by Mark Anthony
“I would not have expected so feeble an attempt at deception from you, Caledan,” she purred. “Have the years been so hard that your wits have left you?”
Caledan felt anger flare inside him. “It’s the truth, Ravendas. You’re foolish if you don’t listen to me.”
She rose and paced smoothly before the fireplace, the crimson silk of her dress rustling against the marble floor. “Snake is my servant. I fear him no more than I would a lapdog. Of course, he is not without cunning. That was why I elevated him to his present position. He has proven quite useful a number of times. But when I first met him he was little more than a common cutpurse. He is hardly capable of defeating me.” Her blue eyes flashed.
“You’re wrong,” Caledan said, standing. “Dead wrong. Do you know what a shadevar is?”
“A shadevar?” Ravendas repeated, a frown creasing her brow. “What, pray tell, is that?”
“An abomination,” Caledan growled. “A sightless monster that follows by scent, not by sight, and that can kill in a heartbeat. The shadevari were ancient creatures, maybe older than the world itself. Once they served the god Bhaal, but in the end even he was powerless to control the shadevari, and Azuth himself banished them. It would have taken a sorcerer of incredible power to summon a shadevar into the world again. And that’s exactly what Snake did.”
“If this shadevar was so powerful, why is it you’re not dead, Caledan?” Ravendas demanded.
“I managed to kill it with the help of a few others in the Fields of the Dead. But it was more by luck than anything else. Believe me, this thing was powerful enough to lay waste to an army.”
Ravendas sighed. “I’m growing weary of this talk, Caledan. There’s nothing you can say that could make me fear Snake. You see, there’s really no time left for him to do anything that could interfere with my goal.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have found the crypt of the Shadowking,” Ravendas replied gloatingly. “In two days’ time I will be able to open the doorway into the tomb beneath the Tor. My sorcerers tell me that the dark of the moon is the most propitious time.” Caledan stared at her. “In just two days, the Nightstone will be mine, Caledan. Nothing—not you, not Snake, not the Zhentarim—can stand in my way then. With the power of the Nightstone, I will rule this city and a dozen others like it. I will not stop until all the Realms kneel before me.
“But I will need a prince consort to stand beside me and give me strength,” Ravendas added in her dulcet voice. Her gaze drifted over Caledan like a caress. “That could be you, Caledan. Would you stand beside me and rule the Realms with me? You have only to kneel and pledge your life to me as your queen.”
“You’re mad,” Caledan said simply, shaking his head. “Besides, what you really want is my shadow magic. I know that you need one with the shadow magic to take the Nightstone from its resting place.”
Ravendas laughed again. “You think you’re terribly clever, don’t you, Caledan? Then again, you always did. However, I’m afraid you’re wrong this time. Oh, once you would have been right. Years ago I did seek to win you over for your shadow magic. You see, I first learned of the Nightstone more than a decade ago. I was weaving my plans even then. You proved stubborn, however. Whatever you saw in that fawning sister of mine I cannot say, yet you chose to spurn my advances. In the meantime I have discovered another way in which I might gain control of someone blessed with the shadow magic, and he is mine even now.”
Caledan made a sudden intuitive leap. “The boy? Kellen?”
“Indeed,” Ravendas purred wickedly. “I think he inherited his coloring from me. But his hair, his eyes, and his shadow magic—all come from his father.”
Caledan felt a sudden numbing coldness grip his heart. He stared at Ravendas.
“Yes, Caledan,” she said with chilling calm. “Kellen is your son.”
Caledan’s gaze went to the door where the boy had disappeared. His gut instinct was to shout out in denial, but he remained silent. As unbelievable as it was, somehow he knew it was true. Even when he had spoken with Kellen he had felt drawn to the boy, as if there was some unspoken bond between them. He sank back on the fur-covered divan. “How old is he?” he asked finally.
“Eight. He’ll be nine soon.” Ravendas’s eyes shone. Caledan looked at her, but he could not ask the question that lay bitterly on his tongue.
