by Paul S. Kemp
Vees smiled and explained to Cale, “There are only two priests other than myself, and the sanctification rites require that the interior be open only to servants of Siamorphe until the process is complete. It is taking quite some time. You understand, I am sure.”
Cale did not, but nodded anyway. His god had no temples other than alleys. His god had knife fights with his Chosen.
“Vees could tell us that the rites required nude virgins dancing in the moonlight and I would know no better. Who has ever heard of Siamorphe? You will be pressed for worshipers, my friend.”
Vees only smiled. “Perhaps. But we go where we are called.”
Irwyl entered with a bottle of Uskevren wine and three goblets.
“Ever timely,” Tamlin said. Irwyl distributed the goblets and poured. Cale allowed a fill out of politeness, though he did not intend to drink. Irwyl left the bottle on a side table. He noticed that the pawn had been moved on the chessboard, frowned, and returned it to its original position.
Irwyl asked, “Will Mister Cale be staying in the manse?”
“Of course,” Tamlin answered, without consulting Cale. “Mister Cale will serve as an advisor to the hulorn, if he so pleases.”
Tamlin looked the question at Cale and Cale nodded. Tamlin said to Irwyl, “See to it that a room is prepared.”
“Will your old quarters suffice, Mister Cale?” Irwyl asked.
“They are tiny!” Tamlin said. “I will not hear of it.”
“I would prefer it, my lord,” Cale said. “That would be fine, Irwyl.”
“I will see to it,” Irwyl said, and turned to Tamlin. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“Yes, Irwyl,” Tamlin said, drinking his wine.
After Irwyl left, Cale decided to move directly to business. “Lord Uskevren, your message asked for my hurried return to the city.”
Tamlin set down his goblet and his face grew serious, as serious as Cale had ever seen it. “Kendrick Selkirk is dead. Mirabeta Selkirk has been elected temporary overmistress. Endren Corrinthal of Saerb is accused of murdering Kendrick, but our contacts in Ordulin are not certain of the truth of it. There was some kind of fight in the High Council and Endren was arrested. Zerin Terb was killed.”
Vees shook his head. “A shocking, shocking state of affairs.”
Cale knew Terb’s name. He had been Selgaunt’s representative in the High Council for over a decade. Tamlin continued. “In any event, the council has called a moot to elect a new overmaster. I am traveling to Ordulin—”
“My lord?” Cale asked, surprised. The hulorn had always appointed an agent to represent Selgaunt in the High Council or a moot, but never attended personally.
“I cannot tell what is happening there from here,” Tamlin said. “Some of our informants there say that Endren’s son is raising an army to depose Mirabeta. Others believe that Mirabeta arranged all of this. I need to see it personally before I ask the entire Old Chauncel to journey to the capital for the moot. Something is afoot and I need someone I can trust at my side. You. I want you as my wallman, Mister Cale. What do you say?”
Cale answered immediately. “Of course, but …”
“But?” Tamlin asked.
“My lord, Selgaunt is … in difficulties. How will it appear if you leave it? Who will govern?”
“We will not be away for long. Two tendays, perhaps three. Vees will speak for me, if needed, but the bureaucracy runs itself. The Old Chauncel will operate by consensus in my absence. In truth, that is another reason that I want to go alone, despite the call for the moot. If the entire Old Chauncel left the city at once, it would be … ill perceived. Once I have a handle on events in Ordulin, I will send for the key members of the Chauncel.”
“A wise course, Hulorn,” Vees said.
Cale was not so sure. Selgaunt felt ready to erupt. Tamlin had called him an advisor, so Cale decided to start advising. He took care to frame his speech appropriately. He had been removed from the niceties of station for some time. The words did not come as easily to him as they once did.
“My lord, may I make a recommendation or two? Actions that you might take before leaving the city?”
Vees snorted into his goblet. “The man is returned for a day and already has suggestions.”
Cale stared at Vees. Vees took another sip of his wine and averted his gaze.
“You are my advisor,” Tamlin said with a tip of his goblet.
Cale nodded. “The city is overcrowded. The people are hungry.”
