Shadowbred (35 page)

And Mask, Cale thought, but did not say.

The next morning, a mounred force out of Selgaunt rode into the Saerbian camp and informed rhem rhat they wete in danger of attack. Cale almost laughed.

6 Uktar, the Year of Lightning Storms

Lhe next day, Abelar, Cale, Tamlin, and the combined force of Selgauntans and Saerbians rode quickly for Selgaunr. The sun stole Cale’s shadowhand. Cale did not bother to hide it and Abelar noticed.

Cale looked him in the face and said, “I am a shade, Corrinthal.”

He offered no further explanation. Abelar stared at him for a time, then said, “Lathander and Mask, light and shadow. War sometimes makes odd allies.”

Cale looked at Abelar. “That it does. Let’s find a few more and send Mirabeta to the gallows in our stead.”

“Indeed,” Abelar said grimly. “And her niece.”

The journey to Selgaunt was somber but uneventful. Cale stayed near Tamlin but they spoke little.

“Mister Cale,” Tamlin said to him as they neared the High Bridge. “I wish another were Hulorn.”

Cale understood the feeling and appreciated that Tamlin had confided it to him. He’d had similar thoughts after becoming a Chosen of Mask.

“Responsibility is heavy, my lord. You will bear it.”

“You must,” Abelar said. “Or Sembia will fall to darkness.”

Tamlin made a dismissive gesture. “You are seeing events through the lens of your religion, Abelar. This is not a battle between good and evil. This is politics. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“You are mistaken,” Abelar said with a soft smile, but left it at that.

Cale suspected that Abelar was nearer the truth than Tamlin, but did not say so.

Abelar reined in his mount near the monumental arch that spanned the Elzimmer. “This is as far as we go, Hulorn,” Abelar said to Tamlin.

“What? No. You must enter the city with me. Your forces will join ours.”

Abelar shook his head. “I am doing all I can to rally men to our cause, Hulorn. The nobility may stand with Mirabeta or cower, but individual men will join us. We need all we can get. I will return to Selgaunt or send word within two tendays. Mirabeta will not start her war in winter. We have until spring to recruit men to our cause. After that, there will be blood.”

He clasped Tamlin’s hand, then Cale’s. He held Cale’s longer.

“I would have thought you and I more likely to cross blades than raise them together. I am … pleased it is otherwise. Let it stay that way, eh?”

“Agreed,” Cale answered.

They parted, Abelar to raise as many men as he could to stand against Mirabeta, Cale and Tamlin to muster Selgaunt’s forces and prepare a defense.

“We must send for your mother, Thazienne, and Talbot,” Cale said.

Tamlin nodded. Both of them knew it was safer to be in the city than outside of it.

Elyril watched from her position along the wall of the High Council Chamber as her aunt made her way through the crowd to the Speaker’s dais. She wore a flattering but unpretentious green daygown. Elyril wore a violet gown, her amethysts, and her holy symbol

The council chamber was filled. The open doors revealed more nobles and their servants and wallmen packing the surrounding halls. Sunshine poured in through the domed ceiling, glittering off the dragon’s hoard of finery and jewels. Almost all of Sembia’s nobility was represented, either in person or by proxy. Much of the western nobility had sent word of allegiance to Ordulin and support of the overmistress. Only the nobility of Saerb, Selgaunt, and secessionist Daerlun were unrepresented, but they did not matter. Saerb, traitors in kind with Selgaunt, answered to Endren Corrinthal, and Endren Corrinrhal was rotting in the Hole of Yhaunn.

Advocates for granting Mirabeta plenary power as Sembia’s war regent had already spoken. No one had risen in opposition. All that remained was for Mirabeta to accept.

As Mirabeta ascended the steps of the Speaker’s dais, the chamber hushed and Elyril silently thanked Shar. Only a few stray coughs broke the silence.

Mirabeta did not smile. She looked grim, as befitted the circumstances.

“You offer me a great honor, and great responsibiliry. My inclination is to turn it down. Sembia has not had a war regent in centuries.”

Conversation rushed across the chamber, speculation that Mirabeta would refuse to serve. Elyril knew better.

“But I have recently received word that Abelar Corrinthal rides the countryside, rallying traitors to his standard, and terrorizing ordinary Sembians.”

Elyril knew most of the words to be lies. Abelar was raising a force of riders in the northwest, but he had terrorized no one.

