Shadowbred (29 page)

She spent the evening with her aunt, creating the edict that would be read throughout the city the next day. It would take Sembia into civil war. Despite the fact that she had been integral in arranging events, Elyril’s hand still shook as she read the paper aloud.

“Yesterday, soldiers from Selgaunt and Saerb engaged in a most cowardly and ignoble surprise attack on members of the Saerloonian delegation as they made their way to Ordulin for a moot of their peers. This attack appears to be retaliation for the arrest of the murderer Endren Corrinthal and in furtherance of his and his co-conspirators’ attempt to seize power in Sembia through force of arms.”

Elyril paused and smiled at rhe irony. She continued. “This treason will not stand. As of yesterday evening, I have dispatched troops to ensure peace in the nation, see to the safety of the rest of the delegates, and bring the traitors to justice. The assembled nobles have pledged full cooperation and resources. I have called a muster in Ordulin and Saerloon. The leaders of this insurrection will be held accountable for their treasonous deeds.

“Meanwhile, the nobles already assembled here will convocate in a moot—a rump moot—that will determine the next course for the state.”

Mirabeta had already asked each of the nobles to dispatch to Ordulin or Saerloon as many men—both Sembian army and city guardsmen—as they could spare. Assembling the army would take time, but the process was under way.

Meanwhile, Mirabeta had dispatched five hundred Helms westward to act as escorts for some of the outlying nobility. She also sent forth the full force of Malkur Forrin s Blades to eliminate the Selgauntans. Mirabeta’s spies in Selgaunt indicated that a small delegation had left the city three days earlier. They had no idea of the danger into which they were riding and would be dead before they ever heard Mirabeta’s edict. Mirabeta would simply claim that they had been killed in a foiled attack on forces loyal to Ordulin.

Events were unfolding as well as Elyril could have hoped. She knew Shar was driving events. She continued to watch for the sign, for the book. The Shadowstorm was coming, she knew, and she rejoiced.

Mirabeta nodded at the edict. “Get it to the criers.”

Elyril preferred to seal it and send it along later. She carefully folded the edict.

“This has been all too easy,” Mirabeta said to Elyril. “I suspect other forces at work.”

Elyril offered another explanation. “The realm has been on the edge of a sword since the Rage. The drought and Rain of Fire compounded the tension. Sembia has been ripe for change for a generation. You are its agent, Aunt. The only other forces at work are historical ones.”

Mirabeta nodded, thoughtful.

Elyril changed the subject lest her aunt start to delve too deeply into causes.

“Aunt, what of Endren Corrinthal?”

Mirabeta looked up and made a dismissive gesture. “What of him? He is under constant guard in his tallhouse. None see him and he sees no one.”

Elyril nodded. “But he remains a latent danger. Someone will try to free him. There are many among the nobility who will frown at your ascension but do nothing to stop it, unless they have a leader. Endren is that leader. You must ensure that he cannot ever serve as the lynchpin around which your opposition forms.”

Mirabeta nodded thoughtfully. “I could order his execution. His guilt is now beyond doubt. No one will protest.”

As much as Elyril wished to see Endren dead—mostly because it would hurt Abelar Corrinthal—and his soul trapped in her holy symbol, she thought an official execution too extreme. Mirabeta had won much goodwill with the people of Ordulin by appearing above politics. Endren’s execution would be perceived as political retaliation.

“Perhaps you could make an example of him instead. Imprison him.”

“He is already imprisoned.”

Elyril shook her head. “He is arrested. I am suggesting that he be imprisoned, not in Ordulin, but in Yhaunn. In the Hole.”

Mirabeta looked shocked, then intrigued, then pleased. She smiled. “Endren Corrinthal in the Hole of Yhaunn. The thought pleases me.”

“I thought it might,” Elyril said. “And if he were to die while serving his sentence …” she shrugged. “That would not be surprising to anyone.”

The Hole of Yhaunn was the most notorious official prison in Sembia. Few who^were sentenced to serve there ever emerged. At one time a mine, the Time of Troubles had left it a zone of dead magic. Elduth Yarmmaster, the overmaster before Kendrick Selkirk, had converted it to a prison and sent his political and mercantile rivals there to labor and die in the dark.

“Well conceived, Elyril. I will order it tomorrow.” Mirabeta cocked her head and said, “I think you enjoy the trappings of power, not so?”

