The Howling Delve (18 page)

“How unfortunate.” Marstil’s eyes gleamed. He knew he would have the uppet hand in theit negotiations. “The outcome of this meeting will greatly affect us both, then.”

“Oh, I’m certain of it,” Kail said. He poured a pair of drinks from a decanter on his desk. He handed one to MarstiL “Of coutse, it hasn’t been tetribly difficult to get by, considering my circumstances. Few servants remained at Morel house, even during my father’s time. They were all slaughtered by assassins, you see.”

The glass stopped halfway to the merchant’s mouth. Amber liquid sloshed on his fingers.

“Oh, excuse me, my lord,” said Kali. “I filled the glass too full. Allow me to fetch you a towel.”

“Yes, thank you,” Marstil murmured.

Kali opened a drawer in the desk. He tossed a black cloth to Matstil. The merchant caught it absently, and was wiping his fingers before he realized what he held. He unrolled the silk hood and let it fall between his hands, revealing two crudely cut eyeholes.

“It’s not the original, I realize,” said Kali. “But it matches my memories closely. What do you think, Lord Greve?”

Marstil dropped the mask and spun toward Kail in one lightning movement. His arm came around, taking the decantet off the desk. Kail dodged, and glass shattered against

the wall. Marstil went for the knife at his belt, but Kali locked a hand around his wrist.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find you?” he asked, his pleasant tone unchanged. “That I wouldn’t know you as soon as I saw your blade? You’re a fool, Marstil, a dead fool.”

Marstil struggled, but he’d spent too many years away from hard fighting, and Kail was no longer a stripling boy. He held the man without breaking a sweat.

Kali eased the knife from Marstil’s sheath and laid it against the merchant’s throat, starting at the eat.

“Shall I give you the same death you gave het?” Kail asked. He waited for the man to answer, to plead, but saw only fear and confusion in Marstil’s eyes. The bastard didn’t even remember the ones he’d killed. “Gertie never saw her death coming, but you will. I’ll savor that time, and the pain, until I’m ready to let you go, unless you tell me where Balram is.”

“I-I have no idea.” Marstil’s eyes flicked to the mask and back to Kail’s face. There was no lie in them, only terror. “Kortiun and I parted company long ago, when I set out to build my business. Please … listen,” he said. “I h-have not been Balram’s man … in years,” he stammeted, swallowing against the steel at his throat. “I am a merchant now. I’ve made a family.”

“A family,” Kail echoed. “Oh, dear. That’s the death card, is it? Now I’m required to have metcy.” He leaned in close to the man’s face. “Tell me, Marstil, do youi wife and children know how their father earned his fortune? Do they realize the manse they sleep in at night was paid for with Morel blood? If I tell them that, after I’ve killed you, do you think they’ll forgive me? I like to believe they will.” Kail pressed down, and Marstil shrieked. “What else have you got to offer me, Marstil? Please, don’t mention your family to me again.”

“All that I have!” The merchant trembled as a drop of blood ran down the knife’s blade into his field of vision. “Whatevet you want!”

Slowly, Kali eased the knife away and lifted something in front of Marstil’s eyes.

The merchant focused on Gertie’s gold medallion, flecked with old blood. “Wh-what is that?”

“The symbol of our new alliance,” Kail answered, putting the chain around Marstil’s neck. “Your commitment to the service of Morel. The house of Greve is now the benefactor of Morel’s servants. They will be paid generously from its coffers, for the whole of their lives, whether they stay with Motel or not, whethet the house thrives or burns to the ground. And upon their deaths, every guard, maid, cook, and steward will be buried with the highest honoi at Greve’s expense. It’s not so large a thing to ask, in exchange for your life. Don’t you agree?

Marstil nodded wordlessly.

“Most importantly, you will weai this medallion always, •Marstil,” Kail said, in a voice of quiet menace. “If ever I see you’ve taken it off, I will take off your head. You may be assured I will enjoy that far more than I enjoy letting you live.”

He stepped back. Marstil fled the study, taking Lathander’s sun and leaving his jeweled blade.

Kali followed him out into the ballroom. A lady standing nearby scuttled aside to avoid colliding with the running merchant. She watched his retreating back in consternation.

Kail swept up to her and bowed grandly. “Lady Tanislove,” he said, smiling his most charming smile, the one that never worked on Cesira, “might I request a dance?”

