"It's jist what, lass?" DoHeney prodded.
"It's just that I don't have anything to wear, all right?" she blurted. "I just know the place is going to be full of dainty duchesses in frilly gowns, and I'll be standing there in a muslin shirt and boots. Everyone will stare at me!"
Lynthalsea's laughter tinkled in the air, but the sound was reassuring, not scornful. The elf put a hand on Avari's arm.
"If that is your only worry, Avari, then rest assured. Tomorrow you and I will go shopping. Trust me," she pledged, "I remember shopping with my mother as a girl; it really is quite enjoyable. By tomorrow night you will be the best-dressed warrioress in all of Fengotherond."
Three satisfied members of the party left the room to prepare for dinner, leaving Avari to fight with her anxieties alone.
The prow of the Valkyrie slipped though the fog-shrouded harbor, nudging smoothly into her berth at the dock. The first mate's orders cut the thick air, and dock lines were secured.
"Hail, Verdin," bellowed the dockmaster. "Yer early! Ye aren't due fer nigh-on a week."
"Aye, Dorren, early we are," Verdin agreed, "and right lucky ta be still breathin' air instead o' brine. Boarded some passengers in Seaward that was in such a hurry, ye'd o' thought the demons o' all Nine Hells was on their tail. We near tore the mast from its step comin' across in such a rush."
"Then ye be havin' no cargo aboard?" the other asked in surprise. The fares would have been exorbitant to get a ship such as the Valkyrie to sail with passengers only.
"Some cargo, but not much, and the extra ballast was sorely missed. But we was paid well fer the inconvenience, and I 'spect Captain Der Ooden'll be givin' out a bonus fer this trip."
"Good," piped Dorren, clapping his calloused hands together. "That means ye can pay me the money ye owe me!"
Raucous laughter split the night, followed by arguments of who owed whom, and how much. The decision was to settle the friendly dispute in a nearby tavern.
"And make sure ye bring that bonus ye mentioned, Verdin," Dorren said as he clomped across the gangplank onto the ship. "I might as well escort yer much hurried passengers to the tithing station. I hope they brung their purses with 'em."
More laughter followed as they disappeared into the ship's sterncastle. The men on deck worked quickly to secure the ship. In their hurry, none noticed the shadows that scuttled down the underside of the gangplank and beneath the dock.
The conversation between Verdin and the dockmaster was lively as they strolled to the passengers' quarters. So many wagers and contests had been won and lost between the two that neither truly remembered the tally. But as they approached the door to the passengers' cabin, the topic shifted.
"I tell ye, Dorren, these four're a strange lot," Verdin said in a hushed tone. "I'll be mighty glad ta be rid of 'em."
"Strange, how?" the dock foreman asked.
"Oh, they be courteous enough, and they was willin' ta make up fer our losses on the trip, but..." They were almost to the door, Verdin's voice now only a whisper. "Somethin' 'bout 'em gives me the willies. Ye'll see what I mean soon enough."
Verdin turned and rapped on the door. Silence answered him. He shrugged to his companion, and rapped again.
"Ho, there, good sirs," he hailed. "We be tied ta the dock in the fair city o' Fengotherond. The port officials will be needin' ta talk to ya afore ye be gettin' inta the city."
Still no sound issued from within. Finally, with another shrug, Verdin produced a key and worked the latch, but it only took a glance into the cabin to tell that it was empty.
"Blyme! They've gone an' jumped ship!" he exclaimed. "The captain'll want ta hear o' this." Verdin ran for the captain's stateroom, Dorren at his heels. He knocked, then pounded on the door, but this cabin, too, remained silent.
"What in the name o' Odea’s green garters is goin' on here?" the first mate said. He pounded harder, but got no answer.
"Use yer key," Dorren suggested.
"'Tis the only door aboard that I don't have a key fer," Verdin replied. "We'd best have a look 'round afore we go bustin' in the captain's own private door."
But the captain was nowhere on board, and the men on deck swore that he had not disembarked. Verdin, accompanied now by most of the crew, once again stood before the door to the stateroom. Captain Der Ooden could be nowhere but inside.
