by Paul S. Kemp
Still, Cale fancied that he could feel the Old Owl’s presence in the room. It inspired him, comforted him, brought him some much-needed calm. He had not yet taken the time to clean himself. Dried blood, Halthor’s blood, Dolgan’s blood, caked his trousers and vest. He reached into his vest pocket and rubbed his holy symbol between his fingers while he paced.
The half-sphere Cale had recovered from the courtyard sat in the middle of the table. It looked like nothing more than an unusual chunk of translucent gray quartz, albeit shaped as a perfect hemisphere. Cale’s sword had sheared it as clean as razor. The innumerable gems within it sparkled silver in the candlelight. At Cale’s urging, Tamlin had already cast a spell on the half-sphere that would prevent divination spells from locating it.
“They attacked this house—my father’s house—for this?” Tamlin asked, gesturing at the half-sphere.
“Indeed, my lord,” Cale replied. “The sphere seemed their only target. They knew the house and they moved straight for it. Other than the attempted ambush on me, they appeared to have no other interest in Stormweather or the family.”
Tamlin drummed his fingers on the table and asked the question everyone was thinking: “What is it?”
“I don’t know, my lord,” Cale answered, “but I intend to find out.”
Tamlin leaned forward in his chair and looked up at Cale with hooded eyes.
“And why did they single you out for an attack, Cale? Are you withholding something from us?”
“Tamlin!” Shamur exclaimed.
“It is a fair question, my lady,” Cale said. Rather than make him angry, the question actually pleased Cale. At least Tamlin was thinking through the problem. He chose his next words with care. “I know only what I’ve already told you, my lord.”
That he guessed much more than he knew was a fact that Cale kept to himself.
“Then why the ambush?” Tamlin repeated.
Before Cale could frame another answer, Thazienne spoke up in that patronizing tone of voice she sometimes took with Tamlin when he frustrated her: “Because they wanted him away from the house, brother. Isn’t that obvious?”
Tamlin nodded and said, “Of course. But why Cale? Why not you? Or me? Or mother?”
Thazienne gave an audible sigh. She had never had patience for her brother’s lack of acumen.
“Because he’s the most dangerous,” she said, “and they know it. We all know it, but no one ever says it. Gods, everyone in the city knows what he did with the … demon.” When she said those words, Cale could feel her eyes on him. “They knew he’d stop them if he was here. He almost did anyway.”
For the first time that night, Cale met Tazi’s gaze and tried with his eyes to apologize for their unfortunate parting. The corners of her mouth softened. In that moment, Cale felt his love for her grow but at same time felt his spirit separate from hers. He thought he could wish her happiness, even if it was not with him. He turned to Tamlin.
“My lord, it may also have to do with the fact that I was with Lord Usk—your father, when he purchased the sphere.”
At that, Tamlin looked thoughtful. That was something he could grab onto. He folded his hands before his face.
“Possible,” said Tamlin. “From whom did you buy it?”
“A street vendor,” Cale replied. “Alkenen is his name. An itinerant peddler.”
“Father always did have peculiar tastes,” Tamlin muttered, and pondered.
“How can we not know what this is?” asked Shamur. She reached out and brushed her fingers along the half-sphere. “It must be valuable, or highly magical for them to have dared attack our house for it. Have you examined it, Tamlin?”
“Of course. It detects as only moderately magical—warded with minor protective spells—but nothing to indicate its purpose. Nothing to indicate what happened in the courtyard. I’ll send for a sage in the morning.”
“Perhaps the explosion expended its magic,” Thazienne offered.
She looked at the sphere with wide eyes. Magic had always intrigued her.
“Perhaps,” Tamlin agreed.
Cale did not agree but kept his thoughts to himself. Whatever the sphere was, its magic was buried deep. The split from his blade was too clean, too … contrived. He saw Mask’s hand in it, but then he seemed to see Mask in everything. Still, he was certain that the sphere was not destroyed, it was merely in two pieces. He knew that he had not seen the last of the half-drow and his allies.
