"Well met," Cellica said. She climbed down a stout ladder, closed the trapdoor behind her, and joined her adoptive family.
The little halflings crowded around her, cooing and yipping like puppies. She saw their mother, Philbin's wife Lin, cooking a meal over the steaming frame press engine: eggs and sausage and toasted thin loaves. Her stomach growled.
"You've come for more coin, I take it," Philbin said. "And our free food too, eh?"
Though the gruff halfling patriarch didn't look it, he was one of the wealthiest merchants in Waterdeep-partly because he was such a skinflint.
Cellica drew a bottle from her satchel. "I brought wine."
Philbin rolled his eyes.
"Just in time for morningfeast!" said one of the little brothers, Dem.
"Silly!" said a halfling girl-Mira. "Secondmorningfeast!"
Cellica found peace among the halflings of the Warrens, one of the cities beneath Waterdeep. It wasn't home-that was the ruined city of Luskan, far to the north-but for a time, she could pretend.
At least until her tasks called her back.
FIVE
Perched on the corner of the desk, Araezra said, very clearly, "Ellis Kolatch."
"Ellis Kolatch." Kalen's monotone gave no indication of recognition.
Araezra sighed. Of course Kalen would be indifferent. The damned man was a stone.
They'd been taking their evening leisure hour-waiting for the Gateclose bells to sound, signaling the shutting of the gates for the night-before going out on another inspection. They were alone in the room, pointedly not speaking.
Though Kalen seemed calm, Araezra had been boiling with anxiety, wanting to talk but not to be the first to speak. Her nerves manifested in anger that went undirected at either Kalen or herself. Instead, she turned it against their commander.
Damned Commander Jarthay, who'd declined her request for day work. Twice-damned Jarthay, who'd argued so logically that more villainy would be afoot by night than day!
What she wouldn't give for a good invasion or riot to thwartpreferably incited by Shadovar spies or Sharran cultists or any of a thousand enemies of goodness in Faerun. But no, it was a time of relative peace, and peace meant schemers and conspirators.
She'd take Kalen, of course-and Talanna, if she was at libertybut she couldn't speak freely with Kalen then. She could now, though, if only he would pay attention to her.
Araezra set aside the locket with the half-done miniature she'd been painting in it: a gilded chamber, with light filtering through a flower-laced window. It was an amusing hobby-one perfectly suited for boring hours at the barracks between patrols.
She fixed her eyes on Kalen-on his hard, grizzled face with the uiun uuui i iiu uiu constant layer of stubble, framed in the brown-black hair that fell in spikes. His oddly colorless eyes, like slits of glass, avoided hers, but she was not about to let go now that she'd got a reply out of him.
"Ellis Kolatch," she said again. "The crooked merchant we met yestereve."
"Ah." Kalen pushed the spectacles up his nose.
He'd been looking through "Watch ledgers all day, much to Araezra's chagrin. He hadn't told Araezra why, and she hadn't asked.
"I'm told…" Araezra shifted her position so Kalen had to look at her. "Kolatch presented himself at the palace today in a frightful state-clothes a mess, eyes puffy-and demanded we lock him up for trade violations and dirty dealing."
Araezra's mouth turned up at the corners in a way she knew her admirers adored.
"You wouldn't happen to know aught of this?"
Kalen shrugged. He moved the ledger away from her and kept working.
Araezra frowned, then draped herself across his ledger, setting her face level with his. "Seems his hair and beard had turned the most frightful shade of purple as well. No?"
Kalen's eyes met hers, and she saw a little flicker in his face-a tiny tic in his lips. Was that anger, or a smile?
"Araezra," he said chidingly, "I'm working."
No one called her by her full name-no one but him, always so damned polite and cold.
She hated his formality when they were supposed to be at leisure. To set an example, she wore her uniform breeches and boots but not her breastplate or weapons. With her hair unbound and cascading in liquid black tresses around her linen chemise, she knew damn well how good she looked, and yet-confound the man-Kalen hadn't even noticed.
She'd never had this sort of trouble with a man. Usually, it was the opposite, and required a stout stick to fend away unwanted hands.
"Who are you looking for so intently?" she asked.
