The Kingless Land - Ed Greenwood [91]
Behind his closed door, the bearded man had a sudden thought-or came to a decision. He spun around in haste and strode away.
Behind another closed door, Craer was checking the readiness of knives up this sleeve and that, and saying firmly, "The master bards are still meeting, Hawk. Your height makes you too easily recognized and remembered-so you must bide here, guarding Embra, and not show his face or hers outside yon door. All of the barons are sure to have spies and agents at work in the city right now."
Hawkril nodded, growling reluctantly, "I'll do so, but I'm setting a price: mind you bring me back a roast kleggard and a bottle of wine, at least, when you return."
He sat down on the largest chair in the room and laid his naked war sword ready across his knees as Craer and Sarasper made their promises. The procurer looked at the warrior settled into his chair and said, "Very impressive-but you've got to get up and bar the door behind us-the bar's in yon closet."
"Clever, aren't you?" Hawkril grunted, as he went to the closet.
As the procurer and the healer went out, they heard the bar rattle down into place. They traded grins as they clattered down the stairs and threaded their ways through the crowded Wavefyre common room to the street. "Bloody Droppa's Window?" Craer asked, not noticing a man in one corner of the room stare hard at him, then draw back and swiftly go elsewhere.
"It's still there?" Sarasper responded in delight. "Then of course!"
Sirlptar was a maze of hurrying people, rumbling carts, shouts and curses, and trotting dogs. The noisy, muddy streets were awash in a thousand smells, most of them particularly strong in the alleys and back passages Craer ducked down and hurried along, with Sarasper following trustingly in his wake.
As they descended toward the harbor, the streets grew narrow and dirtier, and the alleyways more littered with all manner of rotting filth. It was a relief to the healer when they turned into a half-remembered street overhung with dripping washing, and slowed. Ahead, a shifting group of men were gathered around an unadorned window, in the side of a crumbling building that had probably begun its career as a warehouse.
The smells rolling out of that window, amid streamers of steam and smoke, made mouths water and throats tighten. Roast kleggard, horse, and what must be a mixed-fowl stew mingled with the seemingly perpetual stink of overscorched boar that both men's memories carried about the Window. The familiar crumbling clay pots and dirty sacks taken from grain hauling use because of holes, were also in evidence as customer after customer trotted away from the window laden with steaming supper.
When it was their turn, Craer ordered enough for six hungry armsmen with the muttered comment to Sarasper, "He eats for three, and we've got to keep her strength up, hey?" The healer was staggering under a hot, gravy-soaked sack when they made their own retreat from the Window. The procurer took one look at Sarasper's face and said, "I know an even shorter way. Come!"
They ducked into an alley that was so dark and narrow that it seemed almost like a tunnel. Almost immediately Craer bent low with his dagger and slashed a trip cord. Turning his head to the left, he snarled, "I've magic to burn you with!"
The empty threat seemed to work. Hastening in his wake, Sarasper saw eyes ducking away from a dark opening and almost missed seeing the procurer duck through another opening, into what seemed more a sewer than an alley. They splashed through filth for only a few steps before Craer turned sharply again, plunging into darkness.
"Slow down!" the healer panted.
"Daren't!"