by Dave Gross
Rusk's jaw barely moved. Darrow could see that it would take Radu only the barest motion to cut Rusk's throat.
"While Radu disdains the use of enchanted weapons," explained Stannis, "he understands the need for the proper tool-a tool for dealing with problems."
Rusk bristled as the dagger shifted slightly.
"You aren't a problem," said Stannis, "are you, Rusk?"
Rusk hesitated only briefly before responding. "No. No problem."
Radu withdrew before Rusk could counterattack. He returned the bone blade to its sheath at the small of his back, then wiped his long sword clean with a white handkerchief before returning the blade to its plain leather scabbard. He dropped the soiled cloth carelessly on the floor.
"You, too, are hurt only by enchanted weapons…" Stannis said, considering the vanishing wound on Rusk's arm. He turned to Radu. "Dear brother, did you not once say that Talbot Uskevren shares your affectation for plain steel?"
Radu looked loath to speak. "I did," he said. Darrow saw Radu's eyes narrow slightly as he looked at his inhuman brother. Whatever business Stannis had with Rusk, it was news to Radu.
"He had an enspelled blade in the playhouse," said Rusk. "After I released him from the cage, he dropped through a trapdoor and-"
"He was in a cage when you arrived?"
"He is… unusual," said Rusk. "I wished to learn-"
"He put himself in the cage? Did you send a messenger ahead with a request that he should bind and gag himself as well?" pressed Stannis.
"It's a common reaction among the reborn," said Rusk. His rough voice was becoming irritable, almost petulant. "He feared the change, so he-"
"Are you telling us," interrupted Stannis, "that you found Talbot Uskevren in a cage, released him, watched him escape through a trapdoor, and let him lop off your arm with a stage prop?"
Rusk glared at both Malveens, and Darrow saw the muscles in the Huntmaster's back tense.
"He tricked me," spat Rusk. "Besides, you didn't tell me he was dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Radu fixed his gaze on Stannis. "Talbot Uskevren?"
"You and he do have the same sword master," observed Stannis.
"He is a playhouse buffoon," said Radu.
"Perhaps," said Stannis. "But he's proven formidable in his way. To take off Rusk's arm like that… well, perhaps we've underestimated this boy."
"We?" said Radu, raising one eyebrow almost imperceptibly.
Stannis glided toward the center of the pool, his chain veil tinkling where it dragged in the water. "Perhaps the Huntmaster wishes to retire after his ordeal, hmm? Visiting the city can be a daunting experience for rural folk."
"What I want," said Rusk, "is what you promised me."
"We shall discuss it tomorrow evening," said Stannis, keeping his eyes on Radu, who looked back with a steady gaze. "Until then, please avail yourself of our humble accommodations-but not here, in the River Hall. You will find the other buildings are not warded-and I trust you will not continue to test the protections on this one. Not all of them are so forgiving as those you triggered."
Rusk hesitated, considering whether to repeat his demands. One more glance at Radu persuaded him to keep quiet. Reluctantly, he turned and left the way he came.
When Rusk was gone, Darrow expected his own dismissal-or worse-but the Malveen brothers spoke as if they were alone.
"How rude Rusk has become," said Stannis. "As a younger man he always-"
"What have you done?" said Radu. "Who was that monster?"
"I was so hoping to keep it a surprise," said Stannis with a sigh. "Rusk is an old friend of the family, one I had all but forgotten until Pietro encountered him last month."
"The hunting accident."
"Indeed. Qur little brother would have been among the devoured had he not mentioned the family name in Rusk's hearing. Fortunately, the Huntmaster remembered his association with our great-uncle. It was his pack the boys encountered in the Arch Wood. Among the survivors was Talbot Uskevren, grandson of our old business partner, Aldimar."
"I told you to forget about Aldimar. The Uskevren are no threat to us."
"They are the very reason for our present state!" Stannis wheezed as he grew more agitated. "Thamalon could have saved mother from her persecutors, but he… he turned her away like a common criminal!"
"She was a criminal," said Radu, "and the Uskevren were recovering from their own scandal. They could ill afford to harbor a condemned pirate."
