The Alabaster Staff (23 page)

Massedar stood at the window in his study, gazing out at the pale winter sky. Sunshine slanted into the room but did not warm it. He felt the outside chill pouring in through the open window, counterbalanced by the warmth radiating from the roaring fire. The blaze warmed his back and the hands clasped behind, and the reflected flames glinted merrily in his rings.

A knock came at the door—not the door that led to his private bedroom, of course, but the doorway that led to the audience hall in which he had alternately cowed and impressed their young thief.

“Enter thou,” he said, not turning his head. His breath misted in the chill draft.

He heard the door open and close again. One pair of footsteps came over to his side.

“Ahegi, faithful servant,” said Massedar. “Thou wouldst speak with me in privacy ere the interrogation?”

“Indeed, sir,” said Ahegi, likewise in High Untheric.

Massedar turned. Ahegi’s head was freshly shaved, and the two circles that adorned his forehead glistened. Ahegi’s close-set and piggish eyes, set deep beneath heavy brows, glowered with black irises and blacker thoughts.

“Speak thy heart, then,” commanded Massedar.

“My heart ponders, belike we have erred to entrust ourselves unto that maiden,” said Ahegi. “Would that we had plied her lips forcibly with red irons and turnspindles, that we might have such knowledge of our trespassers unto ourselves.”

Massedar smiled thinly and said, “The spangled sandpiper feigneth grave injury to lure the wolf from its nest, and the butterfly spider feigneth comeliness to lure a mate to its doom. If a simple animal understandeth that nectar draweth the prey willingly whilst the fire repelleth, wherefore dost thou despair of this lesson?”

“Mayhap I find the act of dissimulation cometh less easily unto me than it doth thee,” Ahegi replied, his lips
pressed together. “By my troth, I find that falsehood taxeth my patience.”

“That, old friend, maketh thee an advisor of great worth,” said Massedar.

Ahegi bowed and turned back to the door.

He opened it and said, “Demok, thou art granted audience to the Lord of Wing’s Reach.”

Demok stepped in and nodded slightly but respectfully. He kept his eyes studiously unfocused, looking at a vacant spot in the air to give his peripheral vision the greatest advantage.

“Sir,” he said.

“My advisor Ahegi sweareth that thy maiden-thief lieth beyond trust,” said Massedar. “What opinion hast thou?”

“Trustworthy,” said Demok, nodding. “Sound heart. Looking to impress, find a home.”

“Sound heart?” echoed Ahegi with a sneer.

“Good with kids,” said Demok. “Cares about people.”

“We shall not abide a net of such flimsy braids,” said Ahegi. “She hath led us unto the lair of our enemies. Henceforth shall we vanquish them by advantage, striking the vipers in their den.”

“Can’t,” said Demok with a set jaw.

“Thinkest thou not that I possess the power to smite whomever draweth my wrath?” asked Massedar. “Thou hast shadowed her unto the gates of her guild. We strike.”

Demok looked at Massedar, then at Ahegi. “She spotted my tail. Got away. Tried to follow; no luck. Don’t know where the guild is.”

Massedar stepped forward, drawing a breath to say something, but then stopped, closed his eyes, and exhaled bitterly.

“Perforce must we wait,” Massedar said eventually. “These are ill tidings, Demok. I pay thee handsomely for better. Leave thou me.”

Demok nodded again and left the room in a flickering with his efficient, graceful movements.

Massedar and Ahegi stood silently for some time.

Ahegi said, “He speaketh not the truth unto us,” he said.

“I know,” Massedar said, nodding, “but we know not yet wherefore. Arrest ye him not before the measure of his deceit hath been revealed in full. Someone within Wing’s Reach cleaveth to the Zhentarim. If it be he, must we then proceed with great prudence, lest we alert those who bring our doom.”

By the time Kehrsyn left the enclave, the streets had been freshly washed by a squall. The smell and humidity of winter rain hung in the air. Heavy drops of water fell from the eaves and splattered into the sodden drifts of slush.

Kehrsyn had a promise from Eileph that he’d send the repaired decoy staff to her as soon as it was completed. All she had to do was wait for it … at “the guild’s” headquarters at sixteen Wheelwright’s.

Kehrsyn gathered her cloak around her shoulders and shivered. The chill came not from the weather but from the dread within her breast. She did not want to return to that house. To keep her feet from dragging, Kehrsyn distracted herself by trying to sort out events.

The followers of Tiamat had attacked Furifax’s people to seize the Staff of the Necromancer. The Furifaxians had already prepared a decoy, either to fool the Tiamatans or to reinsert in Wing’s Reach. That made it seem more likely that the rebels had deliberately double-crossed the dragon cultists … or, she mused, that they knew the dragon cultists would double-cross them.

The Tiamatans attacked and slaughtered the defenders. How convenient that the Zhentarim had provided a large, loud crowd of people right there to conceal the noise of the fight. At some point, someone broke the decoy. On top of that, the real staff had been taken. That she knew because
someone had said it was “downstairs,” which pretty obviously meant Tharrad’s office. So either Tharrad had broken the decoy wand, hoping to fool the Tiamatans, or else the Tiamatans had found both wands and broken the false one out of spite. Since all the rebels were dead, it didn’t really matter which was the truth. The question remained, where was the Staff of the Necromancer? Did the Tiamatan church have it, which is to say, did Tiglath have it? Or had her followers been working with or for someone else and turned it over to them for safekeeping?