“How?” Her voice was exultant. “It was all very simple, really. It was that last time I met you and my insipid sister, Kera, in Berdusk. After you spurned my advances, I finally realized I was going to have to devise some other plan.…” She smiled evilly. “Do you remember the night you spent with Kera at the Running Stag, that inn in Berdusk? You and Kera had separate rooms—she was always such an annoyingly proper young woman—but that night she wasn’t able to stay away from you. She stole into your room in the darkness and … well, the natural thing happened.”
Caledan watched Ravendas with a growing feeling of disgust. “How did you know that?” It was one of his most private memories. He and Kera had made love the entire night without ever speaking a word. It had been wonderful.
Ravendas’s eyes narrowed, like those of a cat about to pounce. “It was not Kera in your arms that night, Caledan. It was I. I drugged Kera, donned her clothes, and slipped into your room. Earlier that night I had poured something into your ale to make you a bit more … pliable, shall we say? I left your bed before dawn, and nine moons later Kellen was born. And just like his father, he possesses a talent for music—and the shadow magic.”
Caledan gazed at her in horror. He could find no words.
“How like Kera, that she never did tell you,” Ravendas crooned.
“She knew?” Caledan said hoarsely. His throat tightened; he felt as if he was going to be sick.
“Of course. Sisters cannot hide such things from each other. But she was the sort of fool who chose to bear the pain alone to protect you. Nobility was always one of Kera’s most tiresome traits.”
The room seemed to be spinning in a haze of crimson. “Damn you,” Caledan cried. “Damn you to the Abyss.”
“Spare the dramatics, Caledan,” Ravendas snapped. Her voice was like a slap to his face, clearing his head. “You see now that there is nothing you can do to stop me. I do not need your shadow magic. But I would still have you stand beside me. You are strong, brave, and not without some charm. Though you should shave more often.” Her eyes glittered hungrily. “Will you kneel before me as your queen?”
Caledan gazed at her in revulsion. “Never.”
Scarlet blotches bloomed on Ravendas’s cheeks. “Then you will die,” she hissed. She pulled a cord that hung from the ceiling. Moments later the door to the chamber opened, and her guards stepped through.
“Take this lowlife to the dungeon,” she commanded. “But take care not to kill him right away. I want that pleasure for myself.”
* * * * *
Kellen leaned away from the door in the small anteroom adjacent to his mother’s chamber. He had been listening to the loud discussion on the other side of the doorway. He had not understood much, but he had understood enough. Tears streaked his pale cheeks, and the look of calm melancholy in his green eyes was replaced by one of deep sorrow. He pulled something from the pocket of his dark tunic. It was the small wooden soldier.
“It’s him,” he whispered softly to the doll. “He’s come for us. But she won’t let him take us away. I know she won’t.”
He heard the kind man’s voice speaking to him again.
She can’t break you, not if you’re strong.
He brushed away his tears then, his expression growing hard. He put the wooden soldier back in his pocket and left the small anteroom. It was time to practice his music for Lord Snake.
* * * * *
Caledan leaned against the rust-covered iron bars of the cell. The cramped room was damp and cold, the floor covered with sour, decaying straw. Moans of despair and agony drifted down the dim stone corridor.
He felt his spirits sinking. He wished Ravendas would have simply killed him and gotten it over with. He didn’t relish the idea of rotting to death in this cesspool of a dungeon.
He slumped down in a corner of the cell, resting his face in his hands. His was going to be an utterly meaningless death. He had let his one chance to take vengeance against Ravendas slip away, and what had he gained by it? Nothing. She had not even credited his warning about Snake.
“Are you just going to sit there looking gloomy?” a voice rasped. “Or do you want to get out of this rat’s nest?”
Caledan looked up in surprise. A guard dressed in an ill-fitting uniform stood in the shadowy corridor outside of Caledan’s cell. The guard lifted his torch higher, and the light flickered across his face. Caledan laughed aloud.
“Ferret!” he cried hoarsely, scrambling to his feet.
The thief used the tip of his stiletto to pry open the cell’s lock. Caledan couldn’t help but notice that the knife was stained with blood. The cell door opened, and Caledan followed Ferret into the dimly lit corridor. He suddenly noticed there were shadowy figures all around them.
