Shadowstorm (9 page)

Tamlin spoke in low tones so that none but Rivalen would hear him. “My entreaties for a negotiated resolution have gone unanswered.”

Rivalen nodded. “The overmistress does not wish peace.”

A few men in the crowd—off duty militiamen, no doubt— raised a defiant cheer condemning Ordulin. “When will the Selkirk whore bring her army, Hulorn?”

“We wish some sport,” shouted another.

Tamlin raised his fist and forced a smile.

“I cannot believe it has come to this,” he said to Rivalen. “How can the realm have been so close to war without anyone realizing it? We will kill each other over trifles, over a lie.”

Prince Rivalen eyed him sidelong. His golden eyes shone like fivestars.

“That is so and has ever been so. I have lived two thousand years and have seen in that time that men almost always die for trifles. Exceptions are rare.”

“Your years have made you a cynic, Prince,” Tamlin said softly.

Rivalen laughed, a hard, staccato sound. “A realist, Hulorn. In truth, everything is a trifle when viewed through the lens of history. Empires rise and fall, men live and die. The Jhaamdathan Empire ruled a great portion of the world at one time. Have you ever heard of it?”

Tamlin felt ignorant but shook his head.

“Of course not,” Rivalen said. “Only scholars have. Yet the Jhaamdathans thought their influence would extend forever. Men delude themselves into thinking that the events in which they participate are of particular significance to history, but they rarely are. One empire is the same as another.”

“What of Netheril, Prince? Even I have heard of it. Its influence reaches through time, even unto now.”

Rivalen waved a hand dismissively and it trailed shadows. “Netheril is an exception. A sole exception. But even it will fade from the memory of men someday. All is fleeting, Hulorn, and only one thing is certain—an end to all things.”

Tamlin chuckled. “I mistook you, Prince. You are worse than a cynic. You are a nihilist.”

Rivalen shrugged. “Things are what they are, whatever we may think. It is our task to wrestle meaning from meaningless-ness while we still can. Does that make me a nihilist still?”

Tamlin’s smile faded. He envied Rivalen the perspective of two thousand years.

“Are you a man of faith, Prince?”

Rivalen’s golden eyes flared and narrowed.

“Is that a rude question?” Tamlin stuttered. “If so, I apologize. I thought—”

Rivalen waved a ringed hand. The shadows about him swirled. “It is not rude, Hulorn. It is forthright. That is one of the things I admire about you.”

Tamlin felt himself color at Rivalen’s praise. He valued it as much—perhaps more—than he had ever valued the praise of his father.

“I ask only because I have been considering matters of faith recently. In my own life, I mean. Our conversation put me in mind of it.”

Rivalen said, “Times of crisis breed introspection. And yes, I am considered pious among my people.”

The admission mildly surprised Tamlin.

“May I inquire, then, which gods you worship?”

Rivalen looked above Tamlin and into the moonless sky. When he looked down again, he smiled kindly, the expression made oddly threatening by his ornamental fangs.

“I worship but one. A goddess.”

“Really? I’ve known none but priests to worship only one god or goddess.”

“I am a priest, Hulorn.”

Tamlin reined his horse and stared at Rivalen. Their bodyguards looked startled for a moment, but quickly formed a cordon around the two.

“A priest? I thought you were … something else.”

“A mage?”

Tamlin nodded.

“I am both, Hulorn. A theurge, my people call me.”

Tamlin’s respect for Rivalen redoubled. “That is a rare combination, Prince.”

“Perhaps not as rare as you think. I have never found my faith to be at odds with my magical studies.”

“You worship Mystra, then?”

Rivalen stared at him, his face impossible to read. “No.” He

gestured at the road, and shadows leaked from his fingers. “Shall we continue?”

“Uh, of course.” Tamlin turned his mare and they started moving again. The bodyguards fell in around them.

Rivalen said, “Mystra is not the only goddess who welcomes practitioners of the Art into her ecumenical orders. Have you considered formalizing your own worship, Hulorn?”

Tamlin smiled and shook his head. “No. Religion does not speak to me, Prince. My father was the same way. Coin is in the Uskevren blood, not faith.”

“You are not your father, Hulorn.”

To that, Tamlin said nothing, though the words pleased him somehow.

“You need only a Calling,” Rivalen said.

“No god or goddess will be calling me, Prince.” Tamlin tried to laugh at the notion but could manage only a forced smile.

