by Ed Greenwood
For though I loved her, I loved her city more.
Saerloon was a cesspit of avarice and greed, but there were fortunes to be made there. Soon I had established contacts among the thieves and assassins of the city. My family’s caravans moved untouched, and my own enterprises prospered from the information and protection I bought. I increased my wife’s dowry fivefold within a year.
The earnings had their price. I acquired a dueling scar on one cheek that gave my face a sinister look. My sword arm was slashed and broken in a brawl. It healed badly and I lost much of its strength. Finally, I was set upon by thugs who left me for dead. The men who found me unconscious behind a stable knew me well, but after the beating they could recognize me only by the half-moon ring on my finger. Before they returned me to my wife, they had the wisdom to demand a reward.
Because of this, days passed before I was brought home. By then the wounds on my face had begun to fester, and a fever had taken hold of me. I could see little but the tears on Atera’s face as she held my hand. I also saw a gray-haired, dark-eyed man who laid compresses on the worst of my wounds and muttered some words in a strange tongue. The pain increased, bringing the relief of unconsciousness.
When I woke some days later, Atera sat at my side. As soon as she saw me looking up at her, she embraced me. “Raven tended you,” she said when I asked about the man.
“Raven? The wizard?” I replied incredulously.
“He calls himself a necromancer, but is skilled in healing arts above all others. He’s been my friend for as long as I can remember. Now he’s proven himself my friend again.” She held a mirror in front of my face. My wounds were nearly healed. I doubted they would scar.
I sent for Raven and thanked him sincerely.
“How could I not help you,” he replied. “I am oathbound to do the bidding of Atera and her family. Even without an oath, I could do nothing to cause that child harm.” He smeared a sweet-smelling ointment on my wounds and promised to return later to see how I was.
After that, we talked often. I found him to be powerful and willing to teach his skill. I’d always had a fascination for magic and the might it imparted, so I went to my father-in-law and asked to have Raven put in my employ.
“I intend to send him to Espar with you when you go,” he responded. “He’s been Atera’s physician and friend for so long that I wouldn’t want her to leave my house without him.”
I smiled. Though I still held out the promise of Espar to him as to Atera, I had no intention of keeping it. Power, wealth, and now, vengeance, were foremost on my mind.
My spies soon learned the names of the men who had attacked me. My assassins were quick and deadly. As for the jealous merchants who had paid to have me assaulted, Raven devised a fitting poison, one that caused oozing sores that healed slowly, leaving deep and painful blood-red pockmarks. They died by their own hands soon after.
Ah, the intrigues of Saerloon! Such a magnificent city, so magnificently suited to my tastes.
But some months later, fate determined that I would have to go home. My father died. My brother soon followed.
With Raven and hired guards to protect my fortune, I reluctantly brought my bride to Espar.
I found the land much changed. True, the fields were as green as always, the forests as dark and thick. But beneath the plodding rhythm of Espar’s sleepy life, I sensed evil, hiding just out of sight, an evil as deadly as any in Saerloon.
The local nobles were curious about my life in Sembia and anxious to meet Atera. In the first days after we came home, we were invited to a homecoming feast held by my neighbor, Lord Romul. Romul had been an old friend of my father’s. I had grown up with his children and spent many happy hours roaming his lands. Nonetheless, I felt an instinctive wariness.
There were plotters everywhere, I reminded myself. With a beautiful wife and vast wealth, I was a prime target.
As I entered Romul’s house, I heard the whispers of the other guests. I thought at first that they were commenting on the beauty of my bride. Later, I realized that they whispered about me. I had been scarred and my arm maimed, but I sensed that their muttering meant more than that. I stood aside from the others, saying little while I watched protectively over Atera; she moved among them like a kitten, full of trust and happiness.
In the month that followed, I kept up my guard at the local festivals and remained tight-lipped about my business. As I expected, once everyone realized they would learn nothing of value from me, Atera and I were silently ostracized. Only Lord Romul and his wife, Laudrel, invited us back to their estate.
