The Halls of Stormweather s-1 Page 21

  "But we're friends," protested the six-year-old Tal. "That isn't fair."

  "I'll always be your friend, in here," replied Larajin, placing the tip of a finger over her heart. "But now I must call you 'Master Talbot' and answer only when you speak to me."

  "That's stupid," said Tal crossly. He furrowed his brow and considered the options.

  "If I don't, I'll be punished," she said reasonably.

  "Not if nobody else hears you," argued Tal. "When we're alone, you can call me Tal, and we can be friends, and nobody will know."

  Larajin looked ready to protest, but then she agreed. "We'll be secret friends, then."

  Tal reached for her hand in the secret pirate handgrip. It was secret because pirates was the one game that would win him a thrashing if he were discovered. Father hated pirates.

  "Promise," said Tal. "We'll be friends forever, even if it has to be a secret."

  "Promise," agreed Larajin, returning the secret sign, her hand gripping Tal's wrist, then making a fist inside his own hand, already almost as big as her own. "Forever."

  Thirteen years later, Tal remembered that promise.

  "I haven't forgotten," she replied, "but we aren't children anymore." A beat later she added, "Tal."

  "No," agreed Tal, "but a promise is a promise." He gently covered her shoulders with his massive hands, intending to embrace her as he did his sister. Before he could, however, he felt a most unbrotherly stirring and dared not draw her close.

  Larajin must have seen something on his face, for she took his hands from her shoulders. "Lord Thamalon the elder awaits you," she reminded him. Her tone was formal, but she took the sting away with a last, warm squeeze of Tal's hands.

  Tal smiled in agreement, took a deep breath, and turned to enter the library.

  *****

  The Uskevren family library was not by any means the most comprehensive in Selgaunt, but what it lacked in volume it made up in comfort and beauty.

  Besides the inevitable shelves of scrolls and books, the library contained a fantastic collection of artwork. What separated it from the many other collections in the city was that each piece was distinctly elven.

  Most citizens of Selgaunt would rather rub shoulders with Red Wizards or Tuigan barbarians than consort with the elves of the great forest north of Sembia. Centuries of rivalry and conflict had burned deep resentment into the hearts of Sembians, so much so that their scorn was not limited to the elves of the kingdom of Cormanthor. Very few elves of any sort lived in Sembia, and any association with their kind was considered disgraceful.

  While Thamalon Uskevren did not share the bigotry of his countrymen, he was wise enough to confine his love for things elven to the privacy of his library. Tal was not surprised to find him there, surrounded by the fabulous masks of the green elves, the wondrous dreamcatchers of the gold elves, and the excruciatingly beautiful crystal of the moon elves.

  Amid all these beauties, Thamalon Uskevren sat beside a chess table. Upon it were arrayed exquisite figures of ivory and mahogany, no doubt carved by an elven artisan.

  Tal could tell by his father's expression that there would be no small talk.

  "Start from the beginning," said Thamalon Uskevren. The white-haired patriarch had already made his standard opening, pawn to queen's four. He frowned intently at the ivory pieces before him, his black brows forming a dark chevron above his deep green eyes.

  Tal took the seat behind the mahogany pieces and opened with his knight, a move that invariably irked the elder Uskevren, who considered it reckless. "After some debate, we decided that the owlbears would be hibernating."

  Thamalon moved to protect his pawn without hesitation.

  Tal knew at once that this would be a match of lightning chess, which he preferred. He soon became bored during a longer, more considered match. He advanced his other knight, a dragon rampant. "We decided to hunt boar. There's little for them to eat in winter, so they root for yams."

  Thamalon advanced a pawn, threatening Tal's knight. Still, he didn't speak.

  "Right after a kill, you gut the boar and make sausages. They're filled with sweet yams, you see, and you roast them on an open flame." Tal advanced his knight again, looking at his father's face for a reaction. "You slice them while they're still steaming hot."

  At last the elder Uskevren's patience cracked. "Unless you've been missing for nigh on a month because of food poisoning, I fail to see the point." He pressed the attack against Tal's first knight with another pawn.

  "We killed a boar on the first day," said Tal. He retreated the knight. "It was when I left the camp to relieve myself of some of the your Usk Fine Old that we were attacked."

  "So, you were drunk," said Thamalon. He followed the retreat relentlessly, intent on showing Tal the folly of his twin knights' attack, as he had done so often.

  "I wasn't drunk," said Tal with a hint of indignation. His knight safe at last, he advanced his own pawn. "Being away from camp probably saved my life. I heard shouting, not all of it from the other hunters. By then it was dark, and men were screaming. I ran back to the campfire. Before I could reach it, something began chasing me."

