The Halls of Stormweather s-1

by Philip Athans

  "Get yourself home, Chaney," warned the Scepter wearily. He'd obviously had this conversation with the man before. "Get off the streets, before you're run over by a night-carter."

  Tal put a hand on the cart driver's arm. "Wait a moment," he said.

  Duly chastened, Chaney swirled his own red cloak around one arm and made an elaborate, unsteady bow. His tousled hair fell over his eyes as he slurred, "I thank you, and I shall. Soon as I purchase a jug in which to drown…" Chaney's eyes lit upon Tal, and he stared in astonishment.

  The Scepters glanced back at Tal, then turned back to Chaney, frowning their disapproval. One took Chaney by the arm. "Let's find you a nice pallet down-"

  "Wait," called Tal, climbing down from the cart. The Scepters looked at him dubiously, while Chaney continued to stare in disbelief. "I'll make sure he gets home safely."

  The Scepter holding Chaney's arm looked Tal up and down in obvious disapproval of his makeshift attire. One of his companions nudged the Scepter impatiently, and he relented.

  Chaney continued to stare at Tal even after the scepters walked away. Tal grinned back at him. "Is it Tal?" Chaney asked, peering dubiously up at Tal's new beard. It had grown in thick, black, and curly.

  "More or less."

  "They didn't get you!" slurred Chaney. He reached carefully to touch Tal's rude imitation of a tabard, then clutched it to keep his balance. "They just stole your clothes."

  Chaney seemed tiny beside his big friend. Where Tal was broad, Chaney was slight and narrow. His intelligent eyes sparkled even through the fog of ale, and his fine nose and pointed chin gave him a look of perpetual mischief. Softening his impish appearance were his smooth cheeks, preserving an illusion of youth that made him seem the younger of the two, though he was in fact a year older at twenty.

  "How much money do you have with you?" asked Tal.

  Chaney fumbled for his purse before Tal took it from him. Peering inside, he frowned at the contents before tossing the entire thing to the farmer.

  "If you stay at the Outlook tonight," he said, "I'll have something more sent over to you."

  "That's all my money!" complained Chaney, reaching after it long after the farmer had caught it. The farmer's bushy eyebrows rose in surprise at the heft of the purse.

  "This is more than enough for what I done," said the farmer.

  "All the same," said Tal. He had it in mind to reward the kind farmer with more money than the man had seen in a decade, and even that wouldn't put a dent in Tal's monthly stipend.

  "I won't say no," conceded the farmer with a friendly nod. He snapped the reins and continued across the bridge.

  Tal got an arm under Chaney's shoulders and turned him back toward the Klaroun Gate. "Let's get you wrung out."

  *****

  Chaney needed sleep before he could sober up, so Tal delivered him into the care of a frowning housekeeper in Chaney's flat. Soon after, Tal stood before his tallhouse.

  It was a narrow building of equal parts gray stone and brown vines, which in spring would smother the building in vibrant green. It stood amid five similar buildings, each divided from its neighbors by a narrow alley.

  Tal ascended the short flight of steps and pounded cheerfully on the door. He couldn't wait to see the expression on Eckart's face when the fastidious valet saw Tal wearing a pair of old blankets and a twine belt.

  After a few moments, Tal banged on the door again, to no avail. Of course, realized Tal, Eckart must be back at Stormweather Towers. He slipped around to the side alley, where stairs descended to the side entrance. Tal had hidden a key behind a loose stone there, despite Eckart's protests about burglars. He was pleased to see that it was still there.

  As he turned to open the side door, Tal heard a sudden hiss. He looked up to see the neighbor's fat orange tabby perched on the ledge above. It was one of a dozen cats who haunted this street, and Tal often saw it near the steps, where Eckart often placed leftovers or a saucer of milk in the morning.

  "Well again, kitty," said Tal. He reached up to let the little beast smell him, but the cat spat furiously and vanished.

  Tal sniffed at himself and frowned at the sour odor. "Can't blame you," he muttered. "I do need a bath."

  Inside, Tal was surprised to find the wine cellar illuminated by two bright lamps. More alarming was the sight of the empty wine racks and a stack of crates. One was still open and overflowing with packing straw.

