by David Gross
The assassin fell motionless into the water.
Tamlin kept his distance, looking around for a mirror. He hoped Chaney could relay some confirmation of the kill. At last he found a basin and looked into it, searching for the ghost’s reflection.
Chaney arrived an instant later, grinning and mouthing the words, Out cold.
“My lord,” cried a guard from the solar door. Six other men crowded behind him, anxious for battle. “The reinforcements have come with spears.”
“No more need,” said Tamlin. He turned to see Cale standing with Tazi in his arms. “Send a runner to the House of Song. We have need of healers, but don’t wait for them—see to my sister’s injuries immediately.”
“Aye, my lord,” the guard said. He delegated the orders to one of his men, who immediately ran out of the room, then he turned back to Tamlin. “What of the wolf?”
“Leave him to me,” said Tamlin.
One look at the snarling animal told him it would be no easier to subdue his brother than it was to neutralize Radu Malveen. He thought of his vision in the Stormweather nexus. Talbot’s death was the one sure remedy to the dire prophecy he’d seen. Tamlin might never have a better chance to remove his dangerous brother from the family.
No, he decided. Should the vision prove true, he would deal with it when the time came. He wouldn’t stoop to preemptive fratricide, no matter how dangerous Talbot might someday become.
“On second thought,” he said. “Send for Larajin, and let no one else near him until she arrives.”
He uttered the words to another spell and reached into the pond with his magic. Radu’s body floated up from the water, his head lolling to one side, his lips and eye sockets pink and swollen. The faintest movement of his chest showed that the assassin still lived.
“What shall we do with this one?” asked the guard.
The man did a credible job of retaining his composure in the face of his young master’s sudden demonstration of sorcerous powers. Tamlin decided to keep an eye on the fellow for future advancement.
“What’s your name, man?”
“Kainan, my lord.”
“Well, Kainan, fetch me some shackles,” he said. “Heavy ones, and plenty of them. Post a double guard in the big workshop downstairs. Clear out the furniture. I will desire some privacy during our conversation.”
CHAPTER 27
PRIDE OF THE LION
“I still say this is too dangerous,” said Talbot.
“Too late to back out now,” said Tamlin. “If you’re so frightened, you should have left with the servants.”
Talbot growled at him and said, “I’m thinking about Tazi. You saw how she looked last night.”
“Speak for yourself, big little brother,” said Tazi. “Underneath that pelt of yours, you were plenty bruised.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it,” said Talbot. “I was just concerned about putting you and Larajin in dan—”
“You are my dearest friend, Tal,” said Larajin, “but do shut up.”
“Now, now, children,” said Shamur. Her voice carried far more authority since it came from everywhere and nowhere. Tamlin might have enjoyed watching the effect her disembodied command had on Talbot and Tazi if he didn’t already know her reasons for speaking to them from the Stormweather nexus. “Stop your quarreling and listen to Tamlin. He is head of the family, now.”
“That’s another thing—” began Talbot.
“Son,” interjected Thamalon. Like Shamur, he spoke from the refuge of the nexus. His voice was hale and warm, belying the truth that only Tamlin knew. “Remember your promise to me.”
Talbot sighed and said, “Yes, Father.”
“What promise?” asked Tamlin.
He’d hoped that his father’s confidence in him meant that no more secrets would be kept from him. Apparently, that had been a vain hope.
“They’re here,” said Cale.
“How do you know that?” demanded Tamlin, dimly aware that he’d been purposefully distracted from his question.
“My lord, it is my duty to know.”
Tamlin thought he heard his father chuckle. He sighed.
“Places, everyone,” he said. “Is our guest comfortable up there?”
The guard Kainan leaned over the rail of one of the balconies on the second floor. He waved and nodded before glancing back at the unseen occupant of the seat behind him. Tamlin sketched a salute, and Kainan faded back into the shadows.
Larajin and Tazi took their spots beside Tamlin at the head of the table. Talbot leaped up to the balcony overlooking the feast hall, fifteen feet above the floor. He landed as lightly as a dancer, but the balcony creaked under his weight. Cale simply vanished.
