Shadowstorm (4 page)

One of Mirabeta’s mute serving girls, pole-thin and sunken-eyed, stood unobtrusively near the open double doorway that led into the tallhouse. Mirabeta had brought her own staff to Ordulin from Ravenholme.

“The sunlight is pleasant,” Mirabeta said.

Elyril and her aunt breakfasted on dried currants, day old bread, and a light, fruity wine from Raven’s Bluff.

“It is,” Elyril lied.

Mirabeta glanced up at the pennons. “I think I will change Sembia’s colors to something that includes the Selkirk falcon.”

The overmistress smiled, obviously pleased at the thought. She still held the same satisfied air she had worn since a rump session of the High Council had elected her War Regent. Elyril did not share her aunt’s sense of ease. Since setting the Sembian civil war into motion, she had received contact from neither

Volumvax nor the Nightseer, and her communions with Shar had resulted only in frustration. She did not fully understand her role in events and her ignorance irritated her. She felt herself on the verge of a revelation, but always it remained just out of reach. Only increasingly frequent use of minddust allowed her to endure the uncertainty.

“Malkur Forrin is returned to Ordulin,” Mirabeta said. “The Hulorn escaped him. I received the news yesterday.”

“That is regrettable,” Elyril said. “How did the Uskevren manage to escape? Perhaps word of events reached him on the road?”

“I have no details yet,” Mirabeta said, and sipped her wine. “My envoys to Cormyr and Cormanthyr report a favorable response to our overtures. Both the Regent and the new Coronal appear to accept the premise that our … current troubles are and should remain an internal Sembian affair.”

“That is welcome news, aunt.”

In truth, neither Cormyr nor the elves of Cormanthyr were in positions to take sides in the Sembian conflict. Both had recently fought wars of their own. Sighs of relief in Arabel and the elven halls had probably greeted Mirabeta’s gentle demand that they remain neutral in Sembia’s conflict.

Footfalls approached from within the tallhouse. Mirabeta’s chamberlain, Turest Gillan, appeared in the doorway. A defect of birth—common among the Selkirks’ inbred servants—caused his heavy-lidded eyes to look in two different directions. Tufts of gray hair jutted this way and that from his overlarge skull.

He stood in silence, waiting to be recognized. Elyril watched his form blur and shimmer, moving rapidly through time. He changed from adolescent to elderly and back to his fifty or so winters in the span of a heartbeat. Only Elyril seemed to notice the changes.

“Turest?” Mirabeta said at last.

The chamberlain bowed, avoiding eye contact, not an easy matter for a man who looked in two directions at once. Mirabeta

would flog even her chamberlain for presuming to look her in the face. Elyril had once heard the chamberlain scream while being punished. He had a pleasant, high-pitched screech that amused her.

“A credentialed messenger has arrived, Overmistress. He bears a missive under seal from Yhaunn.”

Mirabeta swallowed a currant and dabbed her mouth with a hand cloth. “Verify that the message is genuine. If so, bring it to me and extend such courtesies to the messenger as are appropriate. If not, bring it to me and have the messenger fed to the dogs.”

“Yes, Overmistress.”

Elyril and Mirabeta shared a curious glance as Turest exited the balcony. The mute serving girl, as quiet as a ghost, moved to the table and refilled their wine goblets, then returned to her station.

Elyril said, “Perhaps Endren Corrinthal has died in the Hole.”

“Tymora has never favored me with such good fortune,” Mirabeta said, but smiled nevertheless.

Turest returned shortly thereafter, bearing an ivory scroll tube traced in gold, its cap sealed in wax. He presented it to Mirabeta.

“Rynon has examined it and assures me that it bears no baleful magic or poison, Overmistress. The seal appears genuine.” “Well done, Turest,” said Mirabeta.

Turest bowed, nodded at Elyril, and withdrew from the balcony.

Mirabeta examined the seal for herself, hummed her satisfaction, and cut the wax with her thumbnail. She popped the lid and withdrew several sheets of rolled vellum, also officially sealed. She broke the seal, unrolled the vellum, and read. Her expression changed from curious, to alarmed, to angry.

Elyril set down her wine glass. “Aunt?”

Mirabeta stared past Elyril. “Yhaunn has been attacked.

The Nessarch reports that much of the lower city is in ruins. A kraken of enormous size rose from the sea and destroyed the lower districts.”

