Страница 20 из 111
Blackgult turned. "Two?"
Embra held up a warning hand. "Don't try to join their ranks. Just don't."
The Golden Griffon gave her a slow smile, and said merely, "This bids fair to be an extremely interesting meal."
"But, my Lord Overduke," the cortahar stammered uncertainly, "my lord the Tersept gave us very specific ord-"
"So," the hulking armaragor growled, glaring down from the burly height of a full two heads taller, "you choose to be as much of a traitor to Aglirta as he?" He hefted his warsword. "Well, then…"
"Ah, there's no need for bloodletting," the knight said hastily. "I'm sure-"
"Hurrh," the mountainous man in armor told him with grim humor "So am I."
Behind a nearby wall, two men in robes adorned with crawling serpents traded glances. " Tis working!" Brother Landrun hissed. "He must never've met Anharu before-three breaths, and he accepts that this is the overduke!"
The Lord of the Serpent arched an eyebrow and displayed his direjaws smile. "But of course."
The young page pressed into service as a herald stumbled over their names and tides, but Blackgult said merely, "Enough, lad. They know who we are.
'Overdukes,' all, is as fine a way of saying it as any. Show us our seats and introduce these fine lords of Stornbridge to us, hmm?"
The young man stared at him, stammered something, and then hurriedly set about doing just that.
"Lord Blackgult," Tshamarra hissed, "I'm not a noble of Aglirta, nor-"
"You are now," he growled, "for this night at least. You can renounce your title of 'Overduke' in the morning, but try doing so now and I'll paddle your bare behind-yes, in front of all these Storn men. 'Tis the agreed-upon ritual; just ask Craer."
The Lady Talasorn gave them both withering looks. Craer gri
Five men were already seated around its far end, regarding the over-dukes expectantly. Six chamber knaves were ranged around the walls behind, but no Storn woman could be seen in the room-though none of the overdukes doubted that some of the eyes undoubtedly watching from the dozen or so high gallery windows were feminine. The tier of open balconies just above the chamber knaves, however, were as deserted as most of the places down the long feasting table. It seemed the Tersept of Stornbridge had little interest in displaying his humiliation to his people.
The young herald led each guest to a specific seat, named them, and then went to stand behind each seated man of Stornbridge in turn, reciting their tides carefully.
Each overduke mentally shortened the flow of grand words-how many high offices could a market town afford, anyway?-to simpler names. The old, bristle-whiskered man regarding them with open hostility was the local lornsar, or captain of cortahars, Lornsar Ryethrel. The more elegant and urbane man beside him was the castle official they'd already verbally dueled with: Seneschal Urbrindur. Next to Urbrindur, at the head of the table, was the tersept. On Lord Stornbridge's other side was his younger and more handsome echo, a man who proved to be both the Scribe and Coinmaster of Stornbridge, one Eirevaur. Beside the scribe sat a scarred mountain of a man with murderous eyes, who was introduced as the Tersept's Champion. Enforcer, more like, Embra thought silently. She suspected Champion Pheldane was well armed indeed under his satin shoulder robe. He looked at her as if she was a brothel-lass who'd set her price too high-a price he was looking forward to forcibly lowering. Soon.
Blackgult had drawn the seat beside the glowering champion. Across the table, Craer would be sitting beside the lornsar. Embra caught Tshamarra's glance, and rolled her eyes. Oh, this was going to be a jolly feasting, indeed…
At a curt nod from the seneschal, the stammering herald withdrew. The overdukes seated themselves, Hawkril casually swinging his chair up like a weightless toy to examine its legs and underside-and Embra not bothering to hide the faint singing sound of the Dwaer weaving a shield against archery around them all.
"Stornbridge is honored by your unexpected presence among us," the tersept said with a su
"That is also our hope and trust," Blackgult told him gently, raising a goblet in salute but not putting it to his lips.
Craer sampled his wine very lightly, and then thrust his leg against Embra's, under the table. Unseen beneath the tabletop she touched the Dwaer to his hand and sent magic flooding into him.
The procurer swayed slightly as the burning sensation of the poison passed, and then smiled at Stornbridge. "You all enjoy mraevor in your wine? I find it makes most vintages too salty, but perhaps this pleases local Stornbridge palates."
"You dare-?" Lornsar Ryedirel growled, turning upon him. Craer gave him a smile that could only be described as sweet. "Ah, no, Lornsar, I'm afraid someone else has been daring. Unless of course, you'd like to achieve that selfsame condition, by drinking of this goblet?"
He held it out, just beyond the lornsar's reach. The furious captain-of-guards slapped at it, as if to dash its contents across Craer's face, but then abruptly-at just about the time the procurer's other hand, under the table, put the very cold tip of a dagger against the upper edge of Ryethrel's codpiece-fell still and silent, sweating suddenly.
"Or perhaps you, Seneschal?" Craer asked mildly, preferring the goblet as if Ryedirel had said and done nothing. When Urbrindur gave him only stony silence, he lifted his brows and added mildly, "Anyone?"
"Perhaps the entire cask was tainted," Tshamarra said lightly, handing her own goblet to Craer. He sipped, nodded, and nudged Embra under the table again. Her healing was swifter this time, and was promptly followed by another spell unfamiliar to him.
The contents of Tshamarra's goblet promptly burst into blue flames under Craer's nose, so he put it carefully down. As he did so, his own goblet erupted, followed by those of the other overdukes. Those of the men of Stornbridge glowed briefly blue, but didn't ignite.
"My thirst seems to have quite fled," Embra a
"I-I know not how this could have happened, but-" Lord Stornbridge stammered, looking furious as well as frightened.
"Yes," Blackgult agreed, staring at him, "I can well believe that. The interpretation of orders all too often surprises those who give them-as I've learned often down the years, to my cost. Why don't we exchange platters and goblets henceforth, lords, and so quell all suspicions? I would like to form friendships here, this day."
Lord Stornbridge opened and closed his mouth without uttering a sound for a moment, and then in almost desperate haste gobbled, "Why, yes, let's do just that! I-I-"
"Can't think why that didn't occur to all of us before," Embra finished for him smoothly, coolly meeting the glares of the lornsar, the seneschal, and the champion in turn. The coinmaster merely looked thoughtful.
Tersept Stornbridge nodded in energetic agreement, and quaffed his own-safe-wine deeply. "If you don't mind my asking, and the answer's not too delicate a matter… what fair wind brings you to Stornbridge? We are, after all, far from the most important ba