At our second meeting, I bluntly asked Romul why he felt such concern for me.
“Concern!” Romul laughed. “I recall your childhood well, Sharven. You were always one of my favorites. I am pleased to count you as a friend.”
“Good,” I responded. “Atera has been so lonely here.”
“May I speak bluntly?” Romul asked.
I nodded.
“You changed much in Saerloon. I am not speaking of your wounds, either, for a man’s face means nothing. Your bride is lovely and everyone speaks well of her. But if you wish to gain acceptance, you must be less suspicious of your neighbors. You’ve been gone some time. People are wondering what you are hiding to make you so nervous.”
“I hide nothing!” I retorted.
“You gave me leave to speak,” he reminded me gently. “This is a peaceful land, Sharven. These are simple people. Remember that.”
He wanted me to think so. Indeed, for a time I tried to take his advice. I understood his motives soon enough.
We exchanged breeding cattle to strengthen our herds. His appeared healthy, but as soon as they mixed with mine, my herd fell ill with a strange disease. Mine died. His were less ill, and recovered. I sent an angry note to Lord Romul.
He came immediately and rode my fields with me. I kept up with difficulty, using my good arm to guide my horse. Eventually he pointed out clumps of speargrass on the edges of the fence lines.
“Have your fieldhands move your herds more often so they stay clear of that weed,” he said. “It slowly poisons an animal if too much is eaten.”
“Your cattle didn’t die,” I reminded him.
“Speargrass is a mild poison. My ranges are clear of it, so the poison wouldn’t have built up in them. Still, I can’t be certain the grass was the cause, so I’m willing to bear some of the loss. Come pick another dozen cows from my herd.”
And have the fever kill the rest! I railed inwardly. To him I stiffly replied, “I’d rather settle in coin.”
“You’d be wiser to rebuild your stock,” he began, then, seeing the resolution in my expression, became resigned. “Perhaps you weren’t meant for the country life,” he said wearily and agreed to all my terms.
While Romul and I had been riding, Atera had visited with Lady Laudrel. When we joined them, I saw that Atera’s face was flushed, her eyes bright. “I don’t think I’ve ever laughed this hard,” she said to me as we went in to dine.
Throughout the meal, Romul entertained Atera with tales of the hills and forests around Espar. I’d never seen her listen so intently to my stories, or laugh as pleasantly at my jests. It seemed that Romul did his best to charm her.
I mentioned this to Raven the following night. “Old men long for youth,” he said. “However, I have never heard Atera speak of Lord Romul as anything more than friend-or of you as anything less than well-loved husband.”
“What Romul feels may be equally important.”
Raven did not reply. He was right to be silent. This was a matter between me and my wife.
I confronted her in the morning. She appeared genuinely distressed by my suspicions. “Lord Romul and his wife are the only people we ever see,” she retorted. ‘They’ve been kind to me. I think highly of him, but nothing more.”
“Are you certain that’s the only way you think of him?”
Atera did something quite unexpected. She slapped me and stormed from
the room. I heard her call for a servant. Some time later, I saw her ride off alone, galloping north through the fields on the bay mare she had brought from Saerloon. North-the direction to Lord Romul’s lands.
The money from Lord Romul arrived just after highsun, along with a note inviting Atera and me for yet another visit. Seething at the gall of a man who would seduce my wife under my very nose, I returned to my library and laid the note on the table.
Atera did not return until evening. She did not explain or apologize for her absence. That night, when I went to her chamber door, I found it locked.
“If that’s the way you wish it, stay in there!” I bellowed through the door. I ordered the servants to bar it so she could not leave. After overseeing the work, I went to my library. There I fell asleep trying to make sense out of some old and incomplete instructions for turning copper into gold.
A strange rustling woke me, as if the pages of the books on the shelves around me had somehow come alive. Even the closed book on which my head rested vibrated at my touch. Fearful of what I might find, I opened it.