"Go ahead'n bust it open, Verdin," Dorren urged. He brandished a rigging knife better suited to mending cargo nets than fighting. Several other sailors also carried belaying pins and marlin spikes.
"Jest put a reef in it, Dorren!" the first mate snapped with a look of warning. "When the captain's not about, this is my ship! Anythin' that happens here is by my orders. Hear?"
The crowd mumbled assent as Verdin knocked for the last time, to no avail. He carefully put his shoulder to the door and pushed. The stout oak creaked audibly, but held. Three over-anxious sailors threw themselves at the door, too, crushing Verdin against it, and the latch finally gave way with a squeal of bent brass. The throng lunged into the room, squeezing into a space never meant to accommodate so many.
To their surprise, the room was as tidy and well lit as usual. A broad desk was centered in front of the sterncastle windows. Captain Der Ooden sat behind his desk, his stony gaze fixed on the crowd of intruders spilling into his cabin.
"Captain!" Verdin blurted in astonished apology. "Excuse the treatment o' yer door, sir, but ye weren't answerin' and I feared fer yer safety."
The captain's gaze did not waver, evidence of his apparent displeasure with the Verdin's poor explanation. The Valkyrie's first mate wrung his hands in discomfort.
"We was... That's to say, I was concerned, captain." Still there was no response. Then Verdin remembered the missing passengers. "It was the passengers, sir! They're missin', and I come ta tell ye that they jumped ship."
But even that explanation failed to elicit a response. What is goin' on? Verdin thought. "Captain? Are ye all right, sir?"
Still the man's gaze remained fixed, without a twitch or even a blink. Something was amiss. The first mate ventured forward, waiving a hand before the unmoving face.
"Captain?"
"He's bewitched, he is!" one of the crewmen whispered.
"Careful, sir," another said, brandishing a belaying pin. "If'n he's bespelled, it could be catchin'."
Verdin gave the cowering group a glare and moved around the desk. He passed his hand once again in front of his commander's eyes—no response—then touched one hand that lay flat on the polished wood of the desk. The flesh was cool and unyielding. He placed a hand in front of the mouth and felt no breath. Then finally, he placed his ear to the captain's chest. Like the rest of the cabin, there was only silence. Brigden Der Ooden, captain of the Valkyrie, was dead.
"Nay! It can't be!" one crewman denied as a general mumble of shock rose from the group.
"Aye, I fear it is, lads," Verdin said, his voice breaking with emotion. "The captain’s dead, and I'd stake my commission that them cloaked passengers had somethin' ta do with it."
Murmurs of rage and revenge rose and filled the small cabin. Verdin gave the body a cursory inspection, but found no obvious wounds. He decided to leave the investigation to the port authorities, but settled for closing the lifeless eyes. As he put a hand behind the neck for support, something pricked his finger. A small tuft of black fletching was the culprit. A tiny dart was lodged just below the captain's ear.
Only after the authorities had removed his captain's body did Verdin think to check the strongbox. It did not surprise him to find it empty.
CHAPTER 7
Lynthalsea spun on one toe in front of the full-length mirror and sighed. It was so nice to wear real clothes again after so many years in drab robes. She ran her hands over her snug, pale breeches and green tunic, delighting in the texture of the cloth.
Avari's face was suddenly reflected behind and above the elf's as the tall woman poked her head in the door. Lynthalsea smiled at the reflection and posed.
"Do you like it?"
"It's very nice," Avari answered with an approving and rather wistful look. "I've never had clothes like that."
"Oh!" Lynthalsea looked worried. "Did you want something fancier? I really should have asked before—"
"No, no," Avari protested as she smoothed out her own new clothes, "these are just right." The white shirt and leather breeches were basically the same as she had before, but of a better quality. "Especially the travelling cloak." She fingered the thick wool, crimson with fir trim.
"Well," Lynthalsea said, donning her own forest green cloak, "by tonight you will be the best-dressed warrioress in the city."
"Let's get this over with," Avari mumbled, less than enthusiastic about their pending shopping expedition.
