"The Emerald Scepter" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reid Thomas M.)

CHAPTER 2

"Isn't that the ridiculous little House mage that Talricci employs?" Lobra Mestel asked, her mouth full of pastry. Falagh glanced in the direction his wife was pointing. The figure she indicated was scurrying through a doorway on the far side of the chamber, but even through the crowd of dancing guests, the spectacles, graying head of hair, and frumpy robes were unmistakable. It was Bartimus.

"What in the Nine Hells is he doing here?" the man wondered aloud.

"It's Sammardach at the Generon," Lobra said, her mouth filled with food, dismissing the wizard with a wave. "Everyone who is anyone in Arrabar is here. I'm sure he's toadying with Talricci."

"Yes, but Talricci is still a wanted man," Falagh replied, frowning and absently stroking his black moustache. "I would have thought he was smarter than to show his face in this crowd."

Lobra shrugged and reached out to snatch up another miniature custard pastry from the table before her, which stretched from one end of the great chamber to the other and was filled with all manner of sweet confections. The couple had covered perhaps a third of the table's length, but already Lobra's flimsy paper cone was filled to overflowing.

"I do hope you're not planning to consume all of that yourself," Falagh commented, eyeing the cone of sweets. "You'll be pacing the bedroom for half the night clutching your bowels if you do." At his sour tone, Lobra's eyes grew wide with hurt, and Falagh knew a few tears were imminent.

Exasperated, the man attempted to smooth his features and give the woman an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said, patting her arm and trying to sound more pleasant. "I did not mean to snap at you. Sammardach only comes once a year. You should enjoy yourself," he added. He was relieved to see Lobra sniff once and regain her composure. "I'm going to go see what he's up to," Falagh said once he was certain his wife would not make a scene. He turned and strode across the large room before she could protest. He was only mildly surprised when she fell into step beside him.

Falagh dared not hurry, for if he appeared distraught or on edge, tongues would begin to wag. In a matter of minutes, everyone at the Generon would presume something of interest had upset the man, and it would affect business for tendays to come. Rivals would attempt to learn what had so disturbed the Mestels, hoping to use the information against him in negotiations. Even if they learned nothing, they would bluff that they had inside knowledge, and transactions would inevitably take a downward turn, all based on the hint of a rumor. No, it would not do at all to seem anything other than at ease, enjoying the celebration of Sammardach.

It did not take long to spot Bartimus, who wandered through the various public halls of the Generon, his head swiveling back and forth, looking for someone. The wizard was perhaps forty paces ahead, passing through the crowds, unaware of his own social disgraces. More than a few scowls turned his way after he jostled elbows and caused drinks to slosh, but he never noticed.

Falagh groaned as the wizard spotted his quarry and made a direct line for the man. Grand Syndar Lavant was standing near a wall, engaged in polite conversation with the Lord of Arrabar himself, Eles Wianar. A small crowd had gathered, perhaps to congratulate Lavant on his appointment as Grand Syndar of the entire Temple of Waukeen, or just to bask in the presence of either the Grand Syndar or the Lord of Arrabar. Grozier Talricci stood next to the high priest, making a point of showing his close association with Lavant, while his sister, Marga Matrell, stood off to one side, looking disinterested in the maneuverings. Bartimus headed for the tall, graying man.

Why is he here? Falagh wondered in dismay, pulling up short and pretending to retrieve a pair of delicate crystal goblets of spiced wine. With House Talricci in disfavor, why would he risk arrest tonight of all nights? He casually watched the group as he handed one of the goblets to Lobra, who sipped at it while continuing to nibble at her snacks.

Heedless of the others gathered around the pair of luminaries, Bartimus shoved his way to the front of the crowd and approached closely enough to whisper something in Grozier's ear. When the patriarch of House Talricci heard the wizard's words, he jerked his head around to stare at the diminutive fellow, then turned to Lavant and said something in his ear.

Whatever was said, it was serious enough to force Lavant to excuse himself. Eles Wianar nodded and clapped Lavant on the shoulder before he allowed the newly ordained high priest to move off, then the Shining Lord of Arrabar turned his attention to the rest of the group. Lavant and Grozier left the chamber in a hurry, the high priest stalking in obvious ire, followed by Marga and Bartimus. The high priest's waddling gait caused the innumerable gems adorning his cream-colored robes to scintillate in the light of dozens of lanterns. At one point, he paused and made a deliberate gesture to someone on the opposite side of the room, and when Falagh glanced that way, he spotted a blur of magenta and purple vanishing through a distant doorway.

