The Halls of Stormweather s-1

by Philip Athans

  "With you, Lady," Thamalon reminded her.

  Teskra nodded impatiently, peering through the billowing smoke, then her face tightened.

  "Beware," she snapped. "You're but half-dressed, and there're a lot of men in armor coming this way. There!"

  Thamalon followed her pointing hand, and the smoke obediently eddied away for a moment to reveal half a dozen men in full, gleaming plate armor moving cautiously forward, their faces hard and reflected firelight dancing down the blades of the long swords in their gauntleted hands.

  "The three Talendar brothers," Thamalon said grimly, "and seven or so guards. We can't hope to stand against them and live."

  Teskra shot him a glance, then unbuckled a leather thong along one forearm with deft, racing fingers.

  She slapped one of her scabbarded daggers against his own arm as soon as she had it free, tugged on the straps to lengthen them with cool skill, and met his astonished glance with the crisp words, "You're a dagger short, Tham. You never carry steel enough. Now wear this, and don't hesitate to use it."

  Thamalon stared down at the knife long enough to see that it had a white star graven into its smooth black hilt, then lifted his gaze back to their foes.

  The advancing warriors had seen and measured them, and cold smiles were beginning to slide onto their faces as they came closer, moving with unhurried care amid the sprawled bodies, falling embers, and rubble.

  Teskra stared back at them, eyes narrow, seeing who moved with skill and speed and who seemed careless or slow or with a hint of clumsiness. Then she saw something else, behind them, and her face changed for an instant, before she looked quickly away.

  There was a clatter of hooves on cobblestones amid the din of flames, falling beams, and men dying back where Perivel's blade flashed and darted. A horse reared up out of the smoke, its hooves lashing out, and one of the armored warriors fell. There was a rider on the horse, and he urged his mount on to strike down and trample another arms-man, even as he leaned out of the saddle to hew a third Talendar.

  "Roel!" Teskra cried joyfully, racing forward.

  Thamalon stumbled after her, his own heart lifting. The bearlike man lost his balance, shouting in amusement as well as anger, and toppled out of his saddle to crash down atop a struggling armsman.

  Roel Uskevren bounced. The armsman convulsed, then sagged and fell still. Thamalon's great-uncle never lost his one-handed grip on his reins. He was one of the few men in all Sembia with the strength to hold a snorting, frightened stallion from running away whilst wallowing on the ground. Roel found his feet with a bark of laughter, hauled hard on the reins to drag his horse back to him, and at the sounds made by a man charging up behind him, turned and struck the man's spear aside with a deftly timed slap of one great hand.

  The bearlike Uskevren was swift enough to turn that slap into a punch-and the armsman ran right into his fist.

  The armsman's helmed head snapped back, and his armored body ran on for a few loose-limbed paces, arched over backward, and collapsed. Roel saw one of the men he'd felled earlier scrambling to turn over and get up, so he hauled his horse back a few deliberate paces more until he could land a solid kick to the man's snarling face.

  The man lost all interest in rising or battles or creeping fires for that matter, and Roel threw back his head and bellowed with laughter again. Teskra covered the last few running strides to him and bounded up to scissor her legs around his belly and cling to him, covering his face with eager kisses.

  Thamalon stared at her open-mouthed for a moment, until Roel caught sight of him and let out a fresh roar of laughter. "Gods above, boy, have you never seen lovers together before? Your face!"

  Teskra turned her head, not releasing herself from her perch, and called, "Thamalon, take Roel's reins and get gone!"

  "No need, Tessie," Roel drawled. "There's horses for all back that way."

  "The Soargyl and the Talendar-" she protested.

  "All the ones who were guarding our horses are dead now. They emptied the stables before they attacked, I think, to stop you folks from departing in haste once the festivities began. I broke a sword doing it, but there's a dozen or so back there that won't be cooking any morning feast over this fire."

  The bearlike eldest Uskevren jerked his head at Stormweather Towers. The roaring was relentless now, and tongues of flame were leaping higher than some of the turrets.

