by David Gross
“She was just disappointed she’s not the one watching you undress.”
“Don’t be stupid.” Tal laid his breeches on the chair and stepped out of his underclothes.
“It’s a good thing she hasn’t seen you naked recently,” said Chaney. “Have you noticed how much hairier you’ve gotten?”
He had noticed. He’d had plentiful body hair before, but it had thickened everywhere, especially on his arms. The only place he was glad for more hair was over the ugly wound Rusk had given him. Thick, ropy scars crossed his belly like white roads in a black forest.
“Maybe I should have Eckert help me shave.”
“Then he would quit,” said Chaney. “Say, that’s not a bad idea! ”
“Take it easy on him,” said Tal. “The only reason he keeps quiet about the wolf is that he’s afraid my father would have me locked up in Stormweather, and he’d lose his job.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Besides, I kind of like him.”
“I thought he irritated you, too.”
“Sure, but he’s funny, and he’s a great cook.” Tal walked into the cage and closed the door behind him. It snapped shut with a resounding clang.
“That’s true,” said Chaney. With a moment’s effort, he made a long, satisfied belch.
“I can’t take you anywhere,” said Tal, shaking his head in mock disapproval. “Lock the door.”
“You don’t take me anywhere, lately,” said Chaney. He turned the big key until the lock clicked. “After the moon, we should celebrate the success of your cunning plan. The girls at the Black Stag have been asking after you since that hunting trip.”
“Yeah? Which ones?”
“All of them,” said Chaney. “You’re more competition when you’re gone than when you’re there. Everyone loves a mystery. You want something to sit on in there?”
“No, just the straw’s fine. You should probably go upstairs, now. The moon’s coming.”
“How can you tell? It’s like a tomb in here.”
“I can feel it.” Tal patted his belly.
“It’s those cakes,” said Chaney. He belched again. “I’ll see if there are any left.”
“Don’t forget to put the mattress against the door.”
“Don’t worry. Howl all you want. The neighbors won’t hear a thing.”
“Thanks.”
Chaney spun the key ring around one finger and walked up the steps. He paused at the door. “You sure you don’t want me to wait down here? At least let me leave the light.”
“No. I’d rather be alone,” said Tal. “But thanks.”
“No problem, my friend.”
“I mean it, Chane.”
Chaney grinned, but his eyes looked sad. Despite his bluster, Tal could tell that his friend was worried. “See you in the morning.”
“ ’Night.”
Tal sat cross-legged on the cage floor. The straw wasn’t thick enough to make a comfortable seat over the steel bars. He’d have to ask Eckert to fetch more for tomorrow night. The full moon transformed him for three nights last month, and he expected it to do the same this month. He put the thought aside and concentrated on his breathing.
Under Master Ferrick’s tutelage, Tal had learned to focus his mind before a fencing match, beginning with his breathing. Once the rhythm of his lungs was deep and steady, he imagined the concentric rings of the dueling floor. One had to keep one’s eyes on his opponent, not the boundaries, but he had to know where the boundaries were without looking. Tonight, Tal’s opponent was inside him, so he had to focus inward. That was a trick Master Ferrick had never taught him. Tal wished he had progressed further in his fighting studies. He was not a particularly good student, relying too much on his natural strength and speed and not enough on tactics.
His thoughts would not settle themselves, so Tal tried imagining himself on a warm, dark sea. It was something Maleva had said that gave him the idea. The seas were tied to the moon, and nightwalkers changed as the tides ebbed and flowed. Tal closed his eyes, and soon he imagined he could feel a distant force pulling at his body. He no longer felt the straw beneath him nor the cool air of the cellar. He felt only a vague and formless call, and he knew it was the moon. He had sensed it earlier, a vague attraction pulling at him. Not at his body, but at something inside. He tried to isolate the feeling. Was it pulling at his heart? At his guts?
He couldn’t tell. The only sure feeling was a gentle wavelike motion, barely discernable. He could almost hear the sound of crashing surf, though Selgaunt Bay was much too far away for it to be real.
