“I see.” Levia paged through sketches and reports scribed in multiple hands, from looping runes to barely legible scrawl. Some of the papers were very old. “All this for one elf?”
“A former adventurer turned merchant, now a criminal on the run. She’s wanted in Waterdeep for the murder of a Sunite priestess, and there are rumors of Netherese ties.”
“Is that why you know so much about her? A shared history?”
His eyes flashed yellow. That Hessar was a shade was a well-kept secret between them. Likely, some of the other Justiciars of the Eye would not take kindly to a former Netherese agent in their midst. Other, less savory knights might try to recruit his loyalties for themselves.
“These tales date from before my time,” he said, his expression unreadable. “I also included known associations, but most of those are dead. Apparently—”
He reached across and touched Levia’s hand. The instant of contact distracted her, as did the proximity of Hessar’s well-muscled body. More than once, Levia had considered suggesting they take their relationship beyond the professional. She had never done so, of course.
“Apparently, she even knew your father. Gedrin, I mean.” Hessar turned to the last few pages of the report. “In 1390—praise Gedrin for keeping a precise journal in the archives—they adventured together in search of ‘Neveren’s Daughter.’ A person, or perhaps an object of some sort. The journal is unclear.”
“And who is this elf?”
“She has many names, but most recently, she has gone by Ilira Nathalan.” Hessar turned to the very first page, which bore a picture of a good-looking elf woman with gold eyes. “And she owns a boutique right here in Westgate.”
Levia nodded. “Good work, Hessar.”
“Shall I scout her out for you?” he asked. “Perhaps a little confrontation?”
“No.” She laid her gloved fingers on the portrait, then looked after Kalen. “I’ll deal with her myself, when the time is right.”
“Because the beautiful elf with the shadowy past stalks your old lover?”
Levia glared at him. “That was long ago, and we were never lovers.”
“As you say.” Hessar turned his yellow eyes after Kalen. “Does he know?”
“No. Our secret is still safe.”
“Your boy is being clumsy, letting rumors spread. It was a high profile moot he foiled last night. Did he think that would go unnoticed?”
“Believe me, I will upbraid him for it.”
“No doubt.” He nodded after Kalen. “What of him? You don’t mean to tell him, surely.”
“I’ll consider,” Levia said. “I shall need a day or two to decide.”
“Take no longer.” The shadows swirled around him like living things. “He abandoned you and the Eye of Justice once. Do you truly think he won’t do so a second time?”
“It’s my decision, shade. Not yours.”
Hessar’s only reply was a mocking smile to go with those unsettling eyes. Then the darkness swallowed him and he was gone. Alone, Levia sank back against the wall and sighed. She looked down at the burlap sack Kalen had given her, stained in old blood.
If only she could tell Kalen what had come to pass in Westgate. If only she could tell him the truth about Shadowbane and the Eye.
About the new Shadowbane.
“Burn the gods, Kalen,” she whispered, bunching up the bag in her hands. “Why did you have to come back?”
She let the bloody sack fall to the ground, then slipped out of the alley.
Kalen returned straightaway to Darkdance Manor and saw that the gates stood wide open. He resisted the impulse to summon Vindicator—he’d risked enough by revealing the sword to Levia without also showing it to everyone on the street.
The signs of an ambush were there, but he strode right through without fear. The voidsoul genasi Sithe had taught him many things, but hesitation was not one of them. To fight by faith, one must trust absolutely in the power of one’s god.
He reclaimed Sithe’s jagged black axe hidden under a rosebush in the overgrown garden. The dark steel felt cool and not a little violent, as though it yearned for battle. An unfamiliar voice rose in words he didn’t understand, coming from inside the open manor doors.
He came upon Myrin and a gnome dressed like a rake sitting idly on the steps of Darkdance Manor. Inside, Kalen could see Elevar sweeping furiously. The sunlight on Myrin’s face made her eyes gleam like jewels, and he momentarily forgot why he’d come. The gnome was helping Myrin go through a stack of envelopes adorned with flowers and delicate script.
