Dawnbringer

gods will let it. I have little interest in what lies within.”

“Perhaps. But I have a sweeter bargain to offer you.”

What he thought of as the voice within him welled up, silently, and became a presence, reaching out to the mind of the vampire before him.

Listen. Listen to what he says. He saw her blink, then frown, and he knew she had heard.

“How long has it been since the Sanctuary of Shadrun-of-the-Snows made it its duty to protect travelers? How long has it interfered with your affairs, right on your borders?”

Her face tightened, and his heart leaped at the confirmation that he was right. The gamble paid off. The existence of the sanctuary was a sore spot for her.

“That hovel in the mountains, with its chanting monks and caravans of stinking donkeys? I have no interest in it whatsoever.”

“With all due respect, my lady Saestra,” said Sanwar, “you are lying.”

Her entire body stilled, and he could feel the cold emanating from her very bones. The vampire trio behind her froze as well. Ponta did nothing whatsoever.

“That’s enough lip from you,” snarled the human fighter to Saestra’s left. He shifted the mace and lashed out at Sanwar, a blow meant to drop him.

Time seemed to slow to a torturous crawl. Sanwar watched with dispassionate interest as the weapon approached his face. He had no time to duck, and he knew he should be afraid, horrified-but he could summon no emotion.

Like an afterimage, something flashed behind his eyes-a geometrical figure drawn in deep purple. In an instant it was gone, and he felt invisible hands seizing his shoulders and pulling him aside so that the mace missed him. The fighter, overbalanced, sprawled on the floor.

Time snapped back into place, and Sanwar staggered, dizzy.

The brute swore and attempted to get up, but the halfling Ponta slipped past Sanwar as neatly as a cat and kicked him deftly under the chin. He grunted and fell back down. The mace clattered from his hand and didn’t move again.

Saestra turned her attention back to Sanwar as if nothing had happened.

“Did I just hear you call me a liar, Master Beguine?” she said lightly.

His back hurt with the effort of facing her. “Yes, my lady,” he said, schooling his face to look unafraid. “My regrets, but I did.”

She laughed. “You are quite right. I did lie. I care very much about Shadrun-of-the-Snows and its place on my borders and its interference with my people.”

He stifled the impulse to lick his lips. “I can give you the key to Shadrun-of-the-Snows, my lady. It lies within Jadaren Hold.”

Sanwar couldn’t determine when he began to realize that the loci of the warding that must lie within the Hold had something to do with the Power that pulsed beneath the seemingly placid surface of the sanctuary. But his inner instinct told him he must bring one to the other and-

Burst the bond of my prison.

Before the cold eyes of Saestra he almost frowned, distracted. Where had that thought come from? How did he know one was related to the other? Whose prison?

Something coiled within his mind touched his jumbled thoughts, and they quieted. His books and studies had told him along the way. One did not always know where one’s fragments of knowledge came from.

Saestra tilted her head, considering him. “Interesting,” she remarked. “I wonder if you are lying in your turn.”

“I might be,” he said. “It would be risky.”

“It would indeed,” said Saestra. “But then, a promising investment is worth some risk, as we both know.”

Saestra turned her head toward the shadows behind her. “Come,” she commanded.

There was another pale glimmer in the darkness, and a tall figure drifted toward her. It was a woman, with the pale mien of a vampire and clothing that would not look out of place aboard a ship. She wore her hair braided tightly at the back of her neck and a terrible scar twisted her face out of true, a slash that started at the corner of her left eye and ended at her lip. On a human, the scar would have been a vivid pink. On her, it was white as a salamander’s underbelly.

She turned her burning eyes on Sanwar, and now he knew true fear. He wanted to run even though every fiber of him knew he had no chance of escaping a predator like this.

But then those disembodied hands touched his shoulders, very lightly, and he managed to face her without flinching back.

“Helgre has little love for the Jadarens,” said Saestra. “And she possesses a certain familiarity with the woods around the Hold.” Her mouth quirked, as if she had remembered an old joke.

Looking at those eyes, rimed with frozen flame, Sanwar thought perhaps Helgre had little love for the Beguines as well.

The interview over, Saestra waited until her preternatural instincts told her the merchant was halfway back to his ship. The human fighter who had tried to discipline Sanwar still lay on his back, blinking stupidly at the rafters. Followed by her three ladies, who seemed to move without taking a step, Saestra drifted to him and looked down.

“What is your name?” she said gently.

He struggled to answer, and the halfling answered for him. “Holba, my lady.”

Saestra nodded. “Well, Holba,” she said, “I don’t allow my men to attack my guests unless I order it. I would teach you this lesson myself, but I haven’t the time, so I’m afraid you will not be able to use this knowledge at a later date. Ladies, if you would oblige?”

She made another elegant gesture and floated away, accompanied by Ponta and Helgre. Shrieks rang out behind her, heralding the short-lived education of Master Holba.

Just short of the relative safety of the ship, Sanwar heard the screams and shuddered.

Shapter Twelve

JADAREN HOLD

1600 DR-THE YEAR OF UNSEEN ENEMIES

Lakini wondered if Lusk would pine after Shadrun-of-the-Snows, but he seemed to be as comfortable at Jadaren Hold as anywhere. She did notice he always seemed to be watching and waiting for something to happen-an impatient edginess she had never before associated with him.

The mountain in which the Hold was rooted was covered in primal forests, and the devas returned to their old habit of patrolling together. Lakini reflected upon the sanctuary’s red-haired messenger and her determination to track Lakini down, and discovered that all in all she was content.

Her peace was shattered the day a delegation from a halfling merchant family from Waterdeep arrived to negotiate an exclusive contract for the silk trade to High Imaskar.

Lakini and Lusk were returning from patrol at dusk. They entered through the common passages at the base of the Hold that opened into enormous storage chambers, stables, and public gathering areas. The members of the newly arrived Waterdeep delegation were grouped together loosely, unpacking their animals and checking their goods. Lakini caught a glimpse of folds of deep, smoky blue silk, and greens shot with threads of gold-gifts to encourage the Jadarens’ permission to use long-established routes. There was a bustle of stable hands converging on the delegation to unbridle and tend their animals, and a braying of donkeys and shouting of orders. Through careful maneuvering, Lakini and Lusk made it through the crowd without incident.

Toward the rear of the caverns, a halfling richly dressed in crimson silk was speaking to the stable master. As they approached, the halfling made an elaborate bow and hurried back to his delegation. As he passed them,