The Shattered Mask (24 page)

He and his sister sprinted toward a holding area where the palfreys and carriages of folk currently inside the theater awaited their owners’ pleasure. Evidently the hostlers

understood that something was amiss inside the walls, for they gaped at the newcomers. Or perhaps they were actually gawking in horror at the spiders, ettercaps, and ruffians charging over the open ground behind them. For though Tal hadn’t looked back to check, he was confident his pursuers had yet to abandon the chase.

“Run!” he shouted to the hostlers, coachmen, footmen, and other servants loitering about.

True, the bravos and conjured creatures weren’t actually hunting these innocents, but that was no guarantee that the hostile force wouldn’t attack them if they were still lingering when it arrived.

The attendants scattered. Talbot untied his brown gelding, scrambled onto its back, and Tazi leaped onto the snow-white mare Brom had ridden.

Now that Tal was actually astride a mount, he risked a glance back at the playhouse. Sure enough, here came several spiders and ettercaps scuttling after him, and one or two toughs as well. Meanwhile, a spark of purple fire rose above the tiring house like a star of evil omen. Tal assumed it was the masked wizard, likewise taking up the pursuit.

The young noble shivered, and then he and Tazi spurred their steeds. They galloped for Stormweather Towers and left their foes behind.

Had Nuldrevyn not already known it was morning, he could never have divined it from looking into Marance’s suite. With the heavy, musty-spelling draperies still covering the windows, the hearth cold, and only a pair of candles burning, the parlor was as gloomy and chilly as ever.

The Talendar patriarch supposed he should have been glad of that, for he’d wanted his resurrected brother to dwell here discreetly, without doing anything to reveal his presence. Now he wished the chamber seemed a bit more like the abode of a living man and rather less like a tomb.

Marance himself sat before a chess table, the edges of the board set with the dusty, colorless crystals that adorned so many articles in the room. Fingering one of the ebony rooks, he was evidently playing a game against himself, albeit

with the distracted air of a man who was devoting most of his thought to weightier matters. Meanwhile, occupying one of the divans, the loathsome Bileworm was a writhing, contorting mass, constantly shifting from one twisted, crippled-looking shape to another for some purpose Nuldrevyn couldn’t comprehend, unless it was merely the familiar’s amusement.

After a moment, both occupants of the suite sensed the presence of the visitors standing at the doorway. Marance turned, and, rising, gave his brother and nephew a smile. Bileworm rearranged his tangled substance into something more nearly resembling the shadow of a human being.

“Come in, kinsmen,” Marance said. “Sit down.”

Nuldrevyn kept a wary eye on Bileworm as he settled onto his chair, making sure the spirit wouldn’t attempt another prank. As if divining his erstwhile victim’s thoughts, the familiar gave him a leer.

“Can I pour you some wine?” Marance asked.

“Thank you, no,” Nuldrevyn said. “Brother, we need to talk.”

The wizard arched an eyebrow. “That sounds ominous.”

“I don’t mean it to,” Nuldrevyn replied. “It’s just that I’m concerned about what happened yesterday.”

“Because my prey eluded me?” Marance strolled back to the chess table and retrieved his staff. “Then in all candor, I have to say that if I were you, I could find it in my heart to be patient. After I died, you had thirty years to exterminate the Uskevren, and you never succeeded in killing a single one of them. I’ve only been back in the world of the living for a few weeks, and already I’ve accounted for Thamalon and Shamur. And I would have bagged the youngsters yesterday, except for the Uskevren family mage. He was a better spellcaster than I expected, but he’s out of the picture now.”

“I don’t think Father is upset that you haven’t killed Thamalon the Second and the others yet,” said Ossian, a bit diffidently. “Rather, he has concerns about your methods.”

“Indeed,” Marance said. “Then speak on, Nuldrevyn. I never close my ears to sound advice.”

“I wasn’t happy with that attack you conducted in broad daylight on a public street,” Nuldrevyn said, “but it wasn’t entirely reckless, so I held my tongue.”

Bileworm opened his mouth, stuck out a waggling length of shadow stuff three feet long, and grabbed it with both hands.

“Stop that,” Marance rapped, and the spirit obeyed. “As usual, brother, I apologize for my idiot servant’s impudence. You were saying?”