Lynthalsea understood the woman's trepidation; Avari had said that she and her father had only gone to town once a year, and that their purchases were more inclined to bolts of linen and casks of salt and tea, rather than dresses, shoes and jewelry. As they headed downstairs, Lynthalsea vowed to introduce her to the more pleasurable aspects of shopping. As they exited onto the foyer, however, the elf noticed stares from the doorman, not at herself but at Avari, or more precisely at Gaulengil.
"Avari," Lynthalsea said in a motherly tone, "must you bring your greatsword? It will be out of place at a clothier's."
"I thought the same, at first, but I feel better having it along. Besides, Gaulengil doesn't like to be left behind."
"But isn't it uncomfortable lugging the thing around?" Lynthalsea asked as Avari struggled to fit the length of scabbarded steel into the cramped carriage.
"Not as uncomfortable as a dagger in the back." Leaning forward, she directed the driver to their destination, the clothier's district.
Fengotherond positively glowed in the light of the bright winter day, radiant with the incandescence of the crystalline dome, but even in the dazzling morning sun, there were shadows to be found. In fact, on this day more shadows than usual lurked in the few dim places; four more shadows, to be exact, and their thoughts and intent were far darker than any dark alley.
"Cattle!" spat Whip as they made their way behind a stall in the open-air market. "Meat animals awaiting the slaughter."
Dart, the leader of the foursome, silenced his underling with the flick of one finger, then made a sign that drew his team behind a large refuse bin set back into a shadowed recess.
"Your blade grows restless in its sheath, my brother, but we must show restraint. The rabble infesting this city beg for slaughter, but too many unexplained corpses will put our quarry on guard. Remember Lord Darkmist's warning; these are formidable foes. We must be careful.
"However," he continued, "after our targets are eliminated, I see no reason why we should not indulge ourselves."
Dart knew that their enterprise was too important to be foiled by impatience. And although their faces were hidden by hoods, Dart saw that he had appeased his brethren, at least temporarily.
"Now, to the task!" He led them back into the bustling throng of cattle in search of their unsuspecting quarry.
"How's this?" Avari asked as she peeked out from the dressing room. She emerged, enveloped in a froth of lacy ruffles. She hesitated, then turned in a circle before Lynthalsea.
"But Avari," the elf said, "the back won't close."
"Oh, don't you worry about that!" the proprietor assured them as she bustled out of the dressing room to prod and poke the hapless warrioress. "Take out a seam or two, add a little extra fabric to the bottom, and it will be perfect!"
Avari's weak smile begged for reassurance, but Lynthalsea could offer none. "It's not quite... you," the elf said, "and I doubt the alterations would be done in time for tonight."
"Tonight!" the saleswoman screeched. "You need it tonight? Oh, no, my dear. My seamstresses are working double-time as it is to prepare dresses for the court ball this evening. We just wouldn't have time to do all the alterations that you'll need done. Yours is the hardest shape I've ever tried to fit."
Avari blanched. "Is this an important ball tonight?"
"Oh, yes!" the woman exclaimed as she began to strip the dress off. Avari retreated into the dressing room, mortified at the treatment. "It's the biggest social event of the season!"
"Avari!" Lynthalsea called loudly, trying to drown out the woman's voice. "They really don't have what we want here, and they’re too slow anyway. We'll go somewhere else."
The curtain was flung back and Avari barreled past the elf and out the door of the shop. Lynthalsea ran to catch up.
"I've never been so humiliated!" Only Lynthalsea's keen hearing allowed her to catch Avari's whisper. "That dress looked horrible on me! And she said I have an awful shape!"
"It did not, and she did not!" Lynthalsea scolded, trying a new tactic. "You have a wonderful body—healthy and strong. You need a dress that will accent your positive features. A dress that is as unique as you are."
"A big, ugly, gawky dress."
"Stop it!" Lynthalsea cried in exasperation, grasping the woman's arm. Her memories of shopping had been more pleasant than this. "Let's stop. Avari, stop!" She dragged her heels until Avari halted. "Here, look in this shop window."
The two women stepped up to the multi-paned window and peered inside. Saleswomen stared back, shifting like cats ready to spring. Avari faltered under their gazes and looked away.
