Jack’s eyes widened, and he choked back on a whoop of glee. Instead he gathered his dignity about him like any properly raised lordling, and bowed. “My lord, you are too generous,” he made himself say. “I did not bring Seila out of Tower Chumavhraele in expectation of any reward.”
“I do not mean to imply that you did, Jack. But it would please me if you would consent to accept something as a token of my esteem. And of course you will be the guest of honor at a grand party we are throwing next tenday in celebration of Seila’s rescue.”
“If it would please you-” it certainly pleased Jack quite well, although he tried to strike the exact right note of accepting a gift in the spirit in which it was intended rather than exulting in his newfound fortune-“then, of course, I shall be happy to accept.” He made a small gesture of self-deprecation, and added, “In all honesty, I may very well be destitute. From what I have heard there is some doubt about whether my family’s lands even survive today.”
“Ah, yes, Seila mentioned that you hailed from the Vilhon Reach. A landsgravate is more or less the equivalent of a barony, is it not?”
“A small one,” Jack answered. “I hope that I shall see Wildhame again someday, but it seems like that is lost to me along with all the years I’ve missed.”
“When you are ready to go in search of Wildhame, Jack, let me know. I will assist you.” Norwood reached out to set a hand on Jack’s shoulder, and gave him a small smile. “Now, there is something else I wanted to speak to you about. Seila mentioned to me that you’d actually spoken to the drow queen below Sarbreen. I want to know everything you can tell me about her.”
“Ah, I see. You intend to exact some retribution against the drow for the suffering Seila endured. I heartily approve.”
“Well, yes, I won’t deny that thought had crossed my mind, but that is a personal matter. No, what I am hoping you can provide me now is information that might help me in a more official capacity.” Norwood paced over to the window, gazing out over the gardens outside. “I am a man of high rank here in Raven’s Bluff-and in the whole realm of Vesperin, to be honest-and I bear certain responsibilities to look after the homeland that has treated my family so well. As far as I can tell, the drow have been under our city for fifty years or more, and they’ve never been more than a nuisance in all that time. Oh, once in a great while a merchant might go missing on the road to Tantras, or an isolated farmstead might be raided. But it was really no worse than the sort of thing common outlaws might do. A tragedy for those affected, but nothing deserving of any determined response on our part.
“But in the last year or so, that has changed. The drow raiders are growing bolder each day. Hundreds of people have been killed or carried off into slavery in that terrible gloomy underworld of theirs. I was quite concerned already when Seila’s caravan was attacked and she was taken away. Her abduction was the final outrage that brought the issue into perfect clarity for me: We are at war with the drow, and no one in this city but me and a few others recognize that unpleasant fact.” The lord looked over his shoulder. “So, Jack-who is my enemy? What manner of woman is she? And how can I strike back at her?”
Jack assumed a gravely thoughtful expression, reaching up to tug at his goatee with his hand. Here at least was an easy way to impress Seila’s father with his insight and resolve. “Your foe is the marquise, not queen, Dresimil Chumavh,” he said. “Her family seat is Tower Chumavhraele, a subterranean castle that lies about half a mile below the city’s northern wall. I could not say for certain when she built the place, but it wasn’t there a hundred years ago when I ventured into that same part of the Underdark.”
“Did you speak with her?”
“Yes, on two occasions,” Jack answered. “She is quite beautiful, highly intelligent, and even a little charming in her own way. When she isn’t wondering aloud about whether to have one fed to a giant solifugid, that is.”
“A what?”
“Hopefully, the question is now moot. To continue, I also met Dresimil’s brothers, Jaeren and Jezzryd. They are twins, and both appear to be very competent sorcerers.” He paused, recollecting his conversations with the drow. “They are, of course, exquisitely wicked, just as the stories say. Dresimil enjoyed toying with me. I felt very much like a mouse in the claws of a cat that had a mind to play with its food. But I must also say that I was struck by their keen curiosity and appreciation for ironic circumstances. Dresimil and her brothers are every bit as cruel and decadent as I might have expected, but it’s an elegant cruelty and a sophisticated decadence. It would be a mistake to think of them as savages. Well, the Chumavhs, anyway. The lower-ranking drow were not quite so refined.”
