The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [124]
Old men seized on that with a kind of fierce joy over their tankards. Here was a story that needed no betterment in the telling, not one embellishment, to stir listeners at every retelling, even to the balding Delcamper uncles who'd sneered at a young kinsman wanting to prance about with a harp hurling down their coins in a dozen shops and grand offices, and racing red-faced through the streets with their swords drawn to hew down veteran warriors for daring to blood one of their own.
Ah, but even the mightiest rallied to defend their cubs-and Astalen the dung-carter, who'd thrown himself over the fallen lad in the waist-deep dung (or, some said, merely stumbled over Flaeros in his rage at the breaking of his cart) and snarled fist-shaking fury up at the Scaled One hurling down fell magics at him from so high above, was a rich man now. The Delcampers paid their debts, and Astalen's days with the dung-buckets were over; he commanded a dozen carts now, and was a firm friend to all Delcampers.
And if Flaeros Delcamper was suddenly a hero in Ragalar, he was measured differently by his own kin, too-for what other family had a mere youngling who yet was important enough to be chased by Serpent-priests, and hounded by a score of expensive sellswords?
One or more of the eldest Delcampers wondered privately about what the lad must have seen, or done, to make him thus marked… wherefore the four or five Delcampers too old and aching to spend their days striding about making the clan richer divided a new duty among themselves: that of sitting by the young lad's bedside, as he slowly-for the priests had done what they could, and no wizard could be trusted to essay more-drifted back to health.
It was on the same bright morning that saw the Band of Four go back into the Silent House that a Sirl bard of middling name came to the gates of the Delcampers craving audience with Flaeros, and submitted to suspicious searches there, and then purging spells cast on him by the few bonfire-wizards retained by the Delcampers, and hard questions by Delcamper matrons, to at last win admittance, under guard, to the inner house where Flaeros lay.
"Why have you come?" was the blunt question put to him by the uncle on watch there.
The bard-one Kaulistur Peldratha by name, a handsome man of almost womanly singing voice and a calm, patient manner-swallowed and replied, "O-Out of respect, Lord. Flaeros Delcamper has stood in the court of the Risen King, and spoken with King Snowsar personally. It is only right that-as one of us struck, him down-one of us should aid him as bards do, to tell him the news of Aglirta."
The uncle had regarded the young bard in steady silence for an uncomfortably long time, and then simply nodded and beckoned, turning away.
"Respect," Kaulistur had heard him murmur, in tones of satisfaction, as they mounted a grand stair and passed the crossed blades of guard after guard, to reach at last a room where another aged Delcamper uncle sat watchfully at a bedside, wearing a frown that deepened at their arrival, but gave way at last with the quiet command, "Speak freely, as if we were not here, one bard to another."
Hesitantly-for Kaulistur had been one of those who'd sneered at Flaeros, long ago in the Sighing Gargoyle, at his first stammered queries about how one joined the Moot-the visitor greeted the pale man in the bed. He was, however, received with eager welcome, and warmed to his task, speaking candidly and colorfully-as bards do, never noticing how often two old faces not far behind him smiled or raised their brows or frowned-of doings in Aglirta.
Kaulistur spoke of the whelmed might of treachery in barony after barony, and the latest news of the Band of Four and the fabled Dwaerindim, until Flaeros, in wild and mounting excitement, cursed his injuries for keeping him abed at this time.
With a sudden sob of pain and effort, the pale, thin man in the bed struggled out of the bed-blankets, and set one thin and hairy foot upon the floor.
"I must be there!" he half-snarled,