Elyril could not keep the shock from her voice. “A kraken? Such a creature has not been seen in decades!”

Mirabeta continued. “He estimates over a thousand are dead and several times that are displaced. The docks are destroyed. The city’s forces beat the creature off but a simultaneous raid on the Hole freed Endren Corrinthal. The attack from the sea appears to have been timed with the attack on the Hole. Endren and his rescuers leaped down a mineshaft but no bodies were found. Divinations confirm he is alive, but cannot locate him.”

Elyril stared at her aunt, absorbing the import of the words, before softly speaking a curse so vile the mute serving girl gasped. Elyril waved the little wretch from the balcony. “You are dismissed. Begone. We are discussing matters of state.”

When they were alone, Elyril said, “It could not have been Abelar Corrinthal who freed Endren. We have reports of him to the southeast. Who, then?”

“We have no word,” Mirabeta said, crumbling the missive in her hands. “Damn it all.” She glared with heat across the table. “I should have executed Endren in the public square. It was you who advised placing him in the Hole, Elyril.”

Elyril kept her false face in place and her anger in check. She adopted a look of contrition.

“True, aunt. It seemed well advised at the time. I apologize for failing you.”

Abasement always sated Mirabeta’s anger. Her gaze softened and she made a dismissive gesture. “It was well advised at the time. Had we executed Endren, the civil war would have been fought on Ordulin’s streets rather than in the countryside.” She rocked her wine glass on its stem. “In any event, the Nessarch asks for as much aid as we can spare. Yhaunn’s docks need to be rebuilt.”

Elyril nodded. Yhaunn was the primary port through which

Ordulin received its stores of food and supplies. Rebuilding its docks as rapidly as possible would be a priority.

“Allow me to fly Ordulin’s standard in Yhaunn, aunt. That will assure the Yhauntans that Ordulin supports them fully and will allow me to investigate the details of Endren’s escape. Perhaps there is more to be learned.”

Mirabeta nodded. “A sound idea. Travel to Yhaunn as my ambassador. I will order the appropriate credentials prepared. Inform the Nessarch that aid is on the way. Then find out what you can about the escape. If there are traitors among the Yhauntans, I want them found out and made into examples. This time, the examples are to be public, Elyril.”

“Of course, aunt,” Elyril answered.

“Use magical transport. I want you in Yhaunn quickly.”

“I will arrange for Rynon to transport me there.” Elyril leaned back in her chair and thought through what she had heard. She said, “The timing of the kraken’s attack and the attack on the Hole were not coincidental. And neither Selgaunt nor Saerb has the service of mages capable of controlling a kraken.”

“We are of like mind. The affair lends credibility to rumors of an alliance between Sembia and the Shadovar.” Mirabeta put a finger to her lips in thought. “Perhaps it is time to seek an ally of our own?”

“Aunt?” Elyril asked.

“Later, Elyril. Let me think more about the costs.”

Elyril could do nothing but accept the words. Despite her attempts to know all she could about her aunt’s affairs, Mirabeta kept some secrets to herself.

Elyril tapped her fingers on the table, eyeing the magical ring with which she communicated with the Nightseer.

“The Shadovar are said to be formidable mages, but few in number.”

Mirabeta nodded absently. “At the moment, the Shadovar are beside the point. The rebels in Selgaunt and Saerb must be made to pay for the destruction at Yhaunn.”

Elyril smirked. Selgaunt and Saerb were no more rebels than the day was dark. The rebellion was based on a fiction. But that was the power of a lie. Told often enough, even the liar started to believe it.

“That is true, aunt. This attack, if unavenged, makes Ordulin look weak.”

Mirabeta frowned.

Elyril hurriedly added, “My apologies for saying so, Aunt, but…”

Mirabeta shook her head. “No. You are correct. We must respond, and quickly.”

Elyril leaned forward and her shadow whispered Shar’s will in her ear.

“I see an opportunity here, War Regent. The wanton destruction in Yhaunn will further incite the populace against Selgaunt and Saerb. You should announce the attack to the people, embellishing as needed. Then any response you make, any response at all, will be seen as justified.”

Mirabeta picked up a dried currant, eyed it, chewed it thoughtfully. “What do you make of the freeing of Endren Corrinthal? It troubles me. The nobility in and around Saerb will rally to him.”

