“Yes,” he admitted in a whisper.
“And how would you have dealt with her accusations if you had carried out your revenge to its fullest extent?”
He swallowed and said, “I didn’t think of it.”
Variance slapped him across the face.
“Shar favors you more than anyone could have guessed!” she cursed. Keph hung his head. Variance forced his chin up. “I have visited Lyraene,” she said. “Shar grants me certain powers over the minds of the weak. Lyraene recalls the duel and her injury, but not your malice. She bears anger for you, but not outrage. You’re fortunate I was able to reach her in time.”
Keph stared into the priestess’s cold eyes, then glanced away.
“Thank you, Variance,” he said.
“Patience and subtly, Keph,” she said, and she finally released him. “Bolan doesn’t believe you have the potential to become a priest.”
Keph bristled at the comment. “I—”
“Hush.” Variance silenced him again. “I don’t share Bolan’s opinions. Shar has great plans for you, Keph. I’m certain of it. Perhaps they will be revealed soon. Until then, you need to bide your time. Let the spirit inside you burn, but give no one cause to guess your true allegiance. Shar’s worship prospers in secret—this is the Dark Goddess’s lesson. Do you understand?”
He nodded. She touched her fingers to his forehead in silence, then stepped back.
“You have seen me again. Know Shar’s favor once more.”
It felt like a yoke had been lifted form his shoulders. Keph gasped in joy.
“Hail to the Mistress of the Night!” he sighed.
Variance gave him a cool smile and folded her hands.
“Go,” she said. “I told Jarull to await your return.”
Keph bowed low before her and turned, walking through the door and back out into the Stiltways. His heart felt as light as it had after his initiation, but without the sense of invulnerability that had led him astray. A mistaken invulnerability! He breathed a sigh of relief for the second time that night.
Jarull was leaning back in a shadow just where Keph had left him. He started upright as Keph approached—and his somber expression was shattered by a grin as he saw Keph’s face.
“She forgave you!” he whooped.
“She taught me,” Keph said, but he returned Jarull’s grin and swung an arm around his shoulder. “Let’s see if we can find Starne and the others.” He looked along the platform toward the Cutter’s Dip. “I feel like tonight is just getting started.”
CHAPTER 9
Drinking. Singing. Stumbling from tavern to tavern to tavern by night, then by day, then by night again. A fight. Another fight. Just like old times; Jarull by his side. Better because Starne, Baret, and Talisk were there as well.
And better because of the dark secret in his heart: Shar’s favor. The Mistress of the Night’s plans for him.
Variance had told him to let his spirit burn. Keph let it rage like an inferno until it seemed as if every tavern in the Stiltways—and some beyond—knew his name and face. Until even Baret, Starne, and Talisk had, one by one, dropped away, unable to keep up. Until it was just him and Jarull striding the nights once again.
“All right, tosspots, up. Up! Time to go home!”
A guard ran a stick along the bars of the cell while another unlocked the door and swung it wide.
Keph opened sticky eyes to the harmony of squealing hinges and groaning drunks. He sat up on the rough wooden bench he’d managed to claim and looked around at the disorderly cell in Yhaunn’s north side guard station—a fine place to spend the night. He hauled himself to his feet and joined the other men and women the city guard had brought in during the night before as they filed out the door, then formed a queue to retrieve any possessions they had been arrested with.
There was no sign of Jarull. A hazy memory swam into Keph’s mind: a dash away from the pursuing guard, an ignoble tumble as his foot landed in something wet and slippery, Jarull continuing on and vanishing into the shadows. Lucky Jarull.
The guard at the desk raised her eyebrows as he stepped up.
“Good morning again, Keph. Sleep well?” she asked.
“I think a rat crawled into my mouth while I slept, Fris. You should do something about the pests around here.”
“Well, we shove them out the door every morning, but it seems like more just crawl in every night.” She pushed Quick and a coin pouch across the desk to him. “Twice in three days you’ve landed here. Let’s try to get it back down to once a month like old times, eh?”
