The Flame of Lathander held up one pudgy hand, a spectrum of rings gleaming in the candlelight. 'You need not do so, Lord Uskevren. My skills can determine what the Lord Lawmaker seeks to know. If I may?'
He looked with careful formality to Lawmaker Loakrin and to Thamalon, collecting their nods before turning deliberately to meet the eyes of the butler standing with the swordsmen. Cale gave an almost imperceptible nod of his own before wordlessly turning away to pluck up another chair for Saer Velvaunt, lifting it with silent grace.
Thamalon's eyes narrowed at the unfamiliar and intricate prayer that spilled from the fat priest's lips then. It sounded like no supplication after truth or revelation that he'd ever heard, but a binding of some new magic to old.
Before he could stir or say anything, it came to an end, the priest raising the flat palms of his hands in unison to the vaulted ceiling. Everyone looked at him in eager, expectant silence.
'No,' said the priest to them all, carefully not looking at Lord Uskevren, 'it bears no recent spells, only ancient enchantments-and those astonishingly strong, after so many years.'
'I shall have it tested by High Loremaster Yannathar of the Sanctum,' Thamalon said flatly, naming Selgaunt's temple of Oghma, and let him judge.' He gave his guests no time for argument as he stretched forth his hand to take up the chalice.
As his fingers closed around the familiar cup, it erupted in leaping flames.
The astonished head of House Uskevren jerked his seared hand back with a gasp of pain, and the man who called himself Perivel Uskevren rose from his seat with a broad smile of triumph.
'Now I think we see who the impostor is,' he said almost jovially. 'You are not my brother, and you and your brats have no claim here. This house is mine.'
The wheezing, whistling thing in the bed looked more like a lizardman than a human. All of its hair was burned away, and burned flesh hung in twisted, wart-studded sheets where there should have been a face. Only the two angry brown eyes told Thamalon that this was his great-uncle Roel.
The rattle in those labored breaths told him one thing more: this might not be Roel for all that much longer.
The eyes caught Thamalon as if they were two sword-points thrusting into his innards and lifting him helplessly, pinioned.
'Promise me,' came the horrible, raw snarl that was all Roel could now manage. It broke and wavered on the second word.
'Anything in my power, uncle,' Thamalon said quickly, bending near so the dying man would know he was being heard.
An amiable, roaring bear no longer, Roel had gone back to Stormweather Towers and fought through its flames, seeking anyone alive-had fought in vain and come back like this.
Roel struggled to sit up, clawing at the silent, bone-white lady beside the bed for support. His huge hands were bony, gnarled claws. Their fumbling, shaking grasp must have hurt Teskra terribly as they hauled their owner up, but she made no sound and shook her head when Thamalon reached to help Roel. Silent tears were falling like rain on the linens she was standing over.
'Make the Uskevren great again,' Roel snarled. 'Rich… important… respected!' Coughing seized him for a moment, and he shook his head impatiently, the sweat of his shaking effort glistening across the ruin of his face. 'Don't waste your… time… as I did.'
'Uncle, I shall rebuild the family to proud prominence once more,' Thamalon said fiercely. 'This I swear.'
'Upon the Burning Chalice?' Roel gasped.
Thamalon nodded vigorously, looked wildly to the servants who stood by the door and said, 'Fetch the-'
The clawlike hand that closed on his arm was bruising in its strength. 'No… time,' Roel snarled. 'Let me kiss… Tessie…'
The lady bent swiftly to bring her head down to his, but the light in those blazing eyes went out before she got there.
As Roel's head fell back, Thamalon saw that those ravaged lips wore a last, fierce smile.
'Let me be quite clear about this,' the Lawmaker of Selgaunt said carefully, trying not to look at the angry faces of the swordsmen looming over the table. 'This chalice tells the watching world who is a true Uskevren and who is not?'
'Indeed!' Perivel boomed triumphantly. 'This drinking cup bears magic older than anyone in this hall that cause it to catch fire if the skin of any being not of true Uskevren blood touches it. My ancestor Thoebellon had its enchantments arranged so, as a conceit, after the death of the mage Helemgaularn. Behold!'
All eyes in the room followed the wave of his hand, at the large, plain goblet that stood unmarked on the table, its flames gone.
'No false hand touches it now,' Perivel said, with a meaningful look at Thamalon, 'so it sits quiescent- waiting. None but those of the blood of House Uskevren can touch the Burning Chalice without awakening it to flame.'
'None but those of the true blood of Uskevren can touch the Burning Chalice without it briefly catching fire?' Lawmaker Loakrin echoed slowly, making it a query. He shot a glance at Perivel, received a nod, then turned his head slowly to regard Thamalon.
And the head of House Uskevren nodded his own head, slowly and deliberately.
The lawmaker cleared his throat, and turned his head to regard the chalice.
'Well,' he said slowly, 'it would then seem…'
His voice died away like a drone-horn that someone has left off blowing. His mouth fell open and gaped. Heads turned to follow his astonished gaze, and other jaws dropped here and there around the cavernous chamber.
The maid who'd been quietly dusting and polishing her way around the feast hall had just stepped forward to pluck up the chalice. She was now applying a well-used rag to it with careful concentration, turning it in her bare hands above the table. No hint of flame was coming from the cup.
The men at the table stared at her for a long, tense time as she polished the chalice, apparently oblivious to their scrutiny, before the lawmaker stirred again.
This time, his look was directed at the men seated around him, and it was not friendly. 'We sit at the table of one of the mightiest merchants of our city,' Loakrin said coldly, 'and strive to repay his hospitality by trying to wrest his home-this house I have seen him enter and leave for decades of prosperous trading-from him, declaring he is not who he has been in the eyes of all Selgaunt for years.'
The lawmaker let a instant of chilly silence hang in the air before he added swiftly, 'I believe, and hereby declare in words I shall repeat before the Lord Sage Probiter and the Hulorn himself, that before such a serious accusation can proceed more proof than flames that may or may not come from this chalice shall be needed. Sembia is a land ruled by law, and ever shall be. I have spoken.'
He let fall a heavy hand upon the table. As if in response, the chalice rose into the air to hang head-high above the decanters and spat forth a brief halo of flames.
As murmurs arose from the watching servants, Thamalon allowed himself a smile of relief. At least the few parlor tricks Teskra had taught him to work on the chalice, with the aid of the ring on the smallest finger of his left hand, still worked.
So Uskevren would dwell in Stormweather Towers a while yet. At least until this pretender, or some other scheme, clawed at them again.
Thamalon Uskevren gave his guests a bland smile, dropped his gaze to the cold and motionless figure of Cordrivval Imleth sprawled on the carpet-oh, he'd send for healers, and pay full well for a resurrection, but he knew it was too late, and would avail naught-and made a silent promise to himself. It was not one that would have let any scion of House Talendar, House Soargyl, or anyone pretending to be Perivel Uskevren sleep easily in the nights ahead.
For all Selgaunt knew that Thamalon Uskevren was a man of his word, a man who took care to keep all of his promises.
