expression looked eerily like Thamalon.
From behind, Shamur asked, 'Why alone, Cale? Why you?'
Tamlin too seemed interested in Cale's answer to that question. He turned to look at Cale. Cale could not tell them that he thought his god was involved, and that his internal code demanded that he personally avenge the attack at the Stag.
'My lord, lady, I believe that I am best equipped to resolve this problem in the manner safest to the House.' He looked Tamlin in the eyes. 'My lord, I told your father once that I worked best alone and that remains true today. He understood that. I know that you and Lady Uskevren wish to give me aid, and that it is difficult for you to let this unfold out of your sight. Rather than aid, I ask that you give me your trust. I will see it done and will allow no harm to come to House Uskevren in the process.'
The room was quiet. Tamlin studied Cale's face.
'My father loved you, you know,' Tamlin said. 'As much as he did me. As much as any of us.'
Cale knew. He bowed his head and said nothing.
After a time, Tamlin cleared his throat and extended his hand.
'Luck to you then, Cale. You've always had our trust. We'll leave it in your hands.'
Cale took Tamlin's hand and shook it, genuinely grateful.
'Tamlin-' Shamur said.
'Enough, Mother. We've left more delicate matters in Mister Cale's hands before. It is done.'
Shamur said nothing else, and that was that. With the exception of Cale, everyone began to leave to return to their beds. As they filed out, Cale stared out the window with his back to the room, thinking.
'Good luck, Erevis,' Shamur said, as she left the room.
Cale didn't know what to do next. Find Jak, certainly.
Then? Tamlin's sage idea was a good one, he thought. Perhaps Jak knew of a sage or academic of the arcane that they could trust. Cale certainly did not.
From behind him, Thazienne softly cleared her throat.
His breath caught. Instantly, his heart leaped in his chest. His legs went weak. She didn't say anything but her mere presence….
He took a breath and turned to face her.
Before he could say a word, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him softly on the mouth.
'Good-bye, Erevis.' Her eyes were wet and her tears streaked his cheek. 'Please take care of yourself.'
Her hair smelled like chrysanthemum. He resolved never to forget that smell.
'I will,' he said.
Without another word, she turned and ran from the room.
He stood there a long time. Perhaps she did love him after all, at least in a way. Perhaps things would have been different if she had known of the note before so much time had passed.
Perhaps.
He remembered the many good moments they had shared: the first time they had touched; the night she drank too much brandy and he'd carried her to her bed; the first time he'd made her laugh. He would savor those memories.
As he stood there, an elven proverb came to him: 'Part well, regret nothing.' He and Thazienne had parted well. He was content.
CHAPTER 7
This time, when Cale left Stormweather in the cold, dark hours before dawn, he did not slink out the back. Instead, he walked out the front door, the same front door where, hours before, five house guards had been murdered. Already the blood had been cleaned and new guards posted. They nodded respectfully to him as he passed. Cale returned the nod. The respect was mutual. Uskevren house guards had once again fought and died in service to the Uskevren. They, along with Cale, had once again driven an invader from the house. Cale had already discussed with Tamlin the necessity of providing for the families of the slain guards and the lord of Stormweather had readily agreed.
Cale inhaled deeply as he walked across the night-shrouded grounds. The air was cool. The verdant gardens from the manse to the main gate smelled of lilac and lavender. He caught the aroma of chrysanthemum and it reminded him of that last embrace he had shared with Thazienne. Crickets chirped in the grass.
Despite the dark events in the house, Cale felt a peculiar lightness. He and Tazi had parted as they should, and in leaving the manse he was not abandoning his family but serving them-the same thing he had been doing for years. His personal Vaendaan-naes had begun, perhaps.
Only his concern for Ren and his simmering anger over the slain Uskevren house guards kept his mood somber.
When he reached the main gate, he bade farewell to the six guards on duty there. Seeing them reminded him of Almor. The grizzled old warrior would be buried the next day, at Uskevren expense. Cale wished his soul a speedy journey.
He exhorted the guards to stay alert and walked down the stone-lined walkway for what he knew with certainty to be the last time. The guards closed the gate behind him with a clang, the sound as final as a funeral gong. At the end of the walkway, he turned around to view the manse from the street one last time. The squat turrets barely topped the walls, and Cale thought for the first time that the architecture of the home properly reflected the family within-strong, low to the ground, and as immovable as a mountain. The Uskevren would abide. Shamur and Tamlin would see to it.
Smiling, he headed down the street.
Selune had already set, but her glittering tears cast in silver the path she had taken through the heavens. The blocks of coal in the street torches had nearly burned through, leaving only glowing embers. Darkness covered Sarn Street. Due to the hour, the broad avenue stood empty, the shops closed and shuttered.
Wrapped in burlap in his pack, the half-sphere felt as heavy as a lodestone. He had cast non-detection wards on his person and the half-sphere but knew that the spells would grant him only a few hours reprieve from magical scrying.
And that only maybe, he reminded himself. He suspected that a caster more powerful than him might be able to pierce the wards. And he had no doubt that the shadowy mage who had accompanied the half-drow was a more powerful caster. Still, Cale had deemed it worth the effort. If the spells worked even for a short while, those hours would provide him time to prepare. Hie would contact Jak, locate a scribe or academic who could tell them about the sphere, and figure out the play to retrieve Ren.
It pleased him that Ren's well being came first to his mind, rather than vengeance for the attack. Thazienne's rebuke in his quarters had caused him to doubt his motivations. He might be a killer at his core, but he still sometimes acted good, and that pleased him.
He had considered attempting to magically track the other half of the sphere in the possession of the half- drow and his crew but had decided against it. Likely the wizard would have it warded with more powerful spells than Cale could hope to pierce. He also feared that they might be able to use his own spell against him and somehow track it backward to find him. Besides, even had he located it, he would not have moved to retrieve it until after he made contact with Jak.
He headed west, for the Foreign District, to find his friend.
With each step farther from the manse, his mood darkened. The lightness of spirit that had possessed him in Stormweather's gardens disappeared, replaced by the weighty realization that he was alone. At that moment, he was at his most vulnerable-on empty streets, with no allies at his side.
He moved rapidly but stayed alert to his surroundings.
To Cale, the chill air seemed unnaturally still, the silence of the street ominous. He knew that the attackers must have watched Stormweather Towers for days before they attacked, possibly with magic, possibly with spies
