Shadow's Witness (19 page)

He walked out from the alley and toward the sentries with empty hands in evidence. They stiffened at his approach and stepped down from the porch onto the narrow, unpayed street. Though the guards’ cloak hoods shadowed most of their features, Cale still recognized one of the two from his encounter with the Harpers in the sewers. A thin, short fellow with slanted green eyes that indicated an elf ancestor not more than two generations removed. The other guard, a heavyset man of medium height, Cale did not remember. He wasted no time with idle greetings.

“I need to see Brelgin,” he announced when he drew close. Prom his previous encounter with the Harpers, Cale knew Brelgin to be in charge of the safehouse. “Now.”

“Brelgin?” said the heavyset guard, There’s no Brelgin here—”

“Save it,” interrupted Cale. “I know what you are and what this building is.” He turned to the half-elf, threw back bis own hood to reveal his bald head, and asked in elvish, “Do you remember me?”

The half-elfs almond eyes flashed recognition. “I remember you,” he replied in common.

“Good,” Cale said. “Then maybe you can answer my question and save Brelgin and I the agony of a meeting. I’m looking for Jak Fleet. You know I’m a friend. Where can I find him?”

At the mention of the little man, the half-elf s expression grew thoughtful. Cale didn’t like his silence.

“What?” Cale asked, alarmed. He advanced a step on the naif-elf and barely resisted fee urge to grab the smaller man by the shoulders and shake him. “What’s happened?” Cale had a terrible vision of Jak’s small body sucked empty by the shadow demon.

The half-elf s eyes found the street. “You’ll have to ask Brelgin, Erevis Cale. It’s not my place.” He poked a finger into Gale’s chest. “Wait here.”

“Wait—”

Both Harpers turned, bounded up the porch steps, and vanished into the safehouse.

Concerned, but knowing better than to follow them unasked into the safehouse, Cale walked to the porch, sat on the rail, and awaited Brelgin.

Within a few minutes, the tall Harper leader emerged, hastily wrapped against the cold in a green cloak. Brelgin had shaved his blond beard since last they had met, but Cale could not mistake the arrogance in the Harper leader’s eyes. He stood to face

him.

“You were told never to come here again, Cale.” Brelgin spat Cale’s name like a curse. “You could’ve been followed by one of the snakes you chum with. If you’ve compromised us,” he looked up and down the empty back street, advanced a step, and stared into Cale’s face, “111 see to it you’re made sorry.”

Cale bit back the urge to choke this arrogant ass where he stood. For Jak’s sake, he ignored the threat, swallowed his anger, and managed an even tone. “I’m looking for Fleet.”

“I know.”

Cale scrutinized his race. “Where is he?”

Brelgin hesitated an instant too long before answering. “He’s away on organization business.”

Cale knew he was lying. He grabbed the Harper leader by the cloak and jerked him close.

“You’re lying, and I don’t have time for this kind of nonsense. I need to see him. I’m his friend, Brelgin. Even you know that. Where is he?” He shook the Harper leader like a doll.

From within the safehouse, footsteps thumped toward the front door—Harpers rushing to Brelgin’s aid. Looking impassively into Cale’s face all the while, Brelgin waved them back just as they appeared in the doorway. They backed off.

“Let me go, Gale,” he said, softly.

Gale stared at him a long moment, and released him.

Brelgin readjusted his cloak, studied him for a moment, and apparently came to a decision. “Ill get my gear. You want to see him that bad, 111 take you to him.”

•Š• •Š••Š• •Š••Š•

Brelgin led Gale north through the city. Despite the snow, cold, and early morning hour, Selgaunt had now come fully back to life. Nobles’ carriages slowly navigated the slush of the streets. Patrols of the city watch, Selgaunt’s Scepters, trooped past in their red tabards. Merchants hawked their wares1 from shop doors to passersby. Street vendors pushed their carts through the slush. Customers rich and poor shopped, haggled, and bought. To all appearances, the city seemed perfectly normal. Except for the demons that murdered by night.

Despite his dislike for Brelgin, Gale felt obligated to let the Harper leader know about Yrsillar. He drew close to avoid eavesdroppers and spoke in a low tone, wasting no words.

“Listen, Brelgin, the Righteous Man is dead.” At that, Brelgin raised his brows thoughtfully.

