Crypt of the Shadowking (28 page)

It was Tyveris, filling the doorway with his massive shoulders. For some strange reason, Caledan found that he was almost disappointed it wasn’t the Harper.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Caledan, but you may want to come downstairs. Morhion just came back from his tower. There’s something he wants all of us to hear.”

A grimace crossed Caledan’s face. He had hoped his dealings with Morhion were over now that they had returned from the Fields of the Dead.

Caledan stepped into the inn’s private dining chamber and found the others already there. While he couldn’t say that he had ever seen Morhion excited—he had watched the mage engulf whole bands of attacking goblins in magical fire without so much as blinking an eye—there did seem to be a hard, bright light shining in the mage’s usually indifferent gaze.

“I have learned the purpose of the magical crystal I took from the shadevar,” Morhion said when Caledan sat down. The mage pulled the opaque gem from his pocket.

“I believe it is a communication device of some sort. By means of the crystal, one might speak across great distances to the one who holds the gem’s twin.”

“That must be how the shadevar kept in contact with whoever its master was,” Caledan mused.

“You want to use the stone, don’t you, to speak with whoever will answer?” Mari asked the mage.

Estah scowled. “That sounds rather dangerous.”

“Perhaps,” the mage said, “but it would not be the first danger I have ever risked. The same would be true for all of you.”

All eyes turned to Caledan. Much as he did not care for it, everyone had fallen into the old habit of looking to him as a leader. Even the Harper seemed to be waiting for him to say something.

“Do it,” he said to Morhion finally, an edge of steel in his voice.

Morhion lifted the cowl of his robe, concealing his face. He was wearing black, just like the shadevar. The companions watched as Morhion spoke several sibilant words of magic. The crystal began to glow with a pale luminescence.

Suddenly an image appeared in the heart of the crystal. It was the gaunt, severe-looking face of a man with eyes as hard and dark as stones. It took several heartbeats for Caledan to recognize the man. An image of a procession riding into the High Tower of the city lord flashed before his eyes, It was the day when he had first seen Ravendas in the city, And on a black horse before her had ridden … the lord steward Snake. The man who was rumored to be Ravendas’s lackey. He was the shadevar’s master.

Caledan looked up at the Harper involuntarily. She nodded. Apparently she had recognized the lord steward as well.

“Why has it taken you so long to make contact?” Snake demanded in a voice as dry as bleached bones. “I have been attempting to communicate with you for the last two days.”

Morhion drew in a breath to reply.

“Never mind,” Snake interrupted impatiently. “It does not matter now. All that concerns me is Caldorien. Is he dead?”

Without hesitation Morhion nodded.

“Excellent,” Snake said, his voice pure venom. “Now no one with the shadow magic can stand against us. Things are moving toward an end. Perhaps I will let you deal with the fool Ravendas yourself.” A cadaverous smile touched Snake’s mouth. “You have done well. Our lord who is to come will not forget that.”

Again Morhion nodded.

“I must go,” Snake hissed. “I shall make contact again when all has been—”

Snake’s words were cut off by a sudden high-pitched commotion. Caledan swore under his breath and sprang toward the stairs, but he was too late.

Pog and Nog had burst into the room.

“Mother! Nog hit me!” Pog wailed before Caledan could quiet her. Nog’s piping voice rose in denial.

The damage was done.

In the image inside the crystal Snake’s hard eyes glittered with suspicion. “Who are you?” he demanded.

Morhion laughed. “A foe!” he cried. He passed a hand over the crystal. “Bahtral” he spoke as the gem went dark. The image of Snake vanished.

They all stared at the darkened crystal for a long moment. Pog and Nog clung to Estah for comfort, sensing they had done something wrong. Finally Tyveris cleared his throat.

“Well, Caledan,” he said, his deep voice rumbling, “at least now we know who wants you dead.”

“Comforting thought,” Caledan growled in reply.

Eighteen

“I don’t like this, not one bit,” Caledan said, pacing agitatedly before the hearth. Night had fallen outside. The room was bathed in the warm glow of the candles Jolle and Estah were lighting. Pog and Nog had been sent to play upstairs, and the other companions sat around the oaken table.

“Snake said that soon he’s going to be rid of Ravendas,” Caledan went on. “If he’s powerful enough to summon a shadevar, he can probably make good on his little boast.”

