Realms of Valor

was. We hoped Volney knew. When it became clear he was ignorant, we killed him and returned to Elhazir.'

'She claimed not to know,' Lord Zacharius said, 'but she was using the child's powers to hide some objects from your men-including the paw-which she'd stolen from Othmann's shop. She figured the paw must be worth money, since we were searching for it, then decided it was dangerous. I suppose she thought that as long as she held onto what we wanted, we wouldn't harm her. Tonight, when several of my people went through this place in search of the paw, she snapped. The fear was too much for her.'

Myrmeen glanced at Siobhan's locket. 'There's one thing more, isn't there? The reason why the bodies resisted all forms of divination and spirit magic?'

'Yes,' Siobhan said, fingering the locket. 'How could you contact their souls when they were safely locked away?'

Myrmeen looked at the brilliant red halves of the heart-shaped locket. They seemed to pulse slightly, like a living, beating heart.

Lord Zacharius knelt before Andreana. 'You're free, you know. If you like, you can travel with us for a time. We'll see that you get back to your parents.'

'What about the gold Elhazir was giving me? That's what interested my parents. They didn't want me.'

Confusion clouded Zacharius's handsome face. 'I thought you wanted to live with them again.'

Andreana bit her lip. 'They'll just send me somewhere else. I might have to work for someone just like Elhazir again. Maybe even worse.'

'But your concern for them-'

'I didn't want them hurt. I still don't. That doesn't mean I want to go back there.'

Walcott stepped forward. 'I could use some help. She could apprentice to me.'

Lord Zacharius raised one eyebrow. 'Would that suit you?'

'If I was getting paid,' she whispered. 'And if no one calls me a halfwit.'

'Demanding, aren't you?' Zacharius said with a smile. 'Very well. Your skills as a negotiator show you are a girl of rare intelligence, Andreana.'

The girl's face lit up.

Myrmeen looked at the crowd of cat lords outside the doorway, then stared into Zacharius's emerald eyes. 'I may not be able to stop you from leaving here tonight, but you cannot seriously expect there to be no repercussions. The lot of you have confessed to premeditated murder. There are laws to be upheld.'

'Yes,' Lord Zacharius said. 'There is justice and there are laws. The two are not always the same. The choice is yours, Myrmeen. You can turn us into fugitives, or you can keep what has transpired within this room a secret. We have done what should have been done a long time ago. I have no regrets.'

Myrmeen looked to Stralana. He was staring into Siobban's gray-blue eyes. 'Evon?'

'If we had caught Othmann and Volney-or whatever they were calling themselves-at the time of the assault, their sentence would have been death,' Stralana said. 'They got what they deserved.'

Siobhan nodded silently. There was gratitude in her eyes.

Stralana regarded the woman lying at Andreana's feet. 'As for Elhazir,' he noted coldly, 'I have too often been called upon to have my men collect the bodies of children who have been beaten, then discarded by such as this woman. I have no sympathy for her, either.'

'You've described my feelings exactly,' Myrmeen said. 'Lord Zacharius, you are free to leave, on one condition: I want you to never return to my city. Is that understood?'

'Damn,' he hissed. 'I was going to recommend Arabel as a vacation spot for my kind.'

Despite herself, Myrmeen almost smiled.

Lord Zacharius lowered his gaze. 'I am sorry for the pain this ordeal has caused you.'

'So am I,' Myrmeen said.

The knowledge and shared pain of Siobhan's ordeal now tainted her memory of her once-beloved gazebo. Like the blood on Haverstrom's phoenix, she knew it would never quite fade. The sanctuary it had once offered was gone forever.

On the walk back to the palace, after Zacharius and his people had departed, Myrmeen came upon a cat who had trapped a bird and was slowly torturing it to death. She stopped and stared at the gruesome spectacle. Evon Stralana, who was walking beside her, touched her arm.

'Are you all right?' he asked.

Myrmeen thought of the agony Siobhan had suffered at the hands of her attackers and recalled the slight glow in each half of the woman's amulet. Penn Othmann and Russka Volney had not only wounded the cat lord, they had also taken something private and extremely precious away from Myrmeen.

She felt nothing but hatred for them.

'It's strange,' Myrmeen said as she watched the cat slowly tear the life from its prey, 'but somehow I feel comforted by the knowledge that all cats like to play with their kills…'

King's Tear

Mark Anthony

The spirits of the three sages writhed in the flickering, poisonous green flames rising from the copper brazier. The necromancer Kelshara prowled catlike about them, here in the highest chamber of her tower that stood among the dark, jagged peaks of the southernmost Sunset Mountains.

'Please, sorceress, we do not know the answer you seek!' one of the spirits moaned.

'We beg you,' pleaded another. 'Release us from this torment.¹'

'Very well,' Kelshara hissed. Her features were pale and flawless, her long hair as dark as polished onyx, yet she was anything but lovely. Rage was never beautiful. 'And for your worthlessness, this is your reward.'

She tossed a handful of dark powder onto the brazier. Brilliant sparks, red as rubies, crackled about the pale apparitions as they shrieked in agony. The magical flames flared to the ceiling, then died down in a puff of acrid smoke. The spirits were gone, the last echo of their wails ringing off the chill stone walls.

Kelshara smiled in cruel satisfaction for a moment, but the expression soon faded. She still had no solution to the mystery. From a golden box on a table she drew out two small objects. They were jewels, teardrop shaped and as clear as winter ice. King's Tears such stones were called. Legend held that they were the tears of ancient kings magically turned to stone. Legend also told that if you looked into the heart of a King's Tear, you would see an image of what the ancient lord had loved most in life. And the legends were true.

Even now she could see the visions flickering within the jewels: parchments scribed with strange glyphs and books bound with gem-encrusted covers. It was the library of King Everard Farseer she was glimpsing. Once he had ruled over a realm that stretched for leagues along the banks of the great River Chionthar. But his kingdom had crumbled to dust long centuries before folk from Cormyr crossed the Sunset Mountains and raised the shining Caravan Cities, strung like gems along the necklace of the river. But though Kelshara had gazed into the Tears for hours on end, she never saw what she sought, the book Everard had prized above all others: the Tome of Midnight. Within its covers lay the key to life eternal.

'Toz!' the necromancer shouted. 'Toz!”

Kelshara heard the scrabbling of claws against stone behind her. 'Mistress?' a voice croaked tremulously. She spun to see a small, malformed creature hobble into the chamber on two gnarled and twisted legs. It blinked its red, bulbous eyes, snuffling its warty, canine snout.

'Come, Toz,' Kelshara said in her icy voice. 'Speak the future for me. And do not dare lie, or I promise you'll lose more than just your tail this time.'

'Yes, mistress.' The kobold fawningly approached the table. Its features were caught up in a mask of mock- contrition, its bulging eyes cast down to the floor. A foul odor followed in its wake, and the ratty brown piece of sackcloth it wore like a tunic looked as if it was ready to rot off its scaly back.