“Your concern is noted, Fris.”
Keph wiggled his fingers into his pouch. It was a flat and shriveled thing, wasted away by the past few days’ activities. He found a couple of silver coins, though, and slid them back to the guard. She made them disappear as the next inmate stepped up. Keph buckled Quick back around his waist and headed for the guard station’s big door.
The light of early morning hit him like a god’s vengeance. He groaned and threw up a hand to shade his eyes. The air was already uncomfortably warm. It was going to be a very hot day. With luck he would be able to sleep through most of it.
It was a long, painful stagger to Fourstaves House. His head throbbed, his joints ached, and his mouth felt as if it had been stuffed with wool combed from a sheep’s backside. At a public well, he stopped, drew up a bucket of water, and tried to rinse the foul taste from his mouth. The rest of the water he poured over his head until he was gasping from the cold. His hair was still dripping when he reached the doors of Fourstaves House, but at least the pain in his head had ebbed and faded.
The stone guard dogs were still as statues by daylight. Keph resisted the urge to kick them anyway and went inside. The entry hall was filled with savory odors that cut through his hangover to make his stomach growl with desire. Following his nose, he stumbled for the dining room.
Strasus, Dagnalla, Malia, Roderio, and Krin Foxrun were all seated at one end of the table. They fell silent as he walked in. He ignored them and walked straight for the covered trays and dishes set out on a sideboard. Conversation returned slowly.
“I think I’ve found a clue in the coins of the cache,” Krin said. “The other artifacts may be ancient Netherese, but most of the coins are more recent and come from one of Netheril’s survivor states, Anauria. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to find enough information about Anaurian rulers to date the coins accurately, but we do know Anauria fell to orcs in the Year of Fallen Guards, 111 DR. No more Anaurian coins were minted after that. Of course, the coins could have been collected after the country’s fall, but with so many in one place I would guess that it’s more like they came directly from Anauria.”
“Good, good,” nodded Strasus. “So we have an end date, then.” He stroked his beard. “And more than two hundred years before the founding of Selgaunt and Saerloon. What about—?”
“—a possible beginning date?” Krin sounded pleased with himself. Keph rolled his eyes in boredom as he began lifting covers and heaping a plate with grilled bread, olives, spiced chicken livers, and boiled eggs. He mouthed nonsense words along with Krin as his brother-in-law answered Strasus. “Among the coins was a sealed pouch containing fifty new gold coins from Calimshan celebrating the ascension of Qysar Shoon III of the Shoon Imperium, an event that occurred in 107 DR, the Year of the Fledglings. The striking on the coins was still sharp. They hadn’t been circulated. I think they became part of the cache soon after their minting.”
Strasus was stroking his beard so quickly Keph was surprised the whiskers weren’t falling out.
“Well done, Krin,” the old man said.
“Calishite coins among artifacts from Netheril and a Netherese survivor-state,” commented Dagnalla. “That’s an odd combination. I didn’t think the two civilizations had much to do with each other.”
Strasus sighed and shook his head. “I’m certain the tiles from the cache would tell us more, if only I could translate the writing
on them. They resist even magical translation.” His fingers slowed. “A picture begins to emerge, however. On the eve of Anauria’s fall, artifacts of Netherese heritage are smuggled out of the doomed nation. Those escorting the artifacts make for Calimshan—some ally there has sent them Calishite coin. They travel east from their doomed nation and south, skirting the settlements growing in the Dalelands, and head for the docks at a rough quarrying community, perhaps to seek passage across the Sea of Fallen Stars and south …”
“But why abandon their treasures?” Dagnalla asked. “And why avoid the Dalelands?”
“If they were traveling in secret, they might have wanted to avoid anyone who could seize their treasures,” suggested Roderio. “And when they had to meet with other people in Yhaunn, maybe they hid their treasures with the intention of retrieving them later, but were unable to go back.”