"Avari, look," Lynthalsea insisted. "How else are you going to find a dress you like? Why did you choose that last one?"
"It was pretty," she said in a mousy tone. "It looked like the ones the girls at home used to wear at the harvest festival."
Lynthalsea sighed, remembering once again that this strong, brave, incredibly talented fighter, who by now was no stranger to killing, was still a child by elvin terms. Well, Avari, Lynthalsea thought, I will help you to grow up a bit today.
"Let's go in," she said, opening the door with one hand and preventing Avari's flight with the other. "You'll try on dresses until we find the one that is right for you." But the confidence in Lynthalsea's voice was far from what she felt in her heart.
The ring of hammers on anvils wore on the nerves of the four hunters. The supposition that the quarry would seek the skills of an armorer was a sound one, but there were a lot of armorers in Fengotherond. Discrete questions were answered politely by the smiths, but to the Shadowknives' total dissatisfaction. Finally, late in the morning, they came to a low-roofed stall. The noise from this shop was not a loud clang, but a dainty ping-ping as a tiny mallet and pincers shaped the close-fitting links of a light shirt of mail.
The tapping stopped as they ducked into the shop, and two dwarves looked up from their work. The younger one stood and wiped the sweat from his brow with a handy cloth.
"I'd like ta help ye, gentlemen," he said as he bowed, "but we're right busy with some work that is in a bit o' a rush, ye see, and we'll be unable ta take any more orders 'til day after next."
"It is not your skill as an armorer that we seek, good dwarf," Dart said, his tone cordial. "We seek information about some travelers who may have sought your services." He glanced past the younger dwarf to the gray-bearded one who sat on the far side of the anvil. "If you have seen them, it would be of great value to us. Their number is four, one being of your own race, then two elves, one of whom carries human blood. The last is a tall human woman."
The pair of dwarves glanced at one another, then at the armor they were working on. The elder answered first.
"Ta be honest, we've not seen a group such as ye describe."
"Meanin' no offense to ye, sirs," the younger added, "but 'tis none o' our affair whom ye seek or don't seek." The dwarf crossed his thick arms with an air of finality. "We do an honest trade, and don't take up sides in other peoples quarrels."
"We wholly agree with your business practices, good sir," Dart continued. It was evident that these armorers knew more than they were admitting. "But it is very likely that you know not with whom you are dea
ling. The dwarf, of course, is an upstanding sort, but the half-elf with whom he travels is a fell sorcerer whom I fear is using the others to his own evil ends. We seek only to warn them, for violence is not our nature."
The elder dwarf's jaw clenched in indecision, but only for a moment. He sprang to his feet—foot actually, for one leg ended with a wooden peg capped in iron. His hand held a much larger hammer than the one he had been using on the chain mail.
"I care not what this wizard has done ta ye, and if that were the end o' it, I'd send ye off. But the dwarf he travels with is a fair sort, and I hate ta see any harm come ta him." He clenched his jaw once again but pressed on. "They're stayin' at the Kindly Ki-rin, and that's all I'll say. Though I'd go ta the city guard if'n I were ye. 'Tis right that they should handle this."
"Such was our intention, friend," the assassin assured him, bowing low. "And many thanks to you." The four cloaked Shadowknives swept out of the shop.
The old dwarf muttered a curse as he whirled on his peg leg and sat back behind the anvil. "Back ta work, laddie. We've a contract ta fill by mornin'!" With that the two returned to their work, putting the final touches on the shirt of mail meant to protect the very ones they had unknowingly betrayed.
"I'm so sick of taking clothes off, putting dresses on, taking dresses off... And my stomach's growling so loud that the saleswomen are looking for stray cats hidden among the gowns!" Avari suppressed another howl from her middle as she caught the appetizing aromas from a nearby eatery. "It's time for lunch."
"I'll second that," Lynthalsea agreed; they had darkened the doors of every boutique along the fancy boulevard, but had found nothing that Avari could wear. "Although I would feel better if we had already made our purchase."
"Let’s make this easy," Avari said with a sigh. "I'll get a nice, fancy pair of pants and a blouse; I don't need a gown. I'm only going to get information anyway. Once I get it, I'll leave."
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