Soldiers of Ice (The Harpers) by David Cook

Author:David Cook [Cook, David]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786964031
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2012-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

Eleven

Oh, gods, I’m doomed! Martine thought as she sagged against one of the paneled walls. At the same time, the color drained from her face, leaving her deadly pale. The thought that Jazrac needed to check up on her inspired in her a dread awe of the wrath the Harpers.

Where do I begin? How do I explain what’s happened? Martine couldn’t see any simple way to tell about her misadventures that wouldn’t cast doubts on her judgment. Lying was unthinkable. The woman knew there was really nothing she could do to avert Jazrac’s displeasure, and trying to conceal any of her errors would only make it worse. The knowledge that there was no escaping the truth didn’t help her either. The fear of her superiors was instilled too deeply to ignore.

“Excuse me,” Vil said sharply as he banged the flat of his sword against the wall. The loud crack was a sure attention-getter. “What in the world is going on?” The warrior looked to Martine for an answer, all the while watching the stranger from the corner of his eye.

The color rushed back into Martine’s cheeks and blossomed into a full blush as she was suddenly reminded that Vil was a spectator to her mortification. “Uh, Vilheim, this is Jazrac, Mage of Saerloon. Jazrac, this is Vilheim Baltson. He’s the one I mentioned in the letter.”

The wizard stopped unpacking, which was fortuitous, for the bed was almost overflowing with furniture, scrolls, bundles, shoes, even a thick pair of robes. Holding one hand to his chest, the senior Harper bowed slightly toward Vil, tilting the tip of his goatee toward the floor. “Greetings, Vilheim Baltson. Your home is extremely well built.” The wizard looked down at the sword Vil still held clutched in his hand.

“Greetings to you, Jazrac, but I must explain that this is not my cabin,” Vil replied, grinning at the error. “I’m not that good a carpenter. You’re in a gnome warren.”

“Really? I’ve never been inside one before.” Jazrac’s face brightened as he peered at the walls with renewed interest. “No wonder I was confused about the small size.”

“You don’t intend to stay here, do you?” Martine ventured. She pointed to the bed piled with things, a mound already twice the size of the wizard’s small valise.

“I’ve come to talk with you,” Jazrac easily replied, avoiding the question. His gray eyes were dark pits rimmed by deep creases, his sharp nose a brilliant highlight. Martine couldn’t guess her mentor’s thoughts behind his veiled expression, and so filled that void of knowledge with fearful imaginings.

Jazrac put her fears to naught with a shrug. “Well, I should explain for Master Baltson’s sake, I suppose.” With a flourish of his cape, the mage sat on the edge of the bed. The stack of scrolls behind him teetered ominously.

“I’m a Harper, and this young lady is a Harper, too.” Jazrac paused, awaiting some sort of reaction.

There was only silence. No gasped breath, no protestation of disbelief.

“So she told me,” Vil said calmly.

Jazrac looked crestfallen that his dramatic announcement had been spoiled.

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