Crypt of the Shadowking (4 page)

“Looking for someone?” he called out. Before his cloaked pursuer could react, Caledan leaped from the low bridge. The two went tumbling to the street. His pursuer was strong and wiry and almost managed to twist out of his grasp, but Caledan had the advantage of size. After a few moments of struggling his shadow was pinned beneath him.

“Let go of me!” his captive shouted, taking a swing at him, but Caledan caught the blow before it landed.

“Not until I find out why you were following me,” he said through clenched teeth, holding the person tightly by the wrists. His pursuer was silent for a long moment, then finally spoke in a low, husky voice.

“I am seeking Caledan the Harper.”

Caledan grunted, not missing a beat. “What makes you think I know him?”

“Will you let me go?”

“Only if you tell me who you are.”

With a curse his captive angrily shook back the cloak’s concealing hood. Caledan drew in a sharp breath. His pursuer was a woman. He scrambled quickly to his feet. The woman fought to disentangle herself from the voluminous cloak, then stood to face him. She gazed at him hotly, fire dancing in her dark, smoldering eyes. She angrily brushed her dark auburn hair from her face and planted her hands firmly on her hips.

“I’m Man Al’maren,” she said in her low, rich voice, “sent by the Harpers to find Caledan Caldorien. Satisfied?”

Caledan leaned nonchalantly against the brick wall bordering the street. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. What would the Harpers want with him now, after all these years? His face remained impassive. “Really? So why were you following me?”

The Harper woman angrily shed the remains of her tattered cloak. Beneath she was clad in a green velvet jacket and breeches of soft buckskin that matched her boots. A small silver pin, wrought in the shape of a crescent moon encircling a harp, glistened on her collar—the sigil of the Harpers.

“I’m beginning to wonder the same thing myself,” she said disgustedly. “I thought there might be a chance you were the one I was searching for.”

“This … er… what did you say his name was?” Caledan asked casually.

“Caledan Caldorien,” the woman who called herself Man answered, kicking away the cloak and pacing the narrow alleyway in agitation. “Call me crazy, but with the way you dealt with that Zhen—er, that captain on the Street of Lanterns, I thought you might be Caldorien. He’s supposed to have been a great hero, you know. At least, that’s what all the stories tell.”

“Oh, really?” Caledan asked, raising an eyebrow. No doubt they had sent Al’maren here to spy on the Zhents— that would be standard procedure—but Al’maren looked so wet behind the ears he was almost tempted to offer her a handkerchief. “So what makes you think now that I’m not the fellow you’re after?” Caledan went on. “Oh, please!” Mari said with a husky laugh, halting for a moment to stare at Caledan. “No offense, friend, but now that I’ve seen you up close you look more like a vagabond cutpurse than a hero of renown.”

Caledan spread out his hands. “No offense taken,” he replied amiably.

“Besides, if you really were Caldorien, you’d have a set of reed pipes with you,” she continued wearily. “You don’t happen to play the pipes, do you, scoundrel?”

“I wouldn’t know which end to blow in,” Caledan said, lying smoothly.

“I didn’t think so,” Mari said, sighing. “Caledan Caldorien was supposed to have been the finest piper in the Realms and one of the bravest men as well. We could use his help in dealing with the … the city’s new ruler.”

Harpers, Caledan thought derisively. They send one agent on what was probably her first mission to counter a city crawling with Zhentarim. That was just like them. They were idealists almost to the point of idiocy Mari Al’maren no doubt thought that a few old, tired ballads and a few lofty, outdated ideals were somehow enough to end all the suffering and darkness in the world. Caledan knew better. He, of all people, knew that music—and the Harpers— would never be enough.

“Well, I’m sorry to have caused you trouble, friend scoundrel,” Mari continued, “though you seem to have paid me back for it.” She rubbed her shoulder. “I’ve got to keep searching. This city is supposed to have been Caldorien’s last known home, though gods know why anyone would live here.” She looked distastefully around the dingy street.

“It wasn’t always so bad,” Caledan said, taking a step toward her. “It was beautiful once. You know, legendary Iriaebor of the Thousand Spires.”

She smiled crookedly. Mari was not a woman who would ever be accused of being pretty, Caledan thought, but there was a warmth to her smile that made him grin back. “I’ll let you know if I run into this ‘Caldorien’ character.”

“Don’t bother,” she replied wryly. “It’s going to take me a while to heal my bruises from our first encounter. So do me a favor, friend scoundrel. Let’s say farewell.”