A few moments later, the herald announced that the guests had arrived. Tamlin nodded his permissions back to the man. As the first of the visitors filed into the hall, he flicked a speck of imaginary dust from the arm of his chair. He affected an air of boredom as the Talendar, Karn, and Baerent representatives filed into the feast hall and stood behind their places. Uskevren servants held their chairs for them as they sat.
A few of them cast inquiring glances at Tamlin’s odd appearance. He’d briefly considered shaving the strange beard his grandfather had left him, but ultimately he kept it. He’d also retained Aldimar’s vermilion cloak as well as a wide belt of pouches and pockets full of spell materials and foci. Alas, none of the new affectations was particularly fashionable.
Presker Talendar cast an inquiring glance toward the head of the table. The normally cool nobleman appeared anxious, and he fidgeted with his great emerald ring.
Tamlin retained his disaffected attitude until Saclath Soargyl arrived with his nephew Brimmer. As they entered the room, Tamlin fairly bolted from his seat, grasping their hands in both of his as each party raced to bow lower over the other’s hands. It all ended messily in a series of awkward embraces and how-good-of-you-to-comes, then there was an icy moment in which Brimmer lurched forward to kiss Tazi’s hand. Tamlin watched the vein pulsing under her eye as she suppressed her own urge to throttle both men.
At last, the heads of the Old Chauncel took their places. Andeth Ilchammar made his entrance with his familiar Drakkar at his side and a trail of guards in black tabards. By custom, no noble House carried weapons into the hall of its host, the exception granted only to the Hulorn. His men took positions on either side of his seat at the other end of the table. Behind him, a wide alcove full of windows looking out onto Selgaunt Bay was shrouded in draperies. No one from outside would spy on the day’s proceedings.
“Welcome, my lord mayor,” called Tamlin. He raised his goblet to toast the guest of honor. “May Waukeen bless our proceedings, and may Helm keep all good folk from harm so long as they dwell within our walls.”
Tamlin tasted the ceremonial mead, careful not to drink more than a sip. He’d been so fraught with adversity the past tendays that he had no time to appreciate the distractions from his longing pangs for a drink. He had to make an effort not to drink deeply to calm his nerves. His plan for the coming meeting was far from infallible.
His guests murmured their approval of his toast. When they set their cups down, the business began.
“Our convocation today—” began Tamlin. He wasn’t the least bit surprised when the Hulorn stood to interrupt his speech.
“Our business here is treason,” said Andeth Ilchammar, throwing his cape off one shoulder in a dramatic flourish. “Or rather, the rooting out of traitors in our midst. We come here to judge an accusation so dire that only the sage heads of the Old Chauncel can condone its measure.”
Tamlin watched to see which of the “sage heads” nodded approvingly of the Hulorn’s words. Fat Saclath was the loudest, which was no surprise. Brimmer looked confused and stupid, which was no great feat.
Presker and the heads of the other Houses on Thamalon’s list of conspirators cast their eyes at the head of the table. Tamlin wondered whether they were looking for a savior or a scapeg
oat.
“I have here a list of names,” cried Andeth, receiving a scroll from Drakkar. “Names of those who would seek to undermine the lawful order of the city of Selgaunt in its charter from the Overmaster of Ordulin—What? What do you think you’re doing?”
Tamlin had leaped up from his seat and stood upon the long table. The cloak that enhanced his flying spells billowed up to give him a grace and drama far beyond Ilchammer’s flamboyant gestures.
“Alas,” said Tamlin, adopting Ilchammer’s officious tone, “I suffer from an unfortunate incapacity to endure transparent attempts to obfuscate the efforts of a corrupt functionary to subjugate the will of the rightful leaders of Selgaunt.”
The Hulorn gasped, but at the same time his face brightened in an expression of delight and admiration. He looked like a man who’d just learned that the entertainment he was about to enjoy was in fact his favorite opera.
“What brave talk from the son of the man who engineered the very sedition we have come to consider here today.”