  "Thamalon, get a horse. We'll take Tessie here to visit her kin at Sundolphin House for the day. Don't know how those old leather-nosed Baerent witches'll take to her knives and the blood and all, but I don't much care, either. They'll want to gossip, you can be sure. Be nice to 'em, Tessie, will you? Not even the Talendars will dare to wade into that house with swords drawn. Run, now, lad-run! I see more Soargyl scum headed this way!"

  "By all the gods," Thamalon muttered aloud. "He sounds almost happy at the prospect!"

  As he trotted past, Teskra gave him a grin that told him she'd heard his words. She'd taken hold of the reins, so Roel could keep a blade ready in one hand, and apply the other to somewhere far more interesting. The Lady Ilrilteska threw back her head and gave the smoking sky a long, shuddering gasp as Thamalon ran on through thinning smoke. It was not a gasp of pain.

  He found the horses snorting and stamping in fear at the fire and the human bodies sprawled in blood all around them. They were saddled and bridled, and their reins were all tied to the gate that led to the garden wall. He chose one he'd ridden before, grimly fought down its attempt to break free of him, and rode it back into the smoke. He had to whack its rump with the flat of his blade and saw at the reins to make it go into the smoke. Thamalon hardly blamed the beast for its reluctance, especially when he heard the clang of steel on steel from just ahead.

  Smoke eddied once more, sliding away like a snatched cloak to reveal Roel and Teskra fencing with five-no, six Soargyl swordsmen. As Thamalon rode up, one of them screamed, threw up his arms, and fell over, his guts laid open.

  That was enough for Thamalon's horse-even before the blazing ember fell out of the smoke and landed on its withers.

  The beast bugled and bucked wildly, stumbling to one side and nearly beheading a Soargyl with its hooves. Someone shouted and swung a sword at it, and it shied away so violently that it tripped on bodies and fell heavily. Thamalon kicked his legs clear just in time.

  He clung to his saddle's high cantle as the scorched horse rolled, thrashing and shrieking in fear. By sheer strength he hauled himself into the saddle again as the horse found footing for a wild gallop.

  From nowhere, a laughing Roel cut in front of Thamalon's horse, waving cheerfully with Teskra clinging to his back.

  "Away!" he cried. "For other days, and glory then!"

  He clapped his boots to his mount's flanks, and raced away into the smoke. Thamalon's terrified mount followed the stallion it knew, and they tore through smoke and toppling rubble together, plunging through streamers of flame to skirt the worst of the roaring pyre that had begun the day as the proud mansion of Stormweather Towers.

  They came to a place where blazing beams were toppling and lightning was flashing forth. A sweat-soaked and bleeding Perivel was dodging and parrying with gasping speed and skill, in a room wreathed in flames. He held a dagger in one hand and a sword in the other, and needed both to hold Marklon, Ereldel, and Lord Rajeldus Talendar at bay.

  Roel drew a sword from its scabbard and threw it, hard. End over end it flashed, to take Ereldel Talendar in the side of the head, biting deep.

  Ereldel toppled slowly, like a reluctantly felled tree, as Roel bellowed, "I'll be back, Lord Uskevren! Save me some fun!"

  Perivel managed a fierce grin in reply-an instant before Marklon Talendar delivered a two-handed cut that had all his strength behind it, and the aged sword in Perivel's hand broke amid a flood of blue lightning that sent all of the combatants staggering back.

  "I'll… be here!" Perivel cried, gasping for breath and snatching a sword up from a sprawled body. He waved it
in the air and cried, "For Uskevren-forever!"

  Rajeldus and Marklon Talendar recovered themselves, traded glances, and advanced in grim unison on the Lord of House Uskevren. Even as Thamalon leaned back dangerously in the saddle of his racing mount to shout a warning, the blazing beams above Perivel Uskevren groaned and began to fall. The subsequent crash, and the roar of bright flame that went up in its wake, was the last of Stormweather that Thamalon saw that day. His terrified mount carried him through a choking billow of smoke, and away.

  *****

  The star-adorned hilt of the knife in his sleeve was as smooth as ever. Thamalon let them all wait and wonder what was behind the gentle, wry beginnings of a smile that he'd left on his face, and went striding down the shadowed halls of reverie once more.