He looked at her over the rim of his spectacles. "Arrath Vir-a dwarf. No beard-turned his back on his blood, I suppose.
Suspected of crimes against the city and citizens." "Why the interest?" she asked.
Kalen kept reading. Perhaps she was irritating him, or perhaps he was simply ignoring her-she had no way of knowing. Kalen kept his own counsel.
She tried again. "That scar, on your arm." She pointed to a long red-and-white mark, as though from a burn, visible out his left sleeve. "How did you come by that?"
He shrugged. "Clumsy with the simmer stew," he said. "At times it burns me and I don't realize, because…" He trailed off.
"I'm-I'm sorry," Araezra said. "I didn't mean to mention it."
"It's naught." He adjusted his sleeve over the burn.
Araezra sighed and looked at the ceiling. She wished she could talk to him without putting her boot between her teeth. And his illness… she wondered if he would feel it if she hit him in frustration. Likely not.
She tried a third time. "Kalen, there's a costume revel at the Temple of Beauty on Greengrass," she said. "I was hoping-er, I think a guard presence might-"
"If that is your order, Araezra."
Trying to hold in a scream, Araezra tapped her painted nails on the darkwood desk. Kalen turned back to his ledger, adjusted his spectacles, and scritch-scratched another note. She marked the ring on the third finger of his left hand-with a sigil of a gauntlet-but he turned another page and obscured her view before she could observe it more closely.
Frustrated, she picked up her locket and the delicate little brush and set back to work on painting the light through the window. Kalen's pen scratched. Araezra's teeth clicked.
Finally, she could take it no longer.
She rolled her eyes, threw the locket down on the table, and raised her hands. "Gods, Kalen! It's Rayse. How long have we worked together? You can't call me that?"
"If that's an order, Araez-"
"Rayse." She grasped him by the shoulder and he winced. "Bane's black eyes, Kalen-after what we've been through? After we…"
She cut herself off. Oh gods, had she almost just said that? Talanna was going to kill her.
But gods-burn-her, she couldn't help it. She-a woman infamous for her calm, unreadable face-just went to pieces around him.
"Araezra." Eyes calm, Kalen gave her a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "Must we?"
Her heart started beating faster. "Kalen, we should talk about this," she whispered.
"And say what?" He looked back at the ledger. "You were the one who ended it, not I."
"Only because-" Araezra scowled. "Kalen, only because you wouldn't… stlaern."
She expected him to correct her language, but he only shook his head. "Rayse, I told you about my illness," he said. "You know I don't… I can't. You knew that."
"You wouldn't hurt me." Araezra put a hand against his cheek. "I wouldn't let you."
He gave her a half smile. "It wasn't because I didn't want-"
The door opened, and his hand darted away from hers. Araezra almost fell from her seat but caught herself and stood, straightening her linen chemise and cursing herself for taking off her armor. The silvered breastplate lay on a nearby chair, next to her helm, the five tiny gauntlets denoting her valabrar rank staring at her like five sly, winking eyes.
She composed herself in a flash, exercising her iron self-disc
ipline to the fullest.
Into the room came Talanna Taenfeather, still sporting the wild rack of horns woven out of her vivid hair. On her breastplate, she wore three gauntlets, identifying a shieldlar.
Talanna would have been fine company, but behind her strode an older man-thirty or so winters, brown hair, bright eyes, bemused smile-whom Araezra recognized only too well. Bors Jarthay's badge depicted a single gauntlet clutching a drawn sword-the sigil of a commander.
Talanna froze and looked first to Araezra, then to Kalen. Her smile curled in the way it did when she was about to say something particularly cutting. "Ooh," she crooned. "We're not interrupting aught, are we, Rayse?"
Araezra opened her mouth, but Kalen grunted no without looking up from his work.
"And what a shame that is," Bors added. He nodded to Araezra's breastplate and helm. "Taking our ease, lass?"
"My steel is always near to hand." Araezra smiled tightly. "Do I need to don it?"
"Your breastplate against me, Rayse? Nay!" Bors grinned. "I would hardly want to discomfort two of my best lady Watchmen." He nodded to Kalen. "Good day, Vigilant Dren."
Kalen looked up. He started to rise, stiffly, as though to salute, but Bors waved him down. The commander grinned at Araezra, but she refused to look at him.
