“Very well,” Myrin said. “Heal her. But if you harm her—”
“Rest assured, lady—I serve my own interests in this, and those do not entail her death just yet.” Hessar stepped to her side and pulled up his sleeves to bare gray-tinted arms. “Put your hand on my skin—I’ll need your strength. Yours, too, gnome.”
Brace sneered at him. “Never, shade—” He stopped when Myrin shot him a pleading look. Grudgingly, he put his hand on Hessar’s arm.
The shade put his hand over Ilira’s face. He uttered dark and powerful words in an ancient dialect that Myrin found she understood, although she could not say how. He was chanting a healing ritual, one designed to take life from their bodies and put it into Ilira. Myrin felt cold as his magic drained some of her life through her hand. Brace, too, paled slightly. If Myrin was right, though, Hessar would have to touch Ilira to complete the spell.
“She’ll burn your hand off. She—”
She drew in a sharp breath when Hessar laid his bare fingers on Ilira’s forehead, but there was no burning. He simply touched her, and healing radiance fell into her body.
“You can touch her,” Myrin said. “What does that mean?”
“It means that I know more about her than you do.” As Myrin watched, the rent in Ilira’s belly closed. The elf stopped shaking and her breathing eased. “Satisfied?”
Myrin nodded. Before she let go of his arm, however, blue runes lit on her arm and something cold seeped into her. Hessar shivered, but if he sensed her theft, he gave no sign.
“What of that?” Myrin gestured to the brand of Helm on her shoulder.
Hessar shrugged. “Only he who put that mark on her can take it off once more. Until then, it will allow Kalen Dren to find her wherever she goes, and harm her when she tries to flee him. My magic suppresses the harmful effect, but the beacon will still be there.”
“Shar’s Slavering Spit.” Brace glowered. “Hiding is moot if the Eye can track her.”
“Not so long as she wears this.” Hessar indicated Ilira’s star-sapphire bracelet, the only bit of color she wore. “This magic conceals her from any scrying attempt. Although—” He smiled. “No doubt they are tracking both of you instead. I would go, and quickly.”
The monk drew away and vanished into the shadows.
Brace hopped up on the bench and felt at Ilira’s leather-wrapped chest. “She’s breathing normally—I think she’ll be well. Although we should move, ’ere your lad finds us again.”
“In a moment.” Myrin slumped down on the bench. In the mess of everything, she’d forgotten something important, and her heart raced. “Brace, what happened to Rujia? Elevar?”
“The dwarf is well. He immediately set to cleaning up the mess.” The gnome shrugged. “As for Rujia, we got separated. They might have taken her.”
Somehow, Myrin doubted that. It was a relief to hear Elevar was well, at least.
Then she remembered something about Rujia and felt at her deep-pocketed belt pouch. She drew out the fabric-wrapped package the deva had given her only a few hours before, although it felt like years ago. She unwrapped it and found a book, one whose binding seemed vaguely familiar. It reminded her of other books she had seen in the manor. In fact, she realized, this was the very book that was missing out of her family histories.
Her fingers shook as she unwound the leather strip. The first dates in the tome were from two hundred years ago. She skimmed through to the end. The last entries were written in a delicate feminine hand and discussed the last male heir of the family—Neveren Darkdance—and his wife, Shalis. And their daughter …
Maerlyn Darkdance.
Myrin read on, her eyes widening.
PART SIX:
VEILS OVER FIRE
The pasha of Calimport keeps a harem of beauteous genasi, whose veiled dance of allure has been known to drive a hundred men to distraction at a time. It is not, however, until they lower their veils and reveal faces of flame that the true dance begins.
Shalis Ptolexis, Celebrant of Sharess
Wanderings in Love’s Name,
Published in the Year of the Bow (1354 DR)
DUSK, 1 ELEASIS
AS DARKNESS FELL THE FOLLOWING EVENING, THE knights of the Eye gathered and the Vigilant Seers finally emerged from their skulking business of the day to hear the business of the night.