"They grew rich while she took the greater risks."
"That was Aldimar. The same people who persecuted our mother killed him."
"It isn't enough!" said Stannis. "We suffered far worse for our mother's crimes, while Thamalon escaped all harm. He has already regained everything the Uskevren lost, while you and I must cower in the shadows, scraping shoulders with the scum of Selgaunt just to keep Laskar and Pietro fed and clothed."
"It is precisely because of our brothers that we must walk the shadows," said Radu. "Nothing is more important than restoring them to their rightful place. Never forget that."
"It isn't fair," complained Stannis. The petulant tone sounded incongruous coming from such a huge, unearthly figure. "I remain a prisoner in the ruin of our family estate."
"You were reborn into darkness," said Radu, "and in darkness you will remain. Do not make the mistake of forcing me to choose between you and our brothers."
"Radu! Have I not been your good and faithful confidant? Have I not shared your own dark secrets with sympathy and fidelity?"
"You are my brother," said Radu, "but I will not permit you to endanger Laskar and Pietro. They have remained innocent of our business, and we must keep it that way."
"Why must the burden fall on us alone?" whined Stan-nis. "Surely we deserve some indulgence. All I desire is our deserved revenge against those who abandoned our mother."
"You cannot murder the son of Thamalon Uskevren," said Radu. "There's nothing to be gained from it, and far too much to lose."
"What of the men you have slain, dear brother? What's one Uskevren to a few dozen guild members?" Darrow was only slightly surprised at the implication that Radu had slain so many people, but Stannis said it so casually that he wondered whether the brothers even remembered they were not alone. "Besides, I said nothing about murdering the poor boy."
"What else would you do with him?"
"Our friend Rusk is not merely a cleric of the Beastlord," said Stannis. "He is a lycanthrope."
"What?"
"A nightwalker," said Stannis. "A skin-changer. A werewolf."
Radu stared at his inhuman brother. His features remained composed, but Darrow saw the faint line of a vein begin to form on his brow. When he spoke, his voice was cool and quiet. "You planned to turn him into a werewolf?"
"A delicious thought, is it not?" squealed Stannis. "But he is already a werewolf, I'm afraid. We can hardly call such a charming coincidence our own revenge. What we must do is take advantage of his condition, use Rusk to bend Talbot to our will."
"You will stop this mad scheme at once," said Radu. "Send Rusk away, and leave the Uskevren alone."
"But brother, it is-"
"I will hear no more of this," said Radu.
"What of your sparring partners?" asked Stannis. "If we are to cower in this hovel like frightened hares, not daring to attract the- attention of the hounds, then I suppose I must stop fetching them for you."
Radu waved a hand dismissively. "Unlike you, I can deny myself if the risk is too great."
"What a pity," said Stannis. "Then you shan't be wanting the new arrivals. After all your talk of bladesingers…"
Radu raised an eyebrow, apparently intrigued by his brother's remarks but unwilling to inquire further. "As long as you acquire them outside the city, the risk is negligible."
Stannis pressed his fingers together, rising magically from the water to glide slowly toward his brother. Before he could rejoin the argument, however, Radu turned to Darrow as if noticing
him for the first time. "Where is the other one?"
It took Darrow a moment to realize Radu was speaking of Pons. He bowed an apology and said, "He's dead, master."
"Put the body in the carriage," Radu said to Darrow.
"I could send my minions-" began Stannis.
"Keep your filthy spawn off the street," said Radu. "In the bay or within these walls, I do not care, but they are not to be seen outside."
"As you wish," said Stannis contritely. "Still, I would be only too glad to dispose of your problem personally. It would save you the trouble-nay, the risk-of taking it to Selgaunt Bay."
Radu's eyes narrowed, but he said, "Very well. Bring the body here, then wait for me by the carriage."
Darrow felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. He knew he had seen and heard far too much. Radu would kill him rather than risk his gossip.
Salvation came from an unexpected source. "I presume you intend to terminate this young man's employment, brother?" When Radu did not reply, Stannis said, "I have need of a servant." "You have your creatures."
