Crypt of the Shadowking (The Harpers) by Mark Anthony

Author:Mark Anthony [Anthony, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786963683
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2012-08-07T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve

Mari rose in the dark, before even the first gray light of morning had touched the sky. She dressed quickly in her small room, donning her soft doeskin breeches and a rust-colored coat, over which she threw a thick woolen traveling cloak of her favorite forest green. She gathered the few items she would need on the journey, packing them in a leather saddlebag. Briefly she considered bringing a roll of blank parchment and a quill, then realized there would be no time—or opportunity—to send another missive to the Harpers of Twilight Hall.

Downstairs she found Caledan already up. Estah and Jolle were helping him gather the gear they would need for the journey. Jolle had brought down a number of swords, daggers, crossbows, and stiff leather jerkins from the attic.

“Good morning, Harper,” Caledan said with his wolfish smile. “So you decided to get out of bed and join us on this quest after all.”

Mari held her tongue. She tried on several of the leather jerkins. Finally she found one that appeared to be the right size, but the buckles were stiff and unbending.

“Here. They go this way,” Caledan said, reaching roughly around her waist to fasten one of the straps.

Mari jerked away from his grasp. “I can do it myself,” she said crisply. Caledan backed off, looking somewhat miffed.

Both Ferret and Tyveris arrived at the inn’s back entrance just as Estah was setting breakfast on the table in the kitchen. The monk’s timing was impeccable when it came to meals. Afterward, the others sorted through the attic equipment. Ferret selected several sharp daggers, tossing them experimentally in the air to test their weight. Tyveris came across a worn leather jerkin that had once been his. He grinned and pulled it on, then frowned. Unless a miracle were performed, he wouldn’t be able to fasten the laces across his stomach.

“I guess being a monk agrees with you,” Caledan commented wryly.

“I never liked this ratty jerkin anyway,” the loremaster grumped, discarding the garment for a somewhat roomier choice.

Cormik slipped into the inn’s back room to bid the companions farewell. Beneath his plain, unobtrusive cloak he was clad in a silken, gold-embroidered tunic. His opulent attire always looked a bit out of place in the rustic inn.

“Any idea how close Ravendas is to finding the Nightstone?” Caledan asked.

Cormik shook his head. “None of my people have gotten close enough to Ravendas to find out.”

Mari nervously adjusted the silver Harper’s sigil on her jacket, making sure it was concealed for the journey. “She’s been digging for months now. She must be close.”

Cormik patted her shoulder with a chubby, ring-covered hand. “Don’t fear, Mari Al’maren. My associates and I will keep Ravendas occupied while the Fellowship is away.” He smiled broadly, his eyes gleaming wickedly. “Of course, if you wanted to stay behind, my beautiful Mari, I’m certain I could find some … er, shall we say ‘suitable tasks’ you could help me accomplish while your friends here are gone.”

Mari patted Cormik’s cheek fondly and deftly extricated herself from his grasp.

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