  His mount had thrown him in its frantic gallop across Selgaunt, dashing him senseless until the sun was well up the next day. Roel went back to the fire in a vain attempt to drag forth anyone still living, and emerged from its searing flames so badly burned that he looked more like a monster than a man.

  The man the Uskevren servants called the Great Bear never regained his health and seldom left his bed as that terrible year dragged on. On more than one night Thamalon found proud Teskra weeping alone in one of the turret rooms, emptying a decanter without bothering with a goblet, and staring out over the lamplit streets of cruel Selgaunt.

  He never spoke a word of reproof to her but instead sat with her. Usually she said nothing, but simply offered him the decanter-and usually he accepted it for a swig or two. He sat with her until morning, cradling her against his chest if sleep claimed her. For such a small, dainty thing-she always seemed more a little sister to him than a second mother-she snored like a horse.

  After Roel went to his grave, she did not tarry long before following.

  Thamalon tried not to look at the pity in the eyes of the few servants who stayed with him, as he grimly began the long task of picking up the pieces. He left Selgaunt for some years, leaving Stormweather in ashes, to trade in Sembia's humbler ports and even into the neighboring kingdom of Cormyr. Slowly he rebuilt the family fortune, but it was work he might have abandoned in despair had he not met and wed Shamur, and found her fierce temper, wiles, and battle-boldness awakening something warm in him again.

  Uskevren shipping fleets meant piracy in the eyes of Selgauntans, so Thamalon avoided the traditional work of his family. Instead, he bought and sold land until he became shrewd at it, anticipating where cities would expand, and which trade routes would rise in favor. What coins he made, he spent sponsoring the crafters most Sembian merchant clans of note preferred to ignore and belittle: the common folk working as finesmiths, wood-carvers, jewelers, and the like.

  He rode with them through lean times, dealing fairly, and to them the name Uskevren came to mean not "dark, lawless pirate" but "loyal friend." He sold their wares into the cities, made them wealthy, and in doing so refilled the Uskevren coffers. In Sembia, to rebuild wealth is to rebuild one's name… and so the spring came when the Uskevren began to restore Stormweather Towers, returning to Selgaunt as if they had never been away.

  The whispers began, of course, and were fanned by houses-Soargyl and Talendar prominent among them-who were not pleased to see a vanquished rival return, but Thamalon Uskevren dealt fairly in the trading halls of Selgaunt. This was something other proud houses were seldom seen to do.

  When troubles erupted, the family guard Shamur had founded, trained, and secretly tested to weed out the disloyal proved their worth. Several of the most troublesome Soargyl and Talendar "disappeared."

  Mages were hired. Mornings found more sprawled bodies, and Soargyl and Talendar warehouses and ships burned-just as Stormweather Towers had burned.

  When the cost grew too high, the only fires that remained were smoldering in Soargyl and Talendar eyes, but the two families no longer dared to openly attack Uskevren or family retainers in the streets.

  Years passed, Stormweather Towers arose from its ashes in opulent glory, and most folk in Selgaunt came to respect Thamalon's honesty, fearless but polite dealings, and quick business wits. The Uskevren family was truly prosperous, highly regarded-and well-supplied with foes-once more.

  Far too well supplied with foes, it seemed____________________

  *****

  "Butler!" the man who claimed to be Perivel Uskevren boomed suddenly, "I bid you bring hence all my beloved kin. I desire them to be present, to bear proper witness as I reclaim the wealth that is rightfully mine."

  The butler, Erevis Cale, seemed to hesitate for the briefest of moments. He'd already passed through an archway into the gloom of a low-lit passage beyond, and it was hard to be sure if he'd properly heard the pretender's order at all.

  Damn all the dancing gods, Thamalon thought, this man might be Perivel-or might be anyone who had access to a captive Perivel and a lot of time to question him about family matters.

  Thamalon raised his eyes at the sound of faint rustling in the feast hall balconies, caught sight of a sleeve he knew to be his daughter Thazienne's, and dropped his gaze again to the foes at his table. His sons and daughter would have had to be creatures of leaping lightning to have responded so swiftly to any bidding from Erevis Cale. One of the other servants must already have warned them of what was brewing in the hall.