“Friends?” he whispered to Ferret.
“No. Thieves,” Ferret replied as they started down the corridor. “You have a problem with that?” Caledan shook his head. “This way,” Ferret said, gesturing toward a narrow corridor. “The thieves of the Purple Masks Guild have a private entrance to the dungeons that the guards don’t know about. Bock was kind enough to let me use it. For a price, of course. You owe me quite a bit of gold, you know.”
Caledan was not about to haggle.
Nineteen
As the lord steward Snake spoke a harsh word of magic, the pale, egg-shaped crystal went dark in his hand. A leering smile touched his lipless mouth. He was most pleased with this surprising turn of events. Neither Ravendas nor the Harpers could dare stand against him now.
Snake wrapped the crystal in a velvet cloth, tucking it into the pocket of his poison green robes. He walked from his room and ascended the tower’s spiral staircase until he reached Ravendas’s chamber. The guards permitted him to enter, and he found Ravendas sitting by the west window, gazing out over the city with her azure eyes. She was dressed entirely in black velvet—shirt, doublet, and breeches—a man’s clothing.
Her chamber was neater than it had been earlier in the morning. After Ravendas had learned of Caldorien’s escape from the dungeon, there had not been a breakable object in the room that had escaped her wrath. The servants had cleaned up the shards of crystal and porcelain, however, and now Lord Ravendas’s face was as pale and placid as alabaster. But there was death in her cold blue eyes, Snake noted. Hatred and death.
“My lord, may I speak with you?” Snake said in his sibilant voice. Ravendas was silent for a long moment, until finally she nodded, turning her head and her cold gaze upon him.
“Speak.”
“My lord, there is a plot of insurrection in your city.”
“Is this so, my lord steward? And who might I ask are the perpetrators who dare to attempt such a bold affront against me?” She smiled, red lips pulling back from white teeth. “As if I might not guess.”
“It is not only Caldorien, my lord, but also his cohorts.”
“Ah yes, Caledan’s ‘Fellowship.’ ” Ravendas sneered.
Snake nodded. “The Harper woman plots to free the prisoners in your dungeon. If this were to happen, the entire city would erupt in rebellion.”
Ravendas tapped the fine line of her jaw. “This is intriguing news, my lord steward. Do you know where this Harper, Al’maren, can be found?”
“No. She is hiding somewhere within the city, my lord. The traitor was reluctant to reveal any further details.”
“Traitor?”
“One who is close to Caldorien,” Snake explained. “Any more than this the traitor would not reveal to me.”
Ravendas stood and paced before the window with catlike grace. With her shoulder-length golden hair and the black doublet and breeches, she looked almost like a fair young man, a prince from a Cormyrian court perhaps. “What else has this traitor told you?”
“The attempt to free the prisoners will be made tomorrow, on the night of the moon’s dark.”
Ravendas turned this news over in her head. “Very well, my lord steward,” she said crisply. “Let them plan their little insurrection. I shall be ready for them. But do keep in contact with this traitor of yours. I shall be eager for more information.”
“As you wish, my lord.” Snake bowed his head, starting to walk from the chamber.
“And, Snake,” Ravendas called after him, “send Kellen to me. I want to be certain that my son is fully prepared for tomorrow.”
Snake hesitated for a moment. “Yes, my lord,” he said, then walked from the room, leaving Ravendas smiling with self-satisfaction.
* * * * *
The hour was late. The Dreaming Dragon was silent. Though the moon was but a thin, faint sliver, the pure light of the stars spilled in through the window of Mari’s room like liquid silver. The Harper lay in her bed, wakeful, her eyes gazing out the small round window. She could see the spindly shapes of the city’s towers looming dimly in the starlight like gray ghosts. Or like tombstones, she thought.
Tomorrow night was the dark of the moon. Tomorrow night everything would be decided, for good or ill.
That evening she and Cormik had finalized their plans in the secret chamber beneath the Prince and Pauper. She had expected a representative of the Purple Masks Guild to be in attendance as well but had been surprised when Guildmaster Bock himself arrived.