What the blazes is going on? he wondered again.

"Come on," Falagh said, grabbing Lobra's arm once more and heading off after the high priest. "Keep up," he added when his wife nearly stumbled in her rush to turn and accompany him. Falagh felt the woman stiffen in displeasure at his gruff tone, but he did not care. Something was transpiring, and he did not wish to miss any of the conversation.

Falagh and Lobra caught up to Lavant, Grozier, and the other two partway down a wide, alcoved hallway filled with planted greenery. The foursome was just passing through a doorway near a copse of trees potted in large half-barrels. Lavant was frowning as Grozier seemed to lecture him, one finger waggling under the priest's nose as they stepped through the doorway and into a private parlor.

"… looks very suspicious from where I stand," Grozier was saying as Falagh arrived. "Highly suspicious. And you won't give me a straight answer!"

Lavant spotted Falagh and his wife and sighed, then motioned for them to enter the parlor before he shut the door behind them all. Then the high priest raised his hands and gestured for calm. "I assure you that there is nothing to be concerned about. Whatever Emriana Matrell is doing here, there's no reason to be alarmed. She knows nothing important."

"Emriana Matrell is here?" Falagh asked, pushing his way beside Grozier, leaving Lobra to fend for herself with the other two bystanders. "I thought Junce was going to deal with her last night," he added, giving the priest a pointed stare. "Why is she still alive? And why are you showing your face around here?" he demanded, turning to look at Grozier just as pointedly.

"She showed up this afternoon," Grozier explained. "Just walked right into the house, looking like a half-drowned wharf rat, as we were paying our respects to Hetta's remains."

Falagh started at the bit of news concerning the matriarch, though he was very pleased to hear it.

Gozier continued. "Apparently, Junce's associates didn't make sure the job was finished, because Emriana's still very much alive. And right here, in the Generon, and not just visiting, either. She's sneaking down into the dungeons. What is she looking for?" he finished, turning back to Lavant.

Again Lavant tried to motion for calm. "Nothing. Everything is going exactly according to plan." Then he turned toward Falagh, folding his hands together and resting them upon his rotund stomach as he asked, "Do I speak falsely? You know as well as I the state of things in Reth."

Falagh shrugged. "My messengers report that our mercenary army is doing an effective job, and the prices of lumber are steadily climbing," he conceded, not wanting to allow the high priest to turn the discussion away from his concerns. "But you have become terribly friendly with our Lord Wianar of late, and that concerns me. And you," he said, turning back to Grozier, "didn't answer my question before. Why are you showing your face at this party?"

"Because, my dear Falagh, I am no longer a wanted man. With Hetta dead, my dear sister Marga, here," and Grozier sent a warm smile over to the far side of the room, where the woman was standing, looking positively bored, "is now the ward for the heirs to the entire House."

Falagh glanced toward Marga, widow to Evester Matrell and up until that night, firmly ensconced in the Matrell household. He had been somewhat surprised to see her also at the Sammardach celebration, considering the actions Grozier had admitted in enforcing her cooperation in his plans to gain control of the Matrell estate.

In a very officious tone, Grozier continued. "I have been absolved of all previous accusations and been invited to serve as co-ward over the Matrell estate until the twins come of age."

She doesn't seem too bitter about it, Falagh thought. On the contrary, the woman's face was calm and content. Falagh shrugged it off as a change of heart. Or pragmatism, he mused.

"Only Emriana could be a potential thorn in our sides now, and she had nothing to her name this afternoon when she departed House Matrell," Grozier said. "I made sure of that," he added, looking smug. "With no home, no allies, and no funds to use to fend for herself, it should have been easy for Roundface's, ah, 'associates' to finish her once and for all. And yet Bartimus here tells me that less than an hour ago, he spied her creeping about with a priest of Waukeen, the two of them making their way down into the depths of the Generon. If she is not here to cause trouble for us, what could Lord Wianar possibly have in his palace that might interest her?"

Falagh absorbed all of Grozier's explanation, then turned to Lavant once more. "Yes, I'm very curious to hear your explanation. Is Lord Wianar involved in our little business venture in a way we don't know?"