It was like being drunk, but only faintly. As the sensation grew stronger, Tal felt a sudden flush of fear. His concentration broken, he felt the cold steel bars of the cage pressing against his legs and buttocks. His arms were sweating where they pressed against his thighs. A cramping pain wrenched his lower back, and he twisted onto his side with a groan.
There he curled like a child as the pain rushed up into his shoulders and down each leg. He cried out and instantly prayed that neither Chaney nor Eckert would heed him. Now the sound of rushing water filled his head, almost deafening him to his own cries and shouts. Hot rain pelted his brain, and a warm surge filled his whole body, pushing it out in shapes it was never meant to take. Lightning coursed through his nerves, leaving agonizing spasms in its wake.
Despite the darkness, Tal saw a crimson wall rise to surround him, closing in to press against his eyes, then through them to his panicked brain. The red fury penetrated his body, filled him to bursting, and blasted his conscious thoughts to oblivion.
CHAPTER 3
CAGES
Alturiak, 1371 DR
Darrow began his new service with mingled hope and trepidation, yet working for Radu’s strange brother was more agreeable than he could have expected. His awe of Stannis was mingled with dread, for he realized his new master was some sort of monster.
Unlike the monsters he had heard described in songs and tales, Stannis was talkative, even friendly, in stark contrast to his taciturn brother. His exaggerated charm soothed the horror Darrow felt in his new master’s presence. As long as he avoided looking directly into those molten eyes, Darrow could address Stannis naturally, as if his master were a mere mortal.
After Radu’s departure, Stannis showed Darrow the servants’ quarters. There was even a butler’s private chamber, but Darrow preferred the expanse of the main room and chose the bed that seemed most comfortable. He asked about fetching his clothes from Radu’s tallhouse, but Stannis showed him a wardrobe full of old Malveen family livery. The black and purple garments were striking, if rather dusty. Darrow liked the Malveen crest as well: a crimson octopus holding a sword, a scepter, a scroll, and a set of scales.
In addition to forbidding him to leave the house, Stannis warned Darrow not to disturb the windows, which were boarded shut both from the inside and on the exterior. Darrow presumed they were warded similarly to the entrance, but he also realized his master must despise the daylight.
On the upper floors were drawing rooms, a barren library, and twin music galleries overlooking the main promenade, which Stannis called the River Hall. The creaking floors and spectral array of covered furnishings made Darrow glad to return to the ground floor, where he spent the rest of his first day uncovering furniture. He was not used to domestic chores, but the work kept him occupied until dusk, when he returned to the River Hall.
Beside the stream he found a wet basket of squirming eels and twitching fish on a bed of seaweed. Darrow noted the inhuman footprints that left a trail between the water and the basket. The delivery had come courtesy of one of Stannis’s repellent minions. Unlike their master, the creatures had no fascinating hold over Darrow. They frightened and repelled him.
Stannis appeared soon after Darrow found the food, rising from the fabulous pool as he had the night before.
“Welcome home, my master,” said Darrow. “Shall I prepare your dinner now?”
“Don’t be
foolish,” said Stannis, not unkindly. “You realize I do not eat as you do.”
“Of course, master,” said Darrow. Shame warmed his face.
“You understand what I have become?”
“I … I don’t know, master.”
“Surely you do, child. Say it. Say the word.”
Darrow hesitated, debating whether this was a test of his manners or of his honesty. He could feel his master’s impatience grow as he wrestled with indecision. At last he sputtered out, “Vampire, my lord.”
“Good. Now come.” He took a jeweled goblet from the counting table. “Bring the food, and I will introduce you to your new charges.”
He led Darrow to a gallery off the River Hall. Its carved door swung noisily open at their approach. Darrow glimpsed the dark, naked figure that held it open for them. It glistened even in the shadows, and it stank of rotting fish.
“Pay them no mind,” said Stannis, gliding through the doorway. “Disgusting things. I don’t know why I keep making them.”
