by Dave Gross
"Be a darling and open the door for Rusk," Stannis said.
Darrow paused, momentarily surprised before he realized that Stannis must have sent the Huntmaster's invitation magically. He wondered why Rusk did not simply enter the hall, then realized that the cleric was wary of the wards. Stannis might have altered them to permit his servant to come and go, but obviously he did not fully trust his childhood friend.
He wondered why Rusk had not returned to his forest lair as he walked to the doorway. Sometimes he and Stannis would sit for an hour beside the grand stream. Stannis dismissed his servant after Darrow had served them their wine, so he did not know what passed between the two. They were both supernatural beings, he realized, yet somehow he still did not think of his master the same way he did of Rusk: as a beast.
Darrow thrust such thoughts away as he opened the door to the N cluttered courtyard. The silver-haired cleric stood waiting for him just outside the door.
"Lord Malveen requests-" began Darrow.
"I know," said the Huntmaster. "Lead on."
Darrow obeyed, and Rusk followed him exactly, careful to step only where he had seen Darrow safely pass.
They walked through the River Hall and into the portrait gallery, where Darrow opened the secret way. Rusk pushed past him and descended the spiral stairway. Darrow followed, noting that crimson lights now flickered in small braziers under the mounted heads of the trophy beasts.
Without waiting for an invitation, Rusk sat down in a chair beside Stannis's vast fainting couch. Darrow took his place at the vampire's side. Immediately he refilled his master's goblet with the earthy red wine Stannis favored. He looked to the eyes above the golden veil, but Stannis and Rusk both looked down into the baiting pit.
Radu Malveen stood on one side of the fanged pit inside the sunken ring. He held his slender long sword in its plain leather sheath in both hands. On the other side of the pit, a dozen weapons were thrust point-first into the sand. They ranged from a pair of Mulhorandi short swords to a giant's glaive, with all variety of blades and polearms between them.
In the stands above, Rusk sat brooding in a high-backed chair. Beside him, Stannis reclined on a vast fainting couch. Darrow stood nearby, attending his master's whim.
When Stannis reached out, Darrow ensured that his fingers closed on a crystal goblet of the finest vintage.
Sometimes Darrow dreaded the seemingly inevitable request for a less savory beverage, but thus far he had been spared the responsibility of providing his master's baser requirements. Such tasks remained the duty of the master's other servants.
There were at least two of these minions, and Darrow suspected there was a third, perhaps even more. There was no way to tell them apart. Neither human nor wholly like the creature who had spawned them, the minions were naked, manlike figures with deep purple skin and grotesquely deformed limbs. They slipped out of the pools in the River Hall at night in answer to their master's unspoken summons.
Whatever he whispered to them, Darrow was never allowed to hear. Sometimes they returned with food for the captives. On occasion, as he passed through the hall on an errand, Darrow glimpsed baskets of wriggling eels or sea worms, only to note their absence on his return. Worst of all were the sounds of brief struggles that sometimes reached his quarters late in the morning, after his master had sent him away. He knew he was not welcome to attend such events, and he was grateful for the excuse.
Stannis drained the last of his wine and dropped the glass. Darrow barely caught it in time to save it from the floor.
"On to the entertainment!" he cried, slapping his rubbery hands together. "Would you like to inspect your gifts before we commence?"
Radu shrugged and closed his eyes. He drew his sword and cast away the scabbard.
With a twisting gesture, Stannis activated the switch to make the steel plates rise from the walls of the pit. Behind them stood the captives. Voorla paced impatiently, while the elves stood serenely in the middle of their cage. Maelin gripped the bars and stared straight across at Radu.
"Our uncle enjoyed watching bloodsport," Stannis volunteered. "He would release beasts from either side of the arena, and his friends would wager on the outcome. As you can see, my brother prefers an armed opponent. Which should we release? Hmm?"
"The troll," said Rusk.
"A formidable opponent to face without the benefit of fire," observed Darrow. "Is that your thinking?''
Rusk shrugged.
"Which would you select, dear boy?" asked Stannis.
