Shadow's Witness (13 page)

Now I find myself answering to a decadent dolt, he thought.

Since then, the Zhentarim had been keeping a close eye on Cale. They would have done the same with the halfling, but Jak Fleet had vanished into the underworld. Riven had known ever since that Gale’s death was simply a matter of time, but he had hoped to kill the bald overgrown butler himself. A man like Verdrinal would not understand that

Still angry, he walked back to face the nobleman and jabbed a finger into his chest.

“What about my men? I can’t afford to lose any more.

Verdrinal backed up a step and placed a finger to his lips in affected surprise. “Dark! You’ve just reminded me of something. Oh my! Oh, this won’t make you happy.”

Riven’s stare bored holes into him.

Verdrinal feigned dismay, bat Riven saw the mirth in his eyes as he spoke. “Before Malix left, he told me

110’PaulS. Kemp

to tell you to have your men go underground. To avoid the dread. That way—”

Riven smacked the drink out of his hands and gripped hi™ by his fish-white throat. “You dog!” He slammed his head into Verdrinal’s nose. Verdrinal exclaimed and staggered backward, clutching at a broken nose streaming blood.

“You want to play games with me! I lost six men while you sat on that warning!” He jerked free a dagger, grabbed Verdrinal by the robe, and waved the blade before his dazed, watering eyes. “I should split you right now.”

“If you do, you’ll never get out alive,” Verdrinal mumbled, and smiled through the blood pouring out his nose.

Behind him, Riven could hear the hurried boot stomps of Hov approaching alone. He spat into Verdrinal’s face. “Won’t be long and the time will come for you and me.” Riven pulled Verdrinal’s bleeding face close. “Just not tonight.”

Verdrinal, recovered now from the blow to his nose, and actually grinned. Disgusted, Riven threw him to the floor.

“Our time can come tonight, Drasek,” Verdrinal taunted. “If you want to stay. I’m sure Hov would appreciate some company.”

Riven turned and found himself staring into the wide, leather-armored chest of Hov. He took a step back and looked up into the big man’s dull brown eyes. Hov glared down, right hand on his sword hilt, left hand clenched in a fist.

“Anytime,” Riven whispered. “I’ve already left one of yours dead on the floor. What’s one more to me?”

Hov smirked but said nothing.

Riven stalked past and headed for the foyer. Behind him, Verdrinal’s mocking voice rang in his ears. “Praise

r

to Cyric,” the nobleman said, the standard Zhentarim words of greeting and farewell, but only among compatriots.

Without breaking stride, Riven shouldered over a delicate nude female statue. It shattered into hundreds of pieces on the foyer floor, chunks of marble splashed into the pool of blood that Varra had yet to clean up. Verdrinal squealed in protest.

“You bastard! You—*

Riven smiled and strode out the door. “Praise to Cyric,” he said-mockingly over his shoulder.

Call

le waited anxiously in the carpeted hall outside Thazienne’s room. Sweat beaded his brow and a lump sat in his throat. When he had left her side to organize the cleanup, she still had been unconscious and barely breathing. Her face had looked so pale and drawn.

Behind the closed door of the bedroom, he could hear Thamalon, Shamur, and Tamlin praying with High Songmaster Ansril Ammhaddan, Priest of Milil. Talbot had not yet arrived. Cale had sent a servant for him several hours ago, and was growing worried by his continued absence. Talbot would never forgive himself if something happened to her and he was not here for it.

Though Thazienne still treated her little

brother as if he were an adolescent—much to the rapidly maturing young man’s annoyance—Cale knew that brother and sister still shared a close bond. He hoped Talbot arrived soon.

Through the thick door Cale listened to the soft, melodic murmur of the High Songmaster’s song spells and the teary, answering chorus of the grief-stricken Uskevren. Thamalon had invited Cale to accompany the family in prayer of course, but Cale had gently declined. He was not a religious man. His presence would be a hindrance to them, not a help. Prayer and priests made him uncomfortable. Gods made him uneasy. He thought people of faith often to be overly gullible—followers not leaders. Only Jak had shown himself an exception to that rule. Religion distracted men, made them bond to the true nature of events around them. The Righteous Man embodied the point. His obsession with the worship of Mask had made the old man vulnerable. Cale would never allow himself to fall into such a trap. No, Cale preferred to rely not on divine assistance, but on his brains, his body, and his blades. Now more than ever before, however, he realized that those three things could not solve all problems. He saw in his mind Thazienne lying unconscious in her bed, weak and stricken, barely breathing. His wits and steel could do nothing for her, he knew, but he still could not bring himself to offer prayer.