“Possibly. But why were they going to Calimshan?”
Keph dragged a chair away from the table with a loud, penetrating scrape.
“Most importantly,” Keph said, “why bother asking?”
He set his laden plate down and dropped into the chair with a satisfied groan. Malia gave him a look of disgust.
“Some people want to know things, Keph,” she said. “Things other than what the inside of a jail cell looks like and how much ale they can drink before they throw up.”
“Knowledge for knowledge’s sake, then?” Keph asked. He impaled a liver on his fork and gestured with it. Spice-stained sauce splattered across the table. “Nothing purely practical, like unlocking the secret of some forgotten Netherese magic, for instance?”
Strasus looked at him with a long face. “Wouldn’t that be a good thing to know?” he asked.
His voice was slow with the infuriating patience of an adult talking to a child. Keph’s lips curled. He popped the liver in his mouth, and talked around it as he chewed. “How much ale you can drink before you throw up is a good thing to know, too.”
Roderio flushed, blood showing bright red through the pale translucency of his newly healed skin. “Charming as ever, aren’t you, Keph?”
“I have to keep up with you, Rodo.”
His brother’s face looked ready to bleed. Keph held back a satisfied smirk as he tucked into his breakfast. He glanced up at his family. Malia, Krin, and Roderio were staring at him. Strasus and Dagnalla were looking at each other, their old hands clasped.
“Go on,” Keph mumbled around a mouthful of food. “Keep talking. It sounded really interesting. Hmph—no, that’s not right …” He swallowed. “I’m sorry, I meant to say it sounded really dull.”
Roderio flung his napkin onto the table. “No,” he said, “I think we’re finished. I have research to work on.”
“New potions?” Keph asked.
Roderio shot him a burning glare and turned away sharply to stride out of the room. Krin and Malia glanced at each other, then rose as well. They left without saying anything. Keph looked at his father and mother.
“Well?” he asked.
Emotion flickered across Dagnalla’s face. “Keph,” she said, her voice and eyes weary, “you look terrible.”
“I’ve been working on my own research, mother. Comparing the insides of jail cells.”
Dagnalla closed her eyes for a moment.
Strasus leaned forward, admonishing, “Keph …”
Keph paused in his eating to ask, “Are you going to lecture me now?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He went back to eating.
“Keph,” Strasus said with a sigh, “Hane Cartcoster came to see us yesterday evening. She’s still looking for Jarull. She’d heard that he’s been seen around Yhaunn with you, but he hasn’t been home for more than two tendays now. Do you know where he is?”
“No,” Keph answered, and for the moment at least, it was the truth.
“Hane is worried about him.”
“Hane is always worried about Jarull.”
“I know,” agreed Strasus, “but this time she’s really worried, and I think for good cause. She asked us to try locating him with magic. We couldn’t find him.”
The food in Keph’s mouth turned dry and bitter as ashes. He choked it down and looked up slowly.
“If you ever,” he spat, “tried doing that to me, I would never forgive you. Never.”
“Keph, are you listening to us?” said Dagnalla. “We couldn’t find Jarull. If you have seen him, then—”
“I heard you.” Keph dropped his fork onto his plate. The ring Variance had given his friend, he guessed immediately—it must have carried some kind of protection against divination magic. He glared at his parents. “Did you hear me? I don’t want you casting your magic on me like that.”
“You wouldn’t want us to look for you if we thought you were in danger?” Strasus asked. He took Dagnalla’s hand again, and his mouth went hard. “No, Keph. I’m not going to promise you that. We’re not going to promise you that.”
Keph clenched his teeth and grumbled, “Because you think I need your help? Because you don’t think I can take care of myself?”
“No!” Strasus exclaimed.
“Magic didn’t protect Roderio, did it?”
Keph shoved his chair back and stood up. The words of the orison that Variance had taught him rose to his lips. The smallest, most insignificant of spells—but it would show Strasus wouldn’t it? Show him that while he might not see the potential in his youngest son, Shar did.