. P-..I C V,

“Some kind of demon has taken over the guild. It has turned the guildsmen into ghouls.” When he said it aloud, it sounded so far-fetched as to be ridiculous, but he plowed on. “I dont know how it happened, maybe one of the Righteous Man’s summonings went wrong. But whatever the cause, I think all the recent hits in the underworld have been this demon’s doing. It has another demon serving it, a shadow that does its killing. I’m not sure—”

Brelgin cut him off in a tone colder than the whiter air. “Sounds like a problem for you and yours, Gale. None of mine have been hit by this shadow. And if it’s killing criminals, I don’t want to stop it. I want to recruit it.”

Gale could not believe his ears. He grabbed the Harper leader by the arm, jerked him around, and pulled him to a stop. His voice rose with his anger.

“Can you possibly be that stupid? This tiling isn’t going to stop with criminals. If s not ever going to stop, not unless someone stops it. Blast you-^” He lowered his voice as a fat, middle-aged housewife and her young son passed by and looked at them askance. “Nine Hells, man, it hit Stormweather last night. There aren’t any criminals there.”

“Except you,” Brelgin snapped, and jerked his arm free of Cale’s grip.

That hit Gale square in his gut. Trying to mask his shame with anger, he advanced on Brelgin until he stood nose to nose.

“Listen, you arrogant ass, there’s no telling what this tiung will do next. But you can be damned sure that it’ll be coming for yours soon enough. You think the Harpers are immune?” He scoffed. “If you’ve avoided it up to now, you’ve just been lucky.”

Brelgin returned Cale’s glare and didn’t retreat a handspan. “Until it does,” he said tightly, “it’s your

problem.” He spun on his heel and walked off. Stewing, Cale followed. •

For a long tame, they walked through the crowded streets in silence. Cale could not understand the Harper leader’s indifference. Yrsillar might eventually pose a threat to the entire city.

Is it just personal antagonism? he wondered. Or orders from higher up in the organization? Either way, he found it incomprehensible. Seething more and more with each step he took, he finally could no longer hold his anger at bay.*

“You and the Harpers are a bad joke,” he snapped, walking beside Brelgin but not looking at him. “You’ve got everyone thinking that you work for the good— whatever that even is—but when I tell you about a demon running rampant in the city, you tefl me that I’m on my own.” He shook his head. “You think that’s working for the good? I know thieves with more courage and more sense. You and your crew are nothing more than a bunch of little boys toying to protect your reputations and play at being men.”

That stopped Brelgin cold. He whirled on Cale, a snarl on his face. “What do you know about anything good, Cale?” he spat. “You’re a Night Mask murderer.”

At that, Cale recoiled a step. Surprise wiped away his self-satisfaction.

“That’s right, we know all about your background, all about your past in Westgate.” He jabbed a finger into Gale’s chest. “I don’t need to hear lectures on what*s good from an assassin.” Brelgin turned and stomped off

Too stunned and angry to speak, Cale continued on silently after him. It doesn’t matter who knows now, he thought bitterly. Thamalon already knows. If s all ending soon anyway, one way or another.

It hurt Cale to think such thoughts, but there it was.

He no longer had anyone he needed to hide his past from—though his deepest secret remained his own. Brelgin and the Harpers knew only that he had been a Night Mask. Not his relationship to the organization. If they had known that…

He pushed through the crowd at a jog and fell into step beside the Harper leader.

Tension hung thick between them, and neither man said another word as they continued northward through the city. Expecting to be led to another Harper safehouse, Cale felt surprised and worried when the tall, beautifully crafted churches of the Temple District came into view.

“The Temple District?” he asked Brelgin.

“You’ll see soon enough,” grunted the Harper leader. They turned onto the Avenue of Temples.

Though a few shrines had been raised in other parts of Selgaunt, most had been built on the north side of the city, in the five large blocks known as the Temple District. For as far as Cale could see, spires, domes, bell towers, gold gilt work, statuary, and stained glass dominated the horizon. In the distance, the festive bells of the towering temple of LUir a pealed forth and sent the cheer of the Revelmistress speeding into the sky. To his right, the soft ring of chimes sounded from within the small shrine dedicated to Lathander the Morninglord. A crowd of faithful thronged the avenue. The low murmur of their voices mixed with the bells, chimes, and gongs created an unintentional but strangely harmonious orchestra of the devout.

