gathering as a whole. Some of the mages who’d stood their ground to fight the brass dragon plainly disdained the colleagues who’d fled, while the latter resented any implication of cowardice, however justified it seemed.
Indeed, Phourkyn One-eye was engaged in a particularly vitriolic exchange with Scattercloak, the warlock who went about ever muffled in a gray mantle and hood. Scattercloack sat with his meal untouched lest, in the act of eating, he give someone a glimpse of his face.
“I did not flee,” insisted Scattercloak in an androgynous, uninflected tenor voice. “I simply veiled myself in invisibility. ,That’s why you didn’t notice me afterward.”
“Liar,” Phourkyn sneered, a streak of light glinting on his oily black hair.
“Retract that.”
“No.”
Taegan’s professional experience enabled him to recognize the preliminaries to a violent altercation when he saw them. But before the situation could deteriorate any further, Baelric, Firefingers’s brawny doorman, strode into the hall in a manner that commanded attention.
Facing his master, he announced, The Watchlord is here.”
Firefingers blinked. “Really? Well, show him in.”
Baelric ushered a middle-aged, solidly built, dour-looking man into the room. The newcomer was fancily dressed by Moonsea standards, though no rake in fashionable Lyrabar would have been impressed. He wore a chain of office dangling on the breast of his black velvet doublet, and at his side he carried a gold-hilted sword in a golden scabbardlikely another symbol of authority. A clerk and a pair of balberdiers trailed along behind him. All the mages rose to greet him, though some performed the courtesy in a perfunctory manner.
“My dear Gelduth,” Firefingers said, beaming, this is an unexpected honor. We’ll set a place.”
“I didn’t come to eat,” the Watchlord said. “I came” His head snapped around to stare at Jivex, who sat on his haunches on the linen tablecloth behind the plate he’d just finished licking clean.
Prompted by Sune-only-knew what witless impulse, Jivex spread his silvery wings. Taegan grabbed him by the neck an instant before he could take flight. Jivex glared at him indignantly.
“The man’s afraid of you,” Taegan whispered. “Approach him, and he’s liable to take a swipe at you with his sword.” He gave Gelduth a smile. “This is Jivex, Lord. He’s a friend to humans and other civilized folk.”
The small dragon twisted, brought a hind foot into proximity with Taegan’s hand, and gave him a stinging scratch across the wrist.
“Indeed.” Gelduth pivoted back toward Firefingers and said, “I came to talk to youall of you, even though by rights I should be able to summon you to attend me in the Watchlord’s tower, at my convenience. But we all know how that generally works out, don’t we?”
“Gelduth Blackturret’s pretty much a figurehead,” Rilitar whispered to Taegan, “and some wizards don’t show him much respect. A mistake, in my view, precisely because he is the spokesman for the old families, and they really do run Thentia. Besides, he does a good job of protecting the outlying farms when the orcs come sniffing around.”
“Well, at least let me get you a chair,” said Firefingers to the Watchlord, and Baelric hurried away to fetch one.
“We have to talk,” Gelduth persisted, “about all these dragons coming and going. I’ve told you before, it worries me. The noble Houses don’t like it, either. Not when wyrms are running amok and laying waste to all Faerűn. But everyone accepted the situation because you assured us your dragons were safe. Now I understand that the one who arrived yesterday went berserk.”
“Regrettably,” said Firefingers, “that’s true.”
“Then I’m going to have to bar all drakes from Thentia.”
Some of the mages scowled and exclaimed at that, though the show of dismay was less than unanimous. Affronted, Jivex hissed.
“My dear friend,”
Indeed, Phourkyn One-eye was engaged in a particularly vitriolic exchange with Scattercloak, the warlock who went about ever muffled in a gray mantle and hood. Scattercloack sat with his meal untouched lest, in the act of eating, he give someone a glimpse of his face.
“I did not flee,” insisted Scattercloak in an androgynous, uninflected tenor voice. “I simply veiled myself in invisibility. ,That’s why you didn’t notice me afterward.”
“Liar,” Phourkyn sneered, a streak of light glinting on his oily black hair.
“Retract that.”
“No.”
Taegan’s professional experience enabled him to recognize the preliminaries to a violent altercation when he saw them. But before the situation could deteriorate any further, Baelric, Firefingers’s brawny doorman, strode into the hall in a manner that commanded attention.
Facing his master, he announced, The Watchlord is here.”
Firefingers blinked. “Really? Well, show him in.”
Baelric ushered a middle-aged, solidly built, dour-looking man into the room. The newcomer was fancily dressed by Moonsea standards, though no rake in fashionable Lyrabar would have been impressed. He wore a chain of office dangling on the breast of his black velvet doublet, and at his side he carried a gold-hilted sword in a golden scabbardlikely another symbol of authority. A clerk and a pair of balberdiers trailed along behind him. All the mages rose to greet him, though some performed the courtesy in a perfunctory manner.
“My dear Gelduth,” Firefingers said, beaming, this is an unexpected honor. We’ll set a place.”
“I didn’t come to eat,” the Watchlord said. “I came” His head snapped around to stare at Jivex, who sat on his haunches on the linen tablecloth behind the plate he’d just finished licking clean.
Prompted by Sune-only-knew what witless impulse, Jivex spread his silvery wings. Taegan grabbed him by the neck an instant before he could take flight. Jivex glared at him indignantly.
“The man’s afraid of you,” Taegan whispered. “Approach him, and he’s liable to take a swipe at you with his sword.” He gave Gelduth a smile. “This is Jivex, Lord. He’s a friend to humans and other civilized folk.”
The small dragon twisted, brought a hind foot into proximity with Taegan’s hand, and gave him a stinging scratch across the wrist.
“Indeed.” Gelduth pivoted back toward Firefingers and said, “I came to talk to youall of you, even though by rights I should be able to summon you to attend me in the Watchlord’s tower, at my convenience. But we all know how that generally works out, don’t we?”
“Gelduth Blackturret’s pretty much a figurehead,” Rilitar whispered to Taegan, “and some wizards don’t show him much respect. A mistake, in my view, precisely because he is the spokesman for the old families, and they really do run Thentia. Besides, he does a good job of protecting the outlying farms when the orcs come sniffing around.”
“Well, at least let me get you a chair,” said Firefingers to the Watchlord, and Baelric hurried away to fetch one.
“We have to talk,” Gelduth persisted, “about all these dragons coming and going. I’ve told you before, it worries me. The noble Houses don’t like it, either. Not when wyrms are running amok and laying waste to all Faerűn. But everyone accepted the situation because you assured us your dragons were safe. Now I understand that the one who arrived yesterday went berserk.”
“Regrettably,” said Firefingers, “that’s true.”
“Then I’m going to have to bar all drakes from Thentia.”
Some of the mages scowled and exclaimed at that, though the show of dismay was less than unanimous. Affronted, Jivex hissed.
“My dear friend,”
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