The Grey Pearl (Of Caladuin: Volume Two)

11

Caladuin found Roscereb at the far end of the harbour on a small dhow called Dunlin. It was a small cargo boat, particular to the Bay of Balar, with a triangular sail rigged near the bow. This one had a low, covered quarterdeck; the Dark-elf was sitting on the low taffrail, swinging his feet over the quayside. He grinned down at Caladuin as he approached.

"I was expecting you to arrive with my escort."

"Your associates are ill-mannered. I assured them I could make my own way."

They studied each other for a moment. Roscereb was broad-shouldered and wide-faced. He wore his black hair in a loose ponytail that covered his ears and may have been mistaken for a large, floppy cap. And his skin was paler than the other Dolendrim Caladuin had met. He wore the short, dark tunic that was the fashion among his people. A long dagger was sheathed at his hip.

Still smiling, he looked Caladuin up and down, no doubt trying to weigh him up. "What brings you to Ethirost?"

"Work."

"There is money to be made here, indeed."

"If you know the right people. If not, there are dangers around every corner."

"Perhaps it is the nature of your work that is the danger."

"It is true, I have not had the warmest welcome to your little town."

"Ethirost is not my town, Caladuin. Any more than Eglarest is yours.

"You seem to have become acquainted with me, long before our meeting here." He wondered who had been doing the acquainting.

"It is my duty to know such things."

"Your duty. To whom?"

Roscereb's smile vanished like an extinguished candle. "My master is rich; the Deep Forest has treasure richer than gold. I offer you softer and more profitable work than your Lord Círdan would have you do."

"Oh?" Caladuin was almost amused. "And what would this work entail?"

"For now, nothing. Sit in the softest chair in the back snug of The Blue Dolphin and drink your wine until such time as your master expects your return."

"That sounds more like a bribe than an offer of work."

The Dolenel shrugged and grinned his grin.

"With regret, I must decline your offer and bid you good rest." He started to turn away.

"Did you know that your Lord Círdan expelled my people from the Falas in the First Years?"

"A desperate lie," Caladuin snapped. "The Dolendrim were sundered from their kin when Thingol was lost in the wild. Your people searched for him in vain in Duinath and settled there."

Roscereb laughed harshly. "I suppose you were taught that myth as a lad; or better still, you were shown the Annals in the archives in Eglarest. Have you ever asked yourself who wrote those Annals?"

"I would dearly love to stand here and listen to your rewriting of history but a warm bed awaits."

"Then perhaps another time, Caladuin."

With his knife at his hip and the iron fist secreted in his tunic, he felt safe enough to take the long route back to his lodgings. The hour was late and the streets were deserted. He found a wide street lined with empty market stalls. It ran perpendicular to the quayside and led onto the large square with the fountain that he had come across on his arrival in the town.

A light breeze scintillated the cherry trees that punctuated the square. Among the branches, two nightingales were trying to out-sing each other. He stood for a while, looking up into the tree, listening to their beautiful song.

Ethirost was indeed a pretty little town. It was the overall sense of foreboding that spoilt it. And this Roscereb was fearless, his corruption blatant. He clearly had someone close to Condir, for the Governor was the only one who knew of his business in Ethirost. He would speak to Tathariel after star-rise: she knew more than she was letting on, about Lethril, Condir and Roscereb.

He turned away from the tree and heard a soft thud behind him. The nightingales stopped singing. Spinning around, he saw a long, slender dart protruding from the tree trunk. His legs took over before he could become a target for a second dart. He ran in zigzags towards the far corner of the square, where a dark street led him in the general direction of his lodgings. A dart whispered past his ear then tinkled on the stone in front of him. The relative darkness of the side street felt like a warm blanket in a cold wind. But he didn't slow until he saw the sign for the Pelican's Rest. He turned and looked behind him. The street was empty. He took one last look up and down the street before climbing the steps into the inn.