Lavant opened his mouth again, no doubt to protest his innocence, but he was interrupted by the opening of the door.

"You are too astute, as always, Falagh," Junce Roundface said, sounding jovial as he entered from the hallway. "Emriana Matrell is here because I lured her here."

"You what?" Grozier blurted, apparently just as stunned as Falagh felt. "Why in Waukeen's name would you do that?" he added in a softer tone.

Falagh winced at his compatriot's noise, but he felt similar incredulity. "Yes, pray tell, why here?"

"Because," Junce said, still grinning, "it was the best place to capture her."

At that moment, everyone began talking at once. It was clear to Falagh that Junce had just executed some elaborate plan that he had not been privy to, and it disturbed him. He began to wonder how much else Junce-and Lavant, too, it appeared-were doing that they weren't admitting.

"Enough!" Lavant hissed, glaring at everyone. It was the first time Falagh could remember seeing the high priest lose his composure, even the slightest. "This chamber may be private, but it is not warded against sound. If you don't all lower your voices, the entire Generon will know of what we speak." With an elaborate sigh, he then turned to Junce. "So, it is done?" he asked.

"Indeed," the assassin replied, that grin spreading wider. "I have both of them in the mirror even as we speak."

"Mirror?" Grozier asked, again seeming to echo Falagh's puzzlement. "What mirror? Both of whom?"

"Let's just say that someone owed me a large favor and loaned me the use of a very special mirror," Junce explained. "It has a way of safely storing certain individuals who tend to get in the way of things otherwise. Certain Matrell women who make an unpleasant habit of skulking about at night."

"Brilliant!" Grozier exclaimed. "But why is the mirror here? Oh, it must belong to-" and he snapped his mouth shut at the realization of just how Eles Wianar was involved. Then he looked back and forth between Junce and Lavant, a frown appearing on his face.

Falagh felt uneasiness descend upon him. If Lord Wianar is involved, no matter how peripherally, things could become complicated, he thought. He may begin to inquire after our activities, and he might wish to become more involved in them.

Falagh was on the verge of voicing his concerns to the priest and the assassin, but Lobra chose that moment to cut into the conversation. "You say you have captured Emriana Matrell?" she asked coldly, staring at Junce.

"Indeed," the assassin repeated, looking smug. "I have them safely locked away right at this moment."

Falagh turned to suggest that Lobra return to the party and let him finish his business with his associates unhindered, but she continued on, ignoring her husband's stare. "I want her," the woman demanded. "I want to see her, to let her feel a little of the pain and misery she and her family have brought upon me and mine." She spoke the words with absolute conviction, the chill in her voice a sure sign to Falagh that she would brook no argument. She did not often adopt such a tone, but whenever she did, her husband understood all too well that she would not be denied.

Lobra turned to Falagh and added, "Make them give her to me, darling. You must."

Falagh looked at the three other men, wondering how difficult it was going to be to convince them. "You heard her," he said. "What arrangements need to be made?"

"I don't think it would be such a good idea to free the girl," Junce began, his smile wiped from his face. "Where she is now, she cannot be easily located with magical scrying. But should we free her, even to imprison her in a more conventional fashion, others might come looking for her."

"I have House wizards who can deal with that," Falagh said, waving his hand in dismissal. "That won't be an issue." Then an idea hit him. "Or," he said, watching his counterparts to gauge their reactions, "you could simply loan us this wondrous mirror for a while." Junce stole a glance at Lavant, who frowned. Falagh continued. "That way, you wouldn't have to worry about others using magic to locate her. And I'm sure that, after a few days, a tenday or so at most, Lobra would grow tired of taunting the girl, and you could have the whole thing back, prisoners included."

"Absolutely not," Junce declared, shaking his head. "The mirror is much too rare and valuable to be loaned out. It is out of the question."

Falagh smiled, for he had expected just such an answer. Now we can see just how close your relationship is with our Shining Lord, he mused, congratulating himself. He cleared his throat. "My wife is very insistent. If she doesn't get what she wants, I'm afraid no more Pharaboldi funds will be available for this venture. Mestel funds, either, for that matter," he added.