Kalen didn’t see danger, but he would not relax until he was sure.
“So to clarify,” the gnome was saying. “You’re on a quest to find your lost memories, in which you were a powerful sorceress? And these memories are secreted in people who knew you from before? That sounds needlessly complicated.”
“Could be worse,” Myrin said. “We could be hunting seven lost pieces of a staff scattered across the multiverse, each more difficult to find than the last.”
“True.”
“Well met,” Kalen said.
Myrin bolted up. “Kalen!”
“Stay!” The gnome leaped to his feet, his magic rapier splitting into two in his hands. “Down arms right there, you Shar-pissed cur of a mangy dog!”
The sudden explosion of odd insults startled Kalen into a defensive posture.
“It’s well, Brace,” Myrin said. “Kalen, this is my retainer. Apparently, a woman of class needs to have servants, and he’s my first. Er … second, counting Elevar.”
“And you think you can trust him?” Kalen asked.
“Brace the Bold, sellsword of Westgate and contracted to Lady Darkdance,” the gnome said, his tone chivalrous and very proper. “I assure you, my credentials are all in order.”
“You have to trust people, Kalen,” Myrin said. “And besides, if he gives me any reason to distrust him, well, I have you and your axe to deal with him. Or I could set him on fire.”
Brace nodded. “Quite right.”
“Are those invitations?” Kalen pointed at the envelopes.
“Apparently, as a noble heiress of the house who has returned after a long absence, I’ve attracted some attention.” She showed him half a dozen letters announcing this or that revel at a noble manor or some other exotic-sounding location. “You wouldn’t happen to be available this eve, perhaps? I mean, strictly as a bodyguard, of course—”
Kalen ignored the question. “Why did you leave the gate open?”
“Well, the gates only open to a Darkdance, and you needed to get in somehow, if you were ever coming back.” She smiled. “I’m glad you did, by the way.”
Kalen cleared his throat. “Can I speak with you?” he asked Myrin.
“You seem to be doing quite well so far,” Myrin said. “Speaking to me, that is.”
He crossed to her, took her arm, and drew her away from the gnome. “What happened to keeping a low cloak?”
“Whoever has Rhett wants you, not me.” Myrin crossed her arms. “You can keep whatever cloak you want, but I see no reason to hide myself away. Quite the opposite, in fact.”
“You don’t think Rhett’s … kidnapper knows we are allies?”
“All the better.” She stepped closer, putting her face in front of his. “I’ll draw as much attention as I can, and if our foe comes for me, I’ll crush him. Isn’t that exactly what we want?”
“You—” He trailed off, thinking.
“Is this the part where you tell me I’m a foolish girl and you need to protect me?”
Kalen shook his head. “It’s a good plan. Only one thing: we face him together.”
Myrin gazed into his eyes, considering. “Agreed.”
Kalen bit his lip. There was more, but could he tell her? “I need to say else—”
“Yes?” She stepped a touch closer. She was very warm, and her sapphire eyes sparkled.
Kalen couldn’t bring himself to tell Myrin that her daring p
lan was in vain. Levia’s ignorance of Rhett’s existence had only convinced him more firmly of the boy’s demise. He knew in his heart they would find a corpse, not a living Rhett. He had wanted to confirm that Rhett was dead before telling Myrin, but maybe it would be better to tell her everything, rather than give her false hope. “Myrin—”
“Ahem.” Eyes averted, Brace looked like he was pretending not to notice how close Kalen and Myrin were standing. “I could hardly help but overhear, despite your attempts to thwart me—fey ears, you know.” He flicked his pointed ear. “You said ‘Rhett,’ a name I recognize. A man I know.”
Myrin looked at the flamboyantly dressed gnome. “You know Rhett?”
“I know a Rhett, my lady,” Brace said. “Someone at the Timeless Blade—my bladedance school—goes by that name. Bit of a berk, actually, but that’s quite certainly his name.”
“Young? Red hair?” Kalen asked.
Brace shrugged. “To be plain, I gaze more upon the ladies than the menfolk. Also, bladedance students wear masks.”