Elyril smiled uncertainly and nodded.

“Never forget who holds the true power,” Mirabeta said sternly. “You are an advisor to the overmistress. Nothing less. But nothing more.”

“I know well who holds the power,” Elyril said, and brushed her fingers over the invisible holy symbol of Shar at her throat.

Elyril returned to her room and snuffed nearly a palmful of minddust. The headache that had plagued her all day vanished in an instant. She stripped off everything save her invisible holy symbol and danced with the shadows that painted the walls, while Kefil sang her a dirge and she thought of the Lord Sciagraph’s touch.

Later, naked and sweating, she empowered her sending ring. When she felt the connection to the Nightseer open, she sighed with excitement. War is begun in Sembia, Nightseer. The people believe that Selgaunt and Saerb have taken up arms against the overmistress.

Rivalen answered, Well done, dark sister. The night shroud you.

And you, Nightseer.

ŚŠŚŚŽ- ŚŠ-•ŠŚ

Rivalen despised her weakness for minddust but deemed her too useful to discard—yet. He sat in his study and admired his coin collection. He pondered the fivestar he had taken from the dead Overmaster’s bedchamber. The date on the obverse was not only the year in which Kendrick Selkirk had died, it was the year in which Shar had lit Sembia afire. Soon, Rivalen would quench the fire with shadow. The most high would have the basis for a new empire, and Shar would have the foundation for rhe Shadowstorm.

He activated his sending ring and concentrated on the dark brother in Selgaunt. The connection opened.

Nightseer, said Vees Talendar.

Civil war is begun in Sembia, Rivalen said. The overmistress will make war on Selgaunt and Saerb.

Rivalen sensed Vees’s surprise. As always, Rivalen had provided his underlings with only the information they needed at any given time. Vees processed Rivalen’s words and said, Selgaunt and Saerb cannot stand against the massed power ofthe rest ofSembia.

No, Rivalen answered. But they need not stand alone.

Silence lay between them. Rivalen knew that Vees was absorbing the implications, looking back and seeing the connections, wondering how he had not recognized the secret for what it was.

am humbled, Vees finally said. You are the Nightseer, Prince Rivalen.p>

Rivalen said, When the time is right, I will require an introduction. Lay the foundation with the hulorn.

Of course, but… the hulorn is on his way to Ordulin for the moot even now. He is three days gone. If Mirabeta Selkirk is moving openly against Selgaunt…

Who would succeed him?Rivalen asked.

No one as easy to manage as he. The Uskevren pup is a fool, ideally suited to our purposes.

Do what you will, dark brother, just ready the ruler of Selgaunt, whoever that may be, for my arrival.

Yes, Nightseer. A pause, then, Prince Rivalen?

Speak, dark brother.

Rivalen sensed Vees’s hesitation. Finally the nobleman said, The night shroud you.

And you, dark brother.

As the connection closed, Rivalen knew that Vees had left something unsaid. Such was the nature of their faith, secrets upon secrets upon secrets. Rivalen eyed his coins and wondered how much of Shar’s plot he did not understand. She too provided her underlings—even her Nightseer—with only the information they needed at any given time.

He pushed such thoughts from his mind. He would need to wear a convincing face when he met Selgaunt s hulorn. It amused Rivalen to think that he would be perceived as coming to the rescue, even as he laid the foundation for conquest.

Vees had nearly informed the Nightseer of his suspicions regarding the Hulorn’s new counselor, Erevis Cale, but decided to keep it to himself. Rivalen would find out in his own time and it pleased Vees to keep a sectet from the Nightseer. After all, the Nightseer had kept a secret from Vees. Had Vees known that a Sembian civil war was the Lady’s will, he never would have allowed Tamlin to leave the city for Ordulin. The hulorn was too valuable a pawn.

Vees spoke aloud to his shadow, a habit he’d had for decades.

“Erevis Cale is a shade,” he said. “I saw the light dim around him when he grew angry, saw the shadows emerge from his flesh when it seemed he might strike me.”

Vees did not understand how it was possible, but he knew it to be true. Like the Nightseer himself, Erevis Cale was composed of shadowstuff.

“How can that be, Lady?” he asked Shar, but the goddess kept her own counsel.

Vees drummed his fingers on the walnut desktop thoughtfully. He sat alone, behind closed doors, in the darkened great room of his family’s tallhouse on Galorgar’s Ride.

