Read Online Blackstaff by Steven E. Schend - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steven E. Schend
Ads: Link
It took me two years to realize that you put on a far more formal and forbidding face when you’re outin public than the one you show your students.”
“Indeed?”
Khelben didn’t say anything more as they exited the courtyard. The repaired gates glistened with night mist and opened as they approached, closing behind them with no gestures or castings at all. Khelben turned and headed north on Swords Street at a fast clip. Tsarra followed quickly, walking at his side within a pace or two.
She preferred the woods to the City of Splendors, but she did enjoy the city at night. It was slightly quieter, at least away from the inns and taprooms, and she could hear herself breathe—a task impossible in the daytime hustle and bustle. She drank in the darkness and the cool mists cloaking the rooftops and alleyways. Here and there, she spotted lantern-bearers guiding noble parties to and from their destinations. On the winds she heard far-away criers hawking tidbits of news into the night. “Last inbound caravans due at highsun! Four die in harbor accident! Lady Tian Simgulphin to marry, come spring!” Tsarra took a mental note to ask one of Maresta’s apprentices about the news, as they were on rumor details that ride.
For the next two bells, Khelben led Tsarra on a maddening chase, crisscrossing the city in a seemingly pointless and meandering path. He stopped a number of times, casting minor spells or dropping small parcels into odd places, such as a drainpipe in Tarlaek’s Court and the mouth of a lion statue on the walls of the Maernos estate. They didn’t take a direct path until they had skirted the City of the Dead and turned up the Coffinmarch to follow it across the High Road into Buckle Alley.
Khelben ducked into a modest establishment, its sign proclaiming it to be the Griffon’s Grog tavern. The wizard’s hand signal suggested Tsarra wait a moment before following him into the building, so she stared at the sign a moment. The sign, covered partially in mold and in need of fresh paint, showed a carved griffon volant, its upper claws gripping a foaming mug.
After a short interval, Tsarra entered the smoky taproom,the inhabitants of which paid her less heed than the mugs in front of them. A reedy-voiced bard—Tsarra recognized him as one of many students who passed near Blackstaff Tower from the New Olamn bards’ college—sang acapella while quickly fixing his broken lute string. No other noise rose above the murmur of conspiracies.
Tsarra found Khelben talking at the far end of the bar with the owner, a fat, peg-legged man with only a thumb and forefinger on the right hand scratching his face. The two men nodded, concluding their business. When Khelben turned to motion to Tsarra, his cloak rendered him as an older Calishite gentleman, rings aplenty on the hand with which he waved her on. The pair ducked behind a hanging tapestry, and Tsarra’s nose wrinkled at the acrid smell of a badly tended privy. Khelben tapped on the wall twice in two spots, and the wall pivoted, allowing them access to the back alley.
Without any further explanation, Khelben continued southward on a twisting path among middens and old courts. Tsarra knew the city well, but even she found some alleys into which she’d never looked, let alone stepped.
Stop worrying so, Tsarra. We’re only taking Traslim’s Cut to avoid notice of our entering the Elfstone
. Khelben’s communication to her was the first beyond hand signals in the past hour.
Within moments, they found themselves at a back entrance to a well-kept building. Tsarra sensed his arrival before she heard his wings, and put her elbow out at an angle to allow Nameless a place to land other than her shoulders.
Tsarra had never set foot inside the Elfstone Tavern, since her mother insisted she avoid it. She always told Tsarra she would not be welcomed, not only for being a half-elf but for being her daughter. Tsarra guessed her mother held an old grudge against its
“Indeed?”
Khelben didn’t say anything more as they exited the courtyard. The repaired gates glistened with night mist and opened as they approached, closing behind them with no gestures or castings at all. Khelben turned and headed north on Swords Street at a fast clip. Tsarra followed quickly, walking at his side within a pace or two.
She preferred the woods to the City of Splendors, but she did enjoy the city at night. It was slightly quieter, at least away from the inns and taprooms, and she could hear herself breathe—a task impossible in the daytime hustle and bustle. She drank in the darkness and the cool mists cloaking the rooftops and alleyways. Here and there, she spotted lantern-bearers guiding noble parties to and from their destinations. On the winds she heard far-away criers hawking tidbits of news into the night. “Last inbound caravans due at highsun! Four die in harbor accident! Lady Tian Simgulphin to marry, come spring!” Tsarra took a mental note to ask one of Maresta’s apprentices about the news, as they were on rumor details that ride.
For the next two bells, Khelben led Tsarra on a maddening chase, crisscrossing the city in a seemingly pointless and meandering path. He stopped a number of times, casting minor spells or dropping small parcels into odd places, such as a drainpipe in Tarlaek’s Court and the mouth of a lion statue on the walls of the Maernos estate. They didn’t take a direct path until they had skirted the City of the Dead and turned up the Coffinmarch to follow it across the High Road into Buckle Alley.
Khelben ducked into a modest establishment, its sign proclaiming it to be the Griffon’s Grog tavern. The wizard’s hand signal suggested Tsarra wait a moment before following him into the building, so she stared at the sign a moment. The sign, covered partially in mold and in need of fresh paint, showed a carved griffon volant, its upper claws gripping a foaming mug.
After a short interval, Tsarra entered the smoky taproom,the inhabitants of which paid her less heed than the mugs in front of them. A reedy-voiced bard—Tsarra recognized him as one of many students who passed near Blackstaff Tower from the New Olamn bards’ college—sang acapella while quickly fixing his broken lute string. No other noise rose above the murmur of conspiracies.
Tsarra found Khelben talking at the far end of the bar with the owner, a fat, peg-legged man with only a thumb and forefinger on the right hand scratching his face. The two men nodded, concluding their business. When Khelben turned to motion to Tsarra, his cloak rendered him as an older Calishite gentleman, rings aplenty on the hand with which he waved her on. The pair ducked behind a hanging tapestry, and Tsarra’s nose wrinkled at the acrid smell of a badly tended privy. Khelben tapped on the wall twice in two spots, and the wall pivoted, allowing them access to the back alley.
Without any further explanation, Khelben continued southward on a twisting path among middens and old courts. Tsarra knew the city well, but even she found some alleys into which she’d never looked, let alone stepped.
Stop worrying so, Tsarra. We’re only taking Traslim’s Cut to avoid notice of our entering the Elfstone
. Khelben’s communication to her was the first beyond hand signals in the past hour.
Within moments, they found themselves at a back entrance to a well-kept building. Tsarra sensed his arrival before she heard his wings, and put her elbow out at an angle to allow Nameless a place to land other than her shoulders.
Tsarra had never set foot inside the Elfstone Tavern, since her mother insisted she avoid it. She always told Tsarra she would not be welcomed, not only for being a half-elf but for being her daughter. Tsarra guessed her mother held an old grudge against its
Similar Books