“Try this one,” Laerin suggested, snagging a flute of a br uise-colored liquid from a passing tray. “If you sip it with a bite of cheese, the flavor becomes blueberry tart.” He sipped and chewed thoughtfully. “Uncanny.”

Morgan wedged a morsel of cheese between his cheek and jaw and took a gulp of wine. “Save a lot of trouble if you just eat the tart.” He wrinkled his nose. “Probably tastes better, too.”

“Yes, but you have to get in the spirit of things,” Laerin chided him. “Tethyrian Blueberry Blush is much more expensive.”

“Silly name too.” Morgan’s eyes were on the crowd. “Didn’t know you were a wine snob.”

“I am a man of many tastes and talents.”

“Good thing shovelin’s near the top of the list, cause you’re knee-deep in sh—”

“Zzar,” Laerin cooed, reaching for another tray.

“Careful!” Morgan grabbed a fistful of the half-elfs hair, hauling it and the rest of his friend behind one of the ballroom’s marble statues.

“Morgan, why are we hiding, and do I happen to have any hair left, or did you take it all?” Laerin asked calmly.

“Shut it.” Morgan pointed across the ballroom, where Kail strode along on the arm of a lady in a green silk gown with fine silver chains encircling her arms from shoulder to wrist. The woman lifted het lips to Kail’s ear to whispet something that made him chuckle.

Morgan shook his head. “That’ll get him a punch in the bowels—two silver on it.”

Laerin sighed. “Cesita would never maim him for flirting with Lhynvor Tanislove. The lady has more sense than that.”

Well said. Cesira’s arm slid companionably around Laerin’s waist, accompanied by a scent that was both flower and herb, exotic and completely removed from the heavily perfumed bodies in the ballroom. I don’t believe you flattering idiots were on the guest list.

“Ten families seemed a modest number for a welcome home party,” said Laerin. “What harm is there in adding two more guests?”

“We didn’t come in under ‘flattering idiots,’ ” Morgan grinned. “We’re in disguise.”

“Obviously, it’s wotking well,” Laerin said dtyly, but he sobered quickly enough. “We’re here to keep eyes on Kail.”

“Too many debt-collectors in the room,” said Morgan.

Laerin looked at her askance. “Surely you don’t object?”

Not at all, Cesira said. But Kail will—with fervor. I welcome you, so long as you stay silent and invisible.

“Not two of Motgan’s greatet talents, but we’ll do our best,” Laerin assured her. He took a step back, surveying the druid’s gown. A wide belt at her waist gatheted layets of skirts in subtle shades of earthen red. Worked into the belt’s dark leather was the figure of an oak leaf, the symbol of Silvanus. Slashed sleeves tevealed tanned arms and matching leather bands encircling each of her wrists. “I’ll say this, since I’m certain Kali hasn’t thought to,” the half-elf said, “these fine Amnian frill-lovers have nothing on you, Lady of Mir.”

Cesira inclined her head to hide her smile. My thanks, O flattering idiot.

Laerin laughed. “How fares the Lady Morel?”

Her eyes on the swirling crowd, Cesira did not immediately teply. Hired minsttels—she had no idea where Kail had found them—had begun a circle dance, which had drawn many of the guests from the balcony to line up in colorful half-moons across the floor. They were all smiles and good-natured jesting on the surface, but Cesita knew why the merchants were here. They wanted to see if Kali could hold his own among them.

Everything in Amn was a test, a measurement of investment and potential gain. If Kail’s manner and surroundings showed promise, the merchant families would give him time to pay the debts of his father. That’s why Cesira had agreed to serve in the role of the lady of the house, however much it galled her. She had no intention of letting the wolves eat Kail alive.

She’d directed the servants in gutting and cleaning the house with the same thoroughness she displayed when scourging an army of goblins. The results may not have rivaled the Tanislove estate, but there would be no chink in Morel’s armor from this front.

Have you watched them? she asked, nodding to the dancing throng.

“Glaring peacocks, the lot,” Morgan said dismissively. “No.” Laerin shook his head. “She means the merchant families.”

“What of em?”

“They announced them at the door, each according to his station,” said Laerin. “I watched them separate immediately, almost as if they couldn’t stand to be in each other’s company.”

Morgan nodded sagely. “Reminds me of my family.”