"Need you aught, sir?" she started to ask, but Talanna rushed to Kalen's side.
"See this, Kalen?" On the forefinger of her left hand she wore a ring of interlocking golden feathers. "A gift of Lord Neverember." She smiled wryly. "The Open Lord's passionately in love with me, you know."
"Oh, don't be a dolt," Araezra said. "He knows your inclinations." Talanna whirled, heat in her cheeks. "But a little banter hurts no one, aye?"
Araezra winced. Jealousy had prompted her tongue, she knew-she longed secretly to marry someone with power like that of Neverember, but greater. She wanted to wed one of the Masked Lords; the greatest, if possible. And then, with her husband's power, she could make right all the ills of the city. Rewrite laws to trap the guilty. Put together a secret wing of the Guard, who would reshape Waterdeep into a cleaner, safer, ordered place. Expunge the traitors, slavers, and other evils of which she knew very well. Little things.
She realized she'd lost herself in thought for a breath, and Talanna and Bors were staring at her. Kalen had gone back to work.
"Aye," said Araezra, "what prompted the gift of this ring, Talanna?" The use of her full name-rather than her pet name, Tal-was meant as a warning.
The red-haired woman grinned. "Well, I'm told the spell within is a safeguard if I fall from a great height-some call it 'feather light,' or 'feather float,' or something of the sort-that of course being a jest about-"
"— your last name, aye," said Bors. "But what occasion? Have I missed my sweetling's nameday?" He ruffled Talanna's hair, making the wires in the spikes click. "These are so glim."
"Damn them, then!" Talanna ducked out of his reach and began ripping the wires out. Araezra tried not to wince; Talanna was always so rough with her appearance.
"There," Talanna said when her wavy red tresses fell freely around her face. "As I said, 'tis a gift from Lord Neverember after my accident tenday before last."
Bors and Araezra winced.
Kalen, who looked up when the talking ceased, blinked at Talanna. "What happened?"
"She was chasing a thief from Angette's in Dock Ward," Bors said, "when she fell-"
"Jumped!" Talanna corrected. She indicated the ring on her right hand that gave her the power to jump great distances.
"— jumped fiom a building and broke her ankle," Bors said. "The Torm priests healed her, but not before the story got out. It was the talk of the city-our favorite little flame-haired Warch-lass, having taken a frightful spill."
Kalen nodded slowly. He looked to Talanna. "You caught the thief?"
"Faith!" she cried. "Why do you think I jumped:'The fall broke more in him than in me."
Kalen nodded casually. "What of the thief at Kolatch's from yesterday?"
"Never caught that one," Talanna admitted. "Damned guttersnipe outdistanced me."
Araezra tapped her fingers on the desk, unhappy at being ignored.
"Getting slow in your old age?" asked Bors, gesturing at Talanna.
"Getting soggy in yours?" asked Talanna, gesturing at his midsection.
Araezra let loose a cough, more exasperation than throat clearing.
"Ah, yes," Bors said. "What brings us to your fine abode this eve? First, I need to borrow Kalen for a late evenfeast and thereafter. In his place, you will take Talanna to visit the walls."
"What?" Araezra asked. "But Kalen's my assistant."
"Second," Bors said without pause, "it has come to my attention that you need some aid in asking Vigilant Dren a certain question, Valabrar Hondyl."
Araezra's iron will broke. "What?" She looked wide-eyed at Talanna, who giggled. This was some jest of hers, Araezra realized.
Bors turned his eyes to the ceiling and swept his hands wide. "Can it be that the fair Araezra might be doomed to disappointment and apt to weep herself to a sweet, tender, and no doubt lonely sleep this night?" he asked. "Might not I be of some assistance in this-"
Araezra threw back her hair-an impressive flurry-and glared at Bors. "For the last time, Commander, nay. All the poetic words in the fair Realms couldn't get me into your bed."
Bors dropped a hand to the pouch that hung at his belt. "Even if I brought diamonds?"
Araezra glared even harder.
Bors moved his hand. "Well, then, I simply must woo you, lovely Araezra, with prodigious adoring looks." And he got right to it.
"Go on, Commander," Talanna said to Bors. "Tell him, already!"