Except that Variance had told him not to reveal his faith to anyone.
For a moment, Keph struggled between his anger and the dark priestess’s warning. One orison. Just one.…
He swallowed the prayer and glared at his parents. “Is magic the only thing anyone in this family cares about?”
He turned and stalked out of the dining room and back to the entrance hall. His hangover had returned with a vengeance, and breakfast wasn’t sitting well.
He’d just started climbing the big main stair when a shout rippled down from above: “Hey, Uncle Keph!”
Keph looked up.
Adrey stood at the head of the stairs, dressed against the heat in a simple white dress.
Just as she had looked laid out on Shar’s altar.
His foot missed the next step and he stumbled, almost falling before catching himself on the banister. Adrey came leaping down the stairs to meet him.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine, Adrey. Thanks.”
There was sweat on his forehead. Keph wiped it away with a trembling hand. No, he reminded himself, it hadn’t been Adrey on the altar but an illusion. Just an illusion.
An illusion that he shoved a knife through.
Adrey’s forehead creased. “You don’t look fine.” Her nose wrinkled. “Beshaba’s ivory arms, you stink!”
“Adrey!” He gulped back the nausea that churned in his stomach. “Language!”
“I’m not Adrey today,” she replied. “Guess who I am.”
The girl jumped back and waved a stick at him. He squinted at it.
“That’s not one of your father’s wands, is it?”
“It’s not a wand.” She lunged forward and poked at him.
Keph reacted instinctively, turning so that the blow slid past him, then stepping clear and reaching for Quick’s hilt. Adrey spun around to face him.
“You have Tymora’s own luck,” she crowed, “but I’ll change that!”
She flicked the stick menacingly back and forth through the air like a rapier.
Dark, gasped Keph in silent shock, then said, “Adrey, what are you doing?”
“What?” Adrey looked down at her feet. “Am I standing wrong?”
Keph’s hand was still on Quick’s hilt. He forced it away and said, “You should be practicing your magic. If you don’t practice, you won’t become a wizard. You don’t want that.”
He stretched out his hand to take the stick, but she twitched it out of reach and made a face.
“Everyone around here is a wizard,” she whined. “I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to learn to fight like you do!”
Keph clenched his teeth and said, “No, you don’t.”
She looked puzzled.
“I’ve watched you practicing,” Adrey replied. “It looks more fun than learning cantrips.”
“Well, I think cantrips are more interesting.”
Adrey made another face and said, “Well, they aren’t. There’s only one way to do them and if you don’t get it right, they don’t work.” She swiped her stick through the air again. “Come on, Uncle Keph! Show me something.”
Sweat trickled cold over Keph’s flushed face. His head throbbed.
“Maybe later, Adrey,” Keph said. “I … need to go to my room.”
He turned away back up the stairs. Adrey looked disappointed, but stepped out of his way.
“Do you want me to tell Gran that you’re not feeling good?” she called.
“No, thank you.”
“All right.” Keph heard her start to trot on down the stairs. “I hope you’re feeling better soon. I love you, Uncle Keph!”
Keph twisted around to look at her, but she was already bounding across the entry hall, maybe looking for her grandparents in the dining room.
“I’ve heard back from the various followers of Selûne who help us keep watch for Sharran activity around Yhaunn,” Julith said.
Feena glanced at her as they paced through the corridors of Moonshadow Hall. “And?” she asked.
“Nothing—not around the Stiltways, not anywhere. If there are Sharrans in the city, they’re keeping very, very quiet.”
Feena gave the younger priestess a faint smile and said, “I notice that you’re not ruling out their presence all together.”
“You saw what you saw,” Julith said, “and caution never hurts.” She returned Feena’s glance. “I discovered something else, though. After your encounter, Mifano never even bothered to check with the watchers.”
Feena pressed her lips together. “Too sure of his own assessment of the situation, I suspect. Did the watchers have anything to say about …” She grimaced. “Anything else?”
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