Having deliberately avoided ever setting foot on the Avenue of Temples, Cale found the architectural variety of the temples surprising. The structure of the churches varied so much that the street looked a bit of a hodgepodge. Some had been crafted of granite, some

of limestone, and still others of brick. Each had a different layout—here a dome, there a tower, there a squat rectangle. Still, Gale had to admit that the architectural dissonance had a symbolic beauty all its own—the various churches of the gods co-existed in peace on the Avenue of Temples. If only Selgaunt’s underworld were so understanding.

At many of the church doors, worshipers already gathered for morning services. Monks and priests greeted the faithful as they entered. Clouds of incense smoke wafted from open doors and dispersed in the cool air.

Cale noted that few carriages drove the avenue and most of the worshipers awaiting entry wore the clothes of commoners. He would have expected as much. Typically, the nobility had private shrines built within their manses, and when necessary, they could buy direct access to a high priest. In Selgaunt, wealth bought blessings as easily as it did bread.

Shaking his head ruefully, Cale trekked up the avenue behind Brelgin.

When the smooth marble walls of the temple of Deneir came into view, the Harper leader veered directly for it. Cale followed, his worry growing for his friend.

Shaped from slabs of gray granite and green marble—both stones quarried from the majestic Thunder Peaks twenty miles to the north of the city—the Godscribe’s two-story, rectangular temple stood open to the street. Though it wore a welcoming stair and beautifully columned portico, no worshipers waited outside to be allowed entry.

Unsurprising, Cale thought. As part of his Night Mask linguistic training back in Westgate, he had been tutored by a mage who had worshiped Deneir—a half-blind academic named Theevis who spoke as many languages as Cale had birthdays. From Theevis,

he had learned that the faith of the Godscribe appealed mostly to scholars, not commoners.

A marble frieze ran along the top of the temple wall, inscribed with Deneir’s praises in more scripts than even Cale could recognize. Two marble statues, each of an intense, elderly man poring over an open tome, flanked the closed double doors. Above the doors, a phrase had been inscribed in the common tongue—To Preserve Knowledge is to Serve Men and Gods. Brelgin jogged up the stairs, pushed open the double doors, and walked through. Cale followed. ” Erevia Cale had been in only two temples in his life, and both of those had been furnished with pews, an offering box, a raised pulpit, and an altar. As far as he could see, Deneir’s temple had none of those. The place looked more of a library than a worship hall. Desks and worn tables filled the carpeted room, each covered in papers, scrolls, inkpots, and open tomes. Tall shelves filled with books stood along the back wall. Chandeliers and three blazing hearths provided heat and light by which to study. The place smelled of ink, leather, and allorath leaf, an herbal paper preservative used by scribes and sages.

Of the handful of faithful who sat at the desks and studied lost lore, none so much as glanced up when Cale and Brelgin entered.

A tonsured acolyte in a black and white diagonally striped cloak cleared his throat and smiled at them from his table just inside the doors.

“Do you require a table, sirs?” he softly asked. “No, thank you,” Brelgin replied in equally soft tones. “We’re actually here to meet someone.” He gave the acolyte a smile and they walked past.

As they navigated the maze of tables and readers, Cale quietly stated, “This isn’t like any temple I’ve ever seen.”

Brelgin harrumphed as though he found it surprising that Gale had seen the inside of any temples at all.

“This isn’t the worship hall, Gale. This is only the lending library. The Deneirrath grant anyone access to these writings and charge only what the borrower can afford.”

Gale nodded appreciatively. If times had been different, he could have enjoyed himself greatly here. It reminded him of Thamalon’s library in Stormweather.

He followed Brelgin across the library floor to the rows of tall shelves that lined the back of the room. There, they found seated at a desk a middle-aged priestess clad in a turquoise robe. She pored over an ancient book, muttering to herself as she read, and occasionally wrote furiously on a separate piece of parchment. Gale and Brelgin stood before her for a few moments before she finally noticed them and looked up.

A striking woman with short blonde hair, a strong mouth, and crows’ feet around her intelligent eyes, she took them in and raised her eyebrows in question. Before she could speak, Brelgin bowed slightly, indicated Gale, and said in a whisper, “Priest Librarian Elaena, this is Erevis Gale.”