"Dull, tedious things," said Stannis. "They are good for fetching, but little else. Besides, they frighten our guests, your sparring partners. No doubt that accounts for their disappointing performances recently."
Whatever Stannis intimated made Radu scowl. "Besides," persisted Stannis, "it is lonely here, and you visit so very rarely. Don't be so cruel as to deny my craving for… conversation."
"He is no courtier," said Radu. "His father was a sheep farmer."
"So long as he can speak in sentences and laugh at my jests, he will be an improvement. What do you say, my dear boy? Would you like to serve another Malveen?"
"I should like that very much, Lord Malveen." Darrow made the best bow he could muster, imitating the noblemen who greeted ladies disembarking from a carriage.
"Did you hear that, brother?" Stannis giggled and clapped. "Did you hear what the precious young man called me?" "You mentioned new arrivals."
"A matched set," said Stannis. "I hope you will adore them as I do. They require some mending, I'm afraid. In a month, perhaps, they should prove entertaining." "Very well," said Radu.
Cool relief washed through Darrow's body. A day ago he wouldn't have believed his good fortune. To serve such a one as Stannis was far more than he deserved. "What are you called, my boy?" asked Stannis. "Darrow, if it please my lord."
"It pleases him," said Stannis, wheezing with amusement. "It pleases him very much."
Chapter 2
Negotiations
Hammer, 1371 DR
Talbot Uskevren stood in the parlor of his tallhouse when the callers rapped at his front door. He turned slowly to check the room one last time before letting them in.
To his right, the door to the small dining room remained slightly ajar. The room beyond was dark, the draperies drawn against the afternoon light. Human eyes could not penetrate the gloom, but Tal nodded to himself as his increasingly keen sight detected the shape he expected there.
Behind him, tiny sconces of continual flames lit the hallway to the servants' quarters and the study. Between the sconces, the polished cherry doors gleamed above a rich camel-hair carpet.
Across from the kitchen, fresh logs rested in the fireplace. Above the unlighted hearth, twin candelabra cast flickering light upon the high, arched ceiling. Above the mantle, a portrait of Perivel Uskevren gazed down at Tal. Perivel's hands were set firmly on the pommel of a gigantic sword. Tal shot a wink to the uncle he'd never known, wishing he felt as confident as Perivel looked.
Beside the front door stood a tall oaken wardrobe, a stand for walking sticks beside it. A pair of stuffed leather chairs, a velvet couch, and two small tables ringed the round Thayvian rug that lay in the center of the room. On one of the tables rested a delicate porcelain tea set.
"All right," said Tal to the room. "Here they come."
He opened the door just as the callers rapped a second time. One of them stumbled forward as the knocker was pulled from her hand, nearly falling into the room with a gust of cold winter air. Tal reached for her arm but checked the habitual gesture before he touched her. It took slightly more effort to restrain his smile at the woman's loss of composure. Beneath her woolen hood, she scowled.
Both visitors were almost a foot shorter than Tal. That wasn't unusual, but at first glance the women looked almost identical. Their deep blue cloaks were clasped with silver brooches in the form of a crescent moon. The woman who had stumbled was slightly more slender than the other, but their cornflower blue eyes were perfect reflections of each other.
"Feena, Maleva, come in," said Tal, a little too curtly to be polite. He covered his ungallant tone with a practiced smile. When the women complied, he shut the door against the bright, chilly day.
The women lowered their hoods, and Tal saw the most striking difference between them: Feena's flame-red hair might, in another thirty years, burn down to the same ash gray as her mother's. Despite the decades between them, Maleva did not look particularly old. The faint lines at the corners of her eyes and lips spoke more of laughter than they did of infirmity.
"Thank you, Tal," said Maleva. Tal noted her use of his shortened name. Most of his acquaintances called him "Talbot" or "Master Uskevren." He did not mind such familiarity, but usually only his friends called him "Tal." Despite the good they had done for him, he still did not trust Maleva or Feena enough to consider them friends.