“I feel that the attack inside the theater was too reckless,” Nuldrevyn continued doggedly. “Your bravos and spiders hurt a number of innocent people.”

Marance shrugged. “Since no one knows to hold the House of Talendar accountable, what difference does it make?”

“None, perhaps,” Nuldrevyn said, “but my concern is that if matters had fallen out just a little differently, someone could have linked our family to the assault.”

The mage frowned. “I don’t see how.”

“One of your henchmen could have been captured and interrogated,” Nuldrevyn said.

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Marance said. “They didn’t know who I was. They didn’t even know who Ossian was, correct?” He turned to the younger man for confirmation.

“That’s true,” Ossian admitted.

Smiling his gentle little smile, Marance pivoted back toward Nuldrevyn. “You see? The lad knows what he’s about, and thanks to his circumspection, no one could possibly follow the thread that leads from the bullies to us.”

“Perhaps,” Nuldrevyn said, “but when you entered that theater, you were venturing into a crowd. What if someone had stabbed you in the back, or snatched off your mask?”

Marance shook his head. “Now you’re being silly. I know how to handle myself, and even if I didn’t, I was flying through the air well out of people’s reach for nearly the entire time.”

“Well, what if someone had gotten a good look at those white eyes of yours?”

“It wouldn’t have mattered,” Marance replied. “Your hypothetical observer still wouldn’t have recognized me, nor would anyone to whom he spoke. I’ve been dead thirty years, Nuldrevyn. No one remembers me anymore. Even Thamalon, my slayer, couldn’t place me.”

“Maybe not,” the old man said, “but I still think it would be wise for you to lay low.”

“Lay low?” Marance repeated.

“Just for a little while,” Ossian said quickly, “until the uproar over the attack on the playhouse dies down, and people stop looking for the man responsible.”

“Such a delay is unnecessary,” Marance said, “and I’m afraid it’s unacceptable as well. I’ve waited a long time for my revenge. I don’t intend to wait any longer.”

“You’ve already killed Thamalon and Shamur,” said Nuldrevyn. “Surely that was the main thing.”

“Yes,” said Marance, “but it wasn’t the whole thing, nor will it be until the House of Uskevren is extinct.”

“I promise,” said Ossian, “we’ll rid ourselves of Tamlin and his sibs eventually.

“I wonder if you could,” Marance replied. “So far, they haven’t turned out to be the dimwitted weaklings I was led to expect, and in any case, lad, you aren’t hearing me. The Uskevren have to die by my hand, now, before my liege calls me back to the Iron City.”

Nuldrevyn grimaced. “It’s just that Ossian and I are worried—”

“To perdition with your worries,” Marance said. “Don’t you think you owe me this bit of satisfaction?”

Nuldrevyn hesitated. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s because I’ve never reproached you with it,” Marance said. “But I told you that after Thamalon cut open my belly, it took me a long, excruciating time to succumb to my wound, a period during which I waited in vain for my brother to ride back to look for me. Had you done so, you might well have been able to save my life.”

Nuldrevyn gaped at his brother in horror. “After Thamalon and his men broke our company, all was confusion.

I didn’t see what happened to you, and assumed you were either dead or fleeing for your life like the rest of us survivors. Surely you know that if I’d had any inkling you needed me, I would have dared any peril to reach you!”

“If so,” Marance replied, “then you should be equally keen to help me now. Are you?”

As Nuldrevyn gazed into the wizard’s peculiar eyes, he felt a frisson of unease. He told himself it was nonsense. Dead and damned though he might be, Marance remained his brother and would never hurt him. Still, though it shamed him, he found himself reluctant to put his faith to the test.

-“Of course I want to help you,” the old man said. “Destroy Thamalon’s get and we’ll all dance on their graves. I just needed to make sure you intend to be careful.”

“Absolutely,” Marance said. “Even if I didn’t wish to shield you, I would still have excellent reason to watch my step. What do you think would happen if someone here in the mortal realm killed me a second time?”

“I don’t know,” Nuldrevyn replied. “I wasn’t even sure you could be killed. Wouldn’t you simply go back to being a grandee in the netherworld? Or rise to attack the Uskevren once more?”

“Alas, no,” the wizard said. “I have it on good authority that I’d turn back into a larva frying in a fire pit, and I daresay my rivals at court, baatezu lords who resent the fact that a human has risen to their level, would make very sure that I never escaped the flames or my uncouth shape again.”