“It’s what they prefer you to think. Look.” Laerin pointed with his glass to a group of women gathered near the staircase. Their ornate tutbans shimmered with glitter dust and bobbed together like a star storm with the force of the women’s back and forth whispering. “The younger lass, standing at the edge of the crowd—she’s Seyana Veshpel, a niece of Lord Uskan Veshpel—patriarch of his house. I saw her announced last in het family. See how she’s tteated as such?”

Yet that youngest Veshpel, said Cesira, so innocently lingering at the edge of the group, stands less than a whip crack from her father, and he from his wife, and she from—

“Lord Uskan,” Morgan said, seeing the pattern emerge.

“So it goes with every family,” said Laerin. “A living chain to see and hear everything in the room. Whatever their personal rivalries, good business benefits the whole family.”

“Forced loyalty,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head. “One of Morel’s fine emeralds says in private they’re one wrong word from slaughtering each other.” He raised a fist, showing thtee of the Morel emerald and stone symbols between his fingets.

“Where did you pick those up?” asked Laerin, affronted. “I only received one.”

Cesira rolled her eyes. As did everyone at the party, she said.

“Oh, wait, here’s another,” Laerin added. He smirked, drawing a handful of glittering green from his pouch.

Wonderful, Cesira muttered. Now, would you care to point out which ladies you lifted them from, or shall I wait until one of them gives me a look of horror when I try to speak to her?

Morgan pointed to a woman whose dress was a configuration of red silk scarves fastened in her hair and looping outwards, wrapping down around all the vital pottions of

her lithe body. “She was definitely one of them.”

Thank you, the druid sighed. I think I can divine the others on my own.

Cesira slipped away to join Kali just as Lady Tanislove left him.

He’s here—Lord Rays, she told him. He arrived while you were with Marstil.

“Is he still coherent?” Barely.

“Wonderful. He’ll be much more open to my proposal.”

Cesira tapped a slender finger against her chin. Now, would that be another business venture, my lord, or the systematic murder of Bladesmile mercenaries? I do get the two confused, you know.

“The latter,” Kail said dtyly, “but I only intend to mutder the ones who prove uncooperative.”

You still think one of them will be able to lead you to Balram?

“Somebody knows,” said Kail darkly.

As he statted to walk away, Cesira took his arm. Relax, Kail, she said. The Morel name demands the merchants treat you as an equal, no matter the breadth of your debt. You have the manner and skills to fit in their world.

For some reason, the compliment made Kail wince. “What little talent I have comes from my father, and his father before.” He grinned. “I’d rather you praised me on my skill with a sword, which you rarely do.”

Oh, but I disagree. You make a fine adventurer—a talent inherited from your mother, no doubt, Cesira remarked lightly, waving and smiling at a lady across the room.

Kail sighed, thinking it wiser to ignore the path the conversation was taking. “Where is Rays?”

Cesira pointed across the ballroom to where a man swayed drunkenly against one of the matble statues. He used the brief loss of dignity to make lewd pantomimes with the statue and his body, much to the horror of a group of passing ladies.

The Bladesmiles are among the most powerful and respected

families in Keczulla and greater Amn. Why does this one play the fool? Cesira asked absently.

“His wife died,” Kali said, drawing the druid’s gaze and a noise of sympathy. “A year ago. He cares nothing for status and position now.”

Then perhaps Lord Rays has more wisdom than us all. Cesira watched Kail cross the ballroom, weaving purposely among his guests, on to the next stage of his plan.

Suddenly uneasy and feeling eyes upon her, Cesira looked up at the balcony and met the clear blue gaze of Syrek Dantane.

Keczulla, Amn

3 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms (1374 DR)

Dantane inclined his head respectfully to the druid. Her eyes registered surprise, but she concealed it quickly. So Morel hadn’t told her he was here. Dantane wondered why. If Morel distrusted him so thoroughly, wouldn’t he wish to have the eyes of those he did ttust tracking him constantly?

The wizard took a step toward the stairs, when the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as silent magical wards hummed. The spell was not powerful, but the relative lack of magic in the room made it seem stronger—akin to tolling a bell in a tomb. Had this been a gala in Waterdeep, the resonant hum would have been lost in the greater cacophony of minor cantrips and protective spells.

Dantane looked to the dais. A young woman had stepped forward with a lute. She sang in a deep, pleasing alto, an unremarkable song, but she livened up the show by pausing in the middle of a verse to tell bawdy jokes or humorous stories, always deftly picking up the tune exactly where she’d left off. The crowd gathered, laughing, at the edge of the dais to listen.