  The head of House Uskevren drew in a deep breath and thought, Gods above, let my children keep silent until at least the testing is done.

  With this hired mage swollen with deadly spells and the lawmaker in attendance, it'd take little more than hurled words from the balconies-let alone weapons-to give the Talendars and the Soargyl excuse enough for feuding to begin in earnest.

  Thamalon did not have to look to know when his wife entered the hall. He could feel the warmth of her regard-and, as always, felt stronger, as if her presence was both cloak and armor raised around him. She must have returned early from the revel she'd expected would last well into morning. Shamur would know the danger here at a glance, and she'd keep their sons and daughter silent.

  Of course, one danger always gives way to another. There had never been anyone in Selgaunt, Thamalon included, who could keep Shamur silent.

  As if to belie Thamalon's dark thoughts, the hall grew suddenly still, as if everyone in it were holding their breath. With stately solemnity, his footfalls almost inaudible, the butler came into the heart of that heavy, waiting silence bearing the Quaff of the Uskevren on a silver platter.

  It stood alone, a large and plain-looking goblet. It looked old, and somehow strong, as unyielding as the old foundation stones of Stormweather Towers. Erevis Cale, evidently well aware of the importance of the occasion, raised the platter high before him and slowed, so that all eyes could look long and well upon the Burning Chalice.

  Iristar Velvaunt pointed a peremptory finger at him then at the table, indicating that the butler should set it down in front of him, but Cale stepped smoothly around the mage and brought the platter to his master.

  Thamalon gave him a slight smile of approval, and with a gesture of his own indicated that the butler should take the goblet to the man who wore the name of Perivel Uskevren.

  The pretender looked at him in surprise. Thamalon gave him a wider smile and gestured at him to take up the goblet.

  The pretender stared suspiciously into its depths. It was empty and a little dusty. As if its appearance had suddenly struck the young maid who for some time had been silently gliding around the far reaches of the hall, dusting, she turned and glided forward, a dust rag ready in one slender hand. Thamalon waved her back into the shadows. She inclined her head in a silent nod of acknowledgment, and returned to her work.

  Perivel hesitated, and turned his head a trifle, as if looking for some signal from the mage. Presker Talendar stirred, smiling faintly up at the balconies from whence the silent Uskevren stared down-but if the sorcerer Velvaunt gave any sign to the pretender, Thamalon did not see it.

  Suddenly the man who claimed to be Peri
vel Uskevren stretched forth a hand to the platter Cale, as patient and unmoving as any statue, was holding out to him. The pretender stretched out a hand, hesitated, then swooped to snatch up the goblet like a hawk striking at prey.

  He caught hold of it, lifted… and held on high, up for all to see: a chalice that was not ablaze, but just an old, empty goblet.

  "Well?" Perivel Uskevren asked the hall, in triumph. Unburnned but not waiting for an answer, he set the chalice back on the table.

  The lawmaker, carefully staring across the table at no one, asked formally, "Saer Velvaunt, is this indeed the true Uskevren Chalice?"

  The mage inclined his head with a smirk of his own, a bare moment before he passed his hand in front of the cup in an intricate flourish. "Indubitably," he replied firmly.

  The Lawmaker of Selgaunt lifted his eyes at last to meet Thamalon's gaze. "Well, it seems clear enough," he said, his voice gathering strength with each word. "This is Per-"

  The name was chopped off as if by an axe as their host in Stormweather Towers lifted one hand in a signal, and murmured, "Cordrivval?"

  The curtains behind him parted, and a gaunt, white-bearded man who moved with the painful shuffle of aging hips appeared through them. "I attend, lord," he announced calmly.

  "Mage," Thamalon asked, "before Saer Velvaunt, just a moment ago, has any spell been recently cast on the Burning Chalice?"

  "Oh, yes. The Saer cast a spell on it just before he-" Cordial pointed at the man claiming to be Perivel Uskevren "-reached forth his hand to touch it. Velvaunt removed that spell just now, when he pretended to identify the chalice. He-"

  A sudden spasm shook the old mage, and a shadow passed over his face. "My-lord!" he gasped, voice suddenly thick, "he-"