“Do you have any idea why they have suddenly become so hostile to us?” Norwood asked.
“They seemed to have a desperate need for laborers,” Jack replied. “The drow are engaged in some grand projects below our feet, Lord Marden. They drained the great subterranean lake beneath Sarbreen to expose the ruins of an ancient dark elf city and its forgotten mythal stone, and they’re engaged in repairing its enchantments.”
“Seila said you had been imprisoned in an old drow mythal,” Norwood remarked. “It seems hard to believe that such a thing has been under our feet all this time.”
“Oh, yes,” Jack answered. “Remind me, and I’ll tell you quite a story about my first encounter with the wild mythal sometime. Anyway, the drow were employing hundreds of surface-slaves along with goblins, orcs, bugbears, and all sorts of other creatures to do their work for them. And the dark elves paid in good gold for slavers-such as that unpleasant fellow, Fetterfist-to bring new wares down to the Underdark to keep up their labor force.”
“Fetterfist has a date with the gallows if I ever get my hands on him,” Norwood said, a dark look on his face. “I suspected his involvement from the very first when Seila’s caravan was attacked; no other slaver would have been so bold.”
“I am surprised that such a notorious slaver can operate with impunity in and around the city. Is the city watch incompetent?”
“Fetterfist hides his identity behind a mask; no one knows who he is. And I would not be surprised if he has friends in the city’s administration who warn him when the watch is closing in.” The lord considered Jack’s words for a long time, his brow furrowed in thought. Finally he spoke again, changing the subject. “How is it that, out of the hundreds of captives the drow are holding in the Underdark, you chose to rescue Seila?”
Jack gave a nervous shrug. “My fellow paddock-slaves were orcs, goblins, and such. Seila was the only other human I knew. What sort of gentleman would I be if I fled, and left her to her fate? I had to at least try to secure her freedom as well as my own.”
Marden Norwood nodded. “Of course, quite right,” he replied. He motioned with his arm toward the study door. “I’ve put you through it enough for one morning, I think. I’d like to speak with you again, perhaps have you describe the drow castle and its surroundings for our knights and mages. But now I believe that I’ve kept you from your breakfast long enough, and you look like you could stand a few more good meals. Shall we?”
“Thank you, Lord Marden. I am hungry.” Jack followed Lord Norwood to the study door. Seila’s father didn’t seem like such a bad fellow after all, he decided. He’d have to give some thought to the best way to draw down that line of credit and encourage Norwood to extend more, but he was certain he could finesse the old lord when the time came.
Norwood paused at the study door. “Oh, and one more thing,” he said. “Because it may be some time before you can establish what, if anything, remains of your family’s holdings and fortune after so many years, I would like to offer you the use of Maldridge in Tentowers, a fine house in the city. I expect that you will want to set up in a place of your own rather than making do in our guest room. The house is yours for as long as you wish; we have no real need for it, since Blackyews is a few doors down.”
Jack repressed a grimace. Old Norwood had maneuvered him ra
ther neatly there; he hadn’t exactly thrown Jack out, but Maldridge wasn’t where Jack wanted to be-he would rather have stayed right in Norwood Manor, just a few doors down from Seila. In fact, now that he thought on it, that might have been exactly the reason Marden Norwood had found an empty house miles away in the city for him. Jack could hardly decline the offer without seeming ungrateful or making it very plain that he wanted to stay closer to Seila than Norwood might have liked. “Again, my lord, you are too generous,” he replied. “I remember Maldridge; it is a very fine house indeed.”
The lord offered a small shrug. “If, as seems likely, you are the last of the Wildhames, then helping you to establish yourself here in Raven’s Bluff is the least I can do. Think of it as a temporary arrangement if you like, just until you are on your feet again, however long that takes. Perhaps tomorrow we can drive into town and have a look at the place.”
“Excellent,” Jack replied with feigned enthusiasm. “I look forward to it, Marden.”
“That’s a good fellow.” Norwood beamed brightly again, and clapped Jack on the shoulder. “Come on, let’s find you that breakfast.”