Inside the gallery, crushed velvet couches encircled four purple-veined marble pillars on a mosaic floor. Throughout the room, statues of jet and alabaster lionized long-dead sorcerers and sea captains, while long glass cabinets displayed smaller carvings, painted masks, bizarre fetishes, and a dozen ineffable relics of distant exploration. Dust dimmed every surface.
On every wall hung paintings of Malveen ancestors, most of them long faced and fair skinned, with hair that grew thin but not gray on the older men. The women shared a legacy of intelligent eyes and thin, taut lips.
“Here,” said Malveen, floating gracefully toward one of the largest portraits. A thin line of seawater still trailed behind him.
The painting was a life-sized depiction of a dour old merchant with long mustaches and watery blue eyes. Darrow thought it looked like an older, weaker Radu. “My great uncle Vilsek,” said Stannis. He held one finger up before his veil. “Shh! He keeps a secret for us.”
Stannis lifted a part of the painting’s dark metal frame. With a faint groan, the painting and the wall behind it moved outward to reveal a secret passage.
“Here,” said Malveen. He spoke a few arcane words and sprinkled glittering red dust into the goblet he had brought. Bright flames leaped from the cup and remained there, dancing. Stannis gave the chalice to Darrow, who was not surprised to feel that it remained cool.
Beyond the secret door was a wide, spiraling stairway. As they began the descent, Darrow sensed dark shapes looming above him. He looked up, fearful of what he might see.
Mounted to the stone walls were the preserved heads of great beasts. He saw the hooked face of an owlbear, the sleek head of a displacer beast, the hideous twin visages of a two-headed troll, and even more dangerous monsters. Griffin, manticore, dire wolf, wyvern, krenshar, and some beaked and tentacled horror of which Darrow had never heard all watched silently as they made their descent. The hides of some of them had turned yellow and waxy. Darrow wondered how long it had taken the Malveens to accumulate such a collection.
They continued to descend, spiraling down more than thirty feet below the ground floor. Darrow wondered how long before they reached sea level. The River Hall’s stream must be linked to Selgaunt Bay, he thought.
At last they emerged into a wide arena. Four tiers of seats surrounded a sunken pit, thirty feet in diameter. Stone braziers cupped green perpetual flames at intervals along the encircling rail, from which irregular spikes jutted down. Varicolored sand covered the pit floor except in the very middle, where a black hole gaped eight feet wide. Around its mouth were blades stained with ragged bits of rotting matter.
“The baiting pit,” explained Stannis. “My great uncle’s passion has been neglected for over two decades. I like to think he would be pleased with our little revival.”
Darrow smelled the faint odor of salt water. “Where does it lead?” he asked, looking down at the bladed pit. “The sewers?”
“Oh, no,” said Stannis, amused. “Someplace worse. Someplace far worse. Now come.”
Along the perimeter of the viewing stands, Darrow saw two more exits. One of them was a tarnished brass gate with a prominent lock. Stannis led the way and opened the portal with one of the dozen keys that hung from his chain veil. Darrow followed his master down another curving stairway, then along a passage that ringed the central pit. At last they came to a barbed portcullis.
“Watch,” said Stannis, indicating a bar projecting from the wall. He inserted another key from his veil and twisted it twice widdershins. Then he pushed the bar up and quickly pulled it down again. The clangor of chains came from beyond the wall, and the portcullis rose steadily.
“How does it open?” asked Stannis. His tone was condescending but oddly gentle.
“Key twice around to the left, bar up, then down.”
“What a clever child you are,” cooed Stannis. He stroked Darrow’s face with cool, moist fingers, then pressed the key into Darrow’s hand. “It is important not to forget. There are many more doors to show you, many more secrets. See that you remember them all.”
Darrow nodded. Stannis’s touch had left cool, wet traces on his cheek.
“Now you must meet your charges.”
The hall beyond the portcullis stank faintly of animal musk, but the odor of straw and filth was stronger. A wide passage curved around the perimeter of the baiting pit, and down its center ran a stream of water over which precisely cut stones formed a walkway. Dark stains showed that it was used as a sewage trough.
