Free The Gambler's Fortune (Einarinn 3) by Juliet E. McKenna Page B

I’ve authority to draw funds on D’Olbriot reserves in all the major cities hereabouts.” The bronze amulet bearing the D’Olbriot seal hung warm and solid beneath my shirt, but I wasn’t about to attract unwanted attention by showing it to him here. “Final payment depends on exactly what I find out. Yes, I want the songs translated, but with any luck anyone who can master the ancient tongues will point me toward people with useful knowledge of old aetheric lore or some such. I can get myself to the Forest, being half-blood and using my father’s name to vouch for me. Once I find some real Folk, I should be able to talk someone into helping me. What I need to get me into the Mountains is someone who knows how things work up there, who can speak the language, who can make the right introductions.”
    “What you need is me and ’Gren.” Mischief lurked in the back of Sorgrad’s eyes. “It might just be worth doing, if we can agree a decent price.”
    His amusement was unnerving me and I realized I’d never quite learned why the pair of them had left the mountains in the first place. “We’re not going to be running into handfuls of people eager to skin you for some price on your hide, are we?” I asked sternly.
    “No, not as long as we steer clear of a few places.” Sorgrad looked into his empty goblet, thoughtful again. I poured him more wine. “Let me think about it,” he said at length. “I’ll need to talk to ’Gren.”
    “Come and see me tomorrow morning. I’ll show you the book.”
    I turned to the stage, where dancers were flirting their garters at the audience again. There was no benefit in pressing Sorgrad; he’d give his answer in his own good time and then ’Gren would do what his older brother recommended. ’Gren didn’t concern himself with much beyond taking on life with an eagerness that frequently slipped into recklessness. That was doubtless why they had left the mountains; ’Gren had done something without thinking through the consequences and they’d had to get clear. They’d have worked their way to Lescar, like exiles from every corner of the map. ’Gren’s propensity for casual violence would have soon proved an asset in the mercenary life, rather than the liability it can be elsewhere, so they would have stayed on, seeing that rich pickings could be made from the endless circle of civil wars.
    The dancers left the stage to the masqueraders and I soon caught up with the plot. The miser who aimed to marry her money had abducted our heroine and he was working her as a scullery maid until she agreed.
    “Why doesn’t he just force the issue by raping the silly poult?” Sorgrad murmured quizzically.
    “She doesn’t look as if she could fight off a winter cold,” I agreed. The cook and the housekeeper came on for another of those convenient masquerade conversations, where two characters tell each other things both of them already know. “There’s your answer!”
    “The old man in The Orphan’s Tears was impotent as well.” Usara leaned around behind ’Gren to speak to me, looking puzzled.
    “It goes with a droopy-nosed mask as a rule,” I whispered. Saedrin save me from these wizards with their sheltered lives.
    Next for a turn by the garden gates were our hero and heroine. He was all for calling the Watch and simply having the old wretch arrested.
    “First sensible thing I’ve heard him say,” Sorgrad whispered with a grin. “An honest citizen should always turn to the Watch, after all.”
    “Bet you a silver Mark she won’t,” I replied. My coin was safe as our heroine replied with undeniable truth and convincing histrionics that no one would believe the old skinflint hadn’t had a finger in her purse, her reputation would be ruined, and our hero’s parents would never allow them to marry. I beckoned for more wine as we sat through the usual romantic nonsense that followed.
    I found myself thinking about Ryshad, the Tormalin swordsman Sorgrad had