Oberon's Dreams - By Aaron Pogue Page 0,60
up the steps and into the house. Corin didn’t recognize the faces, but he knew them by their stature.
He turned toward the pale-faced Avery watching by his shoulder. “Tell me one more time about the dwarves and their chapter houses.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
“All is lost,” Kellen said.
“No,” Avery insisted. “No, there’s still time, as long as we act quickly.”
Corin shook his head. “I have no desire to face Ephitel in person.”
“We shouldn’t have to,” Avery said. “He’ll hardly keep his guests waiting while he goes and buckles on a sword! No. Now’s the perfect time to sneak in there, while he’s distracted with the dwarves, and steal it right out from under him.”
Maurelle frowned. “Will we have time for that?”
“We should,” Corin said. “Dialogues with dwarves are never over quickly. Especially if they have something you want. Ephitel might not be out until tomorrow.”
“We have time,” Avery said, “but not you, sister. You are going home.”
“I’m certainly not!”
“I will not see you in this kind of danger.”
“I have already been in prison today, brother, and it wasn’t I who murdered a distinguished hero there!”
Avery gasped and staggered half a step. “How dare you—”
“How dare you pretend to care for me? Now.”
“Maurelle—” Corin started, soothing, but she went right on.
“All you had to do was drop your silly club a month ago, and I would still have a life. You chose this fate for your family, Avery. I’m just following through.”
Avery could not meet her eyes. He stared at the toes of his boots, breathing in shuddering gasps. When he spoke, his words were eerily familiar. “You must go home. We may well tangle with Ephitel’s private guards, and they are not good men.”
Before Maurelle could lash out again, Corin caught her hand. “I have a use for you.”
“No!” she snapped angrily, even as Avery did the same.
Corin ignored them both and went on. “We will need a distraction here. Something to draw off Ephitel’s guards while we sneak in.”
“That would simplify things a bit,” Kellen said.
“But what am I to do?” Maurelle asked.
Avery said, “Go home!”
Corin silenced him with a glare, then answered the lady. “Go to the druids. They meet in a shady tavern off Piazza Primavera. I’ll give you directions.”
“I don’t know what they told you,” Avery said, “but the druids will not be much help in a raid on Ephitel’s estate. They are not that kind of organization.”
“No,” Corin said. “But their organization is key. Find Delaen. She is the one with long white hair. Tell her we need another riot. Send a mob to Ephitel’s front gates, and we will sneak around the back.”
“Can they really do that?” Kellen asked, doubtful.
“They raised the mob that delayed Avery’s trip to the palace dungeons,” Corin said. The soldier’s eyebrows climbed his brow, and Corin grinned. “Aye, they have their uses.”
“But will they do that?” Avery asked. “For you?”
“Not for me, but they’ll do it for Oberon. Tell them everything we know—that Ephitel is meeting with the dwarves to buy gunpowder with his writs of provender, that he has been wearing the sword Godslayer, and that he is moving quickly. Tell them they must move more quickly still.”
“I can tell them all that,” Maurelle said, though she sounded intimidated by the burden.
“For glory, and for Iryana,” Corin said.
She grinned at him.
“And what if they refuse?” Avery asked. “What if they cannot raise a mob in time?”
“Then we will walk away. We’ll slip out of town, find some barn to hide in, and wait till this blows over while we make another plan. We’ll just have to hope the king survives that long.”
Kellen cleared his throat. “I cannot accept that risk.”
“Honestly, I can’t either,” Corin said. “So let us put our faith in Maurelle and in the druids. And in the people of Gesoelig.”
Avery watched his sister walk away, head held high, until she disappeared beyond the cottage. Then he hung his head. “Proven postulates!” he groaned. “We’re doomed.”
“We aren’t doomed,” Corin said. “Maurelle shows remarkable tenacity. And I think Delaen will listen to her.”
Kellen drummed his fingers on the hard leather of his scabbard. “What do we do until then?”
“We wait and watch,” Corin said.
Avery sighed. “Sounds dull.”
“Most of thieving is,” Corin said. He considered Avery for a while, then asked, “How did you come to form the Nimble Fingers?”
“It was just a hobby,” Avery said. “No. Not even that. An interest. I had heard stories of the thieving fairies of yesterworld, and of manling heroes there renowned for their burglaries.”
“Wait!