Junce grimaced and glared at Falagh for a long moment. Out of the corner of his eye, Falagh saw Lavant give the barest hint of a nod, and Junce sighed as though caving to Falagh's demand. "Very well," he said, his tone almost too contrite. "I will speak to our host and see if he is willing to agree to your terms. But I promise you, his acquiescence won't come cheaply."

"Oh, I fully expect Lord Wianar will want to get his hands deeply into our pie after this," Falagh said, knowing he sounded smug. "I just wanted you two to finally admit it." When Junce's glare deepened, Falagh laughed. "I am not a fool, and I have warned you not to underestimate me before. Perhaps now, Lord Wianar will be willing to show his intentions more openly."

"I have a question," Grozier asked, interrupting the staring contest. "You said you managed to capture Emriana. But what happened to her companion? A Waukeenar priest, I believe?"

Junce nodded. "Yes, some young whelp from the Darowdryn household, I believe. He really wasn't much more trouble than Emriana. My 'associates,' as you referred to them, are disposing of him now. Both he and the other mercenary, Miquillon, in fact. Fool man wouldn't stop begging me to release Xaphira into his hands. I grew tired of his pleading."

Lavant grunted. "Pilos Darowdryn? I'm not sure killing him is such a good idea," he grumbled. "I couldn't care less what happens to the mercenary, but if Pilos doesn't return to his family or the temple at the end of the evening, the entire Darowdryn clan may begin asking some very pointed questions. We just got House Matrell out of the way. We don't want more of the same trouble from Ariskrit and Steelfists."

Junce shrugged. "He'll be found floating in the bay tomorrow, I'm sure," he said. "Inquiries will be made, but I'm certain no one in the Darowdryn House will openly point out that their whelp was poking around in Wianar's dungeons, now will they?"

"Nonetheless, they will investigate," Lavant countered. "That's attention we just can't have right now. We need a better solution."

"Why don't we replace him?" Grozier suggested.

Falagh turned to look at the man. "How do you mean?" he asked.

For an answer, Grozier motioned to his sister. "Marga, darling, come over here for a moment and give these gentlemen a quick glimpse of your more interesting talents."

The woman nodded, gave them all a rather conniving smile, and began to change like clay molded by an artist.

Falagh wasn't sure he believed what he was seeing at first, for Marga Matrell became somewhat gray and blurry for a moment. In the next instant, she was someone else, a young man dressed in the garb of the Temple of Waukeen, with a white billowy shirt, matching trousers, and a doublet of rich crimson.

"I encountered Pilos earlier this evening, at the punch bowl, shortly after the Darowdryns first arrived," the image of the lad said in a youthful male voice quite unlike Marga's. "It won't be hard at all to convince his family that I am still alive," he added with a wicked grin.

Falagh nearly choked. "That's brilliant," he said, though he was also uneasy at having been so cleverly fooled. Well, at least that explains why Marga was so agreeable, he thought. "What… are you?" he asked.

The copy of Pilos seemed affronted by the question, but Grozier interposed himself between the two of them. "Suffice it to say that I pay them well for their services, and let's leave it at that," he said. "They are rather sensitive about their privacy."

Falagh nodded and made a gesture of apology. "Of course," he said, though he was still fascinated. "And you said 'them?' So you have employed more than one?"

Grozier nodded. "For a time, it was necessary to have them pose as Marga's twin children, so no one else in the family would know that I had taken them to House Talricci for safekeeping," he chuckled. It was a cold, mirthless laugh. "Now that no one is left to oppose me within the House, I see no need to continue the ruse. The children can return to their mother, and we can employ my special friends here for other things."

"Such as posing as Pilos," Falagh finished. "Brilliant," he repeated.

"Or for spying on other Houses," Grozier said with a smug grin. "The other one is still at the party, mingling with the other guests in the guise of a distant cousin."

"How interesting," Lobra said, insinuating herself into the conversation once again. She looked at the duplicate of Pilos and said, "Perhaps you or your companion might be interested in working for me for a short time. I have an idea that might just be delightful."

The mimicking creature nodded, though Falagh noticed that Grozier frowned.

Doesn't like to share, does he? the Mestel scion thought.

"I'd love to stay and chat about all the possibilities of imitating our enemies," Junce interrupted, "but I have places I need to be tonight. Events in Reth still require my attention. So I assume we've settled all the issues that concerned you two gentlemen about tonight's activities?"