"Tell him what?" Araezra looked at Talanna and mouthed: You didn't.
Talanna beamed innocently at her.
Araezra thought her face might explode. Kalen, gods burn his eyes, seemed nonplussed about the whole situation. He looked up calmly.
"Kalen, son," Bors said, puffing up to his fullest height. "Commander?"
"I've been told Rayse will be on duty at the costume revel at the Temple of Beauty."
Araezra glared at Talanna, who smirked.
"Regarding the instructions of these lovely ladies," he said, "and knowing as I do that Rayse intends to ask you to go along as her escort, I've come to order you… don't go."
Araezra's mouth fell into a perfect O. "What?"
Talanna laughed aloud and slapped her knee, her jest completed.
"Sir?" Kalen asked.
"Honestly, if you took Rayse to the ball, it would be disastrous for morale," Bors said. "You can't imagine the number of broken hearts and spoiled nighttime fantasies I'd have to deal with. And no one wants weepy guardsmen." Bors shuddered. "So don't take her, even if she asks. I'm ordering you."
"Ah…" Kalen nodded. "Aye, sir."
"Now wait just a breath-" Araezra started, but they ignored her.
"Now that that's settled, Kalen," Bors said, "if you're finished up here, let's go have a drink at the Smiling Siren-just the two of us."
"It's never 'just two' at a festhall," Talanna quipped.
Araezra couldn't manage to produce words. She felt that if she spoke, she might explode.
"Away, good Kalen!" said Bors. "Unless, of course, you lovely ladies care to join us?"
Araezra fumed-at Bors, at Kalen, at everyone. "Mind yourself, Commander."
The commander winked at her. "Just us, Kalen. I'm sure the ladies can amuse themselves without us here. Though"-his voice lowered-"I'd love to watch that, wouldn't you?"
Kalen shrugged.
Araezra plucked up Kalen's discarded ledger to throw, but Bors was out the door-Kalen in tow-before she got the chance.
SIX
Night had fallen in the world above, but below-in the tunnels that ran rank with the creations of the mad wizard Halaster-darkness persisted regardless of the movement of sun or stars.
Shadowbane stalked from chamber to chamber in Down
shadow. While he did not share any of the special visual acuity of elves or dwarves, his eyes were accustomed to the gloom, and in the presence of even the faintest torch down a corridor, he could see well enough. He could also, of course, create his own light by drawing his sword.
Hand on the worn hilt of Vindicator, he paused and listened. He heard footsteps, harsh breathing, and gentle words ahead, in a chamber that had once been some manner of living quarters. Who could have dwelt this far north in the Undermountain of the old world, he did not know-one of Halaster's legendary mad apprentices, no doubt.
He peered in and saw a single moving figure-a woman in a gray cloak-among several sprawled, moaning bodies. When her attention turned away from the corridor, he ducked into the chamber and climbed to a better vantage point. There he crouched, balanced atop a moldering wardrobe, and watched.
He'd been following the cloaked woman for some time, since she had entered by one of the northern shafts into Downshadow. He'd glimpsed her several times before and knew how to anticipate her comings and goings. This was the night he had chosen to catalogue her doings.
Likely she was a crooked merchant, seeking to peddle stolen goods. But if so, where were her warders? She could be here for no other reason-why would a citizen of the world above come down to Downshadow, alone, if it were not for some vile purpose?
Anyone other than himself, of course.
He watched from the secure, unseen top of the wardrobe as she went about her tasks. Here camped a band of delvers who had seen better days. Two men in armor wheezed pitifully, and a lad in leathers clutched at a torn belly and choked back sobs.
Only three. Shadowbane knew the ways of sellswords: they usually roved in packs of four or five. That meant they had left at least one of their number in the depths.
"Bull-back," the boy murmured. "Back away, lest I… I…" His hand feebly raised a dagger, then dropped it clattering to the floor.
The two armored men beside him only groaned.
As the woman knelt beside the bleeding boy, Shadowbane tensed, ready to spring to his defense. Adventurers were jusr as likely criminals as anything else, and his vigil in Downshadow did not include saving those who had brought a harsh fate upon themselves. Still, he would not watch idly while anyone murdered those who were weak or helpless.
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