Darrow hesitated before answering, "The elves, my lord."
"Because there are two of them?"
"No, my lord," said Darrow. "Because they were insolent."
"Excellent," said Stannis, practically purring his approval. "So shall it be."
Rusk snorted. Darrow glanced at him without turning his head. The Huntmaster sneered and shook his head.
Stannis gestured toward the elves, and the gate rose.
The elves turned to each other briefly. One touched the other's face for the barest second, and they ran toward the weapons.
Across the pit, Radu stood unmoving, his eyes still closed.
One elf took a short sword in hand. The other grabbed a rapier. Without hesitation, they ran lightly around the pit to flank their opponent. The one with the rapier held his weapon at full extension and charged. The point of his blade seemed to strike Radu before the man moved. He fell backward, rolling smoothly beneath and away from the rapier's thrust.
The elf with the short sword slashed at Radu, but the man came around too fast. One foot caught the elf in the ribs and knocked the breath from his lungs. Radu stood, opened his eyes, and parried the rapier's redoubled attack in one smooth motion, his blade cutting a perfect cone out of the air. With his opponent's blade out of line, Radu thrust the point of his sword through the elf's shoulder. He withdrew it just as quickly and stepped away.
The wounded elf made no sound, but his wide eyes signaled his surprise. He edged between Radu and the wall as his companion got on his feet and stalked the swordsman's other side, trying to flank him again.
Radu feinted toward short sword, then made a blinding series of cuts toward the rapier, beating the lighter blade out of line. He cut twice past the elf s failed defense, drawing blood at wrist and cheek. Then he turned his back mockingly and walked away, his sword held low by his side. The elf with the short sword took the bait, slashing at Radu's calf. From the seats above, Darrow heard no warning of the attack, not even the shush of sand. But Radu heard something, for he leaped above the cut and stabbed down, pinning the elf s hand to the sandy floor. The elf choked back a cry.
The second elf struck at Radu's back, but the swordsman had already twisted aside. The thin blade pierced his short jacket, and Radu pinned the sword to his side with his left arm. Standing still, he slashed at the elf s face, cutting away one emerald eye and making a horror of the once-perfect face.
Now the elf screamed.
Radu released the elf with the rapier and darted away just in time to avoid a clumsy but powerful stab from the short sword. That elf screamed a string of sibilant words and charged recklessly toward Radu's exposed back. Radu whirled aside again, flicking his blade like a switch as his furious opponent rushed past. A hank of black hair floated away from the elf s head, and a bloody ear hit the sand. That elf added his voice to the screaming. Radu fell toward the elf with the rapier, his long sword catching the slenderer weapon in a crude parry. With his other hand, he grasped the elf s wrist and guided the slender blade into his brother's heart.
Radu released the surviving elfs wrist and walked away.
With his one eye, the elf stared into the face of his slain companion. He sagged to his knees, and his companion fell with him. The dying elfs last breath blew trails in the blood on the other's ruined face. The survivor embraced his dead companion.
Across the fanged pit, Radu produced a silk handkerchief and wiped the blood from his sword.
"Splendid
!" cried Stannis, clapping.
Darrow added his applause, careful not to clap more loudly than did his master.
In the ring, Radu fetched his scabbard and sheathed his sword. Again he turned his back on the surviving elf, walking toward the exit. The elf rose slowly, drawing the rapier out of his companion's corpse. Radu showed no sign of noticing.
Darrow stepped forward involuntarily, opening his mouth to shout a warning. Stannis stopped him with a gesture.
Radu walked heedlessly past the armed elf, never glancing in his direction. Darrow stared in awe and horror as the elf braced the rapier's point against his breast, set the hilt upon the floor, and impaled himself.
"How delicious!" cried Stannis, opening the gate for his brother with a wave of his hand.
Darrow felt his gorge rise, and his mind whirled to imagine what passions could impel the elf to kill himself rather than seek revenge.
As Radu emerged from the stairway, Stannis turned to Darrow. "How did he know, you wonder?"
