been tethered here, waiting to be shipped out of port, gave the lie to any claims of grandeur. His nose wrinkled. Pigs-there had definitely been a herd of pigs here recently.
He tried to decide if he preferred the perfume of the pigsty to the constant sulfur stench of the Lake of Steam they’d had to cross to get here. Three days of rotten-egg smell and moist heat had sickened some of the crew. He concluded that the aroma of pigs was more intense, but that the range was limited, and that pigs had the virtue of being absent at this particular time.
He wondered if Saestra was keeping him waiting on purpose, then laughed at himself for having doubt about it. Of course she’s making me wait. She has the power here, and she wants to make sure I know it. I would do the same thing.
He shifted his stance slightly and wondered if he should have brought some guards with him, after all. Those he’d left behind on the cutter didn’t like him going alone. He’d told them the head of the syndicate, who was offering House Beguine the barley monopoly from three of the Erlkazar baronies, wanted to deal in secret, since if word of the deal was nosed abroad it would imperil several other contracts. They subsided, grumbling, and the woman Kaarl vor Beguine had handpicked to captain the contingent of guards Sanwar had taken on this journey promised that if Master Sanwar hadn’t returned within two turns of the hourglass, she would order the guards out of the docked ship and search every warehouse until he was found.
He didn’t argue with that. If he wasn’t back in the prescribed time, it meant he was dead and beyond all earthly cares, and the guards must look after themselves.
There was a glimmer in the shadows in the back of the warehouse. Sanwar narrowed his eyes and tried to make out the details, wishing his night vision were better. The hairs on the back of his neck and his forearms prickled, and he took a deep breath, willing himself into calm.
Guards would be no good here, not in Saestra’s domain on Saestra’s terms. Her almost infinite resource here would overpower any resistance his fighters could offer. It was far more impressive to come alone, unarmed, giving himself casually over to her power while he offered her his bargain.
At least that was what he was gambling on. He tried to swallow, his mouth suddenly dry, as the glimmer shifted and became discernible forms, advancing toward him.
Saestra was tall, with the dark good looks and bold features of her Karanok ancestors. She wore a simple gown of burgundy damask, fitted to her slim form, with an elaborate pattern of crystal beads the same color across her breast. The tiny gems, invisible when she stood still, glittered in the faint light when she made any movement. Sanwar bowed deeply, stifling the instinct to price them. It was not lost to him that her feet made no sound as they glided across the rough boards.
Sanwar saw that between her long, elegant fingers she held the missive he had sent her. She gripped it casually, as if it were of no importance. Only a deadly paleness beneath her rather dusky skin and the glint of an elongated tooth when she spoke betrayed her undead nature. She stood, surveying him a long minute before inclining her head gracefully in return.
Just behind Saestra’s right shoulder stood three women, also with the deathly pallor of vampires, each dressed in silks of opulent colors that boasted a vivid, splendid barbarism. Their hair was respectively black, chestnut, and a rich, garish red, and it was piled high on top of their heads in a more exaggerated version of their mistress’s hairstyle.
At Saestra’s left stood two more figures, not nearly as exotic. One was a huge, muscle-bound, mace-armed fighter, a human big as an orc, who glowered at Sanwar. The other, who barely came to Saestra’s waist, was a diminutive female figure. The halfling wore a tunic and trousers of the same material Saestra wore, without the glitter of crystal. She stood with her feet apart in a ready-to-fight position, arms folded across her chest, and her thick hair was tightly braided in a complex pattern away from her face. Sanwar would wager that she had knives close to either hand under that burgundy tunic, and that of the two fighters she would prove the more dangerous.
“I am honored to be granted the grace of a visit from you,” the vampire said, in a rich, deep voice with a sardonic edge. She turned the missive around in her fingers. “Even in this backwater I have heard of House Beguine. Your caravans thread the countryside, and your agents are in every city. But surely if you wish to do more business in Erlkazar, it would be more expedient to speak to the barons directly?”
The barons governed by day. But Saestra was Queen of the Night Barony of Erlkazar, the shadowy organization composed of both the undead and the living. Saestra ruled the Night Barony, and the Night Barony from its lairs beneath the Daylight Baronies ruled Erlkazar and terrorized its neighbors.
It was Sanwar’s understanding that she interfered very little with the common people of Erlkazar, and bade her people leave them be-although she could hardly be blamed if foolish folk risked being away from the safe haven during the darkness. She could not manage every bandit, vampire, or lycanthrope.
“With respect to all the noble sirs,” replied Sanwar evenly, “you are the only power worth consulting in Erlkazar.”
Saestra smiled at him coldly. “You are too kind. And well-informed.”
“I bring a small gift, not worthy of you, but perhaps of interest.” From inside his robe he brought out a cylindrical case, made of ancient leather and capped with brass. Red lettering, flaked with age, circled it. He didn’t miss that the halfling woman watched closely when he reached under his clothing and that the human didn’t.
“I’m a collector of old texts and chronologies,” Sanwar said. “I came across this-a genealogical scroll of the Karanok family. To anyone but a scholar, it’s not that valuable, I admit-more an antiquarian curiosity. But such as it is, it’s yours.”
“Ponta,” said Saestra, and the halfling at her side stirred and came to him, reaching out her hand to take the container. She examined it, gave the leather a sniff, and presented it to her mistress.
Saestra in turned handed the leather cylinder to one of her ladies, who took it with long-clawed fingernails.
“Many thanks for the thoughtful gift, Sanwar Beguine,” she said, an amused smile quirking the sides of her mouth. “But you didn’t come all the way and into the lair of a vampire simply to give me a present, and you have the air of a man who intends to say more.”
Sanwar swallowed, steeling himself. “If you know the name of House Beguine, you know the name of House Jadaren,” he said, and saw a gleam of recognition in her eyes. “And you know of the enmity between them.”
Saestra tilted her head. “But surely that’s a thing of the past? Did I mishear, or was there not an alliance made? A wedding celebrated?”
“It wasn’t celebrated by me,” Sanwar said through set teeth. “And I acknowledge no alliance.”
He said it more forcefully than he intended, and the vampire trio to Saestra’s right stirred slightly, out of their unearthly stillness, like leaves touched by a breeze. He heard a faint giggle.
The human guard tightened his grip on the mace and furrowed his brows.
The vampire stared at him a long moment, her eyes so smoky dark they looked like pools of darkness one could fall into forever.
“I see,” she said at last. “You cling to your ancient hatreds. And yet an alliance means more trade, and more goods moving across the land, and more for my people to share with the virtuous folk of Turmish and Camlishan.” Her voice hardened. “What do you journey so far to ask of me, merchantman?”
Cold sweat prickled across his body, and for a moment he regretted the absence of his guards. They would have stood no chance here, however.
“My niece’s family live in Jadaren Hold now,” he said. “You know how well it is warded.”
She made a slight, palm-up gesture with her hand, her meaning clear.
“I have sources who tell me she’s in danger,” he continued. “I am prepared to overcome the spells that protect the Hold to ensure her safety. But the Jadarens are well manned and have had years to plan their defenses. We are only a merchant house, with guards we employ to protect our goods and ourselves-and their numbers are limited. I have no army at my command.”
“And I do,” said the vampire.
“And you do.”
There was another long, deceptively lazy pause.
“What interest have I in your petty squabbles, merchantman? Let Jadaren Hold stand for all eternity, if the
