Images raced into her mind. She thought of one morning after invaders had attempted to take the city. Haverstrom had been stabbed, and his healers called it a miracle that he had survived. She could almost hear his voice as he raised his armored fist in the air and railed against his enemies, promising that they would experience the dark miracle of his vengeance. And now she, too, would seek out that dark miracle.
Myrmeen cried out in rage, the shout of a warrior thirsting for revenge. When she had regained control of herself, she placed her hand on the wall for support. Her husband had proposed to her in this gazebo. They'd kissed for the first time in its cool shade….
The sight of what had been done made Myrmeen want to draw blood of her own. Quelling those dark thoughts as best she could, she walked from the gazebo until she came upon a collection of her men, then commanded three of them to strip off their breastplates and give her their padded doublets. They did not hesitate to obey.
On the way back to the gazebo, Myrmeen tore the shirts into strips and paused at a small fountain where she soaked the rags she had made. She returned to the small building and stared at the crimson spatters. Stralana had been over this place; his hesitation earlier told her that much. And since he did not say otherwise, it was safe to assume they gained no clues from it.
Myrmeen began to wipe away the blood staining the white walls. Soon she was covered in sweat and her clothes were ruined. She made several trips to the fountain, but all the water in the Inner Sea wouldn't restore the gazebo to its former pristine condition. And even if she could wash away the blood, the place wouldn't be the same, for she could never wipe away the memory.
"I miss you, Haverstrom," she said, running her fingers lightly over the walls. "But know wherever you are that I will avenge this."
She turned and silently stalked out of the gardens.
An hour later, Myrmeen stood in her throne room, flanked by guards. Evon Stralana and several of his soldiers observed the scene stoically from the back of the room. Two men, a woman, and a collection of almost a dozen cats, both domestic and wild, milled before the throne. The delegation had identified itself as representing a race that rarely revealed itself to mortals-the cat lords.
Myrmeen stiffened, worried that her fear of the jaguar they had brought might become apparent to the animal. She was surrounded by guards and magical wards, but she was quite familiar with the speed and ferocity of such animals.
The female cat lord smiled, apparently sensing Myrmeen's discomfort. She wriggled her gloved fingers, and the jaguar lay at her feet. Myrmeen watched the creature nervously, thinking of Penn Othmann's shredded corpse.
"My name is Siobhan," the woman said. "With me is Niccolo and Sauveur."
Myrmeen nodded as she looked at each of the cat lords. Siobhan's age was impossible to discern. She seemed quite young, but there was a stiffness to her movements quite unusual for one of her race. Perhaps it was the high leather boots she wore; they looked rather uncomfortable.
Still, no one could deny Siobhan's beauty. Her black hair cascaded to her waist, almost lost against her dark but elegant clothing. The woman's piercing, gray-blue eyes fastened on Myrmeen as she pulled her lips into an enigmatic smile. As she bowed her head in greeting, the heart-shaped amulet around her neck bobbed. One side of the riven heart was blood red, the other black.
Behind the lovely Siobhan, Niccolo ran his hand through his thick auburn mane and Sauveur rolled his head, allowing his silver hair to graze his shoulders. Both men were strikingly handsome.
After exchanging pleasantries, Myrmeen asked Siobhan to proceed with her request.
"I cannot," Siobhan replied. "Our lord dominante is not among us. He must have been detained."
The doors burst open, and a devastatingly handsome green-eyed man entered. His features were sharply defined, his cheeks, nose, and jaw strongly chiseled. The man's lips were sensuous and inviting, his eyes the deepest emerald Myrmeen had ever seen. He was dressed in black with gold and light blue trim. His shirt was bright red.
Myrmeen took her throne, and the delegation crowded more closely around her. Siobhan gestured at the dark man. "I would like to introduce Lord Zacharius."
The green-eyed man moved forward, took Myrmeen's hand, and gave it a tiny lick. Myrmeen was startled, until Zacharius winked and added, "People always expect that type of thing from me." He took her hand a second time, gently kissed it, then withdrew.