Kehrsyn found herself nearing the lair of the Furifaxians. The crowds around the Chariot Memorial had thinned, and in the buzz that lingered in the wake of the Zhentarim’s dealings Kehrsyn went unnoticed. She stood at the foot of the ladder leading to the front door. Her hand flexed on the cold, wet ladder, knuckles alternately turning white from tension and red from chill as she tried to work up the courage to go back inside.

She did, mounting the ladder slowly, heavily, and pausing at the door. She felt compelled to open the door quietly, holding her breath as it swung wide.

She slid inside and closed the door. The atmosphere was morbid, exuding an air of pointlessness. The smell was the bitter, raw odor of the slaughterhouse. The winter sun slanted in through the windows, falling on the cyanotic faces of the dead.

Kehrsyn narrowed her eyes in an attempt to stop her eyelids from trembling. Yes, the Untheri prided themselves on prospering under even extreme hardship, but while she had endured a lifetime of stoic suffering, she was unsure whether she could withstand hours of waiting among the restless souls of betrayers and victims alike.

She stalked into the kitchen, boots making a noise so slight it could be noticed only among those who drew no breath. The lowering fire still burned in the hearth. Though the building was beginning to cool off, she could
not bring herself to stoke the fire. Somehow, having a merry blaze burning brightly in the midst of the massacred dead seemed incongruous, perhaps even sacrilegious, and Kehrsyn wanted to do nothing that might attract their spirits back to harry the sole living creature in the building.

She circled the upper floor as gingerly as possible, and finally located a place where she could sit with only marginal discomfort. One of the rooms held only two bodies, and they lay by the doors. She found a tall stool and set it in the center of the room so that she could wait with wide spaces all around and no corpses reposing behind her. Thankfully, her nose seemed already to have become numb to the stink of pierced innards.

She sat on the stool, dropping her shoulder bag next to it. She waited, legs drawn up and back hunched in uncomfortable self-consciousness. She heard the hearth fire popping and hissing as it wound its way down to coals. The light grew dimmer and the air cooler, yet she dared not leave the building for fear of missing the courier. Neither could she bring herself to rebuild the fire or light lamps, for, as the darkness grew, so did the chance of stumbling over a dismembered body, and that was a possibility she wished to avoid.

As she waited, she found her thoughts drifting to her parents. She was surrounded by death, conscious of the lives that had ended so abruptly that cold winter’s day. She knew that some of these men and women had left behind families, a legacy of pain and want that they could not ease. Just like her father.

She had never known her mother’s husband. He had been killed by Ekur, one of the powerful priests of Gilgeam and ruler of Kehrsyn’s hometown of Shussel. Ekur had ruled with a hand that was incompetent in action and potent in reaction, and he had lusted after Kehrsyn’s mother Sarae. Loving and devoted, Sarae refused Ekur’s
obscene propositions, turning down even a wealth of livestock and spices for the dalliance of a single evening. In the end, Sarae’s loyalty turned and bit her as does a trained asp, for Ekur’s soldiers brought the hapless woman to him, killing her husband in the process. Ekur didn’t take the widow in. He simply took her.

As a child, Kehrsyn had wished that she could have known her father, had someone to love her and protect her in all the ways her mother, desperate just to find enough food, could not. Ever since the pivotal spring day by the plum tree, when she passed out of childhood and into adulthood, Kehrsyn had since wished that her father could have known her, to have had the opportunity to hold his child even once before he’d died. She found it unquenchably sad that the man had died for Sarae’s faithfulness without ever getting the chance to see the fruit of their union, and the grief was made all the worse that she, that child, had been an extra mouth to feed, an extra burden on one who unwillingly sacrificed her mate on the altar of love and devotion.

By the time Kehrsyn shook herself from her melancholy, it was entirely dark outside, and she heard a light winter rain falling, droplets tinkling on the shutters and trickling down the walls. She could see a faint red glow in the kitchen from the dying embers of the hearth, but no other light remained. Assailed by the chill from without and her longing from within, Kehrsyn moved to the corner of the room, gathered a few cushions and pillows by touch, and arranged some of them on top of her to keep her warm and some beneath her for comfort. Her bag did its usual double duty as her pillow. She intended merely to rest, or maybe to catch a catnap, while she waited for the courier.

The pillows soon began to warm to her body. Brooding over memories that never were and lulled by the weeping sky, Kehrsyn let herself slide into a slight doze.

At first, Kehrsyn didn’t resister the significance of the fact that she’d heard the floor creak, but then she heard the whispered, bubbly voices of the dead, maddeningly just beyond understanding, like a string of familiar syllables jumbled in a nonsensical pattern.

She heard the corpses rising to their feet, whispering of blood and dark magic. They moved quietly, but in the dead of night every sliding footstep rang like a tolling bell. Their murmuring voices drew closer. Their eyes, glowing like lanterns, scanned the darkness looking for the living. The nearest zombie’s neck was broken, and his head lolled around, casting irregular patterns of light and darkness as he looked for her, calling in the gurgling tongue of the deceased.

She heard the door close and latch, sealing her in with the shuffling, hungry dead. She reached for her rapier but found herself naked …

Kehrsyn awoke with a start. She glanced around, eyes wide, pupils dilated in fear. She saw that one of the corpses was indeed not where she’d last seen it. Dread gripped her heart, and bile rose in her throat, impelled by her empty stomach. She saw a flicker of light in the kitchen, a dim splash moving in the darkness. It vanished. She heard the sliding sound again, and the feet of a body in the kitchen began to slide out of sight.

Confused, Kehrsyn shrank back into the cushions. She pulled one of the pillows out from behind her and placed it in front. She panned her head back and forth, looking for movement, ears tuned for any noise, mouth open to aid the sharpness of her hearing.