Crypt of the Shadowking (35 page)

“At least the Zhentarim aren’t here to greet us,” Caledan said, his voice weak. He coughed. Tyveris came striding toward them. “The cityfolk have done it, Caledan!” the big Tabaxi announced joyously. “Mari and Cormik’s plan worked. The Zhentarim are gone. We’ve driven the curs from the city, those that we didn’t lock up in the dungeon, that is!”

As soon as Tyveris reached them, his exuberant expression vanished. “Let me,” he said softly, helping Caledan ease the Harper to the ground. The loremaster looked at Estah with deep concern.

“You must act swiftly,” Morhion said. “The enchantment of the tomb will no longer preserve her spirit.”

“I’m not going to be able to do this alone, Caledan,” Estah said, drawing out her silver medallion inscribed with the sign of Eldath. The healer brushed Mari’s dark hair from her face, laying an expert hand on her brow. The Harper’s features looked deathly. “I can make her body whole, but her spirit has already gone far away,” Estah explained. “You must give her a reason to return to us, Caledan.”

“Me?” Caledan said, staring at the healer. “But the Harper hates me now, Estah. You know that.”

The wise halfling woman scowled at Caledan. “Must you always act like such a child, Caledan? We really don’t have time for that now. Mari needs you.” She laid the medallion on Mari’s chest.

Caledan swallowed hard. Tentatively he reached down and held Mari’s hand. What could he say to her?

Suddenly he knew.

This time he did have the power to save the one that he loved. He would not let this second chance pass him by. Slowly he slipped the copper bracelet from his left wrist.

Farewell, Kera, my beloved, he whispered in his heart. He slipped the bracelet over Man’s hand.

“I love you, Harper,” he said simply, knowing it was the truth. “Come back to me.”

For a single, terrifying moment nothing happened. Then suddenly the medallion hummed with a faint, sweet sound, like the song of running water. But the sound faded, and still Mari did not move.

I have failed, Caledan almost whispered.

Then the Harper’s fingers closed tightly about his hand, and he stared at her in wonderment. Man’s eyes fluttered and flew open. She looked around in confusion, and her gaze locked on Caledan. A surprised smile touched her lips.

“So you didn’t leave me after all, scoundrel,” she said, her voice husky.

“Ill never leave you, Mari.” He looked up at Kellen, and for the first time Caledan saw the boy smile. It was a hesitant, almost fragile expression. Still, it was a smile all the same. Caledan grinned in response. “Never,” he said gruffly. He bent down and touched his lips to Man’s.

Suddenly Mari began to laugh.

“What is it?” Caledan asked her, a bemused expression on his face.

She reached up a hand and brushed his cheek. “You need a shave, scoundrel, that’s what.”

It was the first day of summer, and all of the windows in the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon were thrown open to let in the fresh air and sunlight. It was still early in the afternoon—the usual crowd of customers would not start arriving until the shadows grew longer—and save for Caledan and Mari, the common room was empty.

Jolle was out behind the inn working on the garden, and Estah had taken Pog and Nog, along with Kellen, to the free market. In the last weeks merchant ships had streamed freely in and out of Iriaebor’s port, and the merchant stalls in the market were filled with goods, both ordinary and exotic, from every corner of the Realms.

Caledan and Mari sat at one of the inn’s freshly scrubbed wooden tables. Between them rested a small package which had been delivered earlier along with a sealed parchment scroll.

Mari deftly broke the wax seal and unrolled the scroll, watched her face carefully as she scanned the words on the page. Her hair glowed with a deep, rich hue in the sunlight streaming through the door, and blooms of color touched her cheeks. In the weeks since they had fled from the destruction of the crypt, she had already regained much of her strength.

“It’s a missive from the Harpers,” Mari said, rolling up the parchment. “From Belhuar Thantarth, the Master of Twilight Hall.”

“And?”

“And this is for you,” she said, pushing the package toward Caledan.

He looked at her questioningly. Her smile was mysterious. He sighed, swallowed hard, and undid the leather ties that bound the small parcel. He upended the pouch over his hand. A small, silvery object slipped out.

It was a pin, wrought in the shape of a crescent moon encircling a harp.

“Congratulations, Harper,” Mari said.