“You go to a school?” Myrin asked.
Brace’s ingratiating grin slipped a touch. “I am a former student at the Timeless Blade, my lady,” he said. “And I bout there on occasion, to pass my otherwise impoverished time, yes.”
Could it be so easy? This stank of a trap, but Kalen couldn’t ignore it. “Let’s go.”
“Alas,” Brace said, “the Timeless Blade is not so timeless as its name implies.” He looked up through the open ceiling at the advancing sun. “Lady Rujia will have closed its doors by now. I can take you there in the morn.”
“Or now,” Myrin said. “Between the two of us, Kalen and I can get in, open door or no.”
“Alas again, my lady,” he said. “This Rhett of my acquaintance will certainly have left for the night, and I do not know where he might have gone. Although”—he winked at Kalen—“I could no doubt direct you to the personal residences of some of the more attractive lady bladedancers who are seeking patrons of their own.”
Myrin smiled. “See? And you were worried we wouldn’t find him.”
Kalen had not been reassured, and he felt hollow to see her face bright with false hope. If this was Rhett, why would he use his name so obviously in connection to the school? This stank of a trap. But what choice did he have?
“Very well,” Kalen said. “We’re agreed—we’ll go on the morrow.”
“Outstanding.” Brace looked around the manor’s ballroom. “So where do I sleep?”
DAWN, 26 FLAMERULE
DEEP IN THE BOWELS OF CASTLE THALAVAR, AMONG THE dust and vermin spoor, a trapdoor swung open on well-oiled hinges. Levia climbed through, guided by the heatless white flame of her everburning torch.
A simple spell obscured her footprints and kept the room as dusty as ever, so that none would find her secret egress to the sewers. Like a shadow herself, she kept to the obscured nooks and roundabout passages she knew well, and in so doing bypassed guards on the way to her chamber. Gedrin had taught her well, and the fools and dullards the Eye of Justice recruited these days would never catch her.
Outside her cell, a group of men stood arguing. Chief among them was Seer Haran, tragically advanced over the last decade to a position on the council itself. The position should have gone to her, but such was the Eye of Justice under Lord Uthias Darkwell’s continuing rule.
The men held a junior recruit up against the wall while Haran stood berating his cowardice and weakness. The scene was a common one, with thugs among the order’s upper ranks delighting in teaching new recruits “the facts” of the Eye of Justice. Gedrin never would have tolerated this behavior, but the Eye had fallen far indeed.
Levia had all but given up trying to redeem the order since Kalen had left, but now that he was back, new bravery filled her. “Stop that,” she said.
Her words startled the Knights, but Haran looked only a little surprised. “Sister Shadewalker,” he said. “You do creep about, don’t you, lass?”
Levia hated to be called “lass,” particularly by Haran, over whom she had at least five years. Her elf heritage kept her looking young, at least, if not pretty—never pretty. The mirror reminded her of that every morn, as did the dismissive glances of her fellow Justiciars. She had neither the loveliness of youth nor the dignity of age but was caught ever in the middle.
“You’re wasting valuable time,” she said to redirect their aggression. “I heard in the Rotten Root that the Nine Golden Swords are planning to hit the Vhammos docks tonight.”
The Seer crossed his arms. “So?”
“By the Threefold God, you truly do not see?”
“Careful upon what you swear,” Haran said. “We serve Torm, and no one else.”
This was another of the “facts” of the Eye. Many in the order sought to do away with the “old heresy” of the Threefold God and referred to their divine patron as Torm alone. Those who held to Gedrin’s teachings of three gods in one—like Levia—were increasingly marginalized. Levia doubted a formal measure would come to pass, but she let the point fall away.
“Lord Vhammos is on Westgate’s ruling council,” she said. “His son Vaulren is one of your fellow Vigilant Seers and his House is a stout ally of House Bleth.”
“Vaulren is a fool dulled on nightshade.” Haran grunted derisively. “And we certainly don’t serve at the pleasure of the Fire Knives.”
