The Vacant Throne - Ed Greenwood [99]
Those shrieks followed him through the crash of the man's landing and the lesser crashings of Weldrin's own boots mounting the dark and narrow back stairs.
At the top was another sleepy man-the floor-guard, eyes still heavy-lidded as he drifted into wakefulness on his stool, driven from sleep by the screams from below. Weldrin snatched at the nearest leg of that stool and pulled, hard.
The stool came away from under the guard with surprising ease. The startled man hadn't even finished bouncing on his tailbone on the floor and opening his mouth for a roar of pain when Weldrin brought the stool down on his head, swinging with vicious force.
A few panting breaths later, the reaver was stopped outside a particular door. On the other side of it were two travelers, delivered into his hands by chance-or perhaps by the Three. They were men he knew-and the Lady Embra would know them, too, though he was sure she hadn't seen them yet, or there'd have been a battle raging on this upper floor of the Flagon long before he'd led his men out of the booth.
Vandur and Kethgan were their names. Not so long ago, they'd been hired agents of the Baron Silvertree, professional "capturers" who kidnapped and brought back to him folk of his choosing from all over the Vale. Mages, rich merchants, even the stewards of rival barons… Capturers who never failed, their swords and their stealth triumphing time and time again.
Wherefore he'd have to be very careful right now. Weldrin stepped carefully to one side of the door before reaching out with the pommel of his dagger and knocking-slowly and deliberately. "Vandur," he called. "Kethgan. I am a man alone, who has pressing need of hiring you, here and now."
Silence. He waited, and then hurried to the wall on the other side of the door. "Vandur?" he called flatly. "Kethgan?"
He heard the latch click, and the door of the room swung slowly open-revealing nothing but darkness. Weldrin stared into it, and asked as calmly as he could, "Are you accepting commissions?"
A gloved hand unhooded a heavily shaded lamp far across the room, descended into the small pool of light it cast, and beckoned Weldrin.
He swallowed, trying to keep his face impassive, and stepped forward. He was in midstride when the door closed behind him and the lamp was abruptly hooded once more, leaving him in darkness.
Fighting down sudden, icy fear, Weldrin came to a stop. It was some time-time he spent in tense silence, straining to hear breathing or a footfall or something nearby-before the reaver's eyes became accustomed to the gloom. When they did, he became aware of two drawn swords pointing at his eyeballs. They were held by masked and gloved figures that he could barely see amid a dark forest of hangings-rugs or garments hung in strips from the ceiling. "Terms?" he asked the darkness.
"Tell us the task first," came the calm reply from right beside his left ear.
It took all of Weldrin's control to refrain from either flinching or whirling to strike out at the sound of that so-near voice, but he prevailed-and in so doing, saved his own life.
At least for a little while.
Embra felt strangely happy-and judging by the deep humming sound coming from low in his throat, Hawkril did too. Despite the grim mingling of hatred and fear on the faces of the bladesmen who were trying to kill them, there was something almost carefree again in having foes one could see, and grapple with, and strike down.
Safe a good two steps above and behind Hawkril, Embra heard the smallest of sounds from behind her.
She whirled around, her hands coming up like claws, to find herself gazing into the admiring, excited face of Raulin. He was holding something out to her: Sarasper's belt, bulging with little pouches. "Your gewgaws," he announced.
The Lady of Jewels took it from him. "Raulin, this thing'll fall right down around my ankles!"
"Sling it over your shoulder and under the other arm," the boy hissed, "and take this!"
He