"Lord Zacharius-"
"Zaz, please. My name is Zaehlas Alandovos Zacharius. But then, it's been shortened over the years. Humans seem to find Zaz most appropriate. Rolls off the tongue easier."
"In this chamber, Lord Zacharius is more fitting."
"As you wish."
Myrmeen sighed. "What may I do for you?"
"You have something we want. Something that belongs to us, actually. We have come to reclaim it. Now, to tell you what we have come to Arabel to find, I must first tell you something of our race. Long ago, wars were fought among the various tribes of the cats. Natural enemies struck out against one another. Centuries of bloodshed ensued."
"By 'the cats,' you mean the cat lords. Your people."
Zacharius hesitated. "Yes. Of course."
Siobhan laughed and knelt down to scratch the ears of the jaguar at her feet. A half-dozen of the other felines meowed jealously. The jaguar yawned, then rolled its head and turned to Myrmeen. There was a startling intelligence in the creature's eyes, and the gaze was almost hypnotic…
The trance was shattered when a small gray kitten broke from the pack and leaped into Myrmeen's lap, startling her.
"Ah, you'd best beware," Siobhan said with a laugh. "That's our fiercest warrior."
The kitten looked up at Myrmeen and mewled piteously. She stroked its side, and the kitten closed its eyes and curled contentedly in her lap.
Lord Zacharius said, "Satsuma, a great leader of our people, gave his life to unite the warring tribes against a common enemy. That enemy, though defeated, played one last cruel trick. Satsuma's bones were stolen by the enemy's soldiers and scattered throughout Faerun. We have cause to believe that one of these secret burial chambers rests beneath the university. Allow us to reclaim our fallen leader and finally send his soul to the rest it deserves, and you will have our gratitude for all time."
"Beneath the university?" Myrmeen asked. "Exactly where beneath the university?"
"We don't know. The whole structure will have to come down, of course."
"I see."
Lord Zacharius cocked his head. "Is that a problem?"
"I would think so. The clerics of Tymora who staff the place are rather fond of it. So are the students." Myrmeen frowned. "What's the source of your information? Who told you Satsuma's remains were here?"
"I can't tell you that," Zacharius said brightly. "What I've told you thus far is more than any human has ever been allowed to know about our race."
"I'm honored," Myrmeen said wearily. "I'm also placed in a very awkward position. It took many years to have that building erected and to make it the success it is now. I sympathize with your needs, Lord Zacharius, but your request is somewhat extreme."
Under normal circumstances, Myrmeen would have rejected Zacharius's proposal without further discussion. She could not, however, get the image of Penn Othmann's savaged body from her thoughts. It returned whenever she glanced at the jaguar lying at Siobhan's feet.
"I will need time to fully consider your request," Myrmeen said at last.
"I understand." Zacharius wiggled his fingers. The gray kitten in Myrmeen's lap leaped from her and went to him. Zacharius paused at the door, waiting until Siobhan, Niccolo, Sauveur, and the cats had all filed out. "Summon me when you've made a decision. I will not be hard to find."
With a strange, enigmatic smile, he turned and left. The doors were shut behind him.
Evon Stralana broke from his soldiers and came to Myrmeen. "What do you think?"
The noblewoman's face was set in a scowl. "If you find
as much as one cat hair on the merchant's corpse, I want Lord Zacharius and his entire entourage brought in for questioning. In any case, find out everything you can about him and have your men keep a very close watch on the entire entourage. I want to know where they're staying, who they contact while they're here-everything."
"Consider it done. In the meantime, may I suggest we try to learn more about the victim?"
A short time later, Myrmeen stood outside Othmann's shop. The mages soon completed their work, verified that it was safe to enter, and allowed Myrmeen to follow them inside. There were no windows, so torches had to be lit.
The interior of the shop consisted of a few shelves on the walls, several glass cases, a desk with three chairs-one behind, two in front-and a small room in the back, where empty crates were piled up to hide a large black box. They approached it cautiously, since it was warded by three spells. These proved to be simple enchantments, easily undone by the skillful sorcerers. Inside, they found several bags of gold and a handful of precious stones.