“Spare us, Mad Andy,” said Tamlin. The assembled nobles gasped at the young man’s audaciousness. “I grow weary of your nattering. You know as well as anyone how easily bored I am, especially at so shallow a charade.”
Drakkar choked so hard that Tamlin expected to see one of the man’s eyes pop from its socket.
“How dare you speak to me in such a manner!” blustered the Hulorn.
Despite himself, he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. Tamlin could see that he was enjoying the play. Unfortunately, the rest of the Old Chauncel took umbrage at the young upstart’s blatant show of disrespect. Only a few kept their emotions in reserve, while the rest babbled on about insolence and respect for one’s elders. Even some of those whom Thamalon had entrusted with his scheme turned coat to back the stronger horse. Tamlin silently noted them for future consideration while the Hulorn shook his scroll at him.
“I have evidence!”
“You do,” said Tamlin. “I concede it. My father plotted to have you removed from office, confident that the city would prosper in your absence.”
Andeth stared down the table at Tamlin, astonished. Tamlin winked at him. Let him wonder what that meant.
“Then you must realize,” interjected Drakkar, “that the penalty for your father’s treason is forfeiture of all Uskevren holdings and properties.”
The wizard turned his head in a dramatic gesture indicating all of the trappings of the feast hall, but everyone could see that his eyes lingered longest on Larajin. She returned his gaze with a steady stare of her own, one that promised a response to his leering threat, and not the one he craved.
“I realize that is the price of an unsuccessful coup,” replied Tamlin, “and thus, I am moved to call for an immediate vote among the assembled body. I move that the Hulorn, Andeth Ilchammar, Lord Mayor of Selgaunt, is unfit for office on grounds that he has employed assassins to murder members of this very assembly.”
The silence that followed Tamlin’s declaration was heavy enough to push Drakkar and his master down into their seats. It lingered for long seconds after Tamlin stopped speaking.
Presker Talendar bolted up from his seat and said, “I second Lord Uskevren’s motion and demand an investigation into the Hulorn’s contacts.”
Andeth cocked his head at Presker, his narrowing eyes promising that Tamlin wasn’t the only one marking adversaries this day.
“You have no evidence!” barked Drakkasr. “There is no evidence!”
“Ah, I was hoping you would say that,” replied Tamlin. He walked to the center of the table and gestured up to the balcony. “Master Malveen?”
Pietro Malveen rose timidly from the shadows, trembling either from the effects of his drugs or else from fear to see such august company assembled below him. He clutched the railing to steady his hands.
“It is true,” he said. “Ilchammar commissioned me for those paintings he had sent to the ones who disappeared. I did not know he had them enchanted to trap—”
“Hearsay!” shouted the Hulorn. Still he couldn’t keep the wild grin from his face. He’d never seemed so full of glee and life, not during his most antic introduction of a queer new opera nor a distressing gallery of avant-garde paintings. “Balderdash, of course. It goes without saying. These are groundless accusations, inadmissible in any court. Who can testify to seeing any such ‘magic paintings?’ ”
“I can,” called Thamalon’s voice. “For I fell victim to one and would remain trapped if not for the valiant efforts of my son.”
“So can I,” added Shamur. “If our sworn testament is insufficient in your judgment, we have also identified the ghost of a man slain by the Hulorn’s own assassin. The clerics can compel him to bear witness to the schemes of Andeth Ilchammar and his minion, Drakkar.”
“I am not a minion!” snapped Drakkar.
“Oh, bugger it all,” laughed Andeth. “It looks like a fight after all, doesn’t it?”
As one, the Old Chauncel pushed back their seats and stood away from the table. To either side of Andeth and Drakkar, the Hulorn’s guards drew their weapons and formed a defensive line around their charges.
“Where are you going?” asked the Hulorn. He drew a twisted wand from inside his cloak and waved it at the assembled company. “You pretentious fools don’t really expect us to let you stand aside while we resolve this issue, do you? You have your part to play, even if all you ever do is talk, talk, talk!”
Drakkar was already chanting his own spell as the Hulorn spread his foul magic across the hall. A ghastly green vapor coalesced in a line from the Hulorn to Tamlin’s seat. It rippled along the table, spilling over to either side to touch the assembled nobles.