Elyril leaned back and made a dismissive gesture. “I make nothing of it. The nobility around Saerb are merely a collection of rich merchants who decided they’d rather run their holdings from the countryside than the cities. Saerb’s army, such as it is, will be little more than a collection of house guards, hireswords, and a few adventuring companies.”

“But a skilled leader, a man like Endren Corrinthal, could transform them into an effective fighting force.”

Elyril said,’ “I think you overestimate him, but if you are correct, then that is all the more reason to act quickly. Selgaunt and Saerb expect you to wait until spring to begin a campaign, but you need not delay. Ordulin is secured and you can already field an army of several thousand. Saerloon’s muster proceeds

apace. You could strike the rebels unprepared, seize the initiative before Endren can rally anyone, separate their forces by putting your armies between them. You could raze Saerb to the ground. The people would thank you for it and name you the avenger of Yhaunn. After that, Selgaunt. Lady Merelith has informed us of her ability to deploy rapidly. She could be before Selgaunt s gates within days of your order.”

“Merelith wishes to expand her reach to include Saerloon and a conquered Selgaunt.”

Elyril nodded. “And so long as she answers to Ordulin, what care you?”

Mirabeta looked across the table, thoughtful. She drove her thumbnail into a currant and said, “I am intrigued.”

Elyril licked her lips, imagining the deaths. She said, “An immediate attack on Saerb has the added virtue of drawing Abelar Corrinthal into the open, if he dares.”

They knew Abelar Corrinthal was riding through Sembia, gathering forces as he went. By all accounts, he’d had little success.

“He will dare,” Mirabeta said, and looked across the table at Elyril. “He has a young son, born dumb. He will not abandon the boy to our forces, not if half of what I’ve heard of him is true.”

A thrill of delight ran through Elyril. She imagined murdering Abelar’s idiot son herself and offering the Lathanderian’s despair and grief to Shar and Volumvax as sacrifice. She could not keep excitement from her tone.

“An attack on Saerb can end the Corrinthals in one stroke, War Regent. If we make examples of a few members of the northern nobility, the rest will quail. Selgaunt can be taken at your leisure.”

Mirabeta pushed away her plate and toasted Elyril with her wine goblet. “I like this course, Elyril. I like it very much.”

Elyril sat back in her chair, satisfied, and looked out over the city. In the distance, the dome of the High Council glimmered in the sunlight.

“Let us set things in motion,” Mirabeta said, and rang the magical bell on the table to summon the chamberlain. He arrived within a twenty count.

“Overmistress?”

“Malkur Forrin can be reached through Ostrim Heem at The Dented Kettle inn. Send word that he is to attend me immediately. Also, send Rynon to me. He is to prepare a sending for Lady Merelith. Saerloon needs to be warned of the kraken and given the order to speed its muster.”

Turest’s bug-eyes widened, but he said only, “Yes, Overmistress. And I shall have the table cleared apace.”

After Turest left, Elyril said, “Malkur Forrin?”

“If Saerb is to be an example to Selgaunt and the rest of Sembia, Forrin is exactly the type of man we want heading the attack. I will have words with him over allowing the Hulorn to escape. But war, like politics, is uncertain. Occasional setbacks are inevitable and sometimes owed to circumstance.” She looked meaningfully at Elyril. “Repeated setbacks, however, are more often owed to incompetence. Keep that in mind, niece, on your travels to Yhaunn.”

Elyril took her meaning but said nothing. She imagined how her aunt would scream when the Shadowstorm came and she died in darkness.

“Something amuses you?” Mirabeta asked.

Elyril shook her head. “No, aunt. I am merely enjoying the sunshine.”

ŚŠŚ ŚŠŚ

Abelar and Regg reached the abbey as the Dawnmeet finished. One solemn ring of the chapel’s ceremonial gong carried over the walls and denoted the end of the service. The faithful would be dispersing to their duties even as the guards alerted the Abbot to the presence of visitors.

The gatehouse guards, armed with broadswords, wore

yellow tabards over their breastplates and mail. They exited the gatehouse to stand before the immense double doors set into the abbey’s walls. They eyed Abelar and Regg coolly. Four crossbowmen atop the wall leveled their weapons at Abelar and Regg-

“What is this?” Regg asked, eyeing a crossbowman. “Do we look as if we intend to storm the walls? You see the rose on our shields.”

“We see it,” one of the crossbowmen said darkly.

Abelar recognized the two guards standing before the doors. “Beld, Dak, come now. None of this is necessary. I return as your brother in faith.”