As Levia stood in the grand council hall of the Eye of Justice, standing before a council of fools and thugs, it was all she could do to still her tongue. But if Lord Gedrin Shadowbane’s adopted daughter had learned one thing from all the lessons he had bestowed, it was patience. She had a goal in mind—to kill Ilira Nathalan—and the ramblings of senile old men wouldn’t stand in her way.
“Did you think you could hide this?” Haran’s voice had picked up a reedy quaver in the last ten years. “Did you think you could brazenly attack a noble citizen of Westgate—using the Eye’s own resources, no less—and we would not hear of it? Or that we would take no action?”
Yes, Levia thought, but she said nothing aloud.
The Vigilant Seers were impotent fools, too interested in their petty squabbles and hypocritical dealings with the scum of Westgate to do anything of value. And a stuffy idiot impressed to death with his own position like Haran was only one, albeit excellent example.
“How far you have fallen from your esteemed father’s lofty aims,” Haran said. “We should all be ashamed of your actions. You—you’re like a wayward child. Why—?”
Saer Harangue continued with his voluminous rebuke, really pushing himself to the limits of his abilities. He questioned her competence, her loyalty, her judgment, her motives, and then her competence again. Haran had blasted her with so many of these oratories over the decades that they just droned on in her ears to no effect.
Levia looked around at the rest of the faded council of Vigilant Seers, remembering a day ten years prior when she had done much the same thing. Gorverim—a Mulan sorcerer of some far country—seemed to pay only scant attention to Haran. Instead, he quietly conferred with his bodyguard Shae-Lan, a tattooed Rashemi woman as big as any orc warrior. On his other side sat that damned Rsalya, who had succeeded her master Sephalus—Levia hated her as much as ever. The fourth member of the council—a sniveling fool called Vaulren of House Vhammos—was not even present. No doubt he was laid up with too much drink from a Shieldmeet revel.
Uthias Darkwell sat in the center seat on the council, listening raptly to every word. Levia was technically one of his Watchers, although she rarely took orders from him. No one else wanted her, due to her history and her lone-wolf attitude. She’d traded little beyond barely civil dismissals with any of the Vigilant Seers since Gedrin’s passing.
Haran had apparently finished his diatribe. “Have you nothing to say for yourself?”
Levia shrugged. “What I did, I did for a purpose, as I have ever acted. If you disagree with that purpose, censure me. But let me get back to work.”
Murmurs rippled through the chamber among the assembled knights. They were accustomed to anger, but this coldness from Levia seemed to have taken them by surprise.
“The council is agreed, then,” Uthias said. “For her unprovoked and unsanctioned attack on Lady Myrin Darkdance, Sister Levia is censured—”
“What of Shadowbane?” Gorverim spoke softly, as ever. “There have been reports over the past tenday of a man wearing black leathers and wielding Vindicator.”
“Reports, that we had of our own Watchers, not of you,” Rsalya said. “Were you hiding these stories from our sight, I wonder?”
“Indeed.” Haran hesitated enough that Levia thought he hadn’t heard such reports himself, but Saer Harangue was ever an opportunist. “What say you to that?”
Levia looked to Uthias, who gave her a slight nod. “Rumors are rumors. I deal in facts.”
Rsalya would not let it rest. “And you did not think these rumors worthy of attention?”
Levia hated that question. It put her in the positi
on of choosing her words carefully, lest she lie to the council. “I do not see how my methods pertain to the question at hand.”
“You dissemble as well as ever,” Haran said. “Do you deny the return of Shadowbane? That he is your ally, just as he was your student?”
“By the Threefold God—” Levia amended her words at Haran’s sharp look. “By Torm I say to you, I do not see how my methods pertain—”
“Outrage!” Haran slammed his fist on the pulpit behind which he stood. “Who has hired you away from us, Levia, that you lie so brazenly? The Fire Knives? The Shou? Are you—?”
“Peace.” Uthias’s cool voice rippled along the walls of the round audience chamber. “Sister Shadewalker would not have allowed tales of our master’s blade to escape her notice. I’m sure she had plenty of reasons not to mention such rumors.”
“And I want to know those reasons,” Haran insisted.