Levia suspected that wasn’t quite true—like as not several members of the Eye of Justice owed loyalty to Bleth—but she held her tongue. “I mean only that there’s sure to be a reward,” she said. “And if you want it, you’ll need to move. Soon.”
Haran looked at her speculatively, rubbing his thin moustache. He was dissecting her words in search of a lie. Levia, however, had a talent for falsehood, and the stupid half-Shou brute could only shake his head. He grumbled an order, and he and his men took their leave. The new recruit they’d been harassing gave Levia a half-grateful look and hurried off.
Though Levia hadn’t expected more, she would have appreciated a smile.
She pushed into her cell with a sigh, letting in a rush of air from the hall that stirred the cluttered wall of papers and reports, which waved to bid her greeting. Sketches of the hard-faced men and women of Westgate’s underground adorned the walls, some of them crossed out with red ink. Pins and colored string denoted connections, both real and suspect, between folk and reports. She had schemes in place to bring down dozens of individuals across the city, although she could never quite gather the evidence she needed to act against them directly.
Now that Kalen had returned to Westgate, what good were all her carefully laid plans? What did it mean that now there were two chosen wielders of Vindicator? And where was her student, anyway? He’d made such a mess in the east end.
It was too much for now. Levia needed sleep and time to think.
“Stay safe, Kalen,” she prayed as she sank into the single, well-worn chair. “Don’t go looking into mysteries better kept secret. Wait, and we’ll go together.”
The sun crested the horizon of the Sea of Fallen Stars beyond the River Gate as two figures stole through alleys and side streets into the Shou quarter of the city. Brace took the lead, while Kalen followed behind. Unsurprisingly, the two didn’t exactly hit it off.
“Pardon, Sir Dren,” the gnome asked with a yawn. “But wherefore do we come to be walking the streets of Westgate so early? I mean, without our mistress?”
“You know that as well as I.” Kalen found the gnome’s eternally sunny disposition exasperating. Probably, Brace’s attitude was what made Myrin like him.
“Lady Darkdance, aye.” The gnome seemed oblivious to his tone or rhetorical devices. “She does tend to attract attention, particularly with that hair of hers. And the tattoos.”
“And the magic.”
“Ah, true. I should like to see some of that!”
After much discussion the previous night, Kalen had finally convinced Myrin that he and Brace should go to
the Timeless Blade alone. Subtlety, she conceded, was not one of her strengths, so she agreed with their plan—for now. After a night spent in three separate bedchambers, Kalen and Brace had risen early. Elevar set out a brief morningfeast before their departure, his silence seeming to support their decision. Kalen checked himself for wounds suffered during the night, as he did every morning, then left without waking Myrin.
In retrospect, Kalen suspected Myrin had argued so strongly because his decision looked like protecting her from a suspected trap. Such couldn’t be further from the truth: if anything, he hadn’t brought her along in order to protect everyone else from her.
Brace continued chattering about nothing in particular as they passed over the River Bridge and under the gently waving banners of the Far East that marked the Shou quarter.
Entering the quarter was like stepping into a different world. The architecture twisted in the curves favored in faraway Kara-Tur, carved dragons loomed over every crossing, and the smells of exotic spices wafted down the streets. The faces all over Westgate bore the mark of a century of intermarriage, but here the Shou were the clear majority. Also, Kalen couldn’t forget they were in Nine Golden Swords territory: he saw plenty of gang tattoos and curved swords.
“Sir Dren,” Brace said among the prattle.
Threefold God, did the gnome ever shut up? “What?”
“I could not help but notice the way you and Lady Darkdance look upon one another,” he said. “And I was curious whether you’re her—husband?”
“No,” he said.
“You’re not?”
“No.”
“Are you her consort?”
“No.”
“Kept man?”
“No.”
“Doxy? Bed warmer?”
“What? No.”
“Fancy uncle?”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
Kalen followed Brace’s lead through the mazelike network of buildings, tuning out the gnome’s dozen other suggested relations to Myrin. Kalen would have been happy to narrow it down, but in truth, he didn’t know himself. What was Myrin to him, or he to her?
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