Tamlin pushed back his chair from the table and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Will they come back for this half of the sphere? Cale?”
“They will, my lord,” Cale replied, “if it remains here.” He let that sink in. “But they will not return tonight. And probably not tomorrow. They are methodical and plan extensively. That takes time. And they would expect us to be prepared for another attack.”
Indeed, the house was prepared for another attack, if it came. Cale had seen to that himself. The off-duty reserves had been contacted and guards patrolled the grounds outside and stood at every exterior door, always in teams of not less than four. Cale had informed the guard leaders of the attackers’ use of illusions to disguise themselves. They were to respond with force to any suspicious activity.
In addition, Tamlin had placed several alarm spells at strategic areas of the grounds. The attackers would not be able to teleport in again without triggering a magical alarm.
Cale went on, “Besides, they don’t need to attack. They have a hostage. They can negotiate”
Tamlin frowned and asked, “A hostage? He’s only a guard.”
“Tamlin!” Shamur and Thazienne exclaimed at once. Both wore looks of surprise and disgust.
Cale too stared daggers at the young man. It was all Cale could do to not walk over and punch Tamlin in the face.
“His name is Ren, my lord, and he is a loyal servant of this house. As am I.”
Under that onslaught, Tamlin wilted like an arctic lily in the summer sun. His face flushed; his gaze found the table.
“But you’re different. I only meant … I mean …”
Cale said in a cool tone, each word a hammer, “This house is only as good as its men, my lord. To keep good men, you must treat them all as your family. Your father would have paid a king’s ransom to retrieve one of his guards. Treating your servants as if they are—”
Shamur rose from her seat and cut him off.
“That’s enough, Erevis.”
Cale turned to face her with angry words on his lips, but when he saw her, saw the disappointed look in her eyes—at him or Tamlin, he couldn’t be sure—he held his tongue.
Shamur looked him directly in the eyes and said, “Tamlin is not his father. And you’ve made your point.”
Cale was not so sure, but still he held his tongue. His words had been harsh, true, but Tamlin needed harsh. The young lord of Stormweather’s life had been too soft, too insulated, and it affected his decision-making. Tamlin seemed to regard his men as interchangeable commodities. If the men came to know that, House Uskevren would soon have no men, or at least none with loyalty. Despite Tamlin’s growth over recent months, Cale still found him too weak.
The word was hard, but Cale thought it accurate. He could never serve such a man. It was well that he was leaving.
Shamur, still standing, stared at him, awaiting his acknowledgment.
He gave it, saying, “My apologies, my lady.”
He felt Tazi’s gaze on him but did not look at her.
Shamur nodded and sat.
In a softer tone, she said, “Erevis, I would ask that you reconsider your resignation until this matter is resolved.”
To his credit, Tamlin immediately added, “Yes, Cale. Your advice is needed and would be welcome.”
Tamlin’s words surprised Cale. It could not have been easy to make that request after the rebuke Cale had just given him. It showed maturity. Cale sighed. When it came to his perception of the young lord, he seemed to careen at ran
dom between contempt and hope.
Shamur must have read his face. She smiled at him and nodded, obviously proud of her son. Perhaps Tamlin could preserve House Uskevren. Perhaps he was just young, and would learn with time.
Cale decided that he would think so. He gave Tamlin a deferential nod.
“As always, my lord is gracious with his praise. Please forgive my harsh words. I spoke in haste, still flush from combat. I—”
Tamlin waved a hand dismissively and said, “No apologies … Erevis. I deserved it. You’re right about ensuring the return of our man, of course. Please, continue.”
Tamlin had never before called Cale by his first name. Cale thought that might mark a step forward in their relationship. It pleased him to think so.
“My lord, lady, I appreciate your offer but I believe my presence here only adds to the family’s danger. I would propose another way.”