“Enough, Haran. Levia Shadewalker has always been an effective operative, and a loyal one. She is our ally, even if you cannot see it.” Levia opened her mouth, but Uthias spoke again, unexpectedly. “Thank you, Sister Levia, for your steadfast devotion to our cause. Although we do not always concur with your methods, you have been a wonderful operative of the Eye of Justice, and for that, you have my personal gratitude.”
His support—let alone actual praise—caught her by surprise. “Thank you, Lord Seer.”
The others of the council looked equally as startled. They had never known Uthias Darkwell—urbane, brilliant, but hard as iron—to show such kindness.
The silence lasted a ten-count before a red-faced Haran broke it. “She is a traitor! She is keeping secrets from us and refuses to answer our questions!”
Rsalya looked startled by his outburst and even a little nervous. Gorverim watched it all with detachment. At his side, Shae-Lan tightened her grasp on her gold-inlaid double axe.
Uthias waved to him. “Peace, my brother Seer—”
“No peace when traitors stand among us!” Haran signaled his two watchers—men twice as wide as Levia and thrice as strong. “Watchers, take her into custody—by force, if she resists!”
Levia dropped a hand to where her mace would hang, but of course they’d taken her weapons outside the council chamber. She could cast battle spells, but would it be enough?
Then the doors opened with a grind of metal on stone, drawing the attention of all.
“Enough,” said Kalen Dren.
Bandaged and splinted from the battle in Darkdance Manor, Kalen limped before the assembled Eye of Justice, unmasked and unarmed, his gray eyes fixed upon Uthias Darkwell.
The council of Vigilant Seers rose, their faces paling with shock. “He—you cannot,” said Haran, finally at a loss for words. “You cannot be—”
Kalen shouldn’t have come. Every bit of him called out for rest, for healing after the beating Ilira had given him, but he’d waited long enough. He’d heard enough of their bickering and double-talk. It was time to lay all his coin on the table and deal all the cards.
“Many of you know me, but for those who do not, I am Kalen Dren, he who is called Shadowbane. I have returned to settle accounts—to finish the task Gedrin began so many years ago and restore the Eye of Justice to its former glory.”
He raised his hands, and gray flames swirled into the form of Vindicator. The assembled Eye of Justice gasped as one, and whispers shot through the room like lightning.
Kalen fixed his gaze on Uthias, for whom his announcement could only be a challenge. But the master of the Vigilant Seers had a sly smile on his lips. “You are welcome in this hall, heir of Gedrin. Only tell us—what is your intention? Have you come to challenge us?”
“I care nothing for the leadership of the Eye,” Kalen said. “That was never my desire or ambition. I am an instrument of the Threefold God’s justice, and will remain as such.”
Referring to the Eye’s divine patron by that name—the old way—provoked a few uncertain expressions, but no verbal objections. Levia had told Kalen that, in these latter days, much of the order considered naming the Threefold God outdated, foolish dogma, if not outright heresy. No one dared denounce him now, however.
Uthias nodded. “Well are you returned, then, Brother Kalen,” he said. “If you would leave us awhile—you and Sister Levia. The council must deliberate.”
“Of course.”
Kalen took Levia’s hand and led her out. At the door, however, Kalen turned back. He surveyed the council chamber, then said something that made Levia gasp.
“I am not the only Shadowbane chosen by this sword,” Kalen said. “There is another, and—Threefold God willing—there will be more. I intend, starting today, to find more worthy wielders to carry Vindicator against the darkness.”
This evoked gasps, even among the Vigilant Seers. Only Uthias remained unshaken, displaying his usual stoic aplomb.
The doors ground shut behind them, leaving them in the outer chamber. The energy in the air of Castle Thalavar felt as it had ten years prior, when he had first come to Westgate, but Levia’s face was troubled. Kalen smiled shakily, hoping to diffuse what was sure to be an upbraiding. Instead, she sighed. “Well? You’ve done it. Do you see what I have said?”
“You told me true,” Kalen said. “The Eye has fallen to thieves and schemers, and it is my responsibility to purify it. Today was simply the first step.”
“You did not have to show yourself like that,” Levia said. “I’m happy you did, but why?”
