'That's the way it's going to be,' Jak said firmly. 'He can't go back.'
Brelgin looked down at Jak, then looked up and shot Cale a meaningful glare. 'He better stay quiet.' Brelgin and the Harpers turned and plodded back through the darkness. Jak faced Cale.
'Couldn't be helped, Erevis. I'm sorry.' Jak patted him on the arm. 'We'll give them a few minutes to clear the safe house of personnel, then we'll go up. You all right?'
'I'm all right.' He stared at the little man as though looking at him for the first time. 'But you're a stranger to me, Jak.'
The halfling took a step back, a wounded look on his face. 'Nonsense, Cale. You already knew everything important about me before tonight. Just as I already knew everything important about you before you told me about Westgate. We're friends. Why do you think I came with you tonight? This…' he waved a small hand in the air to indicate the safe house, or the Harpers, '… is just what I do. Not what I am. You understand?'
Cale considered that and nodded slowly. This is what I do, not what I am. He hoped it was true, for Jak and for him. 'I understand.'
'Good.' Jak smiled and waved him forward. 'We've waited long enough. Come on, let's get out of these sewers and go home.'
Cale nodded in agreement, though he knew that Stormweather Towers was not his destination. At least not yet. He had unfinished business with Riven. If the assassin yet lived, Cale knew where he would find him.
Other than Cale and Jelkins the barkeep, only a few snoring drunks still lingered in the stinking, late night dimness of the Stag. Cale sat with his back to the wall, facing the door. An untouched ale sat on the table before him. He inhaled deeply to steady himself.
He'll come, Cale thought. If he's alive, he has to come.
'I'm closin' in fifteen minutes,' announced Jelkins from behind the bar. Cale nodded in acknowledgement and continued to wait. The drunks snored on, oblivious.
When the door to the Stag did finally open, Cale had to remind himself to breathe. Drasek Riven staggered in, leaning on the door for support, and surveyed the common room. Seeing Cale, the assassin's mouth formed into a twisted, hate-filled rictus. Cale gazed back impassively, unflinching. They stared across the room at one another like that for interminable seconds, predators evaluating prey.
Finally, Riven eased the door closed and walked unsteadily toward the table. Watching the assassin's pained strides, Cale had to suppress a triumphant smile. Riven had been able to buy healing enough to keep him alive but not enough to totally assuage the pain of Jak's backstab.
'Cale,' Riven said with a nod, as he eased painfully into the chair across from him.
'Riven,' Cale replied. The assassin still stank of blood and sweat. Cale could see the tension in his face, the barely controlled rage. Riven was a kettle ready to boil over at the slightest flame. Cale decided to stoke the fire. He smiled smugly and asked, 'Well, what now?'
'What now?' Riven's voice sounded like the growl of a wounded animal. 'I'll tell you what now, you whelp.'
He lunged across the table, snarling, but stopped halfway, hissing in pain and reaching for his wounded back. Cale took the opportunity to grab him by the cloak and jerk him fully across the table so they came face to face. The assassin's mouth twisted in agony.
'You won't show me anything, you traitorous bastard,' Cale hissed. He allowed his own flaring anger to fuel his strength. He shook Riven like a rag doll. The assassin hissed through teeth clenched in pain. 'You're a godsdamned Zhent! I should drag your wounded arse to the Righteous Man. Or maybe split you open here and now.' He drew his dagger and held it to Riven's exposed throat.
'Go ahead,' Riven snapped, spraying spittle into Cale's face. 'You think I haven't told someone about your little betrayal tonight? If I don't walk out of here safe and sound, the Righteous Man hears all about your treachery. Anything you say about me then will sound like the excuses of a desperate man. You'll die ugly, Cale.'
Cale stared into Riven's face and tried to discern whether the assassin was bluffing, I can't take the chance, he decided. He let Riven go, and the assassin slid back into the chair with a pained, yet satisfied sigh.
'It was a good play, Cale,' Riven said. 'You and your boy did quite a job. I lost seventeen men.' He chuckled, a gurgling sound that made Cale want to vomit. 'A good play and that's certain. What I can't figure out is why? You got a fondness for this Uskevren boy?'
'Not your concern,' Cale replied tightly.
Riven smiled knowingly, grunted, and reached across the table to take a gulp of Cale's ale.
'My question remains,' Cale said, this time less smugly. 'What now?'
'Now nothing,' Riven replied easily. 'We go on as before. I betrayed the Righteous Man, and so did you. We keep that little tidbit between us and explain the failed ambush by telling him the Uskevren boy had more guards than anticipated. He'll believe it if both of us tell him. Knowing how much we… dislike each other, he'll never suspect collusion.' He smiled evilly through his goatee. 'Good enough?'
Cale sat back in his chair and considered the offer. It meant that he would stay in the guild-an undesirable outcome-but it also meant he could go back to being the Uskevren butler, feeding useless information to the Righteous Man and protecting his adopted family. Given the convoluted events that had unfolded tonight, he could hardly expect anything better. Besides, what was one more secret for a man who lived a lie?
'Good enough,' he agreed at last. 'But no more attempts on the Uskevren. We both steer the guild clear of them. Agreed?'
Riven frowned but nodded. 'Agreed.'
Cale pushed back his chair and rose. 'Before I go, Riven, tell me why the Zhents did it. What's their real interest in this?'
'Not your concern, Cale,' Riven replied. He took another gulp of ale.
Cale nodded. He had expected as much. 'Watch your back, Riven,' he said. As he walked past, he slapped the assassin between the shoulder blades. Riven spat ale and gave a satisfying hiss of pain.
'You're a bastard, Cale.'
Cale smiled, walked out of the Stag into the cold night air, and headed for home.
I might be a bastard, he thought wryly, but still I have a family.
THE MAID
Lisa Smedman
Larajin yanked the gold turban from her head and tossed it angrily aside. The tiny silver bells sewn onto it tinkled as it rolled to a stop in the corner of the workroom.
'I've had it,' she said, shaking out her long, rust-colored hair. 'I can't seem to do anything right.'
Kremlar looked up from his oil press. 'What's wrong?' the dwarf asked in a soft voice. 'Did you have another run-in with Erevis Cale?'
Larajin gave an exasperated sigh. 'It wasn't my fault that the wine goblet spilled on the table,' she said, hooking a finger into one of the royal blue slashes on the sleeve of her dress. 'How could anyone be expected to serve a luncheon in a uniform like this? The sleeves catch on everything.'
'That explains the stain then,' Kremlar said, nodding at her skirt. He pulled the handle of the press, and oil trickled out into a bowl.
Larajin looked down. The white fabric of her dress had a blotchy red line across the front. She stared at the dwarf as he sat at his worktable, which was scaled to Kremlar's stocky but short body. The dwarf was surrounded by the ingredients of his trade: stone mortars filled with powdered spices; pots of bright red and blue and purple dyes; trays heaped with fragrant flower petals; and bowls of sticky, pungent tree sap. A lot of messy ingredients were involved in the manufacture of perfumes, yet somehow Kremlar was always immaculate. His gray hair and