“Perhaps this Snake fellow is just a fool who’s a bit too full of himself,” Tyveris offered. “I don’t think so,” Caledan said, shaking his head. “He is only pretending to serve her,” Morhion agreed. The magical jewel sat on the table before him, dark now. “He is only waiting for the right moment for betrayal.”

Caledan gazed intently at the mage. “I suppose you would know about things like that, wouldn’t you?”

No one spoke for a tense minute until Ferret broke the silence. “There’s still one thing I don’t understand. Why is Snake going to so much trouble to kill everyone in the Realms with the shadow magic? Talek Talembar told us that only someone who possesses the shadow magic can utilize the Nightstone.”

Caledan scratched the disreputable-looking growth of beard on his chin. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

“The Harpers know for a fact that Ravendas has been searching for someone with the shadow magic for years,” Mari ventured. ‘That may be why she has been trying to capture you alive, Caledan. She needs someone with the shadow magic for when she gets her hands on the Nightstone.”

“Well,” Tyveris said finally, “if Snake doesn’t serve Ravendas, then who does he serve?”

No one had an answer for the loremaster’s question.

Caledan and Ferret waited just inside the mouth of the cramped, musty-smelling storm sewer. Caledan had not enjoyed crawling through the narrow, debris-cluttered tunnel. Ferret had wriggled his way through the pipe like a snake, but Caledan’s broad shoulders had proven a liability, and more than once he had nearly gotten stuck.

Now the walled courtyard surrounding the High Tower of the city lord lay just on the other side of the rusted iron grating that covered the pipe. The others had protested earlier that morning when Caledan had told them he intended to sneak into the tower, but he had waved their caution aside.

“I’m not going in to confront Ravendas,” he had growled.

“At least not yet. All I want to do is try to find out how close she is to locating the Nightstone.” Caledan had planned to try to bluff his way through the tower’s gate disguised as a Zhentarim warrior, but Ferret had suggested the ancient, forgotten storm drain as a less conspicuous method.

Caledan watched as black-booted feet marched by on the other side of the iron grate. After a minute Ferret motioned that the coast was clear. Quickly the thief shifted the grate to one side, slipping out. Caledan swiftly followed, replacing the grate behind him. They brushed the dirt from their black leather garb. They had stolen the uniforms from a pair of guards whose corpses were still cooling in a dim alleyway not far from the tower.

“I look like a buffoon!” Ferret swore softly as he futilely tried to adjust his swordbelt. Even though one of the guards had been nearly his size, the little thief looked ill at ease in the stiff leather uniform.

Caledan himself had fared quite a bit better than the thief in terms of fit. Unlike Ferret’s, his uniform included an embossed, black enameled breastplate and an ornate helm with a visor that concealed his face.

As Ferret had promised, the two found themselves inside the wall that surrounded the tower. The sun was just on the verge of setting. Streaks of angry crimson and molten gold crossed the evening sky, silhouetting the single, unblemished spire.

Ferret nudged Caledan. A half-dozen Zhentarim were marching across the barren courtyard toward them. Caledan clenched his jaw and kept walking, doing his best to look as if he were at home. However, the guards did not accost them as he feared. Instead, much to his astonishment, they saluted him as they marched past. Hurriedly Caledan returned the formal salute—a fist clenched before the forehead.

“It looks like I’ve got the livery of someone important, he noted under his breath. “You’d better act like my subordinate so we don’t attract undue attention.”

“Lucky me,” Ferret replied acidly.

Eight guards stood, swords drawn, to either side of the tower’s massive bronze doors. Just as Caledan and Ferret approached, the great doors swung open, and a flock of gaudily attired men and women, followed by pages and scribes, began to exit the tower, streaming down the expansive stone steps. Some of them wore self-important expressions on their faces, a few wore looks of disgust, but most simply looked like small, frightened animals.

“The city’s lords,” Ferret whispered.

Caledan nodded. “They must be getting out of a session in the Hall of Argument.”

The two took advantage of the confusion to thread their way through the crowd and slip across the threshold.

Nearly the entire base of the tower was taken up by the vast Hall of Argument. Its high ceiling was supported by countless arches soaring up in graceful vaults. The ceiling was covered with luminous frescoes, and the light of a hundred torches reflected off the hall’s polished stone floors. Ferret allowed Caledan little time to gaze at the splendor of the place, however. He ducked into a side corridor, roughly pulling Caledan with him.

