by Ty Johnston
The healer slipped the purse into a pocket. “I’m ready.”
***
The sun was closing on the horizon and a long line of revelers were thronging on the hill in front of the gate to Belgad’s home when Lucius spotted Wyck with a group of other boys his age sitting on the stone steps of a nearby shop.
Upon seeing the orange garb Lucius wore, the other boys skittered away quickly.
“I thought I gave you coin to purchase some new clothes,” the approaching guard said as he frowned at the boy’s rags.
“You did, and I haven’t. You think they’ll chase after me if I’m dressed like some noble’s kid?”
Lucius whispered with gritted teeth, “Hush.”
“What about your clothes?” Wyck glared at the swordsman’s orange. “Got a new job?”
Lucius stopped in front of the boy and turned his attention to the line of folks waiting to get into Belgad’s mansion. “Only for the night.”
“When are they going to let everyone in?”
“Another hour. Lord Belgad’s servants are busy making last-minute preparations.”
Wyck patted at his belly. “I bet there’ll be lots of fancy stuff to eat.”
“I’m sure there will be.” Lucius allowed a grin as he turned an eye on the youth.
“So, are you going to be able to get me inside?”
“You don’t mind a little trouble, do you?”
The boy screwed up his face as if the answer should be obvious. “Not me.”
Lucius had to stop himself from laughing. “I’ve got a plan, and hopefully I’ll be able to bail you out if you get in over your head.”
The boy was all ears.
***
From a window overlooking the front of his estate, Belgad watched the wall’s gates tugged open by his guards. The masses began their way to the inner grounds. He watched them follow the circular path of gravel that wound its way to his front door, and he heard more than one cry of surprise or enjoyment at the sight of the silly white birds flocking on the grass in the center of the round path.
Belgad glared at the swans. “I’m going to dine on those damn things tomorrow.”
“What did you say, master?”
Belgad turned to face the Finder, who was standing near the closest of two doors to the room, a small library covered in shelves of books from wall to wall. Heavy rugs kept the cold of the stone floor at bay as did flames in the fireplace. A desk to one side was stacked with books and scrolls, evidence Belgad was no longer quite the barbarian many believed him to be.
“I said I’m going to eat your damn birds for breakfast tomorrow,” Belgad said, crossing the room to his servant.
“I would think one would be more than sufficient, even for a man of your appetites.” Lalo held out a maroon robe trimmed in white fur.
Belgad turned his back to his employee, allowing the servant to slip the robe over his white tunic.
“Is the robe too much?” Belgad looked into a mirror nearly as tall as himself. The Dartague was not a vain man when it came to clothing, preferring a simple wardrobe, but he realized to be a leader one had to look the part.
“Not for such an event. In fact, I suggest you put on something with more silk, perhaps a jacket with open sleeves.”
Belgad shook his head. “I might be gentry, but I’m not one of these fancy southerners with their flimsy swords and flimsier wardrobes.”
“As you wish.” Lalo gave a short bow.
Belgad and his servant left the room and made their way down a marble stairway to the ground level and the front entrance where a handful of guards in chain shirts waited. Other servants stood in a line, each holding a platter of food or drink.
Belgad eyed the line of his employees from one end to the other, then turned his look upon garlands of pine that had been hung along the bannisters of the stairways. Everything was in order.
“Has Fortisquo made his preparations?” the master of the house whispered to the Finder at his shoulder.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Then let the festivities begin.” Belgad gripped gilded door handles and pulled them toward himself.
Chapter Fourteen
The first through the door were the upper middle class, local guild chiefs and wizards and merchants who arrived at Belgad’s mansion early in hopes of obtaining the best seats and the best food. They flocked through the entrance room in their best finery while nibbling finger fare and slurping expensive wines offered by the manor’s servants. Most would have gobbled down more, but they did not want to fill their stomachs before the main course.
“This way, this way,” Lalo called over the din of the throng as he motioned them toward the open doors leading to the main hall.
Belgad stood to one side like a king greeting nobility, shaking hands with those brave enough to approach.
“Thank you for coming,” the large, bald northerner said as he shook the hand of a litigator, then turned his attention to the wife of a knight who offered her fingers. Belgad leaned forward and grazed his lips on the woman’s wrist. “So glad to see you again, m’lady.”
From the main hall, Lalo pointed to the rows of tables and pillowed chairs ahead in the dining room. “Everyone find a seat. There is room for all.”
With a snap of the Finder’s fingers, servants carrying trays of food and drink began to make their way through the masses into the dining hall.
Belgad glanced to Lalo. “It’s going to be a long night.” The northerner only hoped Fortisquo’s plan would work to make all this worth his while.
***
Outside the mansion, carriages delivered wealthy passengers near the front door. Then the carriages lined up side by side on Belgad’s lawn. Knights in their finest silk shirts and jackets with slit sleeves held the hands of their ladies and pranced their way through the front entrance into the main hall. Some of the more well-to-do merchants followed suit as did a number of local politicians.