  "Don't tell me they've sold the house," muttered Tal wearily. He knew he'd been missing for a long time, but surely his family wouldn't have given up hope already. He reached into the open box and removed a bottle of Thamalon's Own, the precious pear wine his father gave him for his birthday earlier in the year.

  "I must warn you," called a prim and tremulous voice from the stairs, "that I am armed and have no compunctions about shooting a burglar."

  Tal put away his smile before turning around and adopting his father's own voice. "Put that toy away, and tell me where in the nine hells you've taken the rest of my wine!"

  "Master Talbot!" squeaked Eckart, lowering his hand crossbow so quickly that he shot a bolt into the stairs. Glancing down, he paled at the bolt quivering neatly between his feet. Looking back at Tal, he whitened even more. "Bu-Bu-but we thought you were-"

  "Still waiting for an answer about my wine!" roared Tal. He struggled to keep a straight face. He rarely used his father's voice to fluster Eckart, but it worked every time. Chaney insisted it was because Eckart received exactly such rebukes each time he reported on Thamalon Uskevren's wastrel son.

  "It's at Stormweather, sir, along with the rest of your belongings." Eckart gulped as he saw Tal's brow's furrow in another perfect imitation of the elder Uskevren. "Lord Uskevren thought it best to remove everything to your rooms at home."

  Eckart's earlier words finally sank in, and Tal said quietly in his own voice, "Because he thought I was dead."

  "Oh, no, sir," replied Eckart in a tone of genuine distress. "Your father-all of us-never gave up hope. Your father merely felt that, upon your return, you'd prefer the safety of-"

  "You mean the confinement," interrupted Tal, now genuinely angry. His sudden flare of temper surprised him, for as much as he resented his parents' continued coddling, he also appreciated their concern-especially after his recent ordeal.

  Tal noticed Eckart's pale lips working soundlessly, looking for all the world like the gasping of a fish out of water. "It's all right, Eckart," said Tal more gently. "I realize I've been missing for an awfully long time."

  Eckart swallowed his distress as best he could, but Tal realized he had to make sure the servant wouldn't have time to report his return before he himself could go to Stormweather.

  "Just see that everything's back in order here by tomorrow morning," said Tal with an impish gleam in his eye.

  "Tomorrow!" sputtered Eckart. "But-"

  "But first, draw me a hot bath. Is the tub still here?"

  "Yes, but-"

  "And summon a barber." He scratched under his chin. "I don't like this beard."

  "Yes, but-"

  "And fetch me some clean clothes-not from Stormweather, mind you. Buy new ones."

  "Yes, but-"

  "And have you any funds on hand?"

  "Yes, but-"

  "Good. Once you've drawn the bath, summoned the barber, and fetched me some clothes, take one hundred fivestars to the Outlook Inn, and give them to a farmer named Mott."

  "A farmer! But sir-"

  "Thank you, Eckart. That will be all."

  With a look of genuine pain, Eckart nodded his assent. Tal felt briefly guilty for harrying him so.

  "Oh, and Eckart?"

  "Yes, Master Talbot?"

  "It's good to see you again."

  *****

  Before approaching Stormweather Towers, Tal stopped to observe his reflection in the frozen waters of a public fountain.

  His gray eyes glittered beneath his black hair, now trimmed neatly above his short collar. Eckart had found h
im some warm woolen hose whose dove gray hue matched the shirtsleeves that showed through the slashes in his blue doublet. The ensemble was completed by Tal's favorite longboots, into which he'd tucked a fine but simple dagger at the right hip. It was his concession to going armed out of doors. As much as he enjoyed sword practice, he loathed the inevitable confrontations his size attracted from the city's bravos. Sometimes, it was more trouble being a big man than a small one.

  Straightening his warm weathercloak, Tal left the fountain and came to Stormweather Towers.

  The mansion was one of the newest in Selgaunt, but at first glance it looked like the accumulated accidents of a dozen different architects. The house itself was a great stone collection of towers and turrets, each with its own character. It took a thorough observation to realize that the seemingly random collection of structures formed a unified if complex whole.

  Stables and a guardhouse formed the shorter branch of the L-shaped border around the open courtyard. The quadrangle was completed by a cunning array of intimate gardens bordered with fruit trees.

