll probably manage to forget mentioning you in my report."
"I-ah-" the recruiter added, his eyes darting back and forth from face to face.
Craer and Sarasper gave him slow nods of equal parts menace and promise; Hawkril merely narrowed his eyes.
"Stand off, lads!" the recruiter snarled, and turned hastily away from their table, making a signal with his dagger that Craer resolved to remember for later use.
In moments, the brighthelms were gone from the tavern, and the Four were deafened by a roar of approval. Tankards clacked together, and beer struck the floors and tables in floods.
The procurer thrust his head against Embra's and shouted in the din, "That was well done! We'll have to come back here, next time we're into town!"
The Lady Silvertree gave him a sour look and the traditional withering reply: "When the land has a king again!"
Then she stiffened, laid a hand on his arm, and looked quickly down into his tankard.
"All gone, Lady," he said merrily, "but if you'd like anoth-"
"Don't call me that, fool!" she hissed into his ear. "Now keep smiling, look up and around at a lot of folks, and notice the man with the long nose and the cap, without staring at him!"
"One of your father's?" the procurer murmured, even before he did as he'd been bid.
Embra laughed and nodded enthusiastically, as if at a jest, and then leaned forward and said, "He was looking at us just now, trying to decide if we're the four he's been told to watch for. Pull open my bodice-and if you rip it, I'll cut you a new and smaller nose-and empty my tankard down my front; he'll stop thinking I might be the refined lady he's looking for then. Tell Hawkril to pick a fight with him and throw him in the river, but don't kill him. Be warned; he carries lots of knives."
Craer looked at her with respect in his twinkling eyes and said, "You've no idea how much I'm going to enjoy doing this!"
"Oh, yes," Embra replied, and let out a whoop that startled the procurer. As she reached out to pinch his cheek, she added joyfully, "I think I do!"
"Manyfingers," Hawkril rumbled, as Craer set enthusiastically to work, "have you gone ma-"
He broke off as Embra kicked him under the table, hard, and a moment later Sarasper was laughing a little unconvincingly into his face, and then hissing all he'd overheard said by Embra.
Hawkril scowled