Caledan stared at the pin in amazement. At most he had expected a word of thanks from Thantarth for helping Mari complete her mission. But this he had most definitely not expected.

“Here. You wear it,” Mari said wryly, when it was clear all Caledan was going to do was stare at the pin. She carefully fastened the symbol of the Harpers to the shoulder of his new slate blue tunic. The pin glimmered brightly in the sunlight, a twin to the one that adorned Mari’s forest green jacket Caledan laughed and took Mari in his arms. The two embraced for a length of time that might have seemed improper were they not alone.

Suddenly the sunlight that spilled through the doorway darkened. Caledan looked up in surprise to see a hulking shadow standing in the open door. The shadow took a step forward.

“Tyveris!” Caledan exclaimed. “It’s about time you came by for a visit.”

The big loremaster smiled, pushing his gold-rimmed spectacles up on his nose. ‘Things have been busy at the city lord’s tower,” Tyveris said, joining the two at the table. He sighed ruefully. “Really busy.”

Caledan laughed. Tyveris was working as an advisor to City Lord Bron, helping to plan the restoration of Iriaebor. It was a position Tyveris had taken reluctantly. After leading the victorious battle in the dungeons, the big loremaster had become nothing less than a hero in the city. The day following the battle the citizens had called for Tyveris to enter the High Tower as city lord. It was a job he did not want. He was a priest, and perhaps even a bit of a warrior still, but he was most certainly not a bureaucrat.

Luckily for Tyveris the old city lord, Bron, was discovered that same morning locked in a small, hidden chamber in the dungeons beneath the tower. Though pale from lack of sunlight and weak from over a year of confinement, Bron was still a man of considerable presence, and the cityfolk were overjoyed to see him alive and well.

However, despite Bron’s reappearance, a significant number of citizens still called for Tyveris to take up rule. It was Bron who had proposed Tyveris accept a position as his advisor, and the loremaster, realizing he had little choice in the matter, had agreed. Everyone in the city was thereby made happy—except Tyveris, but apparently he did not count.

“You’re looking almost respectable today, Caledan,” Tyveris remarked, eyeing Caledan curiously. Caledan had finally traded in his worn black leather traveling gear for newer, less unsavory attire, and he had even taken to shaving regularly. However, much to Mari’s chagrin, he still hadn’t given up his road-worn, faded blue traveling cloak. He had to draw a line somewhere. “Nice pin, too,” the big monk noticed.

“Thanks,” Caledan said, almost surprised at the pride in his own voice.

“I thought you might like to know that the last of the Zhentarim from the dungeon have been sent in a caravan to Darkhold,” Tyveris told them.

“I’m still not certain that was such a good idea,” Caledan remarked with a frown. “Why give the Zhents their own warriors back? We may have to fight them again someday.”

“Bron didn’t want them filling up the dungeon indefinitely,” Tyveris explained. “They’re a rather dangerous bunch to have hanging around, and, what’s more, they eat a lot. Besides, Caledan, I think you know how the Zhentarim treat those of their number who fail them.” He drew a finger meaningfully across his neck.

“I’d forgotten about that,” Caledan admitted.

Jolle came into the common room after a time and joined them, and not long after Estah returned from the market. Pog and Nog squealed in delight at the sight of the big Tabaxi Chultan and immediately scrambled to their favorite perches atop his massive shoulders. Kellen sat quietly at the table, though he did flash a brief smile at Caledan and Mari. Caledan reached out and tousled the boy’s dark hair.

My son, he thought, as he did numerous times each day. Kellen was still a very serious child. Caledan supposed he always would be. Yet somehow being raised by Ravendas had not left as great a scar on Kellen as Caledan would have imagined. The boy had about him an air of gentleness that made folk forget the odd things he sometimes said.

He looks like Kera, Caledan suddenly realized. The resemblance was clear, in the line of his jaw and the fine shape of his nose. Indeed, he looked far more like Kera than he did his mother, Ravendas.

Tyveris stayed for supper, and for a time the common room was filled with laughter. Their mood saddened only once, when they drank a toast to Ferret, but even then they couldn’t help but smile at the recollection of the thief. “Would that there were as many men in the world as full of greed as Ferret,” Caledan said as he lifted his mug. Everyone knew exactly what he meant.

Finally the shadows began to lengthen outside the inn, and Tyveris bid them all farewell, promising to return soon. He stepped outside into the gathering twilight.

