Shadowbred (23 page)

“Another time, Brilla. Well enough?”

She let his arm go, frowning. “Well enough. Perhaps tonight? I have a tone that you will love, Mister Cale. Ingredients have been hard to come by of late, but I have improvised a little something with grapes from the Storl Oak vineyard and maple syrup. Will you be dining with Tamlin?”

Probably Brilla alone called the Hulorn by his given name.

“I am not certain,” Cale said. He did not know exactly what Tamlin desired of him. “But if not, I will make a point to come to the kitchen.”

Brilla accepted that with a smile. Most of her front teeth were rotten or missing. “It feels right to see you here again, Mister Cale.” “Thank you, Brilla.”

She watched him, smiling all the while, as he and Ren entered Stormweather s double doors.

Irwyl awaited them in the arched foyer, arms crossed, brow furrowed. His short hair hung over a face as pointed as an arrowhead. He wore a prim look, a tailored vest, and linen pantaloons. He looked more a steward than Cale ever had. His eyes widened somewhat at Cale’s appearance, but he masked his surprise well.

“You look well, Irwyl,” Cale said.

“As do you, Mister Cale. Different, but well. That will be all, Ren.”

Ren nodded, turned to Cale, and extended a hand. “For everything, my thanks.”

Cale shook his hand. “Of course. I will be around for a while.”

“Good to hear,” Ren said. He nodded at the butler and took his leave.

“Do you require anything?” Irwyl asked Cale. “A refreshment? A … change of clothing?” Cale smiled. “No, Irwyl.”

“Very well. Follow me, then, Mistet Cale,” Irwyl said, and started for the parlor.

Before they reached it, Irwyl turned around and faced Cale.

“May I be candid, Mister Cale?”

Puzzled, Cale said, “Of course. What is it?”

“Do you intend to take your previous station? I would like to know if I need to seek a new situation. Times are difficult but I suspect the hulorn would be generous with severance.”

Cale would have laughed aloud had he nor seen how serious Irwyl was. He wiped the burgeoning smile from his face and said, “Of course not, Irwyl. My life has… gone in a different direction.” He gave Irwyl a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Besides, I would be a poor substitute for you.”

A relieved smile broke through Irwyl’s stony exterior. “Very good, Mister Cale,” he said, in a much softer tone. “Follow me, please.”

Stormweather Towers had changed little. Cale felt as if he were walking back in time. Tapestry and art-bedecked halls and walls, carved wooden doors, arched ceilings. All of it seemed so far removed from Cale’s life.

Irwyl led him into the parlor, the parlor where Cale often had played chess with Thamalon the Elder, or spent a long night discussing the plot of this or that rival of the Old Chauncel. The book-lined walls and reading chairs remained, as did the ivory and jade chessboard and pieces. Cale felt Thamalon’s absence the same way he felt the absence of his severed hand.

“I have informed the hulorn of your arrival,” Irwyl said. “He will see you shortly.”

While he waited, Cale paced the parlor, examined the spines of the books, the suits of ceremonial armor that stood in the corners of the chamber, the sculptures small and large that dotted the room.

The parlor was still Thamalon’s, even more than a year after his death. That pleased Cale. He stood over the chessboard, pondered, and advanced the queen’s pawn.

“Your move, my lord,” he murmured.

A cleared throat from over his shoulder turned him around.

Tamlin wore a long green jacket, a pale, stiff collared shirt, and the tailored breeches that seemed fashionable in Sembia that season. He wore a number of pouches on his belt—components for his spells, Cale figured. Some gray at his temples accented his otherwise dark hair. Shadows darkened the skin under his eyes, which widened at Cale’s appearance.

A man of about the same age stood beside Tamlin. He wore a snugly fitted purple vest with a collared black shirt, and high boots rather than shoes. A rapier and dagger hung from his belt. A short beard masked a tight mouth and small eyes set closely together. He, too, looked surprised at Cale’s appearance.

“Mister Cale?” asked Tamlin tentatively.

Cale bowed formally. “Lord Uskevren.”

Tamlin approached him, mouth open, but arm outstretched. They clasped forearms.

“Gods, man!” Tamlin said, shaking his head and smiling. “You look so … different.”

Cale nodded. “Many things have changed since our paths crossed last, my lord.”

Tamlin studied his face. “So I heard, and so I see. Same man

underneath, though. Yes?”

Cale hoped so. “Yes. You look a bit different, my lord.”

