“No,” he said. “Come with me quietly, Rharaundra, and I’ll plead for mercy for you.”
She peered at him. “You? You’ll plead for me? You mean that?”
He nodded.
“Why?”
Azimander Godal stretched out a hand and stroked her cheek, very gently. She flinched, but then deliberately moved her head to let him touch her more easily. Her teeth were chattering.
“You may have done what you did to bring about my death,” he murmured, “but you did it. You could have just shoved me through the railing right away, but you gave me pleasure first.”
He put his arms around Rharaundra Yellander and hugged her. “And no one has done that for a very long time.”
Her sobs started even as the light around them changed, and they were standing in a room crowded with war wizards, Vangerdahast among them.
The royal magician regarded them, smiled, and said in a dry voice, “That’s certainly one way to fetch a noble lady of the realm. Remind me to try it some time.”
Chapter 22
With aid of minstrel and dancing lasses three,
I forth ride past many a rock and tree
My high lord calls for to speak to thy body
And I am sent to take thee.
The Two-Headed Lion was the fourth tavern Dauntless had trudged into thus far in search of these suddenly elusive Swords, and he was in less than the best of tempers.
Therefore, he loomed up over the table of laughing, chattering drinkers, flung back the cloak that had hidden his uniform, swept his helm up from under his arm and onto his head as if it were a weapon, and roared, “ You! Swords of Eveningstar! In the name of the king, I arrest you!”
Agannor and Bey were up out of their seats in an instant, swords grating out, and Dauntless barked, “Nel-vorr!”
A dozen Purple Dragons or more appeared out of doorways all around the taproom. In the sudden, tense silence Swordcaptain Nelvorr snapped, “Sir!”
The Swords were surrounded.
“Agannor! Bey! Sheathe weapons!” Florin commanded, his voice sounding far more calm than he was. He set down his tankard and looked up at the cold-eyed ornrion. “We happen to hold a charter, sir-in the name of the king. Given us by the king himself less than a month gone, now. The king I know and obey. You I do not know. So who are you, and why seek you to arrest us?”
“I am Dauntless of the watch, and have been ordered by the king’s Lady Lord of Arabel to bring you into her presence, for reasons that are her own. Will you come with us now willingly-or are Swords of Eveningstar going outlaw, and getting themselves hurt in the process?”
“As to that,” Agannor growled, “we won’t be the only ones getting hurt. The watch is little loved in most taverns, and here in Arabel even less. Were I you, ornrion, I’d go back to my barracks and think on a politer, safer way to get law-abiding adventurers to visit the palace. A written invitation, perhaps?”
Ornrion Dauntless let his lip curl, and Agannor’s face darkened.
“Well?” he asked, looking at the silent tables all around. “What say, folk of Arabel? Do we let watch jacks swagger in and just take away this man or that, on what might be their personal whim? Or do we show them what broken pates feel like, and send them packing?”
A scar-faced man sitting not far away looked at him sourly, and said, “Man, I know not where ye come from, but in this city the watch is to be obeyed.”
“Aye,” a burly carter said, turning to face Agannor. “For the good of all.”
“Obedience, not defiance,” a gray-haired, worn-faced woman agreed. “The law and its fair keeping is all we have to keep all here from boiling up into swordfeuds-so we all help to keep it. Draw steel, you Swords, and we’ll aid the watch against you, not raise hand against them. The Dragons are the hard hands we know; you could be anything.”
“Well,” Doust said, “that’s clear enough. We obey these officers, quietly and without giving them trouble. Unless they’re foolish enough to hamper the holy devotions of Semoor or myself-and I believe no Purple Dragon truly loyal to the Crown would do that.”
“You believe rightly,” Dauntless said, and pointed-once, twice, and thrice. “You,” he said to Florin, “seem to lead, or at least give commands to some of your fellows. You will come with me.” He turned his head to Pennae. “You, we’ve had reports of, so you’ll come with me and not slip away, or your companions will pay for it.” He looked to Jhessail. “And you’ve been reported to cast spells, wherefore the war wizards desire to speak with you-or should do. You also will come with us, and work no magic on the way or in the presence of the lady lord.”
“Our charter-” Florin began, but Dauntless raised a quelling hand.
“I know what Crown charters usually say,” he growled. “You were about to say that no such restrictions are placed on this lady mage?” When Florin nodded, Dauntless added, “I’m asking her to agree to this behavior, here and now. If she refuses, she’ll be brought into the presence of the lady lord bound, gagged, hobbled, and blindfolded.”
Semoor stirred, growing a smile-but Martess lifted her boot deftly under the table, and in sudden, gasping agony the novice of Lathander bent his head and said nothing.
“I agree to this,” Florin said, “but can speak only for myself. Pennae? Jhessail?”
“I agree to this,” both women echoed, finished their drinks, and rose. Around them, chatter started up again, and the air of confrontation faded away with the silence that had heralded it.
The Purple Dragons converged warily on Florin, Pennae, and Jhessail as the three walked with Dauntless to the door. Florin nodded to the tavernmaster as if he were royalty rather than under arrest, plucked a gold coin from his purse, and tossed it to the man.
At his next stride, his gaze happened to fall on a table along the wall beside the door, where a weary-looking woman-a shopkeeper, by her garb-was drinking alone. Their eyes met, and Florin blinked.
He’d have sworn he’d never laid eyes on this woman before, yet her face looked somehow familiar.
No, not her face-her eyes. Dark blue, wise, knowing. Yes, he’d looked into those eyes before! Recently, of course… in a tavern?
Dark blue depths… that flared silver, just for an instant An instant that left Florin remembering nothing of them at all, and trudging out of the Lion with Dragons before him and behind him.
“We can’t find Greenmantle,” a young war wizard snapped, striding past. “She seems to have disappeared completely.”
Laspeera sighed, took Godal by the shoulder, and steered him through a door into a robing room. “Put something on, and let’s talk.”
The tall, aging war wizard nodded and went to the row of wardrobes. Laspeera brewed thornapple tea, and had a steaming goblet of it waiting for him when he sat down with her, smiled, and waved at her to begin.
Laspeera hesitated not a moment. “Why didn’t you go into Lady Yellander’s mind when she first made her advances? ’Twasn’t as if she usually treated you so familiarly. You must have been suspicious.”
“Lady,” Godal said, inhaling the scent of the too-hot tea, “ I have scruples.”
“Fiddlebats, Az! You went into her head fast enough, later!”
Godal cupped his hands around his goblet, looked into its depths, and said, “I didn’t want to know if she had… dark motives. After all these years, just once, I wanted it to be real.”
“Oh, Azimander,” Laspeera said softly, leaning across the table to put her arms around him.
Godal set his tea down with a trembling hand and hugged her tightly. After a breath or two, he started to cry.