Of course, his brains and blades could solve other problems. The need for payback, for example.

Later, he reminded himself, and swallowed his rising anger. For now, Thazienne’s well-being was all that mattered. Besides, at the moment he felt too exhausted and worried to plan vengeance. For an instant, he wished he could allow himself to find solace in faith.

Instead, he found solace in a high backed armchair. His anxious pacing did nothing but wear out the carpet and his nervous fidgeting only fed his worry. Trying to

calm himself, he crossed his long legsy clenched the carved arms of the chair, took a deep breath, and tried hard to remain still. He had ordered the staff away so that they would not see the family distraught, but he would have welcomed someone to talk to now. Even Larajin. Anything to distract him. He felt so damned useless! .

The praying within Thazienne’s bedroom stopped. Cale waited anxiously. After a moment, the door to her room slowly opened and the High Priest shuffled out. A heavyset yet stately looking old man with a thick beard and a neatly combed mane of gray hair, High Songmaster Ammhaddan looked so somber that Cale’s stomach hit the floor. He tried to rise from the chair but the strength had gone out of his legs.

Tamlin, eyes red and swollen, followed the High Songmaster out. Thamalon and Shamur came last. Both still wore their attire from the celebration, the fine clothes now stained, wrinkled, and disheveled.

With tears streaming unabashedly down his cleanshaven face, Thamalon gently pulled the door closed. Beside him, Shamur struggled to hold back her own tears, but finally lost the fight and wept openly. Her slight body shook with sobs.

Awkwardly,- as if unsure of himself, Thamalon took her in his arms. She stiffened immediately, haltingly returned his embrace, and quickly disengaged. Though grief-stricken, she still insisted on maintaining her distance from Lord Uskevren.

Cale saw the hurt on his lord’s face. The wound in his heart of a stricken daughter salted by the coolness of his wife. At that moment, Cale detested Lady Uskevren.

“It will be all right,” Thamalon whispered to her. He lifted a hand as though to touch her face, but let it fall to his side without contact. “It will be all right.”

Caught up in their emotion, Gale felt his own eyes begin to well. He lowered his head and looked at his hands. She can’t be dead! he inwardly protested. She can’t.

He had to hear it explicitly before he would believe it.

He stood on legs still weak and walked over to the solemn High Songmaster, who looked on the grieving Thamalon and Shamur with an understanding, fatherly expression. High Priest Ammhaddan turned to see him coming and regarded him with the same paternal warmth. Gale’s legs gave out and he nearly fell to the floor. The High Songmaster, strong despite his years, caught him by the arm and helped him to stand upright.

Gale gave him a grateful smile through teary eyes. His voice caught when he spoke. “Well?” he asked, and winced in anticipation of the answer. “How is she?”

Still holding him by the arm, the High Songmaster scrutinized his face with a look Gale found ominous. “Mister Gale, is your first name Erevjs?”

His throat constricted and he could barely find his voice. Tea.” He felt as though he were floating.

His distress must have been plain on his face for Ansril Ammhaddan softly patted his shoulder. “Shell live, son. Rest easy. She’ll live.”

Gale’s vision instantly went blurry. She’ll live!

Tears of joy replaced those of grief and streamed down his face. He smiled like a buffoon until he saw that the High Songmaster still wore a somber expression. He clutched a handful of the priest’s crimson robe so hard that he pulled Ansril forward a step.

“What? You said she would live. How is she? Will she—” He could not bring himself to mouth the words. A thousand terrible possibilities flew through his mind but he could give voice to none. He stared into

Ansril Ammhaddan’s wrinkled face and tried to read the priest’s eyes.

“What is it, Ansril?” Thamalon asked. “I thought you said she would be all right.” Thamalon and Tamlin closed in around them, apprehensive. No longer crying, Shamur seemed to be holding her breath.

High Songmaster Ammhaddan gently disengaged Gale’s fingers from his robe and turned to Thamalon. “I did say that she would live, Thamalon …” he began to say.

Immediately, Shamur began again to laugh and cry all at once. Thamalon smiled like a fool through his own wet eyes. Gale gave Tamlin’s shoulder a squeeze and the heir patted him on the back.

