None of the bodyguards were left to hear him murmur, “So Lathalance is out on the Moonsea Ride… for a very little while longer. Ah, Lathalance, you’ll be first! ”
“True, Horaundoon,” Old Ghost muttered, arrowing through the moonlit night, high above the Mountain Ride. “But you won’t be the one to claim him. When you arrive, you’ll find me.”
He began the plunge that would end in Lathalance’s unsuspecting body. The Zhentarim was galloping hard along the road ahead, not caring what he was doing to his horse. He had no intention of slowing until he caught sight of the Knights, whereupon he’d begin trailing them more stealthily, to Halfhap.
Duthgarl Lathalance was as cruel and capable as he was handsome, a Zhent swordsman and mage who obeyed his masters with unhesitating efficiency, coolly slaying scores at their behest. His magics shielded him against arrows and the like, and would even protect him if his hard-racing steed fell and hurled him down. He was crouching low and enjoying the ride.
Until something hurtled down out of the sky into him, causing him to arch his back and gasp.
Lathalance swayed in the saddle, eyes glowing red… then gold… blue… then returned to their normal brown.
Slowly his worried frown faded, and he smiled a wolfish smile.
Dauntless hadn’t been back at his desk long enough to feel truly dry-and they had to bring him this.
He glowered in the lamplight at a darkly handsome young lad, perhaps fourteen summers old, that he was certain he’d never laid eyes on before-who beamed back at him, despite standing clamped in the none-too-gentle grip of two hairy, burly Purple Dragons.
“Sword-brawls, wizards blown to spatters, what next? ” Dauntless snarled. “Well?”
“Says his name’s Rathgar,” one of the Dragons said laconically. “Says he was expected, by whoever dwells inside the window we caught him climbing through.”
“Oh?” The ornrion’s voice fell into soft tones that dripped sarcasm. “Does he carry it around with him, this window, or was it part of a building I might know?”
“The widow Tarathkule’s house, on the Stroll.”
Ornrion Dahauntul stared at the boy, who gave him a merry wink and said brightly, “She’s insatiable! Worth coming all this way for!”
“Lad,” Dauntless said heavily, “she’s seen ninety-odd winters, walks with two canes, is as deaf as yon wall, and looks about as handsome as this desk. Try again. ”
“Ah. Well…” The lad who gave his name as Rathgar looked at the Purple Dragons on either side of him, one after the other, and then peered past Dauntless as if seeking spies in the gloom beyond the desk. He tried to lean forward, but the Dragons hauled him firmly back, so he settled for lowering his voice into a confidential whisper. “I got lost on the way to my tryst with the princess. I said the Tarathkule tale, first, as, well, ah, one doesn’t like to stain a lady’s hon-”
“You got lost — stay! Which princess?”
“Ahh… Her Highness, Alusair Nacacia Obarskyr. She’ll vouch for me.”
The Dragons looked expressionlessly at Dauntless, and he looked back at them. None of them bothered to roll their eyes.
Silence fell, and stretched, until the ornrion grew tired of the view, and turned his head to peer harder at the handsome lad.
“Lad,” he growled, “I don’t know what your name is, except that it’s not Rathgar. I don’t know your game, but you lie like a sneak-thief. I don’t believe you for the time it takes me to draw one breath, and all I really know about you is that you come from Westgate-your speech tells me that-and that you own”-he squinted at what was lying on the older Purple Dragon’s palm-“three thumbs, five falcons, and a dagger too big for your hand. Which means you can feed yourself in this city for about five days, if you eat in the worst places, drink nothing that doesn’t come out of a horse-pump, and sleep on the streets. So, d’you want to be turned out of our gates? Or are you looking for work?”
“I don’t particularly want to be a sarcastic, bullying ornrion,” the lad replied, as his stomach rumbled loudly, “but if the job lets me keep my vow to lovely Aloos, I’ll accept your kind offer.”
Dauntless gave him a glare, and then smiled grimly, turned away, and snapped, “Jar him for the night. And give him something to eat. Leave the dagger here.”
“It starts with a dungeon inspection?” the boy asked impishly, as the Dragons lifted him off his feet, turned him, and started marching away. “Or does she want me in chains? She didn’t mention such tastes, but…”
A heavy door slammed behind them. Shaking his head, Dauntless turned back to his reports.
Chapter 9
Then the king spake the last words he ever said to me: “When you hear the wolves, lad, it is unlikely to be a night suitable for sleeping in your saddle.”
When Dauntless looked up again, just before dawn, the dagger was gone from atop his papers-and a key was lying in its place.
A cell key.
His eyes narrowing, the ornrion looked up at the key-board, clapped his hand to his belt-and swore horribly.
His purse was gone, its lacings neatly cut and dangling.
Striding heavily and breathing like a winded horse in his anger, Dauntless snatched up the key and headed for the door to the dungeons. With his luck, the lad had locked both Glarth and Tobran in the cell, wearing signs reading, “Kiss me, I’m the Princess” or some such.
Little rat.
But how by the blazing Dragon Throne itself had he known about the Princess Alusair being in Arabel this night?
Laughing, Horaundoon plummeted down out of the night like a striking hawk, plunged into the hard-riding Duthgarl Lathalance of the Zhentarim-and swirled right back out again, shrieking in pain.
“Yes, Horaundoon,” the Zhent said coldly, the voice clearly that of Old Ghost, “we meet again. You can burn this worm to ash in a day or three, if you want, but not now. And if you cross me, I’ll burn you — and the Realms will hold one fewer Horaundoon. I can. Believe me.”
“What… what d’you want of me?” Horaundoon gasped.
“Absolute obedience, all the time the Knights of Myth Drannor are in Halfhap. If you don’t give it, I’ll destroy you. If you serve me well, you can have Lathalance and your freedom in a few days. I’ll even help you destroy Manshoon.”
“ Manshoon? You know?”
“Oh, stop gasping, man. How high did you rise in the Brotherhood?”
The War Wizard Gorndar Lacklar flung open the door and rushed inside, gasping, “ Sorry I’m late, Ghoruld! Gods, what a night! Off to Arabel with the queen’s new blades, then back here again to see to the Andamus matter-and then Sarmeir tells me I’m to report to you again for another jaunt to Arabel! Queen’s own orders, he says! What’s up?”
“ This, ” Ghoruld Applethorn said sweetly, ramming a wand into Lacklar’s mouth and speaking the word that triggered it.
Even before the back of Lacklar’s head had finished spattering all over the old cloaks he’d pinned ready on the ceiling, Applethorn had laid hold of his underling’s slumping body and whirled him aside, into the glow of another waiting portal.
He’d be back before Lacklar’s brains started to drip onto the floor. Damned disloyal young war wizards-who’d have thought it? Better call in the best of the alarphons to investigate. Good old Applethorn.
Dragon-damned right he’d be back. There was Sarmeir to butcher before this night was out. And if Gorndar Lacklar, Sarmeir Landorl, and good old Applethorn, too, all went silent, Vangerdahast would have to send Laspeera to investigate. With whoever else she thought she’d need hurrying along right beside her.
Right into the trap he’d prepared in Halfhap, and thereafter, oblivion.