“I could no longer stand by and do nothing.” Kalen smiled wanly. “Also, you looked like you needed the help.”
Kalen turned to go and winced. His body didn’t move as he instructed, and he would have fallen had Levia not interceded and caught him in her strong arms.
“Heh,” he muttered. “You always did support me when I went too far.”
“When do you not go too far?”
She murmured a healing spell and for a first, he felt no compulsion to object. Instead, he rested his head on her shoulder, like a boy with his older, stronger sister. He thought at first she trembled, but like as not, that was his spellscar deceiving his senses.
Kalen released Vindicator to clatter down onto the stone floor of the castle. Levia reached for it, but it dissolved in gray flame before she could.
“I’ve given it back to the other Shadowbane,” he explained. “I told him I would have no more need of it, and I won’t.”
Something flickered across Levia’s face, but she suppressed it. Same old unreadable Levia. “What of your promise, to find others able to wield the sword?”
“I do not need the sword for that.” Kalen raised his hand, around which crackled gray flame. “The Threefold God lives in me, and I in him. The sword is simply a tool.”
The council chambers opened and the knights of the Eye and the Vigilant Seers filed out, all of them at least glancing at Levia and especially at Kalen before they moved on. Most wore faces as unreadable as rough stone, although some seemed clearly hopeful or angry. Haran—with his entourage of supporters—stared with open dislike at Levia and Kalen.
Uthias exited last and crossed to them. “Be welcome yet wary in these halls, Kalen Dren. I support your return, but my opinion isn’t necessarily the general one.”
“I understand, Lord Seer,” Kalen said. “I’ll make myself hard to find.”
“There’s a lad.” He turned to Levia. “Attend me a moment, Sister?”
“Of course.”
Kalen stepped away, back toward the corridors that would lead to Levia’s chambers. He’d rested there since the battle in Darkdance Manor, hidden away from prying eyes and ears, but he suspected that would change after his scene in the council chambers. Even now, he could feel the careful scrutiny of the Knights of the Eye, some of them sharpening their knives.
“Go ahead and try,” he murmured with a daring smile.
As Kalen strode away, showing only a slight impairment from his many wounds, Levia’s heart swelled with pride and
something not unlike affection. He had come before the council just as sternly and abruptly as he had ten years before, when first he’d come to Westgate, and seeing him challenge the Vigilant Seers had been a wonder to behold.
Kalen’s return a tenday before had stirred old feelings she’d thought buried in the wake of his departure, and just at the moment, she did not bother fighting them. After all, he’d nearly killed Lady Ilira, and in so doing shattered whatever he’d had with that slip of a girl Myrin Darkdance. The battle had shown that he held no affection for either the innocent Myrin or the mysterious Ilira. And that meant perhaps—just perhaps—Levia might …
But no matter: there would be time to speak when their duties were done. And perhaps, when a certain secret no longer lingered between them.
Uthias’s eyes were unsettlingly intense, as though he could hear her thoughts. “A question for you, Sister,” he said. “Regarding a certain mutual friend.”
“Do you mean Kalen, my lord?” Levia asked.
“The other one, actually,” he said. “Our Shadowbane.”
As though invisible feathers tickled her neck, Levia shivered. She looked around the outer chamber, which still hosted half a dozen Eye of Justice enforcers. None of them appeared to have noticed the Vigilant Seer’s words, but who was to say for certain. How did he know about her secret apprentice?
“I’m sure I don’t understand, Lord Seer.”
“Sister.” Uthias stepped closer to her, making Levia retreat a step. He drew in close, however, and put his hands on her arms. “Kalen confessed to his knowledge of the new Shadowbane. Was this your doing?”
Levia shook her head. So Uthias didn’t know—merely suspected. “He asked for my help to track his old apprentice. And we found him—or at least someone. Another Shadowbane.”
“I see.” Uthias made no attempt to whisper, but no one seemed to note his words. “I only wish you had come to me earlier.”
“I thought I could handle it. Kalen and I fought him on Midsummer’s Eve.”
Shadowbane: Eye of Justice Page 26
