'Like Shar and Mask,' suggested Tal. He had read that the clerics of Selune were especial enemies of the goddess of darkness and the god of thieves.
'Exactly,' she agreed. 'There are so many dark gods, and we of Selune's faithful must devote our energies to thwarting the minions of her foes.'
'And Malar is not one of her foes.'
'No,' said Dhauna. 'Not in the same way.'
Tal had a glimmer of insight, a half-formed idea that dissolved even as he tried to make it take shape. Somehow he realized that he had almost grasped a hidden truth, but it had slipped away. Its passing left another, lesser question.
'Maleva is not in good standing with the temple, is she?'
'No,' allowed Dhauna. 'Even though we are old friends, she has chosen a different path.'
'Because she wants to oppose Malar.'
This time Dhauna's sigh was full of weary resignation. 'The matter is more complicated than you know, for reasons that I won't share with you.'
Tal thought about what she had said. 'You said Svon't.' '
'I did.'
'One of the Old Chauncel-the old families who run Selgaunt-one of them would have said 'can't.' '
'But that would have been a lie, Tal.'
He smiled. Perhaps he had not found all the answers he had hoped for, but he trusted this Dhauna Myritar, and through her he trusted Maleva more than ever, despite her mysterious ways.
'Thank you,' he said, standing up to bow to the cleric. 'May I visit you again some day?'
She rose and offered him her hand, raising one sly eyebrow. 'Are you already considering joining us?'
'No,' he said, 'but perhaps we could sit and drink some wine.'
Chapter 7
Tarsakh, 1371 DR
Darrow turned the key and paused to listen. He heard nothing from the other side of the door, so he carefully pushed it open.
Inside, shafts of daylight slanted from the ceiling thirty feet above. The intervening floors had been torn away except for a wide ledge on each side, forming a crude double balcony in the vast room. Perhaps once these had been receiving halls and parlors, bedchambers and libraries. Long ago, the Malveens lived here. Since then, it had been cut open to serve as a catacomb for unwanted cargo.
The upper ledges were filled with shipping crates and pallets of barrels, as was most of the ground floor, where they formed a twisting maze. Built upon the huge central beam was a peculiar double crane for raising and lowering the stores.
Its intricate design spoke of gnome craftsmanship, and Darrow guessed it still worked, even after years of neglect. In the dim light, it looked like a lightning-struck tree, one half leaning to rest on the southern ledge.
Darrow raised the cup of continual flames and stepped inside. He stepped on something that crunched under his foot. He kicked it into the light and saw the desiccated body of a rat.
'Huntmaster,' called Darrow, mindful to call the Malveens's guest by his title. 'My lord Malveen wishes to see you.'
He waited a moment for a reply before venturing farther into the warehouse, among the ruined treasures of the waterfront. Some of the wares were stamped with the Harbormaster's seal of confiscation. Others were damaged or otherwise imperfect, like a pallet full of dusty bolts of Shou Lung silk, stinking of smoke and mold.
'Huntmaster!' called Darrow. 'Rusk!'
No answer came, but Darrow caught the scent of roasting meat. Following it, he heard the crackle of Rusk's cooking fire and worried briefly about the danger of an open flame amid so much dust and wood. At last, he spied Rusk's lair in the far corner of the warehouse.
The big man had lost weight in the four months since his injury, but the stump of his left arm was completely healed. He sat cross-legged before his fire and watched Darrow approach, making no move to rise.
'Lord Malveen summons you to the baiting pit,' said Darrow.
'Summons me?' snarled Rusk. He tore a rib from what appeared to be a roast dog and sucked the meat from the bone. He offered some to Darrow, who blanched and politely waved it away. 'I'm ready to return to the lodge. I should be summoning Radu here. Still,' said the Hunt-master, 'it would be something to see the place again.'
'You've been there before?' said Darrow. 'The arena?'
'Who do you think stocked the place?' Rusk said gruffly. He wiped his greasy hand on one leg and stood up.
'I assumed Lord Malveen,' Darrow said, 'or perhaps his mother, the Lady Velanna, had ensorcelled the beasts.'
'Twenty years ago, 'Lord' Malveen could barely light a candle with a brand.'
'My lord is the most powerful sorcerer in Sembia,' said Darrow.
'You pathetic sycophant!' Rusk laughed heartily. 'He's charmed you, hasn't he? That's what the second ward did when we broke in.'
'No,' said Darrow, but he wondered whether it was true. He had been so grateful that Stannis spared his life since his indiscretion about the wine that he never considered the possibility that his master was anything but a kind and merciful lord.
'Stand still,' commanded Rusk. With a touch of the talisman on his brow, he chanted a spell.
'No!' Darrow ran to hide behind a stack of crates. Before he made it, he felt a faint tingling sensation, and he heard Rusk's mocking laughter.
'Come out, you foolish lamb!'
'My master won't let you-' A sensation of gentle, cold fingers touching his skin came over Darrow. It felt like standing naked in a light snowfall. Whatever magic Rusk had cast, it was done.
'Be silent,' said Rusk. 'Your bleating annoys me. Let's go see what you think of your master now.'
As Rusk had promised, Darrow saw his master in a new light as they entered the arena. It was all he could do to hide the revulsion he felt when he saw the blubbery folds of the monster's body lapping over the couch. His piscine stench was overpowering, but worse was the stink of death just beneath it, insinuating itself into Darrow's nostrils, into his very pores.
Stammering fear replaced the awe he once felt in his master's presence. Try as he did to hide it, it must have shown on his face. Stannis observed him with growing interest.
'Have you been interfering with my servant, Huntmas-ter?'
Rusk shrugged, barely suppressing his own mischievous smile.
'Look at me, Darrow,' snapped Stannis. 'Look at me now!'
Fearfully, Darrow obeyed. An instant's glance into the roiling depths of his master's eyes restored his faith. His moment of doubt and horror became a confusing memory. He knew only that Rusk had tempted him to some beastly offense against his glorious master.
'That's better, is it not?'
'Thank you, Master,' said Darrow. 'I crave pardon for my… confusion.'
'Think no more about it, dear boy. Now, to the duel.'
As before, Radu stood patiently on one side of the fanged pit. He held his sheathed sword lightly in both hands, and his eyes were closed.
Voorla stood near the bars of his prison without touching them. With a slow twist of his head, the troll
