The City of Ravens Read Online Free PDF Page A

Zandria’s courtesy by deliberately ignoring her not-so-subtle hints. Not only did he delight in baiting beautiful women, but Zandria was clearly a mage of some skill and confidence—a Red Wizard of Thay, no less!—and she had urgent business with the most inept sage of the city. Jack smelled clandestine deeds and secret doings, and the mystery grew moment by moment into a consuming obsession he was helpless to resist.
    Only one thing to do, then. Jack bowed deeply and
    swept his hat from his head in a courtly bow. “As it so happens, I have great toils and wondrous works to attend. Farewell.” He turned to the sage. “Ontrodes, FU be back tomorrow to see how your search progresses.”
    The old sage was still gaping at Zandria. Apparently he was so used to dealing with rogues and empty-headed swordsmen down on their luck that he’d never expected to have a competent, confident professional seeking his advice again.
    “My search?” he managed to ask.
    Jack sighed. “The S-thing, once owned by the man named G,” he hissed as he passed by.
    “Oh, right, of course, I’ll get right to it,” Ontrodes said absently. Without looking, he waved a hand at the rogue. “I’LL see you later then, Jack.”
    Mustering what dignity he could, Jack made his way outside and stood in the drizzle at the sage’s doorstep, looking up and down the street. He nodded at a passing pair of porters carrying heavy casks on their shoulders, and then dashed quickly around the back of the sage’s house. Splashing through ankle-deep mud, he circled the tower and found a shuttered window facing the alleyway. He scrambled about three feet up the tower’s side, just high enough to lay his ear against the damp wood of the shutter.
    “—the crypts,” Zandria was saying, speaking rapidly in her clipped, clear voice. “The Lady Mayor has taken an unusual interest in the relics of Sarbreen of late, and I have long suspected that the guilder’s tomb conceals an entrance into an extensive hidden vault. But I cannot actually find the place! All I have is this unfathomable riddle of an inscription.”
    “It’s quite odd,” Ontrodes agreed. ““Mark carefully the summer staircase and climb it clockwise thrice.’ That makes no sense at all, does it?”
    “Not really. I’d hoped you would understand it.”
    “Understanding may yet come to me, my lady. Cedrizarun is well-known to me. I have often wished that I had lived six or seven centuries ago, so that I might have sampled some of his works, all handmade and lovingly aged by the old dwarf himself.” The sage cleared his throat; the floorboard creaked as he moved inside. “See here, this part of it: ‘At the center of all the thirty-seventh.’ That clearly refers to Cedrizarun’s incomparable Maidenfire Gold of ‘37, claimed by some to be the very finest dwarven brandy ever distilled north of the sea.”
    “You mean this?” Zandria asked. “I thought that might be what it meant.”
    Jack could hear Ontrodes’s gasp even through the shutter. “Oh, my lady,” the sage said with awe in his voice, “I will gladly give you five hundred gold crowns for that bottle of brandy.”
    The mage laughed aloud. Her brusque, commanding manner vanished in her laughter; it seemed to bring out a carefree girl Jack never would have suspected. Then the glimpse was gone. “I fear not, sage. First of all, I paid far more than that for this bottle. Second, I will not uncork it or allow it to be uncorked until I am certain that I know the meaning of this riddle. I have a feeling that the Maidenfire Gold wouldn’t fare well in your care.”
    “On the contrary, my lady, it should fare very well indeed! Who else could appreciate it more than I? Who else could revel in its exquisite bouquet, delight in every depth of its perfect flavor, comprehend with each loving sip the work of a master craftsman at the apex of his art? Oh, it would be a disservice to the world—and to dead Cedrizarun himself—if I allowed