Guardians of the Flame #03 - The Silver Crown by Joel Rosenberg

Author:Joel Rosenberg [Rosenberg, Joel]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dead^Man, April 2011
Published: 1985-04-04T22:00:00+00:00

PART THREE

Enkiar

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

TO ENKIAR

Cease to ask what the morrow will bring forth, and set down as gain each day that Fortune grants.

— Quintus Horatius Flaccus

The watchman picked them up less than a mile outside of camp.

“Two all-beef patties,” a harsh voice whispered from somewhere in the trees, “special sauce, pickles, cheese...”

The voice fell silent.

“... lettuce, onions on a sesame-seed bun,” Karl called back, deciding that he was going to have to have a serious talk with Walter about the passwords Slovotsky was selecting.

It was a sound idea, in principle, and Karl had approved of it when Walter had suggested it several years before: The password phrases were culled out of Other Side popular culture, guaranteeing that Karl, Walter, or Ahira could answer a challenge without having been given the response ahead of time.

But this was just too much. It was too damn much. Karl had been dreaming of Big Macs and similar delicacies for years.

His mouth watering, he dropped his reins and turned to Beralyn. “Baroness, raise your hands.”

“What?”

“There is someone pointing a gun at you who doesn’t know you, and doesn’t know that you don’t have a pistol trained on my back. He will know it if you get your hands high in the air. Now.”

Slowly, she complied.

Piell stepped out onto the road, his slaver smoothbore carefully just out of line with the baroness’ chest. “Greetings, Karl.” The weapon didn’t waver. “I don’t recognize your... companion.”

“Ta havath, Piell. Beralyn, Baroness Furnael, I’d like to introduce Piell ip Yratha.”

“May I lower my hands now?”

“Certainly,” Tennetty said. “If you really want a hole through your chest. Piell isn’t going to take either Karl’s or my word that you’re harmless, not until he’s sure that we’re not under some sort of threat. You still could have a pistol up your sleeve; if you were fast enough, you’d be able to get it out before we could do anything about it. We’ve got to prove that you don’t.”

Chak snorted. “You could have warned her before you said ‘certainly,’ instead of after.”

“It’s more fun my way.”

“Shut up, both of you.” Karl slowly edged his horse over to the baroness, drew his saber, and held the point a scant few inches from her throat. “Satisfied, Piell?” He resheathed his sword.

The elf lowered his rifle. “Yes.” He turned and gestured to someone hidden in the woods; leaves rustled momentarily.

Piell bowed deeply as he turned back. “Please lower your arms and accept my apologies, Baroness — Furnael?” He raised an eyebrow. “Rahffs mother?”

“Right.” Karl nodded. “Now, I don’t want to get shot on the way in. How much of a lead should we give your second?”

“He is quick on his feet, Karl Cullinane. I suggest you take a few moments to water your horses, then ride directly in.” Piell eyed the late-afternoon sun. “We are camped in a clearing — you’ll be met. I’d better move up and find another watch station. If you’ll excuse me?” He bowed deeply toward Beralyn, then vanished into the bushes.

Karl dismounted, took a waterbag and a wooden bowl down from a packhorse’s bags, and began to water the horses.

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