As Tal took the women's cloaks, Maleva's eyes scanned the room, much as Tal's had earlier. When Tal draped the garments across the back of a chair rather than hanging them in the wardrobe, Maleva glanced again at the big cabinet. Tal stepped quickly in front of it, offering his visitors a seat beside the fireplace.
Beneath their cloaks, the women wore simple dresses of homespun wool. Feena's was embroidered with yellow thread at collar and cuff, but her mother's was plainly stitched. Their heavy woolen vests and rough leather boots were the sort of things Quickly would use as a costume for rustic fools in one of her plays. Had the women arrived at Stormweather Towers in such garments, they would have been turned away at the servants' door. Even the stable boy had finer apparel.
When the women were seated, Tal poured them each a cup of tea. It was rich, black, and expensive stuff reserved for those rare occasions on which Tal's mother visited his tallhouse. While Shamur Uskevren appreciated the fine quality of the tea, Tal expected it was lost on these women who were used to living in a cabin beside the Arch Wood, days away from the walled city of Selgaunt.
"It's dark in here," complained Feena, holding her cup in the palm of her hand. The ladies of Selgaunt would have shuddered to witness her awkwardness.
Maleva put a hand on her daughter's knee and squeezed gently. Feena wrinkled her nose in irritation, giving her a distinctly foxlike appearance. If she smiled once in a while, thought Tal, she would be very nearly pretty. But he had yet to see her smile.
Enough courtesies, thought Tal. He took a deep breath through his nose and smiled down at his visitors.
"I want to thank you both for all you've done," he said. "Despite our disagreements, I sincerely appreciate all you've done to help me since the 'hunting accident.' "
The words sounded anything but genuine, and Tal knew Quickly would berate him had he delivered such an unconvincing speech at the Wide Realms playhouse. He hoped Maleva and Feena had less discriminating ears.
Feena narrowed her eyes and somehow managed to look down at Tal, even though he towered above her. Tal knew she would not be satisfied by mere thanks, but that was all he planned to give them.
Maleva drank her tea without looking up at Tal, but he saw a faint, smile upon her lips. He realized that she knew what was coming.
"As you suggested, I've given my problem a lot of thought over the past month," Tal continued, "and as much as I appreciate your offer of assistance, I've decided to take care of it myself."
Feena put her teacup down hard enough to send it spinning in i
ts saucer. "You can't," she said. Maleva squeezed her knee again, but Feena wouldn't be quieted. "You'll fail, and innocent people will pay for your stubborn pride."
A red veil fell across Tal's eyes, and he felt a sudden urge to slap Feena's face. That would shut her up.
She held his angry gaze unflinchingly. She might be arrogant and infuriating, but she was not easily cowed.
Almost as quickly as the fury came, it slipped away again. Tal had been uncharacteristically irritable all morning, even snapping at Eckert when the servant balked at his plans for this discussion. In a sudden flash of regret, Tal decided he must apologize later. The thought calmed him enough to keep his voice even and reasonable.
"Then give me another alternative," he said. "If the only way I can have this potion of yours is to swear obedience to your temple, then I'll find another way."
"Don't be a fool," said Feena, rising from the couch. "You need us. You need Selune. The wolf is stronger than you." Tal knew that was probably true, but he felt another stab of anger when she added, "More cunning, too."
He felt the heat on his face and saw Feena's faint smile of triumph when she saw that she'd stung him. That only made him angrier, and he hated the feeling. The only other people who could make him so furious were his parents, and he could always keep it off his face and out of his voice when facing them. For whatever reason, Feena could break his composure with a word.
Tal took a deep breath before responding, a trick Quickly had taught him when dealing with hecklers at the playhouse. It worked, and he made himself smile, trying not to sound too condescending in return.
"I have friends who will help," he said, "without trying to manipulate me into serving their ends."
"Your friends," said Feena, "know nothing about your curse. We do, and we can show you how to deal with it. You need our help."
"Whether I want it or not?" asked Tal.
Behind Tal, the wardrobe creaked, but Feena was too angry to notice. Maleva, however, could not suppress a smile. She said, "Don't you think your servant would be more comfortable out here, with us?"