but they went free, for all that.'
'I see,' Dyre murmured, strolling forward into the building site as if idly enjoying a walk across a flower- meadow. Hands clasped behind his back, he ambled through shavings, scorch-marks, and hastily restacked lumber.
'Mark me, Jivin,' he said softly and suddenly, never turning to check if his younger apprentice was right behind him or seeming to care that a ring of men were moving as if glued to his shoulders, intent on his every breath. 'Mark me: this is the last time a pack of noble pups will sport with my hard-working men. Young idiots, too coin- heavy to work and too stupid and bone-idle to think of worthwhile spendings of their time… so they work mischief with Varandros Dyre, and cost me coin. Oh yes, this is enough, and more than enough.'
Baraezym and Jivin exchanged unhappy glances, silently and instantly agreed on one thing: they feared this dangerously calm and quiet Varandros Dyre far more than the loudly authoritarian one.
Dyre's boot struck against something sharp amid the shavings. He bent and plucked up a slender, finely made dagger. Its pommel was shaped like a spear point transfixing a star, and on both sides of the spear-blade was a complicated monogram of curlicues and interlaced letters.
Varandros Dyre was neither herald nor calligrapher, but he was a master at looking past fancy trimmings to what lay beneath. 'M-K,' he murmured, and raised both of his eyebrows as he looked slowly around at his silent, gathered workers. 'This belongs to none of you, I trust?'
There was a general rumble of denial, but it was hardly necessary. No one among them could afford so costly a weapon, and none were foolish enough to carry a dagger that could have tumbled from the pages of some fancy tome of heraldry. The shaped hilt was clearly adapted from the proud device of some house or other.
And proud houses could be traced.
Varandros Dyre smiled, slowly and unpleasantly. For the very first time in his life, Jivin did not envy the nobility.
CHAPTER THREE
'It goes against my sacred beliefs,' Golskyn said sternly, 'to waste good money and evil monsters.'
Wrapped in his long, deep-hooded cloak, the old priest was striding along the docks at a pace Mrelder, though taller, was hard-pressed to match. His father had stepped off a ship from Chult only a few breaths ago but had already found a dozen ways to express disdain for Mrelder's plans.
'There'll be no waste!' the younger man protested. 'I've studied sahuagin for over a year and read all the known lore. I've been trying spells-'
'Trying spells!' the priest echoed scornfully. 'Better you should approach the most fearful gods known to man and monster and in holy fervor demand what you desire.'
'I'm no priest!'
'As well I know! You had to be a wizard, mucking about with bat dung and bad poetry!'
The young man repressed a sigh. 'No wizard, either. I'm a sorcerer, Father.'
'The whim of the gods at your birthing, nothing to boast about. A man is what he makes of himself, and you are still no different from the boy who turned tail and fled ten years ago!'
Mrelder looked around for something-other than his own shortcomings-that might capture Golskyn's attention. 'Look, Father! See yon colossus standing sentry on the mountain? 'Tis one of the famous Walking Statues of Waterdeep. When I was last here, it looked like a gigantic man. In honor of the victory over the sahuagin and as a warning to other would-be invaders, Waterdeep's archmage re-fashioned it into a sahuagin.'
The priest nodded approvingly. 'Man into monster. Perhaps I might find common cause with this archmage of yours.'
Golskyn and Khelben Arunsun together. The thought left Mrelder unsure whether to laugh or shudder.
Spying the guild badge he'd been looking for, he hailed a passing carter and gave instructions for his father's strongchests to be delivered to their house.
The former rooming house wasn't far off. It had been secretly purchased by the Amalgamation Temple almost a year ago, after Mrelder had convinced Golskyn to turn his attention to the fabled City of Splendors. Several Temple followers had been living there for months preparing for this day.
His father set off after the cart without another word, leaving his son to hasten behind. The dockside streets were their usual crowded chaos, but Golskyn dodged as adroitly as any seasoned Dock Warder, his hood moving like the beak of a crow as he peered this way and that. Mrelder had no need to look inside it to know that his father's face would be as calm and set as old stone.
Mrelder often wondered what Lord Unity of the Amalgamation was thinking behind that stonelike mask. It was unlikely to be anything gentle, caring, or merciful. His father never had time to waste on such weaknesses.
The last of the strongchests was vanishing inside the rooming house as they arrived. A tall man, close-wrapped in a cloak, barred their way at the door. He was unremarkable but for the breadth of his shoulders and the girth of his chest; when he squared himself, he almost filled the doorway.
This sentinel gave Golskyn and Mrelder a glance, and his eyes, of a gray so pale it was almost silver, took on a reverent gleam.
Quickly ushering them in, he shut and barred the door and then bowed low to Golskyn.
'Lord Unity,' he murmured, 'we've long awaited your arrival. You're well, I trust?'
'I am better,' Golskyn said meaningfully. Sweeping back his hood, he touched the black patch covering his left eye. 'You have learned well, Hoth. Your work is excellent. The grafts were a great success, as always.' He gave Mrelder a sidelong glance and added, 'With minor exceptions.'
The big man bowed again. 'I am gratified.'
'And perhaps curious?' the priest asked slyly. He removed the patch, revealing a bulging crimson orb. His mismatched gaze swept the room and settled on a small table set with a light welcoming meal: fresh bread, a cold joint, a bowl of summer berries and a smaller bowl of clotted cream.
'Fresh jam would be a pleasant addition,' Golskyn commented. The red orb glowed-and a thin crimson beam erupted from his eye.
A flash more fleeting than lightning erupted from the berries and left them at a seething boil.
Hoth exclaimed in delight. His cloak parted as the three pairs of arms that had been folded neatly across his chest and belly rose to applaud.
'You've achieved remarkable control,' he said proudly.
'It was hard-won. Mastering a beholder's eye is no easy task.' Golskyn turned to Mrelder. 'Hear me well: what you propose will be nearly as difficult.'
'I'm ready,' his son insisted.
'So you've said, time and again. How many times should precious seed be sewn in soil too weak to see it sprout?'
Rage rose in Mrelder, almost choking him. He turned away quickly to hide his anger and made the movement into a doffing of his cloak. A hunchbacked mongrelman whose warty, toadlike head was topped by an improbable pair of fox ears stepped out of a doorway and padded silently forward to take the garment.
'Before you dismiss my notion, Father,' he said, 'come see the sahuagin.' Stepping into an archway that pierced a very thick wall, Mrelder pressed the right two stones and swung open the door hidden in one side of the arch.
Wordlessly Hoth held out a lit lantern. Mrelder took it with a nod of thanks and led the way down a steep stair. The air was cool and smelled of damp earth and stone.
The descending way soon started to spiral, going as deep as two buildings atop each other, until it ended in a room that had lain dark and forgotten beneath the rooming house and, more than likely, several buildings earlier.
It was dark no longer. Hanging lanterns glimmered in a chamber large enough for more than twenty men to dwell in spacious comfort. A dozen mongrelmen awaited them, wearing the dark cloaks of acolytes of the Amalgamation.
Their reverent gazes followed Lord Unity as he strode slowly around the room, expressionlessly examining