To each side of the passage were three cells. Each was the size of a horse’s stall, with iron bars as thick as a man’s forearm in the back and front. Beyond the rear bars was a slotted iron wall with tracks for gears. Darrow guessed they could be raised to allow entrance to the central pit.
All three of the cells were presently occupied.
In one, a massive troll squatted on the straw. A pair of buckets comprised the cell’s only décor. Darrow was surprised to see that the monster wore fine leather breeches and a sleeveless shirt big enough to make a sail. The creature’s rubbery green skin stretched tight over bulging muscles. As Darrow and Stannis approached, it rose to its full height of over eight feet, the beads in its braided hair rattling gently.
“Um brata nglath heem, Malveen?”
“Grata nglath heem weeta,” replied Stannis. His voice was smooth and graceful even when uttering the guttural words.
The troll nodded once and sat on the floor.
“His name is Voorla, Slayer of Eight Chiefs,” Malveen told Darrow. “Quite a charming fellow, if you speak the language. You’ll have no trouble with him, for he fancies himself a troll of honor and has given me his word of conduct. All the same, mind the bars when you leave his supper.”
Two cells past Voorla, a pair of elves stood against the far wall, between a pair of cots. They looked like brothers, each with the same cream-colored skin and long black hair. They wore ill-fitting tunics and kilts, obviously not their own clothing. One touched the other’s arm as they silently watched their captor glide past.
“Don’t they just ooze arrogance? No idea what they call themselves,” said Malveen. “If they weren’t so exotic, I wouldn’t bother saving them for Radu.”
Darrow looked at the elves. They stared back at him. In their green eyes he saw patient loathing. It gave him an odd pang in his belly, and swallowing didn’t help it. He looked away from them, but he could feel the reproach of the elves’ eyes upon his neck. He hastened to follow Stannis to the next cell.
The woman was so short and muscular that Darrow mistook her for a shaved dwarf at first. She had a dwarf’s scowling expression for them, but her face was startlingly pretty.
“Darrow, this our most cherished guest. Maelin, I trust you will find Darrow more agreeable than your former keepers.”
Maelin’s curses were as colorful as any Darrow had heard on the wharf.
“Your mastery of the language never ceases to inspire, my child,” said Stannis. �
��And here I deluded myself into thinking you would be grateful.”
“Just let me in the pit,” she said, “where I can spit your damned brother and be free of this filthy hole.”
“All in due time, my dear. I assure you that Radu would like nothing better, but you are still far too valuable to us alive.”
“There’s no ransom,” she said. “How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Oh, but there is, my dear. Did I forget to tell you? We discovered the one person in all Faerûn who cares whether you live or die.”
She looked at him a long moment before speaking. “You’re lying.”
“Such directness is to be expected of one who fancies herself a swordswoman, I suppose,” sighed Stannis. “Yet it is a habit you would do well to renounce, along with your predilection for a dockside vocabulary. One would have expected your father to have taught you better manners.”
Maelin spat on the floor beneath Stannis, who pretended not to notice.
“Imagine our surprise when we found him within this very city. When Radu showed him your bracelet, he appeared most eager to secure your release.”
“I want nothing to do with him,” said Maelin. “He’s got no money, anyway.”
“Fortunately for you, my child,” said Stannis, “he has much more to offer than money.”
At night, Darrow listened to Stannis’s tales and gossip, interjecting only rarely to ask a question. He wondered one night what had become of Rusk, the Huntmaster.
“Alas, my old friend rebuffs my hospitality, preferring to make his lair in the abandoned south wing. He finds my new form disquieting,” said Malveen. “You don’t find me repulsive, do you, dear boy?”
“No, my lord. You are the most majestic being I have ever seen,” he said sincerely. Part of Darrow’s mind knew and loathed Stannis for what he was, but another part was completely in thrall to his master. His servant mind was, by far, the stronger.