CHAPTER SIX
The fine old house of Maldridge stood on MacIntyre Path, just between Falyern Way and Turnhelm Street. The cornerposts featured weathered statues of stern knights; a short flight of stone steps led up to a grand front door of black zalantar-wood from the far south, carved in a sylvan scene of dancing nymphs. More of the expensive hardwood was used lavishly to trim and furnish the interior, which included a library, a study, a large dining room whose fine parquet had no doubt seen much use as a dance floor, kitchens, a wine cellar, and upstairs half a dozen comfortable bedchambers. Behind the manor there was a small walled garden with a fountain and a carriage-house. It even came with a small staff of its own: cook, valet, gardener, and a couple of rather matronly maids. The Norwoods were in the habit of keeping the place ready for use by noble relations, allied families from other lands, or other honored guests who found reason to spend a season or two in Raven’s Bluff; all in all, it was easily five times as much house as Jack needed.
Marden Norwood insisted that Maldridge was available for Jack’s use immediately, and no matter how much Jack demurred, he couldn’t avoid accepting the keys the same afternoon they visited the place. Seila lingered just long enough to give him a chaste little peck on the cheek under her father’s watchful eye, and then the Norwoods left Jack to “settle in and be at home,” as the old lord put it. Jack spent a rather restless night in the grand master suite, devising various schemes by which he might entice Seila to visit him without her father in tow, and finally fell asleep well after midnight.
When he rose the next morning, he found his cook waiting to prepare his breakfast and a selection of the city’s various handbills arranged neatly by his place at the table. “I might become used to this,” he said. “Eggs and bacon, my good fellow! And perhaps some Zakharan coffee, if we have anything like that in the house.”
As soon as he finished, his valet-a thin, balding fellow so short that Jack almost wondered if he were part halfling-appeared carrying a silver tray with a stack of envelopes. “This morning’s correspondence, my lord,” he said.
“Correspondence?” Jack replied. “Who would be writing me already?”
The valet inclined his head. “Mostly invitations to various social functions, and calling cards from some of the neighbors,” he explained. “Many of the well-to-do folk of the city are anxious to meet you, my lord.”
Jack frowned in puzzlement, wondering why, and then the answer came to him. “Ah, of course. Word’s got out that Lord Norwood considers himself in my debt. People are seeking to cultivate his favor through me.”
The valet gave a small shrug. “It’s not uncommon in your circles, my lord.”
“Hmm. Well, that might not be such a bad thing. I am anxious to make new friends in turn.” Jack peeked at the stack of cards and envelopes, recognizing some family names and utterly clueless about others. Clearly, he had some studying up to do. He glanced back to the valet. “What did you say your name was, my good man?”
“I am Edelmon, my lord.”
“ ‘Sir’ or ‘Master Jack’ will suffice, Edelmon. The first order of business will be a new wardrobe. Send for a good tailor and see if we can’t arrange to have some measurements taken and a look at some samples this afternoon. My tastes are refined, my standards high.”
“Very good, sir,” Edelmon replied. “I shall see to it.”
“Accept all but the most unseemly or inconvenient invitations; I am happy to make the rounds. Also, see if you can’t find an engraver or limner to draw up my own stationery with the Wildhame arms so that we can return our own calling cards and invitations as soon as possible.”
“Where might I find an example of the Wildhame arms, sir?”
“None exist in the current day. I will provide more specific instructions when it’s time for our engraver to begin work. Next order of business: I will write out a draft for one thousand gold crowns against the line of credit established for me at Horthlaer House. Have them bring over a small strongbox or coffer, suitably escorted.”
“That is a considerable sum, sir.”
“I will take good care of it, I assure you, but I feel the need to have some coin in my purse for sundry and minor expenses that may come up in the next few months.” Jack took a sip of his coffee, thinking for a moment. He’d have to come up with something for his house arms; perhaps something with a noble-looking stag would seem appropriate for Wildhame. What else was there to do? What he really wanted was to find an excuse to call on Seila as soon as possible, but that would have to be handled delicately. In a day or two he might be able to drive out to Norwood Manor by way of thanking Marden in person for the fine house, but the last thing he wanted to do was to appear desperate to attach himself to the Norwood household … or to stay out of sight so long that Seila forgot to think about him. “A letter,” he said to himself. “A friendly note with just the right touch of amorous overtones, a little audacious but not overbearing or saccharine.”