Grozier nodded, but Falagh had one last point. "The mirror," he reminded them all. "How do I get the mirror?"

"Ah, that," Junce said, grimacing. "Come with me, then. And bring your wizard, Grozier. We'll need his talents to get the thing safely to House Pharaboldi."

As the group dispersed, Falagh followed the assassin down into the deeper parts of the palace. He was still concerned about Eles Wianar's meddling.

But there are ways to get around that, he thought, a plan already beginning to form in his mind.

Marga hadn't realized she had dozed off until a light from the hallway beyond her room awakened her. She squinted in the brightness of it, realizing somewhere in the back of her mind that it had grown dark outside, and that no lanterns had yet been lit in her chambers. Whoever had opened the door was speaking to her, but Marga was too groggy to understand any of it at first. She just wanted them to pull the door shut again and let her go back to sleep.

Then all the horrible memories came rushing back to her, and she sat bolt upright on the bed.

It was Mirolyn Skolotti, and she had brought a tray of food. "Lady Marga, are you hungry?" she asked as she moved to set the meal on a side table. She carried a taper candle she had brought with her and began to light the various lanterns hanging from hooks on the walls and ceilings. The entire chamber was soon bathed in warm amber light.

"No, not really," Marga heard herself say. "Just leave the tray and I'll try it a bit later. I really want to rest." Don't listen to my words! she thought, silently struggling to say something else. Help me!

Mirolyn looked at her, hands on her hips. "Lady Marga, I know it's been a hard few tendays for you, with all that's gone on around here, and today was particularly difficult, with the passing of Lady Hetta and all. But wouldn't you feel better if you came out into the sitting room to be with everyone else? Don't you think that would make you feel a little better?"

"No," Marga lied. "I just want to rest, by myself, in here." No, I don't! she silently screamed, unable even to contort her face to make her frantic feelings obvious to the other woman. Damn you, Bartimus, what did you do to me?

Mirolyn started to shake her head and say something else, but then she seemed to think better of it and snapped her mouth shut again. She took one last glance around the room and her frown deepened. "Where are the children? I just realized I haven't seen them all day."

Marga wanted to sob. My babies, she thought. Please help me save my precious babies. Instead, she simply said, "They went to stay at House Talricci for a couple of days. I thought it better for them, with the gloom that has settled here."

Mirolyn scowled at the mention of Marga's brother, but she was too polite to voice her dislike. "Very well," she said at last. "I'll leave you alone, then." And she turned to depart. Then she turned back at the door and said, "If you need anything, you come find me, all right?"

"I'm sure I'll be fine, but thank you, Mirolyn." Don't leave! I don't want to be alone! Please come back! Please figure it out!

But Mirolyn did leave, pulling the door shut behind her, never noticing the single tear that ran down the woman's face.

After she was gone, Marga couldn't even force herself to walk across the floor and pull the door open again. She wanted to-with all of her will she wanted to dash out into the sitting room and beg them all to help her. But the enchantment that Bartimus had laid upon her-at Grozier's direction, of course-prevented her from acting on her wishes. Being imprisoned in her chamber was even worse than the time Bartimus had turned her into a living statue so she couldn't move.

The wizard's instructions had been simple, direct. "You are to remain in this room at all times, and you may not tell anyone that anything is wrong, or that you have been magically hindered, or that your children are in any way threatened or in danger. If anyone asks about you, you are to claim that you are simply tired and wish to rest."

And it had worked.

After Grozier and those two fiendish changelings had departed, Marga had spent the better part of the afternoon trying to leave her chambers, but Bartimus's spell was quite effective. She could no more approach the door than she could walk on the ceiling. She spent the next part of the day crying herself to sleep, until Mirolyn had appeared.

But the young woman was gone again, and Marga was alone once more to uselessly fight against the magic that restrained her.

Then it hit her. Why am I such a fool? she thought, so angry with herself. I cannot fight the enchantment, but perhaps I can find a way around it, a loophole. Something that slipped that worm's mind when he set the conditions. What could it be?

Marga spent a few moments wracking her brain, trying to remember the wizard's words exactly. On impulse, she moved to her writing desk and took up a piece of parchment. She grabbed a quill and tried to write the truth of the matter.

The ink, and the words, flowed freely.

For the first time in several days, Marga Matrell smiled.