“But,” the High Songmaster’s baritone cut through their relief. Their smites vanished and the hallway fell silent. When Ansril had their full attention, he continued. “I did not say that she would be all right. She is severely wounded. Severely. Whatever this creature was, this shadow, the wounds it inflicted have attacked her soul and drained her life-force.” He looked to Thamalon and Shamur with sympathy. “Her recovery will be long, and she may not be the same afterward. Wounds like these could affect the spirit as much or more than the flesh…” He trailed off thoughtfully and stroked his beard.

Shamur’s eyes Went wide. She visibly fought down her grief, looked to Thamalon, and spoke with certainty. “But she’s so strong, Thamalon. Shell be all right. I know it. She will.”

Thamalon gave her a soft smile. “She will. She has her mother’s strength.” “

To that, Shamur finally gave Lord Uskevren an appreciative smile, though she did not reach out to him. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest and rubbed thoughtfully at her shoulders.

Finally unable to contain his own grief, Tamlin began to cry. He stood stiffly beside Gale with tears slowly falling down his face. Even if they had been close, Gale could have offered him nothing, his own sorrow cut too deep. The spirit aa much as the flesh, Ansril had said. Shamur too began to weep anew.

Thamalon’s eyes alone remained dry, his mouth a thoughtful grim line. Gale could see in his lord’s expression grief warring with anger—anger at the parties responsible. Gale.knew the reason for the attack but dared not speak “it. It tore him apart inside to not immediately confide in Thamalon.

“I’m sorry, Thamalon,” said High Songmaster Ammhaddan sincerely. TH do everything I can, of course.”

Thamalon gave him a forced smile and shook the Songmaster’s hand.
I know you will. Thank you, Ansril.”

The High Songmaster indicated Thazienne’s bedroom with a nod. “She needs undisturbed rest. The work of the Lord of Song is done. Sleep will heal her now aa much as spells.”

“Ill see to it she’s undisturbed. Thank you again.”

High Songmaster Ammhaddan bowed to Lady Uskevren. “She is strong, Lady. I can see that. Do not lose hope.”

Shamur nodded and forced a smile of thanks.

Ansril turned and nodded to Gale and Tamlin. The Songlord’s voice bring you peace and keep you,” he said, and with that took his leave.

When he had gone, Gale, Tamlin, Shamur, and Thamalon stood about in the hall,’grief-stricken, exhausted, and unsure of what to do with themselves.

Tamlin’broke the awkward silence at last. Embarrassed, he wiped at his tear-streaked race. “I think I’m going to try and get some sleep.” He nodded goodnight

to Thamalon but the two did not embrace. “Father.” He did, however, hug his mother with genuine affection. “Good night, Mother. It’s going to be all right. You heard the High Songmaster.”

“I know,” she whispered, as though trying to convince herself “I know.”

He wiped a tear from her face and smiled at her. When she returned a wan smile of her own, he patted her shoulders and turned away from her to face Gale. “Goodnight, Mister Gale.”

“Goodnight, Master Tamlin.”

After he had gone, Thamalon kissed Shamur on the forehead. Unusually, she did not shrink from his show of affection. “I think our son has the right notion, Lady. Let me take you to your bed. Erevis and I will wait up forTalbot.”

At first hesitant—Thamalon only rarely set foot in her quarters—she at last nodded, dabbed her nose, and allowed him to lead her off toward her suites. As he passed, Thamalon said to Gale, “Erevis, Til meet you in the library in a quarter of an hour.” His serious expression told Gale that he should be ready to discuss business. ,

“Yes, Lord,” Gale replied. He would not have been able to sleep anyway. .

Though only a few hours from dawn, the halls of Stormweather still bustled with activity. The surviving house guards scoured the manse, They searched and re-searched every room in the manse and every outbuilding on the grounds for ghoul stragglers.

A pair of weary-eyed guards dressed in blood-spattered, Uskevren blue thumped up the stairs as Gale padded down. They looked exhausted, but nevertheless

Shadow’s Witness • 110

went about their duty with the stolid, seemingly limitless endurance possessed by all professional soldiers.

When they saw Cale, both immediately snapped to attention. Cale gave them a halfhearted smile. He had always had the respect of the house guard—once, when he had been delegating duties to the staff for an upcoming dinner, Captain Orvist had walked by and complimented him by saying that he gave orders like a field general—but his battle with the shadow demon had elevated him to the rank of honorary commander. He thought he might as well take full advantage.