“There is food in the market,” Vees said.
“Little, and it is priced so high that none but the rich can afford to eat,” Cale said, trying and failing to keep the coolness out of his voice.
Vees made an uncaring gesture. “Unfortunate, but true. But this is Sembia, Mister Cale. The market is what the market is.”
Cale barely resisted the impulse to punch the noble twit in the face. Despite his best efforts, shadows leaked from his skin. The room dimmed.
Tamlin noticed and looked alarmed. So did Vees but he looked more puzzled than afraid.
“I will explain later, my lord,” Cale said softly, and with an effort of will, caused the light to return and the shadows to subside.
Tamlin nodded slowly, eyes wide. Vees took another sip of his wine and studied Cale over the rim.
Cale said, “My lord, if your answer is the same as that of Lord Talendar, you will soon have riots. Hunger makes people desperate.” Cale thought of Skullport and said, “I have seen it before.”
Vees harrumphed. “That is why the Helms are on the streets.”
Cale ignored Talendar and addressed Tamlin. He decided to be candid. “If I am going to be of service to you, this all must end right now.”
Tamlin looked confused. “I do not understand, Mister Cale.”
Cale gestured at the parlor, at Vees, at Tamlin. “This. All of this. The polite speech. The discussions over wine. The clothes. The city is in a crisis, my lord. From what you have told me, all of Sembia is in crisis. We are not discussing a contract for trade. May I be fully candid or not?”
“There is no need for panic,” Vees said.
“No, but there is need for hard thinking and bold action,” Cale said. “And I never panic, Talendar.”
A few streamers of shadows rose from Cale’s flesh and dissipated in the air. If Vees thought to rebuke Cale for neglecting the nobleman’s honorific, he thought better of it.
“I take your point,” Tamlin said thoughtfully. “Let’s hear him out, Vees. Mister Cale brings an outsider’s perspective on things. Go on, Mister Cale.”
Cale plowed forward, eyeing Vees as he spoke. “Get the Helms off the street. They make you look frightened.”
Vees said, “The Helms are helping keep order. And are you accusing the Hulorn of being afraid?”
Cale surmised that putting the Helms on the streets had been Vees’s idea. “There are not enough of them to stop a riot, if it happened. In the meanwhile, they contribute to the perception that matters are not in hand, that the nobility is frightened.” He looked to Tamlin. “My lord, get them off the street. They are tense, and ill-suited to the work you have asked them to do. They drew steel on me outside Stormweather.”
“Perhaps justifiably,” Vees mumbled.
Cale whirled on him. “I promise you that if another comment like that comes out of your mouth, your teeth will follow it.”
Vees flushed, stuck out his jaw, and uttered not a word. Cale turned back to Tamlin. “Put the Helms back on the roads and waterways, where they belong, where people are used to seeing them. Order them to escort refugees into the city.”
Tamlin looked startled. “Into the city?”
“Out, I should think,” Vees said cautiously. “We are already overcrowded.”
Cale kept his voice calm. “They are coming anyway, unless you plan to lock down the city. You do not, do you?”
Tamlin raised his eyebrows. “We considered it.”
Cale blew out a breath.
“Lord Thamalon, you must stop taking steps that suggest desperation. The first thing the people need from you is the sense that you are in control, that things will soon return to normal. You can earn some goodwill by getting the steel off the streets and using it to ensure that your citizens are safe.”
“Unwise,” Vees said, and hurriedly added, “and I mean no offense, Mister Cale. But the Noble District will be overrun by refugees the day the Helms exit the city.”
“Nonsense,” Cale said, and Vees stiffened. “Subsidize the cost of food during the crisis. Distribute it through the Scepters. Require the temples to direct their priests to use magic to make food and distribute it.”
“They will not do it,” Vees said dismissively.
“Some are already doing it,” Cale answered. “This is just a matter of forcing the rest. You could lead by example, Talendar. You’re a priest, no?”
Vees nodded tightly. “Construction occupies my time, Mister Cale.”