These last days of planning had been wearisome for Mari. Tyveris had proved a great help to her with his tactical advice, but she could have used Caledan’s support. However, Caledan had been silent and brooding ever since his return from the tower the day before. Something had happened to him there, something he wasn’t telling the others. His eyes had a haunted look. A dozen times she had wanted to reach out to comfort him, but each time she had pulled back.
Once, for a heartbeat, she had almost thought she recognized the identical desire in his eyes. But the bitter words they had spoken at the tomb of Talek Talembar hung on the air between them, and neither had spoken.
Mari tried to turn her thoughts away from Caledan. Her mission was everything now. I hope what I’m doing is right, Master Andros, she murmured inwardly.
She sighed and slipped from the bed. She was clad only in a thin nightdress and pulled her woolen cloak about her for warmth. There was going to be no sleep for her, not this night.
She opened the door of her room quietly and slipped softly down the hallway. She heard a floorboard creak above her head, probably Jolle or Ferret steadfastly keeping watch on the narrow lane that led to the Dreaming Dragon.
When she started down the stairwell to fix herself a cup of tea, she was surprised to see a flicker of firelight from below. Somebody must still be up, she realized. She stepped into the warm, firelit common room and found herself greeted by the chill gaze of the mage, Morhion.
He sat in a chair by the fire, the shadows playing across his proud features. He held a glass of pale wine in his hand, but it was full, as if he had not taken even a sip. Mari hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then moved to a chair opposite the mage. He inclined his head slightly, but said nothing.
For a time both of them sat in silence, watching the coals glowing on the hearth. Finally Mari gathered her courage and spoke. “There was no sleep for you tonight, either?”
“I have a momentous decision to make, Harper.” The mage spoke softly. “Such decisions preclude sleep, I fear.”
“Decision?” Mari asked. She almost thought she heard a tinge of regret in the mage’s voice.
“Yes, a decision. Perhaps you can offer some guidance, Harper. Does one do what he feels is his duty, what he is bound to do? Or does one do what his secret heart whispers to him?” His eyes were intent upon her.
Mari looked away from
the mage’s piercing gaze. He seemed to have read her own inner struggle perfectly. She had fought long and hard to decide whether to accept her love for Caledan, even though she knew it would compromise her duties as a Harper. “I too have tried to make a decision, Morhion. But sometimes such decisions are made for you by someone else.”
The mage nodded. He understood. She had pushed duty aside in favor of her heart, but the decision had been made too late.
“Caledan is not the kind who ever forgives betrayal,” Morhion said. The mage did a surprising thing then. He reached out and touched her hand gently.
“Did you betray him, Morhion?”
“Yes.”
They were silent for a long moment. “Tell me,” she finally dared to say.
The mage stiffened. “This is something of which I have never spoken, not to anyone,” he said gravely. “Never did I think there was one who might understand.” His gaze flickered to her dark eyes. “Until now.” Mari could not help but shiver.
The mage went on. “After Kera’s murder, there was but one thought on Caledan’s mind: vengeance. It was an obsession that gradually consumed him. He followed Ravendas as she fled to the Zhentarim fortress of Darkhold in the Far Hills. Somehow he managed to slip through the Darkhold defenses. This is no small feat, for these are many and perilous.” A note of admiration edged Morhion’s voice. “But far greater dangers awaited him within the fortress itself. He had gone to meet the spider in her lair. It was a confrontation he would never survive. Of that I had no doubt.”
Morhion sighed, sipping some of the pale wine. “I followed him. Such was my decision. I allowed myself to be captured by the Zhentarim, and they took me to Ravendas for questioning. Then I revealed to her that Caledan was within the walls of Darkhold, intending to slay her.”
“Did she reward you?”
“Yes,” the mage said. He smiled bitterly. “She allowed me to keep my life. As the guards escorted me from the keep, I cast a spell of enchanted sleep upon them and got away. With the aid of my magic, I was able to find Caledan. He was hiding deep among the foundations. I told him what I had done. He was furious, yet he did not try to kill me—not then. Perhaps it was because, until that moment, we had been the closest of friends. Of course, that is no longer so.”