Darrow nodded mutely.
"Among my brothers many remarkable talents," said Stannis, "is a keen awareness of when he has won."
*****
Darrow never asked Stannis about cooking for the prisoners, but after another month had passed, he simply assumed there was no objection. His master was far more interested in the state of the house, often praising Darrow for the good work he had done to clean the place.
Twice each tenday, Radu visited Stannis. The brothers made no effort to keep their conversations from Darrow, who brought his former master tea to drink while the Malveen brothers discussed the twin ledgers that detailed their public and their clandestine businesses. Laskar Malveen was head of the family, Darrow knew. From what he heard from Stannis and Radu, it seemed Laskar was only dimly aware that the family fortunes swelled as a result of the second set of books. Radu insisted on maintaining the obfuscation, while Stannis often complained about his isolation.
"Wouldn't it be lovely to have the whole family together again," said the master. "I do so miss my other brothers."
"You will abide by our agreement," snapped Radu. "Stay away from them. And whatever you are doing to Pietro, stop it."
"Whatever do you mean, dear brother?"
"The nightmares," said Radu.
"Merely inspiration for his paintings," said Stannis. "If I cannot enjoy his company, at least let me act as an anonymous patron of his burgeoning talent."
"They are becoming a scandal. You must stop it immediately."
Stannis sighed. "Very well. But you do a great disservice to the art community."
"If we are to recover our rightful position in Selgaunt, Laskar and Pietro must remain unsullied by the work we must do. Should we be caught, only you and I will take the blame."
"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before. It's all so dreadfully tedious. There's so little to do, confined as I am to the bay and the house." He made another exaggerated sigh and glided around the table to look over Radu's shoulder as his brother wrote. "I know, why don't you take your exercise tomorrow? It has been tendays since you last visited Fer-rick's."
Radu ignored the suggestion. "I saw him on the docks yesterday," he said.
Darrow stood no more than six feet from him, yet Radu did not even nod in his direction.
"The market is closed at night," said Stannis. "And I can hardly rely on my creatures to fetch everything I require. Unless you would like to go to the market for me, of course."
"Someone will spot him coming in here." Radu laid his pen beside the inkpot and stood away from the desk.
"Darrow is careful not to be seen. Aren't you, my boy?"
"I am, master."
Radu turned to look directly at Darrow. His eyes were as black and as fathomless as a serpent's. Darrow found strange solace in the belief that he would be dead before he ever realized Radu had chosen to strike at him. He returned Radu's gaze without challenge.
Radu must have sensed something in Darrow's meek attitude. "You have refreshed the wards," he said. It was not quite a question.
"Yes, O my brother," said Stannis. At first Darrow thought he was mocking Radu, but the peculiar formality did not seem to irritate the swordsman.
"Alarm spells at the perimeter of the courtyard."
"As you wish, O my brother."
Radu looked from Stannis to Darrow in one last moment of consideration. "I will decide how we deal with Rusk. No arguments."
"But I need him for my plan to…" He saw the resolve in Radu's eyes and sighed heavily enough to move the golden links of his veil. "Alas, I shall miss him. Still, it is good enough that Talbot Uskevren is cursed as he is. With any luck, he will lose his temper and kill Thamalon. Or perhaps the older brother. Maybe we'll be lucky and he'll murder the whole wretched clan."
"Perhaps," said Radu, "but you will do nothing to endanger our family."
"Yes, O my brother," said Stannis. Darrow could almost hear him smile beneath the golden veil.
Chapter 4
Perivel's Sword
Alturiak, 1371 DR
In the pre-dawn darkness, Tal pushed through the bedroom window as quietly as he could. It was much harder than when he was a slim boy and could find his way into any nook of the great mansion. At nineteen, his broad frame was bigger than the narrow aperture, and he had to squeeze his shoulders as tight as he could bear to force his way through. The wooden panes creaked, and Tal paused to listen. Hearing no sound of approaching guards, he pressed his way through.
When he twisted around to brace his hands on the floor, his arm brushed against the toilet table, setting the porcelain washbowl into a looping dance.