The wizard smiled. “But rest assured, neither you nor I are going to find ourselves embarrassed in that way or any other. My next ploy will carry our little campaign of vengeance to a successful conclusion. For while I was meditating, it suddenly came to me that I possess the means to destroy all three of Thamalon’s cubs with a single stroke.” He reached inside his mantle and produced a silver and sapphire brooch. “It’s wonderful how the dark powers guide our hands, don’t you think, even when we imagine we’re doing something as inconsequential as picking up a souvenir.”

Shamur was cutting at the air, testing the heft and balance of yet another new broadsword, when she overheard a bushy-bearded butcher in a bloody apron regaling several associates with a booming account of attempts on her children’s lives. Suddenly alarmed, she hastily paid the asking price for the weapon—the vendor was plainly surprised that she hadn’t bothered to haggle—then strode across the marketplace to the newsmonger. Thamalon tramped along behind her.

“Mammoth spiders and scorpions crawling everywhere,” the butcher said, milking the story for all it was worth, “so thick that the walls were black with them! A dozen evil necromancers conjuring showers of hail and vitriol from the air! The battle completely demolished the playhouse! Should you visit the site this morning, you won’t

see a building at all, just a field strewn with wreckage.” “Excuse me,” Shamur said.

“My brother-in-law was there,” the bearded man continued, not heeding her. “He witnessed every—” “Excuse me,” she repeated, more forcefully. He rounded on her. “What?”

“I realize you’re trying to tell this tale in your own fashion, but I beg you to clarify one point straightaway. Were any of the Uskevren sibs or their retainers killed?”

The butcher sneered. “I understand they lost their wizard and the captain of their household guard during the fight, but the sprouts all got away.” For an instant, Shamur felt lightheaded with relief. “Isn’t that always the way? Feuding nobles tear Selgaunt apart and endanger the lives of us commoners, but somehow the arrogant bastards themselves survive to plague us another day.”

“And meanwhile, where’s the Hulorn?” asked a goodwife with a wicker basket slung over her arm. “Reciting poetry? Swooning over a painting? Not keeping the peace, that’s for sure!”

“We’d be better off without an aristocracy,” said a tanner, his trade apparent from the stink that clung to him. “There are other ways to run things. The philosopher Rutilinus said…”

Shamur and Thamalon moved away.

“Torm’s fist,” the nobleman said, “we knew the children were in a certain amount of danger, but I certainly didn’t expect two attacks in less than twenty-four hours. Deadly serious attacks, by the sound of it, even allowing for the exaggeration that inflates any tale as it makes the rounds.”

“Our side must have believed itself prepared for the second assault,” she said, “yet poor Captain Orvist and Master Selwick were slain anyway. That’s… troubling.”

“To say the least.” Thamalon looked fretful and irresolute as she had seldom seen him, and for some reason, the sight tied a knot of complex emotion in her breast.

“You love the children, don’t you?” she said.

He snorted. “You sound surprised.”

“You always seem so disappointed in them.”

“I am. Each of them has a great deal of growing up to do before he or she would be fit to lead our House, or even support it in any meaningful way, and it’s disgusting that they aren’t even trying! But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about them, or that I’m ready to give up on them.”

Shamur shook her head. “I didn’t realize. In recent years, after we Karns recouped our fortune, and the children were nearly grown, that was one of the reasons I continued my masquerade.”

“I don’t follow.”

“I was afraid to give you the opportunity to annul our marriage, illegitimatize Tamlin, Thazienne, and Talbot, remarry, and sire an heir more to your liking.”

He scowled. “It’s clear why I was never able to understand you, woman, but it’s becoming painfully obvious that you never understood me, either, and since I wasn’t trying to conceal my true nature, that’s a puzzle. But I suppose we have more immediate questions to ponder. We know now that the children are in graver peril than we supposed. Should we stop prowling the city incognito and go home, so we can look after them?”

Shamur frowned as she mulled it over. Finally she said, “They still have guards, Erevis, and the walls of a fortified mansion to protect them. Moreover, judging from our friend the butcher’s admittedly garbled account, they did a fair job of fighting on their own behalf.”

Thamalon snorted. “That must have been a fluke.”