“I have also received word that Selgaunt is raising an army to

withstand the will of this body. It does not please me, but if Selgaunt and Saerb wish war, then war they shall have. We refuse to let Sembia fall into the hands of traitors and thugs.”

The chamber erupted into applause. Mirabeta nodded and waited for it to die down.

“Under these dark circumstances, in these dark days, I feel dutybound not to follow my inclinations. Accordingly, I hereby accept this august body’s directive to act as War Regent of the realm throughout the term of the insurrection.”

Several hundred of Sembia’s merchant nobility rose to their feet as one and fairly rattled the dome with their cheers.

ŚŠŚŚŠŚ ŚŠŚŚŠŚ ŚŠŚ

The next days became a blur to Cale. Tamlin met with the Old Chauncel assembly, with individual members of the Old Chauncel, with high priests and powerful wizards. He sent out word of a muster, dispatched envoys to Cormyr and Cormanthyr. Peaceful overtures to Ordulin went unanswered. It seemed Abelar was correct—Mirabeta would have her war. They expected no aid but sought it nevertheless.

Agents were sent abroad as far as Baldur’s Gate, Ravens Bluff, and Arrabar, seeking to hire mercenary companies. Selgaunt’s treasury was no match for Ordulin’s, but it was a wealthy city nevertheless. Surely some swords would answer the call of coin.

Such events turned Cale’s shadowy past as a guild “letters man” into a valuable asset to the Hulorn, who used Cale and Vees Talendar to help him compose the constant stream of orders and proclamations that went forth from the palace.

Everyone in the city soon realized that war was imminent, that the matter could not be peaceably resolved. Some Helms abandoned their posts to join with the forces marshalling in Saerloon, and others arrived in Selgaunt seeking to join against Ordulin. The brewing civil war provided an excuse to bring long-buried regional and familial rivalries to the fore. Many in Sembia had long been jealous of Selgaunt’s prominence.

Tamlin declared martial law and posted Helms and Scepters at the gates and along the walls. Trade came to a standstill. Everyone entering and leaving the city was questioned and checked. Repait crews worked on long-ignored defensive bulwarks. Caprain Onthul and the Helms drilled and re-drilled the soldiers. All ships of the Sembian navy in Selgaunt Bay were pressed inro service.

“It is not enough,” Tamlin said to Vees and Cale as they sat in the parlor in Stormweather.

“No,” Vees said. “It is not.”

Their spies told them that the muster in Saerloon would result in several thousand troops, with hundreds of cavalry among them, and that the muster in Ordulin would result in half that again. Selgaunt would be outnumbered four or five to one, not accounting for hired mercenaries.

“We have not yet heard from Abelar and the Saerbians,” Cale said.

“If only he could rally those loyal to his father,” Tamlin said. He sipped at a goblet of Storm Ruby, the heaviest wine in the Uskevren cellar.

“He will bring a few hundred men, no more than that,” Vees said, and topped off Tamlin’s gqblet.

“We do not know what forces he will bring, Talendar,” answered Cale.

“If he does not hurry, he will bring nothing,” said Tamlin tiredly. “The snows will soon arrive. He will not be able to reach us at all if he does not arrive soon.”

“Perhaps he does not intend to,” said Vees casually.

“What? What do you mean?” Tamlin asked, alarmed.

Cale glared at Vees, then said to Tamlin, “I read Abelar as a man of his word, my lord. He said he would return or send word. He will do so.”

Tamlin nodded absently. “He could be dead, Mister Cale. We would not know it.”

To that, Cale could say nothing. Abelar could be dead.

Vees leaned back in his armchair and looked at the ceiling.

“Deuce, I have something … controversial to say.”

Tamlin set down his goblet and looked a question at Vees. Cale did the same.

“It is a bit embarrassing to admit,” Vees said. “But… my family has indirect trading ties with… no, never mind.” “Speak, Vees,” Tamlin commanded.

Vees looked to Tamlin, to Cale, and said, “Very well. My family trades with the Shadovar of Shade Enclave.”

He tried to look embarrassed but Cale saw through it.

“The Shadovar?” Tamlin exclaimed. “How? What kind of trading ties?”

Vees said, “A Shadovar trade emissary contacted me while I was in Waterdeep taking the rites. They wanted dressed stone—marble and the like—so we supplied it. The relationship grew from there. It has been quite lucrative.”

“The Shadovar?” Tamlin said, sounding more intrigued than appalled. He glanced at Cale, at Cale’s shadowhand, and returned his gaze to Vees. “Why have you never spoken of this before?”