  "An owlbear?" Thamalon freed his king's bishop by advancing another pawn.

  "I think so." Tal opened the outer line of his own king's bishop.

  "Did you see an owlbear?" persisted Thamalon.

  "No, I didn't see it. Maybe it was something else. Whatever it was, I didn't have a spear, so I ran." Tal described his terrified flight through the Arch Wood in unadorned terms, pausing only briefly to respond to the ever-changing board. "Eventually, I escaped."

  "And how was that?" asked Thamalon Uskevren.

  "By cleverly throwing myself over a cliff," said Tal dryly.

  At last the old man's eyes met Tal's, suspecting a jest.

  "Honestly," said Tal. "I couldn't see where I was going, but it probably saved my life."

  Thamalon pressed an attack on Tal's king's flank, threatening his second knight with pawns while advancing his own king's knight, an ivory unicorn. "Tell me the rest."

  The rest of the story unfolded much like the game of chess, quickly and in short bursts. Tal told the story, and Thamalon interjected a question here and there. The elder Uskevren explained that Chaney and the other survivors had already given their accounts to the city guard, and Thamalon had interviewed them afterward, learning little more.

  "I called upon High Loremaster Yannathar," explained Thamalon. "His acolytes cast divinations at once. Nothing."

  "I knew that old woman was a wizard," said Tal, "or maybe a priest. She must have hidden me from magic."

  "We'll find her," asserted Thamalon. "Then we'll have the truth of it."

  "She mentioned a name-Dhauna Myritar."

  "Hmm." Thamalon tapped his chin with a forefinger as he considered the name, momentarily distracted from the game. "That has a certain familiar echo." Snapping out of his reverie, he resumed his attack on Tal's chess pieces. "Continue."

  Tal resumed his tale, eventually coming to the point when he ordered Eckart to return his belongings to the tallhouse.

  "By no means!" snapped Thamalon. "You're to stay in Stormweather until this business is sorted out."

  "Check," said Talbot.

  "What?" Thamalon observed the board. He had captured one of his son's knights and two of his pawns at the cost of only three of his own pawns. What he hadn't realized was how badly he had exposed his king's flank in the process. Fortunately for him, it was not a fatal check, and he moved quickly to block it with a protected bishop.

  "I'll be staying in the tallhouse," said Tal. "I didn't come home rescued by your men-but thanks for sending them."

  Thamalon's jaw tightened, but he controlled his voice as he replied, "Son, it's foolishness to leave yourself exposed after such an obvious attempt."

  "Who knows that it was aimed at me? There were ten other sons of equally wealthy families-"

  "Not quite as wealthy," interjected Thamalon. "And not my
sons."

  "Father," said Tal evenly. "I'm not moving back into Stormweather."

  "I can stop paying your rent," warned Thamalon.

  "Yes, and you can cut off my stipend, too. I'll move in with Chaney and start taking my shares at the theater."

  "You'll do no such thing!" roared Thamalon. Tal had to suppress a smile at the thought that he'd been acting his father's part just a few hours earlier. Had he looked so furious to Eckart? "That wastrel is the worst possible influence-"

  "Check," said Tal, meeting his father's angry gaze. He wasn't even sure it was true until Thamalon looked down at the board and scowled.

  "Speaking of Chaney," said Tal, trying not to sound curt and failing, "he's probably looking for me right now. It's good to see you again. Thanks for looking for me. I'll visit soon." He stood before he could lose his courage, but he faltered as he reached for the door and heard his father's voice.

  "Tal," said Thamalon. He almost never contracted Tal's name. "I want only the best for you, my boy. I just wish you could be-"

  "More like you," said Tal with a rueful smile, finishing the unspoken refrain of their relationship. He opened the door and stepped through.

  "You don't have to be exactly like me," said Thamalon as the door closed. "Just be something. Just do something. Make something of yourself."

  "I will, one day," promised Tal from the other side of the door. "You'll see."

  *****

  Chaney was sleeping so soundly at his own flat that Tal left him alone. He knew Eckart would still be busily supervising the return of the household furnishings rather than risk Tal's wrath. While the servant was no Erevis Cale, Tal noted with amusement and a little guilt that he'd put the fear of Thamalon the Elder into the man. If he could imitate the bearing as well as the voice, perhaps he could persuade Mistress Quickly to cast him as something other than a soldier in her next production.

  Thoughts of the theater reminded Tal that the troupe probably had not yet heard of his return. Today's last show had begun over an hour earlier, but there was still time to visit before the play's end.