“There is something else about Cale that I dislike. Something … secret,” he said, and smiled. He was not certain he could manage Tamlin with Cale acting as the Uskevren advisor. And Vees would need to manage Tamlin with care in the near future. The Nightseer had told him as much—Vees would need to arrange an introduction between Tamlin and Rivalen.

“I think Cale should die,” Vees said. He imagined Cale asprawl on his secret altar, screaming, bleeding shadows and blood as Vees gutted him like a fish and offered him to the Lady.

“Yes. He should die. Unfortunately, I cannot allow that to happen just now.”

Vees had no choice but to get word to the hulorn that he was riding into danger. Mirabeta could have dispatched troops already. They had made no secret of Tamlin’s departute. He held no fondness for Tamlin, but were he to die or be made a hostage in the first

blows of a Sembian civil war, the Old Chauncel would take another six months to elect a replacement. Vees could not allow the city to go leaderless for so long, not when Prince Rivalen wanted an introduction. And he knew that the Old Chauncel would not elect him to the office. He had spent far too long cultivating the perception that he was a dilettante.

He rose, walked to the sideboard, and opened a bottle of Berdusk Red, a full-bodied wine that reminded him of blood. A gobletful always relaxed him. He poured some and returned to the desk. He took a mouthful, swished it, and swallowed.

“Much better,” he said. He drank the glass down and resigned himself to saving lives rather than taking them—at least for a while—and rang the brass bell for his manservant.

Zend knocked once on the chamber door and entered. The short, gray-haired steward looked overworked despite his finely-tailored vest and pantaloons. Bags hung under his droopy eyes and wrinkles creased his face. He had been with the Talendars for over two decades.

“My lord?” Zend asked.

Vees pushed back his chair and stood. “Send messengers to the head of each of the Old Chauncel families. All are to meet in the great hall in the Hulorn’s Palace within the hour. I have grave news. No advisors, Zend. The heads of the families only.”

Zend’s eyes widened, but he nodded and turned to his task.

“Wait, Zend,” Vees said. “Before you do that, send word to Captain Onthul of the Scepters to attend me immediately. You will find him in the city barracks. Alert him and the city grooms that he is to ready fifty of his swiftest riders for immediate departure. They will be gone several days. I will explain when he arrives here.”

Zend waited a moment to see if Vees had any further orders.

“Away, man!” Vees said with a wave, and Zend ran off. “Zend!”

Zend returned, a longsuffering frown on his face.

“Have the carriage readied.”

Zend nodded, waited.

“That is all, Zend.”

Zend waited a moment longer, turned, and hurried off. Vees

could hear the steward issuing orders to the rest of the staff in the tallhouse.

While Vees waited for Captain Onthul, he changed from his evening coat and loose tunic to a jacket and stiff-collared shirt suitable for a meeting of the Old Chauncel.

As always, Zend proved efficient. The carriage was ready shordy after Vees finished changing his clothes. Captain Onthul arrived soon after.

The towering, bearded captain of Selgaunt’s Scepters wore enough mail to cover two men. He had to remove his helm before entering the great room lest he lose it to the door jambs. A broadsword hung at his belt. Scars laced his hands and forearms. He smelted like a stable, but Vees knew him to be a man who took his duty to the city seriously.

“Lord Talendar? You sent for me on a matter of importance? “

Vees nodded. “Captain, the hulorn is in danger.”

Onthul stiffened. “Lord Uskevren is three days gone from the city—

Vees waved away Onthul’s words. “I know, Captain. I know.” Vees paused for drama. “But our spies in Ordulin have informed me that dark events have occurred there.”

“Dark events? Please speak plainly, my lord.”

Vees said, “I do not have details, but it appears that the overmistress has seized control of the city and that the army is rallying behind her. For reasons that remain unclear, Mirabeta believes that Selgaunt has allied with Saerb in an attempt to unseat her.”

Onthul’s brow furrowed. “Impossible. Raithspur would not stand for it.”

Vees nodded. “Captain, the hulorn must be informed and recalled. We can sort out events after he is safely returned.”

“We have mages in the city who could—”

“No. The hulorn bears magic items that screen him from scrying. Unfortunately, those same items prevent simple magical contact. We must reach him without magical aid.”

Onthul seemed dumbfounded by events. His gaze moved here and there, unfocused. He shook his head and spoke dully. “This