Vees shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “As I said, it is embarrassing for the family. The Shadovar are held in low regard, but as my father always said, ‘coin is coin no matter its source.’ And the Shadovar are desperate for trade, Deuce. They live in a floating city above a desert. They need almost everything, but they lack trading partners.”

“That is because they attack their neighbors,” said Tamlin.

Cale knew that forces out of Cormyr, and even some Sembian soldiers, had battled the Shadovar, but he did not know the underlying reasons.

“I think much of that may have been a misunderstanding,” Vees said. “These things happen in politics, Deuce. Look at what is happening in Sembia now. Ask ten people outside of Selgaunt who started this whole affair, and eight of them will point at Selgaunt and Saerb.”

“They would be wrong,” Tamlin said.

Vees nodded. “And that is my point. What is said of the Shadovar does not square with my experience.”

Cale said, “What relevance does any of this have to events, Talendar?”

Vees did not look at Cale. He said to Tamlin, “The Shadovar are aware of our plight. They have indicated to me that they would be willing to assist us if we were willing to entertain a formal and open trade and political alliance.”

Tamlin stared at Vees for a long while. Cale noticed for rhe first time how much the gray in his hair had multiplied.

Cale said, “I like this not at all, my lord. From what I have heard of the Shadovar, they are not trustworthy.”

“I have heard the same of priests of Mask,” Vees said.

Cale rose, shadows bleeding from his skin. Tamlin laid his hand on Cale’s forearm.

“Please, Mister Cale. We are all tense.”

Cale glared into Vees’s smug face, at his dull eyes and weak chin. Vees only smiled.

Tamlin said, “I fear we are in no position to be selective in our choice of allies.”

“I have found them trustworthy, Deuce,” Vees added, and looked at Cale. “For whatever my word is worth.”

“It is worth much,” Tamlin said.

“I will get us aid elsewhere,” Cale said suddenly.

Vees scoffed. “From where? We stand alone. Only the Shadovar have stepped forward to offer aid. Tamlin, I can arrange a meeting as soon as tomorrow.”

Cale did not like the eager undertone to Vees’s wotds.

“The nobility around Saerb and near the High Dale,” Cale said. “They will rally to Endren Corrinthal.”

“Endren Corrinthal is rotting in the Hole of Yhaunn,” Vees answered. “He is a murderer. And honestly, what are we talking about here? The northern nobility are little more than retired old men and their house guards.”

Cale knew Talendar was at least partly correct. Merchants, not soldiers, retired upcountry. Still, it was a better course than an alliance with the Shadovar.

“I would wager Endren is no more a murderer than we are

traitors,” said Cale. “Mirabeta Selkirk arranged all of this, built one lie on another. I will get Endren out of the Hole. The northern nobility will answer his call.”

Tamlin sat up in his chair. “You can do this?”

Shadows leaked from Cale’s flesh. “I can do it.”

He would need help, but he knew where he could get it.

“Then do it,” Vees said, and turned to Tamlin. “But Deuce, do not let the possibility of aid from one quarter dissuade you from aid from another.”

“You seem eager to put the Shadovar before the Hulorn,” Cale said, and shadows swirled about him. “Too eager.”

Vees glared unadulterated hate at Cale. He touched his throat as if something hung from it, though there was nothing. “I am eager to save our city, Erevis Cale.”

Before Cale could respond, Tamlin said, “How soon can you arrange the meeting, Vees?”

Vees said, “As early as tomorrow.”

“Do so,” said Tamlin. “I want to hear what the Shadovar have to say. Mistet Cale, it will take you days, perhaps tendays, to arrange a rescue of Endren Corrinthal. I need to—”

Cale shook his head. “No. I will have him back in Selgaunt within two days.”

Tamlin stared at him, agog. So did Vees.

“You cannot,” Tamlin said.

“I can and I will,” Cale vowed.

“Goodbye, then, Mister Cale,” said Vees.

Cale had had enough of the twit and his smug tone. He stood, took Talendar roughly by the shirt, lifted him from his chair, and steered him from the parlor over his protests.

“The hulorn is tired from the day’s work, Lord Talendar. Begone from here.”

Vees resisted but his strength was no match for Cale’s. Cale deposited him in the hallway, said, “See yourself out,” and shut the parlor door in his face.

“You are unnecessarily harsh with him,” Tamlin said. “I do not approve.”

“He is a fool and dissembler. I do not approve of that.”