Bookworms! A dozen of them feasted on the pages of the text, their tiny bodies the same parchment shade as their meal. I shook them to the floor. Their color hastily changed to that of the flagstones, and they scattered as I stomped on them. When I’d killed as many as I could find, I moved to the shelves where hundreds were devouring my other texts. I shook them free of each text, stomping them as soon as they hit the floor. Soon the flags were slimy with crushed bodies. Yet the hungry horde continued its destruction.
Words gone. Knowledge gone. The power of that knowledge gone! Mere wealth could not repair my loss.
“Raven!” I screamed. “Raven come here!”
As I turned back to the shelf nearest the wall, I glanced out the window and saw smoke rising from the stables, servants rushing to beat out the blaze. They were too late. When the doors opened, the fire flared. I heard the whinnies of the horses, the pounding of their hooves against their paddock doors, the cries of the stablehands. If I hadn’t problems enough in the library, I would have gone to help.
As Raven and I labored to save the books, I saw Lord Romul’s note lying on the floor. When I picked it up, it crumbled in my hand.
“Could he have sent bookworm eggs?” I asked Raven.
The wizard nodded. Hours later, after we had salvaged what we could, I went outside to see the ruins of my stables. Only three mounts had managed to escape the fire. Atera’s bay mare was one of them.
“Quite a coincidence, don’t you think?” I asked Raven as we examined the burns on the horse’s left flank. I spoke coldly, finally convinced that all my suspicions were true.
“The mare was lucky,” Raven responded. “I’m glad for Atera’s sake.”
“But suppose it wasn’t luck. Suppose Atera is a part of the plot and would not let her mount be harmed,” I insisted.
He paused before speaking, weighing his words carefully, “Atera loves you. Yet, there are ways in which she could be made unfaithful against her will,” he said.
“Ensorceled! Yes, that must be it. She certainly hasn’t been herself since we returned to Espar.” I felt suddenly glad I had guards at her door. “Raven, what can I do to end these plots?” I thought of the pockmarked merchants and felt a thrill of excitement I hadn’t experienced since Saerloon.
His words disappointed me. “I am not certain. Let me consider it,” he said. “In the meantime, write Lord Romul and tell him you accept his invitation.”
“Of course! I must go see firsthand if he is gloating over my loss.”
I penned a cordial reply, then took it to Atera. As she read my words, I told her that jealousy had turned me into an idiot. “I could never really doubt you,” I said. “Forgive me.”
Tears came to her beautiful eyes. She embraced me. Our reconciliation was long and satisfying.
The visit to Lord Romul accomplished everything I’d hoped for. He and his wife had arranged a magnificent meal, even hired some local musicians to play through the dinner. I tried to appear relaxed as I waited for some clue as to why the nobleman had become my enemy.
I discovered the cause after the meal, when he took me aside to speak to me privately. “Before your brother died, we had discussed the sale of your north fields that border my own grazing area. Since your livestock is so decimated and you have no interest in rebuilding the herd, I thought you might want to sell it to me,” he explained.
Decimated livestock! Yes, he’d seen to that! “My father always said land is more precious than gold,” I noted evenly.
He looked at me oddly. “So it is. But land is a tool like any other. It has to be used to be of any real value.”
“I’ll keep it,” I responded, my tone convincing him I would not reconsider. “Now, if you don’t mind, I think Atera and I should leave.”
“I meant no offense, Sharven. I’m sorry if you misunderstood me.”
“No offense was taken. It’s just such a long ride back,” I responded as pleasantly as I was able.
I hid my anger from Atera as well as I had from Lord Romul, venting it only when I was safely in Raven’s chambers. “It’s my land Romul wants,” I told him.
Raven’s long black robe brushed the floor as he paced. I’d never seen him so animated. “That’s hardly a surprise. Now, we must determine what to do about his schemes.”
We read well into the night. Eventually I suggested a plan so audacious that no one in Espar would ever suspect my hand in it I went to Atera and instructed her to send word to all our neighbors that we were holding a feast and wanted everyone to attend.