Cale scoffed and continued. “Do not make an announcement and force a public fight with the faiths, my lord. Instead, let the high priests know through back channels that if they do not obey, the temples’ taxes will increase markedly and you may revoke their charters. You have the tools, Lord Hulorn.”
“The gods grant spells, Mister Cale,” said Vees. “If the priests say the gods will not grant the spells to make food, then what? Would you have the hulorn hold a blade to the gods?”
Cale did not mention that he had done exactly that in an alley just hours before. Instead, he said, “The gods will not refuse. They need their priests as much as their priests need them.”
Vees looked startled by Cale’s statement, but Tamlin looked intrigued. “Interesting, Mister Cale. What do you think, Vees?” Tamlin asked.
The sound of hurried footsteps coming down the hall toward the parlor interrupted whatever Vees might have said. All three men turned to the doorway, and Tazi appeared, breathing heavily.
“Thazienne,” Vees said, but she did not even glance at the nobleman. She had eyes, wide eyes, only for Cale.
“Erevis?”
Sweat pasted Tazi’s dark hair to her face and she held a riding crop in her hand. She wore tight breeches and boots rather than the more decorous riding dress customary for Sembian noblewomen. The year since he’d seen her last had not changed her at all. She was as beautiful as ever. Her green eyes sparkled under the waves of her hair.
Cale had feared how seeing her might make him feel. To his surprise, he felt only fondness, not desire. He had left his love for her behind when he’d left Stormweather and it had died in the intervening year. He smiled at her.
“Well met, Mistress Uskevren.”
She ran a hand through her sweaty hair. “I was just on a morning ride when I heard you had returned. I ran right over.” His words registered, and she asked, “Did you call me ‘Mistress Uskevren’?”
“Thazienne,” Cale corrected with a smile. “Tazi.”
“That’s more like it,” she said with her own smile. She crossed the chamber to embrace him.
Tamlin said, “Tazi, I do not know—”
“What I am cannot harm her, my lord,” Cale said, interrupting him and embracing her. She felt tiny in his arms and smelled, as always, of lavender. He kept the shadows from leaking out of his flesh.
Thazienne pulled back and looked from Cale to her brother. “What you are? What does that mean?”
“It means nothing,” Cale said softly. “It is wonderful to see you.”
“And you,” she answered. She eyed his hair, his skin, cupped his cheek in her palm. “You feel cold. And you look so different. What happened to you? Where have you been? Ren told us what you did for him. It seems you have made a habit of saving the members of this household.”
Cale felt his skin warm with embarrassment. He had once saved Thazienne from a demon attack within Stormweather’s walls.
“Many things have happened,” he said. “We can talk about it another time. You look the same as ever. But happier. That pleases me.”
She smiled and he saw in her expression the ghost of the shy girl he had watched grow into a bold woman.
“Ahem,” Tamlin said. “Tazi, perhaps you and Mister Cale could continue your reunion at a later time. We are discussing matters of state at the moment. Time is short.”
She kept her dark eyes on Cale and smiled. “He has grown serious, don’t you think? Not as serious as you, but serious enough. Father would be proud, I think.”
Cale nodded, though he was not as sure.
“Talbot will want to see you,” she said. “But he is away at Storl Oak. I will send word.”
“We will speak later, Tazi. Well enough?”
She smiled wistfully. “Over a brandy in the butler’s pantry?”
They often had stayed awake late into the night, talking over spirits in the pantry.
“Perhaps in the dining hall?” Cale said. “For a late breakfast? The pantry is no longer my domain. Irwyl is king there now.”
“I will see you there,” she said. “Brilla has a wonderful torte you should try.”
“So I have heard,” Cale said.
Tazi grinned, nodded, neglected to curtsy to either Tamlin or Vees, and took her leave.
Cale watched her go, pleased that his heart was steady, that his feelings for her had matured. His mind turned to Varra and he wondered how she was faring.
“As I was saying,” Vees continued. “I do not agree with all of Mister Cale’s suggestions. I believe he thinks too highly of the refugees and too little of the priesthoods. Do as you think best, Deuce,” he said, using Tamlin’s nickname.
