“That’s the bargain,” Kalen said. “Until we find the source of the plague, he’s your guardian. I’ll do what I think best. Or do you refuse?”
Myrin stared at him for a long moment, then she nodded hesitantly. “Very well.”
“And what of that?” Rhett pointed to Vindicator.
“I told you that was yours,” Kalen said.
“Aye, Sir.” Rhett nodded.
Myrin glared at Kalen. This deal did not please her, and he took some satisfaction in that. “Well I, for one, am tired,” she said. “On my seer’s word, I’ve been up all night waiting for some sword-wielding madman and fancy that! Here you are, Kalen.”
Kalen ignored the barb, but it did remind him of the halfling. “And I will watch Toytere,” he said. “When he turns on us, we’ll be ready.”
“
“So, about that betrayal.”
With practiced grace, Toytere lit his pipe and puffed out a smoke circle, squinting at the Coin Priest-Eden- who sat across from him.
“There be a … complication,” he said.
“Oh, don’t leave it there,” Eden said, sipping her fire red drink. “Say on.”
The dark and loud Whetstone made for a perfect place to meet and conduct business. The festhall catered to those who wanted their primary senses dulled as they took their pleasures. An absence of light dimmed a patron’s sight, a persistent cacophony of horns and drums (enhanced and maintained by magic) shattered the ears, and a steady supply of strong wine and brandy took care of the wits and nerves. The darkness and hanging curtains of opaque fabric hid the more deplorable acts committed among its sheltered tables. The effect allowed festhall patrons to focus on the other aspects of the experience-smells and tastes, sharp pains and pleasures-and to do it in complete privacy.
The halfling and the human, both in cloaks to hide their faces, sat to one side in intrigue-laden privacy and talked. Many betrayals were schemed in such places, and Toytere had come prepared. One did not become chief of one of Luskan’s Five through carelessness or an abundance of trust. These two did better than most through their alliance: Toytere with his Sight, Eden with her considerable power base. He relied upon his usefulness to her, but only to a point.
“Perhaps you’re reconsidering the bargain we made?” she said. “Or perhaps the coin and alliance are not enough? You want more?”
“Nothing like that, me dear.” Toytere narrowed his eyes. “Another player be entering in-Little Dren. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“Perhaps.” Her eyes glittered-gray and platinum-as she considered this.
Toytere always had difficulty reading Eden’s face, which obscured her thoughts so well. He’d first met the woman when she arrived in Luskan five years ago, but her toughened visage suggested she’d lived here her whole life. Not that he would ever ask, of course-it would not do to seem too interested.
“The crusader should prove no concern,” she said at length. “Only the girl matters.” Eden leaned closer to Toytere and he smelled the thick perfume and blood on her skin. This was a dangerous woman-and very enticing. “How are
“With utmost hospitality as I bide me time, awaiting the opportune moment,” the halfling replied. “Brandobaris! She actually believes
“You always did play the game with a casual hand,” she said.
He grinned with his sharklike teeth. “You’d be surprised what me hands can do.”
“Little surprises me.” Eden rose and proffered her hand. “In that case, my fellow conspirator, I leave you in the goddess’s grace. Do not spurn her gifts.”
“Me lady.” He took her hand but did not kiss it. “Never would I do that.”
She walked out, her braced leg making her limp. The patrons of the Whetstone moved out of her way with palpable respect, fear, or both. Back at the table, Toytere smiled and drained the rest of his ale. This tenday would be a good one, Little Dren or no.
He only hoped that when the time came, he got to kill Kalen Dren himself.
CHAPTER NINE
23 KYTHORN (DAWN)
In the early hours of the morning, Kalen finally gave up trying to sleep in the foul-smelling warren of the Drowned Rat. The fire had burned down to crackling embers and the dim light of imminent sunrise shone through the boarded-over windows.
Vindicator clasped loosely in his lolling hand, Rhett snored by the smoky hearth, as content as though the common room were that of any other inn in all of Faerun. Kalen admired the boy’s ability to fall asleep so readily, though he didn’t particularly enjoy the snoring. The roaring sound had no rhythm to it: rather than lull Kalen, it startled him awake if he drifted.
By contrast, Kalen had only managed to doze, never able to let down his guard. He had not dreamed, which was a blessing in and of itself. All too often, when he closed his eyes, he saw bloody dreams and accusing faces. Instead, he dozed and stirred at every noise. Several times, he’d had to stare down Rats who crept toward Rhett, eager to get at his purse or the fabulous sword. Kalen might have enjoyed the game of cat and rat, were it not for Myrin.
What had he expected? That he would show up, fight off a dozen captors, and whisk her off in his arms? He should have known Myrin would resent that, but he’d never expected such stubborn resistance. What could he have said differently?
“I hope you can protect her, boy,” he murmured toward the snoring Rhett. “Or I’ll have my hands full protecting you both.”
“She does not need your protection,” said a voice.
It took Kalen a moment to see Sithe, but when he did, his body lit with tension. She sat cross-legged before the fire, more a dark stain than a woman. Even with her black skin against the gray room, she seemed to vanish unless Kalen looked directly at her.
“You underestimate the wizard, and that is your undoing,” she said without looking at him or even opening her eyes.
“Myrin?” Kalen asked.
“Arrogance.” She turned her head toward him but still had not opened her eyes. “Why do you stare?”
“A proper warrior knows his enemy,” Kalen said.
“Is that what I am?” she asked. “Your enemy?”
They were silent a moment. The embers crackled and flames rose in a brief wind that swept through an open window. The light reflected on the black blade of her axe, which lay on the floor like lurking death. Sithe spoke again.
“Fire has no substance-it exists to consume and has no other purpose.”
“I don’t understand.”
Sithe nodded as though his admission did not surprise her in the least. She rose and made her way to the stairs. She glanced over her shoulder once before climbing.
Kalen rose, flexing his numb limbs. He stepped toward the stairs, then paused, considering. After a moment, he bent and retrieved Vindicator from Rhett’s grasp.
“Rest,” he said to the boy. “I shall return.”
Kalen climbed out onto the roof. In the predawn light, greasy gray clouds threatened rain.
