Murder in Halruaa by Richard Meyers Read Free Book Online Page B

manifested itself in expressions of sullen disapproval whenever Azzo’s beautiful blonde serving wench got too close. But then Lymwich suddenly changed the subject to inquiries about the books in his new dwelling.
    “I told you,” she admonished with the careful enunciation of the slightly inebriated. “I notice everything. What is it with Geerling and you and all those books?”
    Covington grew still. It was getting late, and apparently she couldn’t handle her drinks. One more, he was convinced, and her minking and words would become too mushy to be useful. If he was going to learn anything, it was time to draw her out. “I can’t speak for Geerling, but I’m fond of books because they don’t change.”
    “What does that mean, Blade?”
    Covington leaned back. What had she called him? He shook his head. He decided that it must have been the drink slurring her words. He shrugged casually and leaned forward again. “You know. People change, places change, but books don’t.”
    “What are you talking about? Books get older… the pages yellow…”
    “I’m not talking about age,” he said, surprised at how the words flowed from him. Maybe the deceptively powerful mead had gotten to him as well. “I’m talking about where it counts—for books and people. Inside. People who once told the truth can start to lie. Books don’t. If they start with the truth, they will always tell you the truth.”
    Suddenly Berridge Lymwich leaned over the table, placing her face not more than two inches from his. To Pryce’s amazement, he could tell that she wasn’t intoxicated in the slightest It was she who had been testing him. “Oh, you and your flowery words,” she said evenly, her face a knowing mask. “Gamor Turkal and Geerling Ambersong may have impressed everyone else with the tales of your spectacular adventures, but I want you to know one thing. You’re going to have to prove yourself to me, Darlington Blade!”

CHAPTER THREE
Switch Blade
    Pryce Covington was afraid he might be sick, and it wasn’t the drink that made him feel that way. Mystran Inquisitrix Berridge Lymwich might as well have hit him in the solar plexus with a bar stool. Calling him by that name had the same effect.
    Darlington Blade. Of course! Covington remembered the strange way the cloak clasp had directed his finger. Down, then around and up. D. Then down twice to the right. B. The initials of Darlington Blade. Or maybe Dumb Bunny. Or Dead Beat. With a sudden realization as clear and powerful as a glass house falling on him, he knew that no one in Lallor thought of him as Pryce Covington. They all thought he was the great Darlington Blade!
    Darlington Blade. Even lowly messengers in far-off Merrickarta had heard of Blade. The legendary adventurer-wizard who studied with an exalted but eccentric mage, who was the primary mage in the realm’s most exclusive community, which was the vacation spot for many of the nation’s most prominent wizards and other important citizens.
    So that was who Geerling Ambersong was! Darlington Blade’s master! Was he the other dead body? Not bloody likely. Geerling Ambersong was supposed to be well over seventy. Then again, Blade’s teacher was thought to have been over seventy for more than a decade. No, Covington had taken this unique cloak—the cloak that everyone in Lallor recognized as that of Darlington Blade!—from a younger-looking corpse.
    Pryce Covington drank the rest of his third tankard in one impressive pull. The brew seemed to seep through his body, calling out in a distant bittersweet song. Darlington Blade, dead in a tree’s shade… and Pryce wore his cloak. The possibilities were prodigious… and frightening.
    “I hardly thought the great Darlington Blade would be so affected by a challenge from the likes of me,” Lymwich interrupted his thoughts. Covington kept thinking about his predicament while he put his wit to work on the inquisitrix.
    “Not, really,” Pryce said distractedly.