  The only people standing outside in the cold afternoon wind were a quartet of family guards. Their leader tipped Tal a wink that told him his arrival was expected. With a sigh, Tal smiled his thanks for the warning and went to the door. It opened at his approach, and there stood Erevis Cale, the family butler.

  "How good to have you returned home, Master Talbot," said the gaunt man. His head and face were immaculately shaved, but his clothes hung loosely on his angular frame. Somehow Cale always seemed taller than Tal, though he was a few inches shorter.

  "You're not surprised to see me, are you, Cale?" Tal smiled to take the edge off his disappointment. He liked the butler, who had an uncanny knack of knowing what was about to happen before it did. Tal had never decided whether the talent was supernatural or merely criminal.

  Cale smiled faintly, a rare expression on those thin lips, and one that might seem chilling to someone who didn't know him better. Sometimes Tal's elder sister teasingly called the man "Mister Pale," though Tal would never dare do so. He had no doubt that Cale would hear of it, and Tal shrunk at the thought of the man's disapproval.

  "I don't know how you do it," said Tal, shaking his head. "Still no chance of your replacing Eckart?"

  Cale's smile nearly turned warm. "I suspect Lord Thamalon might forbid it, young sir."

  "Yes," agreed Tal. "I suspect he might, too."

  "Your father awaits you in the library, Master Talbot."

  "Thanks, Cale," said Tal, stepping into the foyer. "Does everyone…?"

  Tal's question was smothered as a veritable comet of older sister crashed into him. All he saw before the powerful arms clamped around his neck was a flash of scarlet fabric and ink-black hair.

  "Tazi!" he gasped before the last of his breath was cut off.

  "You great buffoon! You should have come here as soon as you returned to the city. Don't you know how worried we were?"

  Tal hugged her back, just hard enough to make her ease up on his collapsing lungs. She was tiny compared to him, but she was fierce and strong. "You'd feel differently if you'd had a whiff of me when I arrived."

  Thazienne, more often called Tazi, pushed herself back and held Tal at arm's length. For a moment, Tal thought he saw the hint of tears glimmering in her eyes, but she wouldn't let them come. "They looked everywhere, and there was no sign of you."

  "I know," said Tal. "I came back as soon as I could." He made a point of looking over his shoulder as if to examine his back.

  "What are you doing?" asked Tazi.

  "Just making sure you haven't pinned a tail to me."

  They laughed as Cale looked on with his inscrutable neutrality. As well as he knew the Uskevren children, he wasn't present for the many childhood pranks Tazi had played on Tal. Once she had talked him into drinking a potion that turned him green for most of a tenday. Loyal to the end, Tal took the blame-and the punishment-when their mother had to endure the embarrassment of Tal's appearance at the appropriately timed Greengrass Festival.

  That was the least of Tazi's pranks. The one that most threatened their youthful alliance came when Tazi embroidered bunnies and lambs on all of Tal's underclothes just before he went on a swimming trip with the young sons of a half-dozen other families. On the bright side, Tal learned a lot about fistfighting, and he came back the most formidable brawler of his cohorts that summer. Moreover, he made fast friends with Chaney Foxmantle, who until then had borne the brunt of the other boys' torments.

  "It's just like you to keep us all waiting," called another familiar voice from the inner hall. Tal looked up to see his elder brother standing in the doorway.

  Thamalon Uskevren the Second was better known as Tamlin. Even at six year's Tal's senior, he was much smaller than his younger brother, but he carried himself as if he were much greater in everyway. He leaned casually against the doorjamb, idly glancing at his fingernails as if to observe his reflection there. His fine clothing made Tal's new attire seem as mangy as his recent makeshift clothes. "I'm glad you're not dead, little brother."

  Tazi scowled at Tamlin, perhaps expecting him to be more gracious at their younger sibling's miraculous return. If he had been the least bit friendly, however, Tal would have suspected an impostor. "I'm glad you're not dead, too," he said.

  "Ah, we have something in common at last," observed Tamlin. He smiled winningly, and once again Tal understood what Tamlin's friends saw in him. He could be a charming fellow, as long as he wasn't your brother.