“Sharven, thank you!” she exclaimed and kissed me.
Atera penned invitations all evening and sent the servants out with them in the morning. Most of the estates sent immediate acceptances.
While Atera worked with the seamstresses, the cooks, and the house servants, Raven and I read through our remaining books, preparing everything I needed for my revenge. Now we are prepared, and the party is at hand.
I have written what I can. Later, after I have dealt with my foes and my woes are over, I will finish this account.
It is difficult now to write, though the memories of my carefully orchestrated vengeance still burn clearly in my mind. And though it will take some time for me to capture all the events on paper, I will do so…
The pigs and fowl for our feast were turning slowly on their spits when I knocked on Raven’s door. Inside his room, with its scrolls and ancient tomes, its vials of herbs and exotic incense, I claimed the magic he had prepared.
I pocketed the love potion for Atera, then held out my hand for the other, darker magic we had discussed. He gave me a tiny blood-red egg, so light it seemed hollow. I looked doubtfully at it. “Are you certain?”
“Swallow it whole, as I instructed,” he said. “The shell will dissolve inside of you, and the creature will merge with your body.”
Now that I was actually going to eat the thing, I found myself more concerned about its nature. “What precisely is it?” I asked.
“A dark spirit summoned here from the nether-realms to do exactly what you requested: destroy your worst enemy.”
“A dark spirit.” What little I knew about supernatural creatures made me less certain I should go through with this.
“Your victim will feel his life slowly drained by a force he cannot see.”
Exactly the sort of end for Romul that I’d demanded! I swallowed the egg with great care, then sat and waited.
For some minutes I felt nothing. However just as I was about to voice my disappointment, something lurched deep within me, and the terrible power of the creature I had consumed exploded in my body. I bellowed in an inhuman voice, then lifted a massive oak chair with my weak arm and flung it against the wall. The wood splintered. The pieces scattered. My sight became keener, my hearing painfully acute. A rage such as I had never felt before took hold of me. I, and the monster within me, were ready for the kill.
&
nbsp; The potency of the dark spirit made me uneasy. “If anyone in Espar detects sorcery, I will be an outcast in my own land,” I reminded Raven, astonished at the force and strange hollowness of my voice.
“When the creature is released, it will be visible to you only. Even Lord Romul will not see it, though he will certainly feel its effects. He is an old man. If he dies during the duel, no one will think it odd. And you will have the satisfaction of knowing that you have indeed killed your greatest enemy.”
With difficulty, I softened my tone to a hoarse whisper. “And if my greatest enemy is someone else?” I asked.
“Do you suspect anyone else?” he asked with some concern.
I shook my head.
“Then look at me.”
I did as he asked. In a moment he began the final chant, ending with, “I charge the spirit that dwells within this man-when this human shell is cut and your host’s blood is spilled, you will be released. Seek out Lord Sharven’s worst enemy. Enter that body and drain its life, but do not destroy the spirit. Instead let the ghost of Lord Sharven’s foe walk these halls forever, an impotent observer of all that happens here. When your task is finished, depart this place and return to your own nightmarish abode.”
I listened to the words with great satisfaction, for they gave voice to the essence of my revenge. For the rest of our days, Lord Romul’s ghost would watch Atera and me together. I could think of no more fitting end for his treachery.
Once Raven had finished his spell, I practiced walking with my new strength. When I thought it safe, I took the potion to Atera.
I had never seen her look so magnificent. Her long thick hair was braided with multicolor scarves. The black bodice of her gown gave way to skirts of the same rainbow hues as in her hair. Her eyes sparkled with anticipation of the gathering.
The creature inside me raged, trying to escape my body — prompted not by anger, but by lust. Such was the beauty of my wife at that moment.
“Would you share some wine with me?” I asked her, my voice trembling as I fought to keep it soft.
“Sharven, you sound so strange. Are you all right? If you’re ill we can-”