From the sleigh bed across the room came the sounds of a sleeper stirring from troubled dreams. Tal froze again, but no sound came from beyond the bedroom door. When the occupant of the bed turned and lay still once more, Tal wriggled the rest of the way through the window, wincing at the pain the effort caused. His recent wounds were still tender, despite the healing he'd received.
He crouched beside the open window, then leaned out carefully to wave thanks to his accomplice below. The other, smaller man waved back, then vanished into the hedges. The Stormweather house guards were alert and efficient, but Tal knew his friend was clever enough to escape them. Together, they had years of practice evading guards and dogs alike.
Tal carefully closed the window and turned back to the room, his eyes quickly adjusting to the dim light. It was different from how he'd remembered it, though he hadn't been there in years. The room seemed more suited to their mother than to Thazienne. Solid furniture was decorated with fine lace and silk coverings, while the rough walls were painted in delicate but confident pastel patterns suggesting an unsullied seacoast at sunset.
The dolls were missing, he noticed, probably packed away in the attic. Not that Tazi had much use for dolls, even when the Uskevren children were so young. She preferred to run with the boys her age, climbing trees and rooftops, swimming and shouting and scrapping with the best of them. She was faster than either of her brothers, and more full of life.
Yet now she lay near death in her childhood bedroom.
Tal sat quietly on the chair left beside the bed. It still felt warm. Who had sat there so recently? he wondered. Probably it was his mother, Shamur, who always tried so hard to mold Tazi into her own image, the very model of a Sembian lady. Or perhaps it was Thamalon, his father, who tried so clumsily to do the same with Talbot and his brother, Tamlin. If half of what Tal had heard this evening was true, both Uskevren parents were likely exhausted and sleeping in their separate bedchambers. More likely, the chair had been left by one of the servants, perhaps the chief of them, Erevis Cale. In many ways, the tall, gaunt butler looked on the Uskevren children as his own offspring. He wasn't nearly old enough for the part, though his bald pate and gaunt appearance made him seem much older than he was.
Tal watched his sister. She seemed small and fragile under the heavy woolen blanket. Her skin was unusually pale in the half-
light, especially in contrast to her black hair, cut short in the latest Cormyrian fashion. Tal wondered how much blood she had lost in the monstrous attack on Stormweather Towers, and he felt a sharp pang of guilt that he had not been present to help defend his home. At about the time Tazi had been hurt, he had been bleeding to death on the stage of the Wide Realms playhouse. Only the intercession of a pair of clerics of Selune, the goddess of the moon, had saved his life. While he was grateful for his life, he now cursed those same women for preventing the news of Tazi's injury from reaching him sooner.
"Who's there?" Tazi blinked weakly. Tal knew just how she felt, for he had woken from a medicated stupor only a few tendays earlier, disoriented and confused. Again, those clerics had earned his resentment.
He took her hand. It seemed tiny in his big, gentle grip. "It's me," he said quietly.
"My big little brother," she murmured. "C'mere."
Tal leaned close, and she slipped her hand from his to tousle his hair. She grabbed a handful to tug his head playfully, but her grip was weak.
"What's Eckert putting in your hair?" she asked. Tal's man served as his butler, valet, cook, and barber.
"Nothing," he whispered back. "Why?"
"It feels thicker."
"Must be my winter coat," he smiled, then frowned at his own joke, which he couldn't explain to Tazi. Not yet.
"Why are we whispering?" she asked.
"I want to avoid-"
"Father," said Tazi with a knowing smile. "Don't worry.
He and mother are probably both asleep. They took turns sitting up with me."
That was a relief. Slipping back out of Stormweather without another lecture might be easier than Tal had expected. "How're you feeling?"
"Not bad, considering the alternative."
"I would have come sooner."
"I figured you were doing the town with Chaney."
"No," he said, "I was… tied up for a few days."
"The jail again, was it? Not another brawl, I hope," said Tazi. "Not everyone's willing to leave it to fists, you know. You really should carry a sword."