Before he could voice an objection, Wrena said, “Surely you can bring some guards for protection.”
“Oh, that’s a given,” Drahar said. He wouldn’t dream of traveling anywhere in the city without at least four soldiers from the Guard covering him. For such an event, he was probably better off with six.
“Bring as many as you want,” Dalon said brashly. “But you won’t need them.”
For a brief instant, Drahar considered fobbing it off on Cace. That was what assistants were for, after all.
Then he remembered his predecessor’s fate and the fact that the commission came straight from Hamanu.
“The king wants this,” he finally said, “so I’ll go along, but the moment things go wrong, you two are not only out of a job, but I’ll be forced to exile you from Urik.”
“What?” Dalon bellowed, but his sister nodded sagely.
“That’s eminently reasonable,” Wrena said. “Thank you, Lord Chamberlain, you won’t be sorry.”
“I was already sorry the moment I was assigned this ludicrous task,” he muttered.
He summoned Cace, giving her instructions on what to do while he was gone, including hourly checks on the psionists who were studying Mandred and keeping him in check. He also wanted reports from the templars who were researching the “Tharizdun” that the creature mentioned.
When he was done instructing Cace, Drahar stood up. “Well, then. Let us depart.”
Within an hour, Drahar’s palanquin was taking him through the streets of Urik. Dalon and Wrena walked alongside, their head wraps protecting them from the midday sun. Two soldiers were in front of them, with two more in front of the palanquin, and two more bringing up the rear.
Wrena shivered at one point in contrast to the heat, adjusting her bracelets as she did so. “I’ve never been to Old District before.”
Drahar regarded her with annoyance. “Now is hardly the time to express reluctance.”
“She’s not reluctant,” Dalon said quickly with a glare at her. “It’ll be fine.”
The chamberlain started to wonder whose idea it was. Drahar had told Wrena about how Bright Water had gone downhill over the years, and he wondered if she properly conveyed that to Dalon when she told her brother about it.
Once they reached Old District, the palanquin slowed to a crawl-and that was with the soldiers in front clearing a path.
As it was Urik, nobody questioned being told to step aside by a member of the Guard, but the streets in the more ancient part of town were narrow, and it was difficult to maneuver.
Drahar wondered what he was thinking to agree to such a thing.
Then he saw the familiar thoroughfare that led to the oasis, and soon saw the sign that proclaimed the name of the tavern in yellow letters carved into a very old, very jagged wooden sign. For a brief moment, Drahar smiled, remembering the long nights and the hung-over mornings. The first time he ever got sick from drinking was at Bright Water.
Due to the reason for his return, he expected to get sick a second time.
Realizing he had no desire to set foot in the place and risk spoiling some very fond memories, he called out to the lead soldier. “Sergeant Mazro, accompany these two into the tavern and watch them. I expect a full report.”
Komir exchanged a quick glance with Karalith at Drahar’s instructions to the sergeant. It would certainly simplify matters, as a sergeant in the Imperial Guard was less likely to notice subtleties than the chamberlain.
Still, they needed the game to run smoothly.
Karalith had clearly remembered the name of the tavern, of course, and they’d sent Gan and Zabaj there ahead of time. They’d taken the precaution of removing Gan’s eye patch. That was his most distinguishing feature, and removing it made it less likely that he’d be recognized by Drahar.
Mazro walked behind the two of them as they entered.
They’d already been to Bright Water, so Komir knew the layout. The interior was narrow, with the bar to the right-a goliath standing behind it serving the drinks-and three very long tables running from front to back on the left, with three elf barmaids bringing drinks and taking empty tankards away. There was a massive bloodstain on the floor, which people avoided. Large numbers of burly men sat at the tables or at the bar, or stood crowded next to one another (everywhere but near the bloodstain). The ambient noise levels were through the roof, a wall of sound that slammed into them as they entered.
That level went down once people noticed Mazro’s uniform and sword, but not as much as it might have elsewhere.
Komir spied Zabaj standing near the bar with a half-giant and a human, the other two laughing at something the mul said. Gan, meanwhile, was seated alone at a table. That alone was surprising, as Gan was usually the gregarious one, while it was almost impossible to get Zabaj to use more than one sentence at a time.
Gan noticed their entrance-easily covered, as everyone noticed their entrance-and then gulped down the remainder of his drink.
Komir caught snatches of conversation as they ambled through the tavern.
“I heard that the Pit got shut down by the king. Sorta thing you’d expect.”
“Think the orchards’ll do better next year?”
“Actually, y’see, that ain’t the same Hamanu. Y’see, it’s been a new guy every twenty years’r so, y’see, that replaces the last one. We’ve had somethin’ like twenty Hamanus runnin’ the place, y’see.”
“And then the anakore said, ‘You didn’t come here to hunt, did you?’ ”
Komir looked at the sergeant. “Drink?”
Mazro stared at Komir for a second, as if never having considered the possibility. Then he stared back at the entrance to the tavern. “Best not. Even if Dry-hump out there didn’t smell it on my breath, he’d feel it in my head.”
Nodding in understanding, Komir was grateful that Feena had been nearby. She’d loitered outside Destiny’s Kingdom when they went to see Drahar, and had followed the palanquin discreetly all the way to the tavern. Komir wasn’t sure where she was right then, but he hoped she was continuing to use her mind-magic to keep Drahar from detecting any malicious intent. He’d have to cast a spell to truly get inside their heads, but as long as he continued to trust them-or at least trust Karalith-he wouldn’t probe too deeply, so they needed Feena to project a veneer of “Dalon” and “Wrena” to help with the game.
It was Feena’s usual role in the game, and she’d gotten better and better at it over the years. They doubted she’d be able to pull it off with someone of Hamanu’s power, but with the chamberlain, all would probably be well.
Gan got up from his bench and started walking-stumbling, really-toward the bar, on a vector that would take him right past Zabaj and his new friends.
Right on cue, he bumped into Zabaj’s drink-holding arm, knocking his mead to the stone floor.
“Oi!”
“Hey!”
“Watch out, y’imbecile!”
Gan held up a hand. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Really sorry.”
Zabaj moved as if to loom over him, since his job was to start the fight that Dalon and Wrena would manage, but before he could, the half-giant interpolated himself between Zabaj and Gan.
“I don’t give a frip ‘ow sorry y’are, imbecile, y’should watch where the frip y’r goin’.” To accentuate the point, the half-giant pushed Gan.
Gan oversold it, stumbling back much farther than necessary from the shove.
Komir shot a glance at Karalith, who quickly shrugged.
Zabaj, however, tried to step in. “Hranoc, I can fight my own-”
“Nah, see, I’m sick’a the imbeciles. Everywhere I turn, imbeciles. Knockin’ over drinks an’ eatin’ too much food an’ cuttin’ in front’a people on the line f’r the bar an’ I’m just sick of it. No more imbeciles.” He clenched his fist and moved toward Gan.
Again, Komir looked at his sister. Obviously, they’d stumbled into a crazy person. But they had to make the best of it, since he apparently wanted the fight all to himself.