The mages examined several of the artifacts around the shop and verified that each was of very high quality. The power resting within them was quite genuine. Only a dilapidated Harp of Myth Drannor brought a skeptical frown.
The first mage, a tired older man named Volney, turned to his partner. "All right, Walcott, take this down: a ring of invisibility, five vials of healing potions, two small jars of ointments to restore youth and instill longevity, and a chalice from which a man might drink and see his future. Fairly standard stuff."
Walcott seemed world-weary and definitely unimpressed by Volney's casual dismissal of the store's contents. He nodded agreeably anyway, then turned to Myrmeen. "He has amulets that will explode upon the wrongful death of the owner. Take half a city block with for revenge, too. There are items here to trap a shapeshifter in its present form, and much more. It makes no sense at all that he was killed so easily."
"What are you saying?" Myrmeen asked.
Walcott shrugged. 'The man knew the streets could be dangerous at night, yet he never traveled with guards of any kind. He obviously felt safe from any mundane threat."
“That's true," Myrmeen said, recalling the testimony of several other shop owners she had questioned while waiting for the mages to complete their task. "Unless, of course, he carried some of these objects of power on him, so that if he were attacked, he'd be able to defend himself." She paused. "But when we went over his body and his clothing, we found nothing."
"Perhaps that's what the killer was after," Volney said, hoping to reclaim his faltering position of authority. "Some object Othmann carried on his person."
"If he had a weapon, why didn't he use it?" Myrmeen asked.
"He may not have had the chance," Walcott noted grimly. "Not if his murderer was a powerful mage."
Myrmeen found it very warm in the shop. She wiped away the sweat that was starting to fall into her eyes. "So you think this was a matter of theft? Then why bring Othmann to the gardens? The wards protecting this place were already undone. Why not drag him back inside and kill him here? They could have cleaned the shop out."
"If his murderer was a true master of the Art," Walcott said, "he wouldn't have been interested in most of the shop's contents. Like we said, this stuff is all pretty standard."
Volney nodded sagely. "And to a high-powered wizard the wards at the gardens would have been child's play to undo."
All three were startled by a knock at the door. Evon Stralana appeared and ushered an attractive woman into the room. Myrmeen had sent the minister of defense to fetch the owner of Elhazir's Exotica for questioning. The woman had honey-blond hair, doe eyes, and a hardness about her mouth that seemed incongruous. She was overdressed, her wardrobe overwhelmed entirely by the cheap, flashy jewelry she sold. Her dress was a poor imitation of Myrmeen's latest formal gown.
Scurrying in behind the woman was a young girl with wide, frightened eyes and a simple white dress. The child looked beyond her mistress, to Myrmeen, and her eyes widened.
"Lord Lhal," the first woman said. "I am Elhazir. This is my assistant, Andreana."
The girl bowed and opened her mouth to speak, but Elhazir cut her off. "Is there some service I may perform for you, Lord Lhal?"
Myrmeen stared at Elhazir's red, bleary eyes. The woman's heavy makeup had been applied recently, but it couldn't hide the fact that she'd been crying for hours. "Perhaps if you could answer a few questions…."
"Of course."
"How did you know Penn Othmann?"
"He came by now and then to talk. Lots of the other merchants did. Business has been slow."
"You also had a financial arrangement with him."
"Yes, but it was a rare occasion when I had cause to send one of my customers to Penn."
"Did you hear or see anything suspicious last night?"
"Nothing."
"Did he seem anxious or frightened lately?"
"No, he seemed quite normal."
Myrmeen placed her hand on the shoulder of the young girl. "Did you see or hear anything?"
Andreana shrugged. "I never paid much attention."
"Yes," Elhazir snapped, "that's your problem. You never pay attention to anything, you little halfwit."
Myrmeen watched the girl's hair fall into her eyes as she looked down. It did not disguise the hurt she saw there. Turning to Elhazir, Myrmeen asked, "Would you have any objections to my men searching both your house and your business?"