“I beg your pardon, sir?”
“Simply speaking to myself, Edelmon. Some paper and a quill, if you please. I’ve a note to compose.”
The valet bowed and withdrew, returning shortly with a stack of good linen paper, a quill, and an inkpot. Jack spent the next half-hour carefully composing a small thank you note to Seila, expressing his delight with the hospitality of the Norwoods and noting how much he looked forward to their next meeting. Then, with no easy way to further ingratiate himself with Seila or her father and most of the morning still ahead, he sat back to consider what other interests deserved his attention.
“I have always been ardent in pursuit of opportunity,” he mused, “but now I find myself virtually ignorant of what opportunities might be available in this day and age. What should I do with myself while my designs upon Seila ripen?” Idly he picked up the handbills and leafed through them. The first broadsheet led with a lurid tale of abductions in the alleyways of Mortonbrace, laying the blame at slavers scouring the city for drunk, homeless, or simply unfortunate souls to sell into slavery. The second handbill was occupied with an investigation of bribery and racketeering among the watch officers of the Pumpside neighborhood; the next reported on the deliberations of the Council of Lords, lamenting their inability to agree to a plan designed to combat the criminal influences in the city and making carefully veiled insinuations to the effect that some councilors might have an interest in keeping things in their current state. It seemed that he had returned to Raven’s Bluff in an age of unusual civic corruption; Jack smiled as he considered the bountiful opportunities that implied.
He settled down to read the handbills more thoroughly. On the back of the first bill, an item caught his eye: REWARD OFFERED FOR RECOVERY OF MISSING TOME. He read further, studying the article. “Anonymous patron offers five thousand gold crowns to any person who finds the spellbook known as the Sarkonagael,
rumored to be lost in the depths of Sarbreen … the Sarkonagael? By Mask’s shadowed sword, is that old grimoire still about?” Jack knew that book very well. Long ago the lovely and mysterious Elana had commissioned him to find the Sarkonagael, which had led him to the library of the infamous necromancer Iphegor the Black, from whence he’d stolen the book. On delivering the book to the mysterious Elana he’d discovered that she was none other than the Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan. The mage or mages who served her had used the Sarkonagael’s spells to cause no end of trouble during her attempt to seize power in the city. As far as Jack recalled, the Ministry of Art had confiscated the sinister spellbook for safekeeping after Jelan’s defeat … but it seemed that it was missing again, and someone very badly wanted it found.
“Now that is interesting,” he murmured. Once upon a time he had been very good at unraveling riddles of that sort, and even if he didn’t know where to start in the Raven’s Bluff of today, the exercise might help introduce him to the sorts of useful, if shady, people he used to know throughout the city. And who could say that he was at any disadvantage compared to a contemporary investigator? He would, after all, embark on the process with no preconceptions, armed with a mental flexibility few others could match. He had personal experience of the Sarkonagael, which any other seekers in the current day likely lacked. The reward was substantial enough to double his fortune at a stroke if he succeeded … or, if he decided the person seeking the book shouldn’t have it, he could curry favor with the city’s authorities and rulers by securing it for them. “Either way I would continue to burnish my fortunes in this current day,” he concluded.
He read further, noting that the reward was offered through the counting house of Horthlaer-doubtless the interested party wished to publish his or her interest in the ancient book while protecting their anonymity-and made a note to inquire at Horthlaer’s about when the reward had been offered and who was behind it. After all, it was more than a little coincidental that a book that had gone missing back in his own day had resurfaced as a topic of interest at the very same moment in history that he himself had returned to. Then he pushed himself back from his breakfast table, pausing to dab at his mouth with his napkin. “Very interesting, indeed,” he reflected. He would have to look into the Sarkonagael business soon … but for now, he had business at the High House of Magic. Some wizard of a hundred years past had done him a great disservice, and someone from the Wizards’ Guild might very well know the identity of his forgotten nemesis.
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