Caledan performed a stiff mock bow. “As you wish.” He straightened up—and his eyes widened in shock.

Mari frowned at him in puzzlement. “What is it, scoundrel?”

“Don’t look now,” he whispered, “but I don’t think you were the only one who has been doing a little following.”

Mari spun swiftly on her heels, and the blood drained from her face. Not a hundred paces away three black dogs were loping down the alley. Each was as large as a pony, and all of them were covered with flickering crimson flames. Their eyes glowed with a deadly golden light, and their huge maws hung open, baring their fangs.

Caledan gave a low whistle. “It looks like you should have said good-bye when you had the chance, Harper.”

Three

Caledan drew his dagger from his boot as the three magical mastiffs howled, an eerie sound of fury and bloodlust.

“Please don’t tell me that pig-sticker is all you’ve got, scoundrel,” the Harper said caustically. Her movements were fluid as she unsheathed the curved, gleaming sabre belted at her hip and assumed a battle-ready stance. “As you wish.” Caledan gritted his teeth. Mari shot him a hard look, but there was no time for a reply. The hounds were rapidly closing the distance between them. Caledan could hear the crackling of the fiery auras that surrounded the beasts. The air was charged with an acrid, sulfuric odor. He let his dagger fly in a precise arc. It struck the lead hound directly between the eyes—and then bounced harmlessly off the creature’s skull.

Caledan and Mari traded desperate looks.

“These are enchanted beasts,” he shouted. “I don’t think mundane weapons can harm them.”

“Now you tell me,” Man said disgustedly, thrusting her sabre back into its sheath. “May I be so bold as to suggest we turn tail and run?” “We’ll never be able to outrun them.” “Well, maybe we can outclimb them.” Caledan nodded. He made a running leap onto the alley’s wall and began scrambling up the crumbling, uneven stone surface. The Harper did likewise on the opposite wall. Just as Caledan was heaving himself over the top, the flaming mastiffs were upon them. One of the beasts let out a feral snarl as it leaped upward, its jaws snapping. Caledan felt its hot, scorching breath even through his boots.

Somehow he managed to heave himself onto the sooty rooftop. His heart was thumping wildly in his chest, and his breath came in searing, ragged gasps. “What in the Abyss did I ever see in this battling evil business?” he groaned as he dragged himself to his feet. He saw that the Harper had reached the rooftop across the narrow alley, no more than ten feet away. The three magical hounds circled below, snarling and growling. Hot, sizzling spittle drooled from their maws, pitting the cobblestones where it dripped.

“What now, scoundrel?” Mari called across the gap, hands on her hips.

Caledan saw a large oaken barrel perched on the rooftop a few feet away from him. It was a rain barrel, filled to the brim with cool, dark water. An idea struck him. “Harper, is there anything over there that holds water?”

Mari frowned in confusion, but she looked around the rooftop all the same. “There’s a trough here with some sort of swill in it,” she called across the alley. “But I wouldn’t recommend it if you’re thirsty. I think more than a few pigeons have been using it as their personal bath.”

“It’ll do. Drag it to the edge of the rooftop, and when I tell you, dump it into the alley.”

Mari glared at him. “You want to give the dogs a bath?”

“Just do it, Harper,” Caledan growled.

She muttered something under her breath but did as he asked all the same. The fiery mastiffs were scrabbling at the walls, getting higher with each jump. It was only a matter of moments before one of them successfully made the leap.

“Now, Harper!”

Caledan pushed over the heavy rain barrel. At the same moment Mari grunted, heaving the wooden trough onto its side. Cold water rained down on the three mastiffs. There was a deafening hissing sound as a thick cloud of steam billowed up from the alley. The hounds yelped as their flaming auras were doused and extinguished.

Caledan readied himself for a dash along the rooftops. He hoped the trick with the water would give him and the Harper a few moments’ head start before they were forced to climb back down and take to the streets. Suddenly Caledan halted. He watched the magical beasts in fascination.

The mastiffs were continuing to yelp and whine, but their movements were growing slower, stiff and jerky. Steam ceased to rise from their sodden pelts. Abruptly the hounds froze in their tracks. They stood motionless for a heartbeat, and then, with a sound like breaking glass, the beasts collapsed into three heaps of jagged black shards.

Caledan shook his head in amazement. The magical beasts were dead, shattered like hot crockery immersed in cold water.