  Before Tal could frame a suitable reply, a hulking form emerged from behind Tamlin. It was Vox, Tamlin's mute bodyguard. He loomed above Tamlin like a mountain shadow, black hair spilling all over his square head until it collected in a single barbaric braid over his left shoulder. The man's size and blunt features suggested ogre blood, and Tal secretly despised him.

  When the Uskevren children were much younger, Tamlin and Vox threw the admittedly annoying Tazi from a window. Torn between running to his sister's aid and beating his brother senseless, Tal had gone to Tazi rather than risk facing the monstrous Vox. His anger burned brighter when he discovered they had broken Tazi's arm. Tamlin insisted that the children agree to a lie to avoid their parents' punishment. Tazi was quick to forgive, but ever since that day, Tal had found it impossible to trust Tamlin, and he had forever after hated the brute who had kept him from dealing a deserved punishment to his arrogant older brother.

  "I should visit Mother before going up to face Thamalon," said Tal.

  "She's in her parlor," said Tazi. "We just returned from the opera when we heard you were back." She squeezed Tal's arm and grimaced for him. She knew how little Tal enjoyed confronting Thamalon after a disaster. He smiled his thanks back at her.

  "We'll catch up later," he promised. He walked toward the west hall, pointedly avoiding Tamlin and Vox. The gesture wasn't lost on Tamlin, on whose face Tal glimpsed a smile just before he left.

  Shamur Uskevren was in her parlor. The room reflected her personality, for it was feminine without seeming dainty, expensive but not garish. Its deep purple draperies were complemented by a half dozen paintings, from a serene landscape to a glorious montage of the events of the Time of Troubles, when gods walked Faerun, made war with each other, and died.

  Tal worried that his mother would turn this latest proof of his irresponsibility into another lecture on the many wrong streets his life was taking. Why consort with those theater scoundrels, she might ask, when the opera was a respectable venue? Why not explore sculpting or painting or composing? At least she wouldn't insist that he follow in his father's footsteps and look after the family business. That fate was reserved for Tamlin or, more likely, for Tazi once Tamlin proved himself inept.

  When he arrived in her parlor, however, Tal found his mother less than argumentative.

  Shamur remained seated on an elegant fainting couch as Tal entered the room, greeting him with the poised smiled reserved for honored guests. It pierced him to the
heart, for there was no greater sign of her displeasure.

  "Mother," he began. "I'm sorry for all the worr-"

  "Come here, Talbot," she said.

  Tal knelt beside her couch. She looked into his face for a long moment, then pulled his head onto her shoulder and held it there.

  "Mother," he began.

  "Hush," she said, and he obeyed. She held him there for a quarter of an hour, without saying another word. At last she stroked his hair a few times, lifted his head up to look into his face, and said, "Now go to your father."

  *****

  As Tal walked slowly down the hall to his father's study, he heard the whisper of slippers and a gentle tinkling of silver bells. A servant had withdrawn to a side passage ahead of him, no doubt to avoid the conflict between Thamalon and his wayward son.

  As he reached the narrow hallway, however, Tal saw that the servant stood waiting for him, hands folded demurely beneath her breasts. Her gaze was locked deferentially on the carpet.

  She wore the knee-length white dress of the Uskevren domestic staff, the family colors shown in the slashes of her sleeves and a tight gold vest. From a turban of the same gold dangled the bells he had heard, a device to warn family members of a servant's intrusion.

  "Master Talbot," she said, looking up at him. Her pale hazel eyes looked yellow in the steady golden light of the corridor's enchanted sconces.

  Tal summoned his best look of exaggerated disappointment, then looked pointedly up and down the empty hallway. "Where is the audience that makes me 'Master Talbot'?" he asked. "Have you forgotten our promise?"

  Four years his senior, Larajin had been with the Uskevren for as long as Tal could remember. As children, they were frequent playmates. One summer night, after escaping the flustered adult servants at an Uskevren family picnic, they tramped about the nearby fields until the fireflies rose from the ground. Exhausted, they lay upon the heather and gazed at the stars. After a long silence, Larajin told Tal this was their last night together. Upon returning to Stormweather Towers, she must assume the respectful demeanor of the other servants. She was no longer a child.