Randall and Markwood found themselves stuffed among this crowd, edging their way inch by inch toward the dining hall.
Randall raised his voice to speak over the chattering groups. “Everyone in town is here.”
Markwood merely nodded and proceeded to push toward a table.
Soon they were seated with other university professors whom Markwood and Randall recognized by face if not by name. Quick pleasantries were passed around the table while jostling servants placed silver plates of various steaming dishes before them.
Randall was hungry, having not eaten much, and feeling drained from his magic expenditures on Trelvigor, but he couldn’t make up his mind what he wanted to try first. There was a platter covered with a dark green garnish upon which rested a basted hog. A goose smothered in a thin, orange gravy also caught the healer’s attention, as did a bowl of rolls with steam rising from its contents.
Markwood silently scowled as he reached for an apple among the many trays before them.
Randall supposed the wizard wasn’t glad to be there. Markwood had no love for Belgad and little patience for the types of characters who normally attended such public displays of opulence.
The healer decided to make the best of it. “The food looks good,” he said, piling sausages on his plate with an iron fork.
A voice boomed toward the front of the room. “Ladies and gentlemen!”
Randall turned his eyes to a wooden platform upon which stood Belgad.
“It is a night for feasting,” Belgad bellowed over those few still chatting, “but it is also a night for commerce. Please enjoy my hospitality, and in a small while we shall get down to business, mainly concerning the restoration project upon the Docks district.”
A clamor of applause greeted the host as revelers dropped their knives and forks to clap or hold up drinks.
For the first time, Randall realized how popular the northerner was. A foreigner and a ruffian Belgad might be, but he was a knight of the republic and held a major influence over the city and beyond.
> ***
One of Belgad’s guards spun upon spying a flash of movement. “Hey!”
The boy was too fast. He had hidden patiently among the line of those still making their way onto the grounds, then just as he reached the gate he darted away from the crowd and charged across the gravel parkway, scattering squawking swan behind him.
The guard moved away from the front gate, ready to give chase to the urchin. “Damn brat.”
Suddenly a man in the orange tabard of a city guard was before him.
“I know the boy.” Lucius stepped between Belgad’s man and the fleeing Wyck. “He doesn’t mean any harm, just mischievous. Let me go after him.”
Belgad’s sentinel glanced at the running boy who was nearly to the front entrance of the house, then back to the man in front of him. “It’s against the rules.”
“It wouldn’t take long.” Lucius nodded toward the street, then to the front of the mansion. “We’ve enough men on the road to cover my shift. Besides, it will save you from having to run in that heavy chain.”
The gate guard looked down at his shirt of links and the sword strapped to his waist. It would be a lot of sweating and grunting to chase the boy down.
“All right,” Belgad’s man finally said, “but leave your orange here. I don’t want to get on Lord Belgad’s bad side because of you.”
“Done.” Lucius pulled the tabard over his head and dropped it near the gate. In his Asylum garb he could pass for any common citizen attending the festivities.
“And the sword.” The guard said pointed to the large blade Lucius carried.
Lucius unbuckled his sword belt and dropped it next to his tabard. “I want those back.” He pointed to his spilled goods before running off after the urchin.
***
Wyck dared a quick glance back as he reached the top of the marble steps to Belgad’s mansion. He saw the gate guard wasn’t in pursuit and decided to slow down. He might be dressed in rags, but he was small enough not to draw attention once inside if he didn’t run around like some fool.
Through the open iron-banded doors he found himself in a large chamber with more marble stairs on the sides of the room curving their way to a landing on the upper level. There were plenty of Belgad’s watchmen in this room, but there were enough adults milling about for Wyck to stay below eye level.
When a pair of guards turned away from one of the marble staircases, Wyck saw his chance and darted forward. He was fast enough and quiet enough to make it behind the guards’ backs and up the stairs without anyone taking notice. He saw no guards on the upper landing, and this was a good thing; it fit the plan he had worked out with Lucius. Wyck was to make his way upstairs, find a room to hide in temporarily, then work a path to the back of the building where the servants’ quarters likely were located. Once there, Wyck did not expect to have any trouble blending in with the servants, and he would have a chance to taste some of the fancy foods he had always wanted to try. Secretly, Wyck was also hoping he might find some decent clothes to trade for his rags.
At the top of the stairs, the boy turned to the first door on his left, a heavy portal of dark pine. He tried the gilded handle, found it unlocked and proceeded into the room.
What he found was a library. A monstrous fireplace at the far end of the chamber held a small flame that illuminated rows upon rows of shelved reading material.
“Books. What good are books?”
***
Once inside the front doors, it was an easy matter for Lucius to mingle with the crowd.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Wyck bounding up the marble stairs to the second floor. He grinned as he continued to make his way through the throng to the dining hall.