Tamlin flew up to the ceiling to avoid its effects, noting that Tazi had already faded into the shadows, and Larajin raised a warding hand before her face as she clutched the two-faced medallion of her goddesses.
On the floor, the noblemen began to melt, their bodies sinking like collapsed tents over their suddenly disjointed bones. Their flowing flesh melded and mingled, leaving behind their garments as a snake might shed its skin.
Throughout the horrid transformation, their mouths continued to shriek, their eyes rolling and their teeth gnashing as they bit and spit at one another. Only Fendo Karn and Brimmer Soargyl scurried backward unchanged, apparently protected by hidden talismans.
Tamlin whistled low and long.
“That was a dirty thing to do, Mad Andy. It will take us days to get that out of the carpet.”
He flicked his fingers at the Hulorn, sending five crimson darts at the man’s face. Ilchammar dispelled them with a dismissive wave of his hand. Upon one of his fingers, one of a ring of six topazes flashed and turned dark.
“Witty,” the Hulorn replied. “If I had known you would prove so amusing, Thamalon the Lesser, I would have invited you to join my little coterie long ago.”
From the floor in front of Drakkar, a night-colored stallion rose from a ring of fire. The conjured horse-fiend reared and stamped at the gibbering mass of mouths and eyes upon the floor.
Drakkar pointed at Tamlin, and the nightmare leaped upon the long table, leaving burning hoofprints in the polished oak surface. Before it could rear up to strike at its hovering target, a huge figure leaped down upon its back, gripping its fiery mane and pulling its head back.
“You told me he was dead!” Andeth spat at Drakkar.
“So I was informed,” protested the wizard.
Astride the nightmare, Talbot hissed at the burns on his hand and legs, but he raised a gigantic sword and struck a glowing wedge out of the creature’s neck. Molten blood oozed from its wound, and the demon horse stumbled off the table, falling into the hungry mouths on the floor. Talbot leaped clear with an actor’s flourish and turned to hack at the fallen nightmare before it could rise again.
Andeth had produced another wand, this one garnished with bits of fur and scaly hide. He thrust it like a sword, and a dull glob of matter shot for
th to stick on Tamlin’s right arm. He tried to shake off the offending mass, but it spread instantly up and down his limb. Tamlin felt a momentary numbness, and he watched as his arm transformed into a huge black viper.
“How striking!” called the Hulorn. “You shall be the envy of Selgaunt with so daring an ornament.”
The snake’s head hissed and rose to strike at his face, and Tamlin fleetingly wished he’d taken Aldimar’s helm as well as his cloak. He tried to grab his treacherous limb, but the snake writhed away from his grasp before rising to strike again.
Across the room, Talbot knocked down the Hulorn’s guards two at a time. When one of them flanked him and raised his sword, his eyes grew wide and he let out a little choking sound before dropping his blade. As the guard fell to the floor, Tamlin briefly glimpsed Tazi moving on to another unwitting target, deftly avoiding the writhing mass of flesh and mouths that had been the Old Chauncel.
He wanted to help them, but it was all he could do to evade the attacks of his own venomous arm. At last he slapped it and spat out the syllables that sent a sheet of lightning coursing through the snake—and his own body. He shuddered and grimaced through the self-inflicted agony, but his reward was that the rebellious arm hung limp.
He looked up to see that Cale and Vox were leading the house guard in an attack on the Hulorn’s men. While the soldiers clashed, Cale dashed through them, ducking under swords and between shields, leaving a trail of falling foes in his wake. He cut himself a path straight for the enemy wizards.
The Hulorn’s laughter degenerated into an uncertain cackle. He and Drakkar hadn’t been idle during Tamlin’s struggle. A purple sphere shimmered around the Hulorn, and a wall of flame leaped up to block Cale and the Uskevren guards—no matter that its sudden appearance immolated a few of the Hulorn’s own men. Their screams rose higher than the maddening chatter of the gibbering mouther that still crept over the floor.