“And that is?” asked a wary Shamur.
“I propose that I take the half-sphere and leave Stormweather.”
Tamlin and Shamur both began to shake their heads.
“My lord, lady, the presence of the half-sphere in the house only ensures another attack here.”
“Let them come,” said Shamur.
“Yes, let them,” added Tamlin.
Cale ignored them and went on, “I have contacts that I might call upon. We can keep it hidden until our attackers make contact. In the meantime, I can attempt to learn more of the sphere.”
He was, in fact, desperate to learn more of the sphere.
“Where will you go?” Thazienne asked, softly. The concern in her voice touched Cale.
“It’s better that none of you know. I will allow them to make contact with me after I’ve learned the nature of the sphere. When they do, I will handle the negotiations for Ren’s return.”
Tamlin stood, turned, and walked to the large window that overlooked the gardens. He stared into the darkness, his hands clasped behind his back.
“You’ll give them our half of the sphere?” the young lord asked.
Cale hadn’t made up his mind about that yet. It depended on what he learned of it.
“If necessary, my lord.”
“And if it’s valuable, or dangerous?”
“My lord already knows that it must be both.” It had to be, else why risk a direct attack on Stormweather to get it? Cale approached Tamlin and looked him in the face. “I’ll find out all that I can before I make any exchange. If it’s such that I cannot risk turning it over, I’ll so inform you and get Ren back another way. Afterward, we can discuss what to do with this half.”
Tamlin sighed, turned toward the window, and considered Cale’s words. In the dim light, his posture and expression looked eerily like Thamalon.
From behind, Shamur asked, “Why alone, Cale? Why you?”
Tamlin too seemed interested in Cale’s answer to that question. He turned to look at Cale. Cale could not tell them that he thought his god was involved, and that his internal code demanded that he personally avenge the attack at the Stag.
“My lord, lady, I believe that I am best equipped to resolve this problem in the manner safest to the House.” He looked Tamlin in the eyes. “My lord, I told your father once that I worked best alone and that remains true today. He understood that. I know that you and Lady Uskevren wish to give me aid, and that it is difficult for you to let this unfold out of your sight. Rather than aid, I ask that you give me your trust. I will see it done and will allow no harm to come to House Uskevren in the process.”
The room was quiet. Tamlin studied Cale’s face.
“My father loved you, you know,” Tamlin said. “As much as he did me. As much as any of us.”
Cale knew. He bowed his head and said nothing.
After a time, Tamlin cleared his throat and extended his hand.
“Luck to you then, Cale. You’ve always had our trust. We’ll leave it in your hands.”
Cale took Tamlin’s hand and shook it, genuinely grateful.
“Tamlin—” Shamur said.
“Enough, Mother. We’ve left more delicate matters in Mister Cale’s hands before. It is done.”
Shamur said nothing else, and that was that. With the exception of Cale, everyone began to leave to return to their beds. As they filed out, Cale stared out the window with his back to the room, thinking.
“Good luck, Erevis,” Shamur said, as she left the room.
Cale didn’t know what to do next. Find Jak, certainly. Then? Tamlin’s sage idea was a good one, he thought. Perhaps Jak knew of a sage or academic of the arcane that they could trust. Cale certainly did not.
From behind him, Thazienne softly cleared her throat.
His breath caught. Instantly, his heart leaped in his chest. His legs went weak. She didn’t say anything but her mere presence….
He took a breath and turned to face her.
Before he could say a word, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the mouth.
“Good-bye, Erevis.” Her eyes were wet and her tears streaked his cheek. “Please take care of yourself.”
Her hair smelled like chrysanthemum. He resolved never to forget that smell.
“I will,” he said.
Without another word, she turned and ran from the room.
He stood there a long time. Perhaps she did love him after all, at least in a way. Perhaps things would have been different if she had known of the note before so much time had passed.
Perhaps.