Cale held his tongue while Tamlin sipped his wine and pondered. Silence hung heavy in the room.
Tamlin stared down at the chessboard for a time, then put down his goblet and said, “My father relied on your counsel for years, Erevis. I will not disregard it lightly. But I will not pull the Helms off the streets,” he said, with a nod to Vees. “I will, however, order them to assist with food distribution. And I will send word to the high priests as you suggested. A more serious commitment on the part of the temples should keep people from starving.”
Cale figured a partial victory was better than none at all.
“Well decided,” Vees said, and Cale disliked the nobleman even more.
Cale asked Tamlin, “When will we leave for Ordulin, my lord?”
“I began preparations upon receiving word from the High Council. Things are taking longer than I had hoped, but we will be ready to leave in the next day or two.”
Vees said, “Many other nobles have already left for Ordulin. We know that the Saerloonian delegation is en route already. They passed Selgaunt two days ago, though they skirted the city.”
“Skirted the city?”
“Tension appears to be very high in the capital, Mister Cale,” Tamlin said. “And it has spilled out into the countryside. The nobles are lining up behind Mirabeta Selkirk or Endren Corrinthal. The Saerloonians do not trust us, so they avoided Selgaunt altogether. Things are sharp at the moment.”
Cale took in the words, feeling unsuited to the task of helping Tamlin. He had been solving problems with his spells and blades for so long that politics felt foreign to him.
Tamlin picked up his goblet and drained it. “But all that in due time. I apologize that we will depart so soon. The schedule does not leave you much time for settling in. And my day will be full since I need to sign the orders we’ve just discussed. We will dine this evening, however. My apologies.”
“I will manage, Hulorn,” Cale said. “I remember my way around.”
“Of course,” Tamlin said, and smiled. “I am interested in hearing your explanation about … the other events.”
“Yes, my lord.” Cale said. “My lord, where is Lady Uskevren? I would like to speak with her before we leave.”
“She has been away upcountry with Talbot,” Tamlin answered. “This city, and the manse, make her unhappy these days. We rebuilt
the old upcountry manor house at Storl Oak. She seems to enjoy it there. But she is to return later this morning to see me off. Your presence will be a pleasant surprise.”
Cale knew Shamur to be a former adventuress, and she knew him to be more than a steward. They had come to respect and admire each other over Cale’s years at Stormweather.
Tamlin continued, “Meanwhile, is there anything you need before we leave tomorrow?”
“No, my lord.” Cale had his armor, his blades, his armor … and his holy symbol.
“Very good, then. I will leave you to your own devices. Vees, accompany me to the palace. I have orders to issue and we have much to discuss.”
Vees offered an insincere farewell to Cale and they parted. Before Cale left the parlor, he again advanced the pawn on Thamalon’s old chessboard.
He wandered Stormweather Towers for a time. Servants and members of the house guard nodded and smiled at him when they passed him in the halls. Every room through which he walked held a memory.
Throughout all the events of his life, his love for the Uskevren had been a constant. And he had always known, deep down, that he could return to Stormweather if he had need. It was his sanctuary. The manse was where he had been born, or at least reborn, and it pleased him to be able to return to his birthplace. After wandering for a time, he headed for his quarters to await Shamur’s return.
Even when Cale had been Stormweather’s steward, he had never done much to personalize his quarters. The room was as bare as he had left it. He opened the shutters, sat in his old reading chair, took out Jak’s pipe, tamped and lit. He spent some time remembering with fondness the adventures he and Jak had enjoyed in Selgaunt. He removed the book he had taken from the Fane of Shadows from his backpack—the book that contained lore about Mask, Shar, the Weave, and the Shadow Weave—and opened it.
To his shock, the pages were blank.
He flipped one, another, another. The whole tome was blank except for the final pages. On them were words written in purple ink in a tongue Cale could not read. Staring at the writing made him nauseated, so he slammed the cover shut. He looked at the cover of black scaled leather and assured himself it was the same tome. It was. He blew out a cloud of smoke and replaced the book in his pack. He did not know what to make of the book, but it made him uneasy. Had its magic served its purpose, and was now destroying itself?