"Do what you like," Elhazir said. "I'm not hiding anything."
"Of course not, but maybe you're overlooking something important. One other thing. We've heard from several parties that Othmann was involved with a red-haired woman about my age," Myrmeen lied. "Do you know anything about her?"
Elhazir was stunned. She flinched, then bit her lower lip. "No, I can't."
"He also had a wife in Suzail," Myrmeen added. "We're thinking she may be our prime suspect."
"A wife," Elhazir said flatly. "How interesting."
"If the wife found out about the mistress-or mistresses-she might have hired a mage to kill him."
"A mage? He was killed by a mage?"
"Yes. You didn't know that?"
"I didn't."
Myrmeen nodded. "I see. And about the wife?"
"He never said anything about being married."
"Thanks for your help," Myrmeen said abruptly. "Both of you are dismissed."
The woman nodded, took the arm of her assistant, and left the shop. One of Myrmeen's soldiers accompanied her. The dark-eyed ruler turned to Stralana. "Othmann and Elhazir were lovers."
"I gathered as much from your, shall we say, creative inquiries."
"I want you to use your best men to conduct the search of Elhazir's home and business. Go through everything."
"You're hoping to find some tangible evidence of Elhazir's relationship to Othmann? To establish her motive?"
"That's part of it," Myrmeen said. "Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if she's a mage herself-or knows the identity of the mage who killed Othmann. But we can't arrest her without cause."
"What if my men find nothing?"
"Then have her watched night and day. She's upset enough now after that story I made up about Othmann's wife and other lovers that she might make a mistake. Let's hope she gives herself away or leads us to the one we seek."
A scream ripped through the street, causing Myrmeen, Stralana, and one of the soldiers to race out of the shop. The mages and another soldier remained behind.
"It came from there," a young flaxen-haired soldier named Kynan Tofte said as he pointed at an alley across the street. There they found an old woman crouched atop a pile of trash. She brandished a broom as if it were a sword, holding off the collection of hissing, clawing cats at her feet. The felines had trapped the woman and seemed prepared to attack.
"This does not bode well," Stralana said as the soldiers went to the woman's aid. "Does it?"
Myrmeen watched the cats scatter into
the alley, then shook her head. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't"
For the next three days, incidents involving the feline population of Arabel abounded: Two dozen people were assaulted by their household pets the first afternoon. Ten times that number reported confrontations that night. No one was seriously injured, though many claimed to have nearly died of fright.
A marauding pack of cats, several hundred strong, pounced upon an outdoor fish market in the middle of the day and seriously depleted the merchant's supplies before they were driven off. Bakeries and dairies were vandalized. Arabel's most prominent tailor came to Myrmeen in tears, reporting that his entire warehouse of clothes had been ripped to shreds by tiny claws. In several incidents it was obvious that human hands, or hands that were human at least part of the time, had been at work. A half-dozen outdoor performances by dramatic touring companies had been interrupted, and one which relied heavily on magic to carry off its action had been stopped dead, the actors terrified of getting their faces scratched by the animals.
Like most in Cormyr, Arabel's citizens had long believed cats to be the eyes and messengers of the gods. Killing a cat was a serious offense, and many preferred to suffer the indignations heaped upon them by the felines rather than risk offending some powerful deity. Some crouched in corners and prayed for guidance as their businesses were vandalized. They begged for illumination, horrified that they had somehow offended their gods.
Others became tired of the whole strange situation and took up arms against the beasts. Several cats had been killed, a few maimed. Those who slew them were later found to be the victims of mysterious accidents; bits of fur-some matted in blood-had been found at the site of each incident. The gods had taken vengeance, the devout whispered fearfully.
On the second night, reports of disturbances had escalated to include traders who had been accosted just outside the city's walls by monstrous creatures swathed in darkness. The merchants' wares had been destroyed. Other traders complained their stock had been similarly targeted when they'd attempted to leave Arabel.
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