He remembered the many good moments they had shared: the first time they had touched; the night she drank too much brandy and he’d carried her to her bed; the first time he’d made her laugh. He would savor those memories.
As he stood there, an elven proverb came to him: “Part well, regret nothing.” He and Thazienne had parted well. He was content.
CHAPTER 7
UNEASY ALLIANCES
This time, when Cale left Stormweather in the cold, dark hours before dawn, he did not slink out the back. Instead, he walked out the front door, the same front door where, hours before, five house guards had been murdered. Already the blood had been cleaned and new guards posted. They nodded respectfully to him as he passed. Cale returned the nod. The respect was mutual. Uskevren house guards had once again fought and died in service to the Uskevren. They, along with Cale, had once again driven an invader from the house. Cale had already discussed with Tamlin the necessity of providing for the families of the slain guards and the lord of Stormweather had readily agreed.
Cale inhaled deeply as he walked across the night-shrouded grounds. The air was cool. The verdant gardens from the manse to the main gate smelled of lilac and lavender. He caught the aroma of chrysanthemum and it reminded him of that last embrace he had shared with Thazienne. Crickets chirped in the grass.
Despite the dark events in the house, Cale felt a peculiar lightness. He and Tazi had parted as they should, and in leaving the manse he was not abandoning his family but serving them—the same thing he had been doing for years. His personal Vaendaan-naes had begun, perhaps.
Only his concern for Ren and his simmering anger over the slain Uskevren house guards kept his mood somber.
When he reached the main gate, he bade farewell to the six guards on duty there. Seeing them reminded him of Almor. The grizzled old warrior would be buried the next day, at Uskevren expense. Cale wished his soul a speedy journey.
He exhorted the guards to stay alert and walked down the stone-lined walkway for what he knew with certainty to be the last time. The guards closed the gate behind him with a clang, the sound as final as a funeral gong. At the end of the walkway, he turned around to view the manse from the street one last time. The squat turrets barely topped the walls, and Cale thought for the first time that the architecture of the home properly reflected the family within—strong, low to the ground, and as immovable as a mountain. The Uskevren would abide. Shamur and Tamlin would see to it.
Smiling, he headed down the str
eet.
Selûne had already set, but her glittering tears cast in silver the path she had taken through the heavens. The blocks of coal in the street torches had nearly burned through, leaving only glowing embers. Darkness covered Sarn Street. Due to the hour, the broad avenue stood empty, the shops closed and shuttered.
Wrapped in burlap in his pack, the half-sphere felt as heavy as a lodestone. He had cast non-detection wards on his person and the half-sphere but knew that the spells would grant him only a few hours reprieve from magical scrying.
And that only maybe, he reminded himself. He suspected that a caster more powerful than him might be able to pierce the wards. And he had no doubt that the shadowy mage who had accompanied the half-drow was a more powerful caster. Still, Cale had deemed it worth the effort. If the spells worked even for a short while, those hours would provide him time to prepare. He would contact Jak, locate a scribe or academic who could tell them about the sphere, and figure out the play to retrieve Ren.
It pleased him that Ren’s well being came first to his mind, rather than vengeance for the attack. Thazienne’s rebuke in his quarters had caused him to doubt his motivations. He might be a killer at his core, but he still sometimes acted good, and that pleased him.
He had considered attempting to magically track the other half of the sphere in the possession of the half-drow and his crew but had decided against it. Likely the wizard would have it warded with more powerful spells than Cale could hope to pierce. He also feared that they might be able to use his own spell against him and somehow track it backward to find him. Besides, even had he located it, he would not have moved to retrieve it until after he made contact with Jak.
He headed west, for the Foreign District, to find his friend.
With each step farther from the manse, his mood darkened. The lightness of spirit that had possessed him in Stormweather’s gardens disappeared, replaced by the weighty realization that he was alone. At that moment, he was at his most vulnerable—on empty streets, with no allies at his side.