“There’s something I need to do,” Caledan said then. “Something I’ve been meaning to do for a while.” He stood and threw his multi-patched cloak over his shoulders against the cool onset of night. Estah, her eyes sparkling, nodded in approval.

“Come back soon, Father,” Kellen said, holding Caledan’s hand tightly for a moment before running off to entertain Pog and Nog.

“Yes, come back soon,” Mari said softly. She stood on her toes and kissed him fleetingly.

“I will, Harper,” he said gruffly. “I promise.”

Caledan retrieved Mista from the inn’s stable. The pale gray mare tried to nip his shoulder as he saddled her. Apparently she felt she had been neglected of late.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Caledan said in mild annoyance. “I’ve been rather busy, you know.”

Mista snorted. Apparently she cared little for excuses. However, despite her surly mood, she allowed Caledan to mount, and soon the two were making their way through the streets of the Old City.

Iriaebor was a much different place than it had been when Caledan had first ridden across the bridge that gray, rainy day in late winter. Free of the oppression of Ravendas and the Zhentarim, the cityfolk had set to the task of restoring their city. Streets had been swept clean, buildings repaired and painted, wells dredged so the water ran clear, and stains scoured from the city’s stone walls.

Of course there were some wounds that would take longer to heal. Willowy saplings now grew in gardens where ancient oaks and ash trees had once stood, before they were hacked down and burned by the Zhentarim. But scars such as these only served to remind cityfolk how much their homes meant to them and how valuable their freedom really was.

The evening air was sweet and clear, and the stars began to come out one by one in the slate-colored sky, winking above the tops of the towers like jewels. Torches lined the streets, filling the city with light, and despite the coming night the avenues of the Old City were alive with people bustling about their business.

As Mista walked on, Caledan drew out a’baliset and began to play a soft melody. The baliset, fashioned of maple and ash, had been a gift from Mari. Caledan smiled. After seven years, he had forgotten what a simple pleasure making music could be. He was glad Mari had reminded him of that. It seemed the Harper had reminded him of a good many things he had forgotten in his wanderings.

Caledan and Mista made their way past the Temple of Selune, and finally he brought the gray mare to a halt before a well-kept but stark tower.

“Do you mind waiting out here?” Caledan asked the mare as he dismounted.

She answered him by stepping on his foot.

“Tough,” Caledan replied, tickling her knee so that she would lift her hoof. Mista snorted in indignation, and Caledan slapped her flank affectionately. The mare laid her ears back and bared her teeth.

“I’ll be back soon,” Caledan said with a laugh. Mista let out an indifferent whinny, then leaned forward and nuzzled her soft, velvety nose against his cheek.

Caledan shook his head, bemused, then turned to lift the knocker on the tower’s door. The full moon was just rising over the city’s towers, filling the streets with its pure, silvery light.

The tower’s door opened, and Morhion stared out in apparent stupefaction.

“Well, can I come in?” Caledan asked. “Or are you simply going to stand there staring at me?”

The mage blinked his eyes. “I am sorry, Caledan … I mean, Caldorien.” There was a trembling note in his normally smooth voice. “Please, come in.”

Caledan followed Morhion up the tower’s steps into the mage’s study. He sat and accepted a glass of wine, from which he drank deeply. All the while Morhion regarded him with an expression of confusion mixed with amazement.

“I suppose you’re wondering why I’ve come here,” Caledan said finally.

“I know why you’ve come,” Morhion replied gravely. “You’ve come for satisfaction, to gain vengeance against me. I cannot say that I blame you. I have betrayed you twice, Caldorien.”

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but it’s not vengeance I want,” Caledan said flatly. He set down his glass and stood before the mage.

“Then what is it you wish?” Morhion asked, his blue eyes troubled.

“To tell you that I understand,” Caledan said simply. He walked toward a narrow window, gazing out at the city for a moment He heard the sound of music and laughter drifting through the night. He turned to regard the mage. “You saved me twice with your ‘betrayals.’ Once in Darkhold, and once in the Shadowking’s crypt. For that I thank you.”

Morhion gaped. For the first time Caledan could remember, his face did not seem cold and imperious, but rather tired and lonely. “I have never … I have never allowed myself to hope that you would ever understand.”