“A Calling does not always come from the divinity,” Rivalen said. “Sometimes it is communicated through an intermediary— another priest of the faith.”

Tamlin felt Rivalen’s eyes on him but did not return the Prince’s gaze. He understood what Rivalen seemed to be offering and was tempted by it.

“You have not even told me the name of the goddess you worship.”

“True,” Rivalen said. He paused for a time, then said, “I have given you cause to trust me, have I not?”

The question surprised Tamlin. “You have. Of course.”

“I feel there is even a friendship between us. Or at least a burgeoning friendship. Am I mistaken?”

Tamlin shook his head. “You are not, and your words please me. I feel the same.”

The shadows around Rivalen swirled. “My Lord Hulorn, you know very little about me and I fear an ill-timed admission about my faith may put a wedge between us. My faith is … poorly understood.”

Tamlin thought of Erevis Cale, of his surprising admission to Tamlin that he worshiped Mask, the god of thieves and shadows. Rivalen’s admission could be no worse. He said, “I bring few preconceptions in matters of faith.”

Rivalen reined his horse and studied Tamlin’s face. Tamlin reined his mount and bore the Prince’s gaze.

Finally, Rivalen said, “Then I shall share something with you that I share with only a few outside my people. A secret, if you will.”

“I will keep it in confidence,” Tamlin said, pleased that Rivalen would trust him so.

Rivalen nodded, sighed. “Over my two thousand years I have learned that pain and loss are common to all men in all times. Not all men experience love or know joy, but all men know pain and loss. All men know fear. And in the end, all men know the emptiness of the void.”

“That is so,” acknowledged Tamlin slowly, though he was not sure he understood completely.

Rivalen stared into his eyes. “That realization led me to Shar, Hulorn. I worship the Lady of Loss.”

For a moment Tamlin thought Rivalen must have been making a jest, but he saw from the Prince’s solemn expression that the words were truth.

“Shar?” he asked, startled. The single word was all he could manage.

Rivalen nodded and said nothing. The shadows turned slow spirals around his flesh.

“Shar. But I have heard …” Tamlin started to say, but stopped. “Shar is…”

He shook his head and looked away. He could find no words that would not offend the Prince.

Rivalen said, “As I said, my faith is poorly understood. Dark rumors abound but they are mostly born of ignorance. Shar does not cause pain and loss. She simply embraces their existence, and teaches her true faithful to do the same as part

of the cycle of life and death. There is peace in that, Hulorn. And power.”

Tamlin looked up at that. Rivalen stared back at him, unreadable.

“You know me, Hulorn, know me well. I assure you that any distasteful deeds done in Shar s name have been caused by those who call themselves her faithful but who little understand her teachings. I am doing what I can to put an end to their error.”

Tamlin nodded, his mind still swimming.

“Does this change anything between us?” Rivalen asked.

Tamlin thought of his father, of Mister Cale. “I must ask you something, Prince.”

Rivalen’s face was a mask. “Ask.”

“Where is Mister Cale?”

The shadows around Rivalen swirled, but his expression did not change.

“Erevis Cale retrieved his comrade and left Sakkors. I do not know where he is now.”

Tamlin studied Rivalen’s face, seeking a lie. He saw nothing and decided against asking more. Mister Cale had chosen his course, and one confession from Rivalen was enough for the evening.

Tamlin said, “Nothing is changed between us. We remain … friends.”

Rivalen studied his face, nodded. “I am pleased to hear those words.” He paused, said, “Hulorn, Erevis Cale was wrong about us. About me. You may trust me.”

I must, Tamlin thought but did not say. Instead, he said, “Erevis Cale was wrong about many things. And I do trust you, Prince.”

They started off again.

A group of passersby—laborers, to judge from their coarse clothing—stopped and stared at Rivalen, pointed and whispered. A city linkboy nearby stood open-mouthed under a street torch and eyed the Shadovar ambassador. Rivalen smiled at the boy and the lad’s mouth gaped still wider. The flames in

the street torch dimmed as Rivalen and Tamlin passed.

“Your citizens are not yet accustomed to our presence,” Rivalen said.

“They will become so, in time,” Tamlin said.

Rivalen smiled and said, “I think you are right.”