Tamlin ran his fingers through the gray in his hair. “Ah, yes, this. Well, heavy is the head that wears the crown and all that, right?” He laughed, a forced sound, and gestuted at the man who had accompanied him into the room.

“Do you remember Vees Talendar?”

“Talendar?” Cale paused to think. A rogue wizard of the Talendar family had once orchesttated an attack on the Uskevren. It culminated in a lengthy battle with summoned monsters atop the High Bridge.

Vees flushed. “No doubt you recall my Uncle Marance’s unfortunate bout of madness and the consequences of the same.”

“Our families have long since come to terms with those events,” Tamlin said with a dismissive wave, and Cale was not certain if he was speaking to Cale or Vees. “The Talendar and Uskevren are fast friends now.”

“That is something good that came of my uncle,” Vees said.

“The past is the past,” Cale said to Vees, nodding respectfully. “Lord Talendar.”

Vees smiled, a polite gesture but nothing more. “Mister Cale,” he said.

Tamlin gestured at Vees. “Vees’s advice has been invaluable to me, Mister Cale. Due to him, I was elected Hulorn.” “Indeed?” Cale asked.

“Your own talent got you elected,” Vees said, and Cale knew he was silver-tongued. Vees eyed Cale’s leather armor, his weapons. “You do not look much like a steward.”

“Mister Cale was always more than that,” Tamlin said.

“A bodyguard, more like,” Vees said. “At least from what I have heard.”

Cale recalled that the Talendar family had sent Vees to Waterdeep for an education and he had returned a priest of Siamorphe. Cale thought it strange that he did not wear a holy symbol openly. He knew also that the Talendars had financed the building of a temple to Siamorphe on Temple Avenue.

“How is construction proceeding?” Cale asked, to change the subject.

Vees looked surprised that Cale knew of the temple.

“You mean the temple? Quite well, Mister Cale. The Lady’s new home will be completed soon.”

“Perhaps then you can give us a tour, at last,” Tamlin said with a laugh. He looked to Cale and said, “The priests keep the place locked as tight as a Calishite Pasha’s harem room.”

Vees smiled and explained to Cale, “There are only two priests other than myself, and the sanctification rites require that the interior be open only to servants of Siamorphe until the process is complete. It is taking quite some time. You understand, I am sure.”

Cale did not, but nodded anyway. His god had no temples other than alleys. His god had knife fights with his Chosen.

“Vees could tell us that the rites required nude virgins dancing in the moonlight and I would know no better. Who has ever heard of Siamorphe? You will be pressed for worshipers, my friend.”

Vees only smiled. “Perhaps. But we go where we are called.”

Irwyl entered with a bottle of Uskevren wine and three goblets.

“Ever timely,” Tamlin said. Irwyl distributed the goblets and poured. Cale allowed a fill out of politeness, though he did not intend to drink. Irwyl left the bottle on a side table. He noticed that the pawn had been moved on the chessboard, frowned, and returned it to its original position.

Irwyl asked, “Will Mister Cale be staying in the manse?”

“Of course,” Tamlin answered, without consulting Cale. “Mister Cale will serve as an advisor to the hulorn, if he so pleases.”

Tamlin looked the question at Cale and Cale nodded. Tamlin said to Irwyl, “See to it that a room is prepared.”

“Will your old quarters suffice, Mister Cale?” Irwyl asked. .

“They are tiny!” Tamlin said. “I will not hear of it.”

“I would prefer it, my lord,” Cale said. “That would be fine, Irwyl.”

“I will see to it,” Irwyl said, and turned to Tamlin. “Will that be ail, my lord?”

“Yes, Irwyl,” Tamlin said, drinking his wine.

After Irwyl left, Cale decided to move directly to business. “Lord Uskevren, your message asked for my hurried return to the city.”

Tamlin set down his goblet and his face grew serious, as serious as Cale had ever seen it. “Kendrick Selkirk is dead. Mirabeta Selkirk has been elected temporary overmistress. Endren Corrinthal of Saerb is accused of murdering Kendrick, but our contacts in Ordulin are not certain of the truth of it. There was some kind of fight in the High Council and Endren was arrested. Zerin Terb was killed.”

Vees shook his head. “A shocking, shocking state of affairs.”

Cale knew Terb’s name. He had been Selgaunt’s representative in the High Council for over a decade. Tamlin continued. “In any event, the council has called a moot to elect a new overmaster. I am traveling to Ordulin—”

“My lord?” Cale asked, surprised. The hulorn had always appointed an agent to represent Selgaunt in the High Council or a moot, but never attended personally.