‘That’s no way to treat your superior,” Caledan snorted under his breath.

“I thought you’d like it better than a knife in your back,” Ferret replied.

They moved swiftly down the corridor. Several more Zhentarim passed the pair, saluting Caledan. Caledan returned the gesture, trying his best to keep his bearing stiff, as one would expect of a commander. They soon reached a spiral staircase leading up to the tower’s higher levels.

“Breldurn, there you are!” a voice suddenly exclaimed behind them.

Caledan felt his heart lurch in his chest. “Keep walking,” he hissed to Ferret.

“I say, Breldurn, wait there!” the rough voice called out again. “It’s me, Drim!” Booted footsteps sounded behind them, and Caledan reluctantly came to a halt.

He turned around to find himself looking into the eyes of a grizzled, powerfully built sergeant “Say, I’m glad I caught you, Breldurn. Lord Cutter would’ve had my head if I missed you. She wants to see you right away.” He winked then, a wicked smile crossing his face. “You lucky devil. I told you she had an eye for you. Now come with me. I’m to see you to her chambers myself. Milord’s orders.”

Caledan glanced in panic at Ferret, but the thief’s eyes were wide. He didn’t know what to do either. Caledan swore inwardly. Apparently he had had the misfortune to steal the uniform of some man Ravendas favored. Thank the gods he was wearing a visor.

“Right now?” Caledan said, keeping his voice husky.

“Yes, now,” the man called Drim said. “Do you want to keep Cutter waiting?”

“I suppose not,” Caledan said hoarsely. Drim frowned.

“What’s the matter with your voice, Breldurn?”

Caledan gave a cough. “Cold,” he explained.

Drim grinned slyly. “Well, I hope you’ll have enough vigor to handle Cutter properly. Now, let’s go before she strings us both up. Our master’s a pretty one, but she doesn’t like it when she’s kept waiting.”

Caledan sighed, resigned to his fate. A score of guards were marching down the corridor. He and Ferret would not be able to fight their way out.

“I’ll meet you later,” he said to Ferret The thief looked at him with surprise. “That’s an order!”

“Yes, sir,” Ferret said, saluting. Without another glance, he hurried away down the hall. At least Ferret would escape. Caledan could be confident of that.

“All right, Drim,” Caledan said, taking a deep breath-‘Take me to Lord Cutter.”

The heavy, iron-banded door shut behind Caledan, and he heard the sound of a lock turning. The two Zhentarim warriors outside the portal had taken his sword. There was nothing to do now except to wait for Ravendas.

The chamber he found himself in was circular, about twenty paces across. The dark stone floor was strewn with silvery furs, and the walls hung with richly woven tapestries. The furniture was ornate and expensive-looking. A fire burned brightly in the great archway of a marble fireplace. There were windows facing to the south and west, but it was a good distance to the courtyard below. Jumping would be a desperate option indeed.

Suddenly Caledan heard the faint sound of music. It was coming from near the fire, the sweet, rich voice of a lute. The melody was none Caledan recognized, but it was both lovely and sorrowful, filled with a sense of longing.

Curious, he walked slowly toward the source of the music. It was a boy, sitting in a large armchair that had concealed him from Caledan’s immediate view. The boy was small—no more than eight or nine, Caledan guessed—his feet dangling several inches above the floor. His smooth hair was raven-dark, his skin as pale as snow. His green eyes were widely spaced, bordered by dark lashes, and his cheeks were lightly touched by blooms of pink from the heat of the fire.

The boy strummed the lacquered lute with small, perfect hands, gazing absently into the fire. Caledan simply stood there, entranced, listening to the music. Finally the song ended on a long, wistful note, and the boy’s hands fell from he instrument. “Hello,” he said in a pure, sweet voice, though he barely lifted his gaze from the fire.

“Hello,” Caledan stammered, a bit startled by the calmness of the boy’s tone.

“You’ve come to see my mother, haven’t you?” he said gazing up at Caledan. Behind his visor a look of shock passed over Caledan’s face. My mother?

“You didn’t know she had a son, did you?” the boy said.

“No, I didn’t,” Caledan replied truthfully enough.