They rode in silence for a time before Tamlin turned the discussion to a matter that had troubled him since learning of it. He said, “Mister Cale succeeded in freeing Endren Corrinthal. Our spies confirm it. Yet I have heard nothing from Endren or Abelar.”

Rivalen eyed Tamlin sidelong. “Perhaps, having gotten what he wishes, Abelar Corrinthal no longer considers an alliance with Selgaunt necessary. Perhaps he hopes that the overmistress’s army will break itself on Selgaunt such that he never need put himself or his holdings at risk. Perhaps Erevis Cale spoke ill of you and your alliance with us.”

Tamlin frowned, uncomfortable with how closely Rivalen’s words mirrored his private thoughts. “I think not,” he said slowly. “Abelar seemed an honorable man to me.”

“You thought the same of Erevis Cale, I suspect. Pain and loss, my Lord Hulorn. I have seen it countless times. Men remain men. But whatever the Corrinthals intend, know that you may rely upon me and my people. And I feel that I may rely upon you and yours. That will be enough. We will prevail against whatever comes.”

To that, Tamlin made no reply. He wished, all of a sudden, he had not sent his family away. For the first time in a long while, he wished his father was alive. He felt isolated entirely. He had only Rivalen and Vees.

“Yhaunn is in ruins, Prince,” he said. “I have scried it myself. Our spies speak of a monster from the sea.”

Shadows snaked around Rivalen’s head and hands. “Your spies are well informed. We control a kraken, Hulorn, and it attacked Yhaunn at my command. I thought the scale of the attack appropriate, given our need for a large distraction.”

Tamlin had suspected something large, but not a kraken. “A kraken!? You used a bound kraken to attack a Sembian city? Hundreds of civilians are dead. You should have told me your intent. I would have forbade it.”

Rivalen turned on him, his eyes hard. The shadows around him churned, as if in agitation, but when he spoke his tone was mild.

“Squeamishness is seldom rewarded in war, Hulorn. Do you think Mirabeta’s army will hesitate to raze Selgaunt if it serves her purpose?”

Tamlin took the Prince’s point. “Of course not, but…”

Rivalen continued. “Still, I should have informed you of the details.” He half-bowed in his saddle. “My apologies.”

Tamlin suddenly felt embarrassed for raising the matter. He did not enjoy the thought of women and children dying in the kraken attack, but the Prince’s point was correct. War was war. He made a dismissive gesture. “I should not have mentioned it. You are correct, of course. Mirabeta has forced us to fight a war, so fight a war we must. I suspect matters will get worse before they improve.”

“You can be certain of that,” Rivalen said.

“Can the kraken be used to secure the seaways? At the least, it can prevent a naval assault on the harbor?”

Rivalen nodded. “It was wounded in the attack and is difficult to control. But I will see to it, Hulorn.”

Tamlin considered, said, “Could it attack Saerloon if we had need? Only if matters become extreme, of course.”

“It could,” Rivalen said with a knowing smile and a nod. “Though I suspect Lady Merelith has or soon will take precautions against such a move.”

“No doubt,” Tamlin agreed.

They moved north toward the Khyber Gate. The huge wood and iron slabs had been closed for the night, but the work of reinforcing them continued. The workmen, laboring by torch and glowball, halted in their labors to look upon the Hulorn and the Shadovar. Tamlin and Rivalen dismounted and received a

briefing from Mernan, the stooped, elderly engineer supervising the work. Tamlin had less than a score of quality engineers in his service. He valued them as highly as platinum.

“New crossbeams reinforce the gates, my lord,” Mernan said, gesturing at the oiled iron beams that reinforced the gates at the top and bottom. “A second bolt will soon be forged. The hinges are strong and well set into the stone. They are unassailable from the outside.”

Tamlin nodded, pleased at the rapid progress.

Rivalen strode over to the gate and the workmen parted before him, eyes wide. He placed a hand on the wood and shadows flickered from his fingertips. The workmen murmured and whispered, their tone distrustful.

To Tamlin, Rivalen called, “I can provide spellcasters who can further bolster the strength of the gates.”

“The wood is enspelled,” Mernan answered irritably. “Bolt and hinges, too. Our mages saw to that.”

“Not well enough,” Rivalen said. He placed both hands on the huge gate and recited a series of arcane words. Despite his understanding of magic, Tamlin did not recognize the spell. The workmen backed off, fearful.

Mernan protested loudly. “My lord,” he said to Tamlin.