A hand grabbed his shoulder.
Lucius turned, ready to offer an excuse or to throw a punch.
It was Sergeant Gris. He did not look happy. “What in Ashal are you doing here?”
“A young boy snuck through the lines and ran indoors. I thought it better if I chase him down than one of Lord Belgad’s sentries.”
Gris nodded, grinning slightly. “You’re probably right, but that won’t save me from Belgad if he finds out one of my men has been inside his home.”
Now Lucius smiled. “What does he have to be nervous about? He’s a fine, upstanding merchant spreading a little cheer tonight.”
“Don’t be a smart donkey.” Now Gris couldn’t help but smiling outright. “At least you’re not wearing your uniform.”
Lucius scanned the crowd. “Do you want me to keep looking for the boy, or return to my post?”
Gris sighed. “Keep looking for the boy, but keep it on the ground level and out of any back rooms.”
Lucius saluted. “With your permission, I’ll be on my way.”
Gris waved the man on. “Be quick about it.”
***
Fortisquo hated to miss a good party, but he hated to miss a good challenge even more. From the mansion’s roof he stared down upon an atrium containing one of Belgad’s gardens, glass windows revealing the partiers in the dining hall. The tall, slender frame of the assassin-turned-fencing-master wore what he had once called his working clothes, a plain but dark shirt over black pants and soft leather ankle boots. On his head was a black bandana. On his hip was a plain rapier with a simple swept hilt, not the fancy weapon he carried in public. In Fortisquo’s left hand was a hollow reed nearly as long as he was tall that he carried lightly by one end,as if it were a cane.
Adara Corvus walked up behind her lover. “Do you think he will approach from the roof?”
Fortisquo turned in the moonlight so his attention was on the beautiful woman he had been training. “I know he’ll approach from up here. He prefers the shadows and has a fondness for rooftop work.”
“What is he going to do? Fly down from the clouds?”
Fortisquo gave the woman a sly grin. “I think this Darkbow is skilled enough to make his way past a few guards and over a wall.”
“What if he shows up as a guest? That would be easier for him.”
“That is likely what he will do,” Fortisquo said with a nod, “but he will have to come up to the roof at some point.”
“What makes you think so?”
“This.” Fortisquo used the reed to point to a corner of the large square hole that was the top of the atrium.
Adara spotted a package of black cloth. “What is it?” she asked as she approached the bundle.
Fortisquo stopped her with a hand on an arm. “It belongs to Darkbow. I found it last night.”
“He’s already been here?”
“He planted this.” Fortisquo again pointed to the bundle. “It’s just a cloak, gloves and shirt. The only weapons were some throwing darts. He’s a smart one, planning ahead like this.”
Adara appeared confused or unconvinced. “He’s going to sneak into the party, slip up here and change clothes?”
“He wants to make an impression. That’s why he’ll wear his black wardrobe.”
Then the swordmaster smiled at his student. “But you’re learning fast. I’ll make you a fine assassin yet.”
Adara spun on the man, heat in her eyes. “I didn’t sign on with you to be an assassin. I wanted you to teach me more of fencing.”
“I promised to teach you how to win. Sometimes that takes a knife in the back. Not all battles are won through chivalry. In fact, few are.”
Adara turned away so he could not see the disgust upon her face. She wasn’t a rapirist because she wanted to kill people, though she had done so on occasion when warranted.
Fortisquo placed a hand on her shoulder. “Darkbow will be arriving soon. We must be prepared. I suggest we conceal ourselves.”
***
Markwood drained the last of his wine, placed the empty cup on the table and turned to speak with Randall.
The healer’s seat was empty.
The old wizard glanced around the busy room, but there was no sign of the young man.
***
Belgad finished a bite of bread, then stood and hammered a fist on the top of his table, jarring the plates of the others whom he had allowed to dine with him.
“Lords and ladies!” the big man bellowed.
The chattering throng quieted, all attention upon the host.
“I wish to thank everyone for being here tonight,” Belgad spoke to the assembly. “Each of you in your own way has added to my prosperity over the years, and I hope I have been able to do the same for you.”
There was a minor uproar of clapping.
“I wish to personally thank representatives from the see of the Western Holy Church.” Here Belgad waved a hand toward a group of clergy in purple robes assembled at the table nearest his raised platform.
The priests nodded their thanks in silence.
“I also wish to thank those members of the Western Ruling Council who have graced us with their presence.” Belgad nodding toward another table filled with men and women dressed in the finest fashions in the room.
With arms spread wide, the Dartague went on. “And a thanks to all the guild leaders and their constituency who are present tonight.”
The room erupted in applause.
Belgad soaked in the applause, a grin forming beneath his white mustache. “Last, but far from least, I want to thank the professors and staff of the University of Ursia who are with us.”