The Harper arched an eyebrow. “Not bad, scoundrel. Did you know that was going to happen?”

“Of course,” he lied.

The two climbed back down into the alley. With his boot Caledan kicked apart the piles of broken shards. They rang like chimes as they skittered across the cobbles. He found his dagger and stuffed it back into its sheath in his boot.

“Well, it looks like this time it’s farewell for good, Harper,” Caledan said thankfully. He had forgotten how much trouble Harpers could be.

“And good riddance, scoundrel,” Mari replied, her eyes blazing. “Let’s make certain we never—”

The Harper didn’t get the chance to finish. She cried out as a crackling bolt of crimson brilliance streaked out of a shadowed doorway and struck her in the shoulder. The force of the blow threw her hard against the opposite stone wall. Her eyes fluttered shut as she slumped, motionless, to the ground.

Without hesitating, Caledan reached down, grabbed his dagger, and threw it spinning into the darkened doorway. There was a soft moan, and then a sharp-faced man clad in red robes stumbled out of the doorway and sank to the cobbles, the dagger buried deep in his chest.

Caledan swore under his breath. It seemed he had grown stupid as well as rusty with the years. After an attack by enchanted beasts, he should have known the wizard who had conjured them would not be far behind. He put a boot on the dead wizard’s chest and pulled the dagger free. Blood flowed forth, spreading its dark stain across the ground.

“So who sent you, sorcerer?” Caledan spat, but the dead man could not reply. Caledan was about to search the body for some clues as to the wizard’s identity, but immediately the corpse began to steam and bubble. The wizard’s body burst into flame, and in moments there was nothing left but ashes. Caledan muttered an oath, turning his attention to the Harper.

She was alive, but just barely. Her skin had a deathly pallor to it; her breathing was rapid and shallow. He could barely detect her pulse. He heard the clatter of hooves behind him and turned to see Mista trotting down the alley.

“I don’t suppose I could just leave her,” he said hopefully.

The mare snorted in agitation, laying her ears back. He sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

He lifted the Harper as gently as he could onto the gray’s back and climbed into the saddle. She needed a healer, and there was only one place in the city he knew where he could take her. He spurred the mare into a brisk walk. “If I never have dealings with Harpers again, Mista,” he growled as he rode, “it’ll be much, much too soon.”

Caledan took a deep breath of relief when he saw the old three-story inn at the end of the small lane. He had half expected to find it gone, what with the rest of the changes that had transformed the city. However, the half-timbered, gable-roofed inn still stood at the very western edge of the Tor. Half of the building actually jutted precariously out over the precipice, hanging in thin air where it was supported by a mazework of stout oaken beams anchored deep in the sheer rock of the cliff-face. A brightly painted sign hung above the intricately carved door, depicting an emerald green dragon dozing peacefully on a mountain of golden treasure. Caledan smiled despite himself. It was good to lay eyes on the Sign of the Dreaming Dragon again.

He dismounted and carefully lifted the Harper from Mista’s back. The gray mare flared her nostrils and shifted nervously from hoof to hoof. Caledan bent his ear to the Harper’s chest, then grinned at the horse.

“Fear not, friend. She still lives.” Caledan carried the Harper to the stout, iron-banded door. He pushed through the doorway and into the inn.

His heart sank.

Everything was different inside. In his memories, the common room of the Dreaming Dragon was a warm place filled with firelight and the clinking of mugs, reverberating with garrulous voices, laughter, and song. This dim, sullen room was just the opposite.

The great fireplace was cold and dark, and only a few smoking oil lamps offered their wan illumination. The polished wooden bar that had once stood against one wall was now covered with dirty cloths. Lord Cutter’s Rules were posted in plain view.

A handful of sour-faced cityfolk looked up from the bare tables, staring at Caledan with suspicious eyes. Grimly, he laid the limp form of the Harper down on a long bench and surveyed the scene. The longer he looked, the worse it seemed. This place had been his home once. Now it was almost as inviting as a dungeon, but not quite. “Listen, stranger, we don’t want any trouble here.” Caledan turned around and found himself looking down at a stout, curly-haired halfling. The halfling’s nut-brown eyes glittered warily, and his broad face was drawn down in a scowl. He stood firm, raised to his full four feet, gripping a cudgel in one hand. “This is a respectable establishment. At least as respectable as you can find these days. We post the city lord’s rules for all to see. You’d best be off, ruffian. Work your mischief elsewhere.”