“I cannot tell what is happening there from here,” Tamlin said. “Some of our informants there say that Endren’s son is raising an army to depose Mirabeta. Others believe that Mirabeta arranged all of this. I need to see it personally before I ask the entire Old Chauncel to journey to the capital for the moot. Something is afoot and I need someone I can trust at my side. You. I want you as my wallman, Mister Cale. What do you say?”

Cale answered immediately. “Of course, but…”

“But?” Tamlin asked.

“My lord, Selgaunt is … in difficulties. How will it appear if you leave it? Who will govern?”

“We will not be away for long. Two tendays, perhaps three. Vees will speak for me, if needed, but the bureaucracy runs itself. The Old Chauncel will operate by consensus in my absence. In truth, that is another reason that I want to go alone, despite the call for the moot. If the entire Old Chauncel left the city at once, it would be… ill perceived. Once I have a handle on events in Ordulin, I will send for the key members of the Chauncel.”

“A wise course, Hulorn,” Vees said.

Cale was not so sure. Selgaunt felt ready to erupt. Tamlin had called him an advisor, so Cale decided to start advising. He took care to frame his speech appropriately. He had been removed from the niceties of station for some time. The words did not come as easily to him as they once did.

“My lord, may I make a recommendation or two? Actions that you might take before leaving the city?”

Vees snorted into his goblet. “The man is returned for a day and already has suggestions.”

Cale stared at Vees. Vees took another sip of his wine and averted his gaze.

“You are my advisor,” Tamlin said with a tip of his goblet. Cale nodded. “The city is overcrowded. The people are hungry.” “There is food in the market,” Vees said.

“Little, and it is priced so high that none but the rich can afford to eat,” Cale said, trying and failing to keep the coolness out of his voice.

Vees made an uncaring gesture. “Unfortunate, but true. But this is Sembia, Mister Cale. The market is what the market is.”

Cale barely resisted the impulse to punch the noble twit in the face. Despite his best efforts, shadows leaked from his skin. The room dimmed.

Tamlin noticed and looked alarmed. So did Vees but he looked more puzzled than afraid.

“I will explain later, my lord,” Cale said softly, and with an effort of will, caused the light to return and the shadows to subside.

Tamlin nodded slowly, eyes wide. Vees took another sip of his wine and studied Cale over the rim.

Cale said, “My lord, if your answer is the same as that of Lord Talendar, you will soon have riots. Hunger makes people desperate.” Cale thought of Skullport and said, “I have seen it before.”

Vees harrumphed. “That is why the Helms are on the streets.”

Cale ignored Talendar and addressed Tamlin. He decided to be candid. “If I am going to be of service to you, this all must end right now.”

Tamlin looked confused. “I do not understand, Mister Cale.”

Cale gestured at the parlor, at Vees, at Tamlin. “This. All of this. The polite speech. The discussions over wine. The clothes. The city is in a crisis, my lord. From what you have told me, all of Sembia is in crisis. We are not discussing a contract for trade. May I be fully candid or not?”

“There is no need for panic,” Vees said.

“No, but there is need for hard thinking and bold action,” Cale said. “And I never panic, Talendar.”

A few streamers of shadows rose from Cale’s flesh and dissipated in the air. If Vees thought to rebuke Cale for neglecting the nobleman’s honorific, he thought better of it.

“I take your point,” Tamlin said thoughtfully. “Let’s hear him out, Vees. Mister Cale brings an outsider’s perspective on things. Go on, Mister Cale.”

Cale plowed forward, eyeing Vees as he spoke. “Get the Helms off the street. They make you look frightened.”

Vees said, “The Helms are helping keep order. And are you accusing the Hulorn of being afraid?”

Cale surmised that putting the Helms on the streets had been Vees’s idea. “There are not enough of them to stop a riot, if it happened. In the meanwhile, they contribute to the perception that matters are not in hand, that the nobility is frightened.” He looked to Tamlin. “My lord, get them off rhe street. They are tense, and ill-suited to the work you have asked them to do. They drew steel on me outside Stormweather.”

“Perhaps justifiably,” Vees mumbled.

Cale whirled on him. “I promise you that if anothet comment like that comes out of your mouth, your teeth will follow it.”

Vees flushed, stuck out his jaw, and uttered not a word. Cale turned back to Tamlin. “Put the Helms back on the roads and waterways, where they belong, where people are used to seeing them. Order them to escort refugees into the city.”