Sentimental Maeve let a tear well up in her eye while the other two looked uncomfortably at the floor. "Unnatural monster," muttered Therin. "The Gur know about lords like him-always persecuting our kind, blaming us for their crimes."
"So what's this Cup and Knife got to do with it?" Maeve asked to change the subject. "You told us how they use them to pick a king, but how's that going to help him? He's dead already."
"Won't do him no good at all, since Iron-Biter interfered. The real Cup and Knife are still in the tower. Right, Pinch?"
"No." Pinch looked about the common room. It was deserted at this time of the morning. Even the landlord, seeing there was to be no fight, had gone into the back to tend to the day's chores. As he spoke, the regulator unwrapped the pouch in front of them all. "Like you said, Sprite, Iron-Biter's a fool. Remember that I had two copies of the regalia made?
"Well, when Iron-Biter made me pass over the garbage, he never thought to check for forgeries. All I did was give him the other fake-so he switched fake for fake. Never occurred to him that I had the real ones on me all that time." With that, Pinch finished opening the pouch and drew out four golden, jewel-encrusted pieces. To the trained eyes at the table, the craftsmanship of the goldwork and the deep luster of the stones was readily apparent in the genuine pieces. A collective sigh of greed escaped the three.
Sprite scritched at his curly hair. "Why give it to him, Pinch? We could scamper out and sell this for a good price in Amn or Waterdeep."
"Cleedis found me once. If he did it once, he can do it again-and I don't think Manferic will be as forgiving the next time as he has been now."
"Well, I don't see it. What's he gain from the stuff?" Maeve asked again.
"I'm not sure, but I think he means to control the choosing. Everybody's been saying Cleedis is backing a dead horse-my idiot cousin, Bors. Just suppose, though, that the idiot becomes king. Then Cleedis doesn't look so dumb. It's as certain as Sprite here rolling a rigged bale of dice that if Bors is chosen, Cleedis will name himself regent before anyone can protest."
"Fine for Cleedis, but that doesn't do a thing for Manferic."
"Cleedis is weak. His only strength is his loyalty. Make him regent and he'll be Manferic's lapdog for sure. Until Manferic does him in and takes over directly."
Therin shrugged. "So what's it matter to us if a lich takes the throne here or not?"
"Ever hear tales of Thay?" Maeve warned. Ruled by undying sorcerer-kings, Thay's excesses and cruelties were legendary throughout the Realms and were a particularly sore point with wizards of nearly every stripe.
"We don't," Pinch interrupted. "We don't a care a pizzle for who rules here. All we want is to get out of here alive."
"And rich," Sprite added.
A gloom fell over the group, one of those sullen silences that seems to strangle conversations at regular intervals, this one probably infected by Maeve's sour scowl. Drunkard and scalawag she might be, but she was still a mage and didn't like the notion of liches playing with their unnatural magic.
"Show us how it works, Pinch, this ceremony you were telling us about," Sprite asked in an attempt to lift their dour moods. He hopped up onto his chair and set the genuine artifacts in front of his fellow rogue. "Maybe that'll give us some clue."
The question brought back memories of Pinch's youth, when he was Janol playing with his royal cousins Throdus and Vargo. The two princes used to insist he attend their 'coronations,' so they could make him bow and scrape at appropriate times and lord over him for being outside their blessed circle. They loved playacting the rite, nicking themselves with knives to let a few drops fall into a table goblet while they mouthed all sorts of holy prayers. Of course, each prince would naturally be the chosen heir, and so these little charades usually ended with the young princes rolling on the floor trying to thump the 'impostor' senseless. Pinch had always enjoyed egging them into a fight.
Why not? he decided. There was an irony that appealed to him. Now he could playact with the real thing while his dear cousins would go through the real ceremony with fakes.
The master rogue grinned and rolled up the sleeve on one arm. "As you will, Sprite; I will show you.
"First, there's a whole lot of business that consumes time and makes the whole affair important. Every candidate has to step forward, announce his lineage, something like, 'I am Janol, only son of Sir Gedstad of Alkar.'"
"Sir Gedstad?"
"My father, Maeve, or so I've been told."
"Go on, go on. What happens next?" Sprite eagerly chattered. He propped his chin in his hands and watched intently, always keen on a good story. Even Therin, still hesitant about where he stood, leaned in a little closer.
"So then there's some business from the priests, presenting the Cup and Knife to each candidate. A lot of prayers and the like for blessing the whole thing." Pinch actually managed to remember a few and mumbled them out while making pompous passes over the regalia. Without realizing it, he was letting himself get caught up in the business, letting it distract him from his own woes.
"When that's done, the two objects are passed down the line." Setting the Cup in front of him, he took up the
Knife and very carefully sliced the tip of his thumb. The knife cut through his skin like soft cheese. It stung sharply for such a small cut and, given what he'd been through in the past two days, Pinch was surprised that he noticed it so much. Almost immediately blood began to form a ruby red bead. "The prince pricks himself and squeezes a little blood into the cup." He let a few drops fall into the golden goblet.
"The cup gets filled with wine"-Sprite hopped up and, cradling the jug, sloshed the goblet full-"and the prince drinks."
Pinch raised the heavy goblet, waved it in toast to his friends, and drained it in one long draught. He set the Cup down like a tankard and let out a hearty belch before continuing. "If the prince is the chosen heir, then he'll be surrounded by a-
"Glow!"
It was a breath of whispered astonishment, simultaneous from the three of them. Their gazes were fixed on him, wide eyed beyond all possibility. Sprite tried to step back and practically fell off his chair, while Therin had to lean forward and support himself on the table. Maeve's weak little chin trembled up and down as she tried to form her lips to say something.
"What is wrong with you three? What's going on?"
"You…"
"… you're…"
"… glowing."
"What? I'm what? You're all drunk."
They shook their heads.
Pinch snatched up the Knife and looked in the polished blade at his reflection. There it was, a golden nimbus around his head, like the sun setting behind a cloud. Looking around now, he noticed that the whole dark corner of the commons was awash in the sunset hue. In terror, he dropped the Knife and ran his hands over his body to make sure there wasn't some weird growth manifesting itself on him. There was nothing.
"Maeve!" he roared when he couldn't deny that he was indeed glowing. "If this one of your tricks-the lot of you put me up to this!"
"No, dearie-I wouldn't. Honest," Maeve squeaked. She was still staring at him wide eyed. "Sprite?"
"Not me, Pinch. Wouldn't know how," he gulped in terror.
The regulator just glared at Therin, and the man's mute astonishment was enough to set his innocence. Pinch sank limply into his seat. The reflection in the blade showed the glow was still there, slowly fading as he watched. At last it was gone, like the sun behind the horizon.