  Outside, Tal looked up and down the street for his father's guards. He smiled as he spotted the corner of a blue cloak whipping back into a nearby alley. Sometimes he'd play a game with his father's paid men, darting into an alley or using the back door of a tavern to slip away from them. Considering his recent ordeal, he didn't mind a few guards tonight.

  Tal cupped a hand beside his mouth and cried, "I'm going to the theater!" One of the family guards poked his head back around the corner. He touched the brim of his helm with an expression composed of equal parts guilt and gratitude. Tal returned the courtesy by not looking back over his shoulder at each corner.

  The Wide Realms was a simple open-sky theater in the round, with a few permanent enchantments in place to keep out the rain and cold. Mistress Quickly had invested a fortune in constructing the building with such conveniences, so none of the troupe complained of her generous shares in each production. She had even paid to lift an expensive enchantment she'd commissioned to mute the audience. Rather than improve the actors' concentration, it had made them constantly nervous that they weren't evoking sufficient laughter, sobs, or-most importantly-applause.

  Tal knew by the hour that tonight's show was nearly over, so he went directly to the stage entrance. He had to repeat the company rap three times before the door opened, seemingly by itself. Beyond, Tal saw the familiar chaos of rigging and storage.

  "Tal!" cried a high, whispery voice at his feet. A tiny green creature with bright feline eyes clambered up the front of his clothes and clutched affectionately at his hair.

  "Lommy!" exclaimed Tal. When the little tasloi wasn't capering about on stage as a clown, he was usually up in the rafters, operating the mechanicals with his brother, Otter. Tal gave the minuscule creature a gentle hug before trying to peel him off. Lommy refused to budge, pressing his long, flat forehead against Tal's cheek. Tal had never seen the intimate gesture extended to anyone but Otter or Mistress Quickly, the tasloi's adoptive mother.

  If Tal had stretched Lommy straight out, the tasloi would measure little more than two feet tall. He looked even smaller when loping across the floor or swinging through the rigging, his fine black hair forming a wake behind him. More often than not, both Lommy and Otter were invisible to the casual observer, lurking in the upper shadows.

  "Lommy is very happy," whispered the tasloi. "Lommy was afraid Tal died, but Otter said Tal would come back."

  "Tal is happy Otter was right," grinned Tal. The tasloi indifference to pronouns was infections among the actors, and the creatures often bore the curses of actors who flubbed their lines after chatting with one of them. Tal was half certain the idiosyncrasy was not a cultural trait but one cultivated by Mistress Quickly for exotic effect.

  "Shh!" warned an actor standing near one of the stage entrances. Then the young woman recognized Tal and threw him a friendly wave. With Lommy perched happily on his shoulder, Tal joined her at the curtain, where they watched the final scenes of the play.

  Mallion Dray had taken the part Tal would have had if he hadn't disappeared. As the hotheaded son of an unlawful king, he was about to meet his doom at the hands of the rightful prince, played by Sivana Alasper, a woman of such androgynous beauty that she often took the role of young men. Such gender trading was a hallmark of Mistress Quickly's troupe, and she often composed comedies based on the old trick.

  As the hero, Sivana stood before the company's prized prop, an enspelled long sword with the conveniently theatrical powers of producing light, flame, or a variety of thrilling sounds upon command. As Tal watched, Sivana grasped the weapon and spoke a line in which the command syllables were carefully hidden. The weapon blazed with blue light, proving the young hero's claim to the throne.

  Tal had choreographed the fight scene months ago, eagerly anticipating the chance to play the dark prince. He tried not to feel jealous as Mallion leaped to the attack with the aid of a springboard hidden behind a small pile of artificial stones. The slender actor flew gracefully over the shoulder of his opponent, landing behind her to strike the first blow.

  The fight varied from Tal's original design here and there, usually to take advantage of Mallion's lighter build. Tal noticed with some chagrin that the death scene had changed to include one of the stage's four hidden trapdoors. He felt that Quickly overused the device, but he had to admit that it pleased the crowd to see the vanquished pretender pulled down into the ninth hell as the triumphant prince dealt him the killing blow.

  As the applause died and the actors left the stage, Tal found himself the center of attention. The resources of House Uskevren might have detected his arrival as soon as he set foot in the city, but everyone at the Wide Realms was astonished to see him in the flesh. Soon he was dizzy from the hugs, kisses, and occasional friendly gropes.

  "Don't think this means you get the part back," warned Mallion.

  "How could I top that performance?" said Tal. "But next time it's my turn to use the sword."

  "You'll have to take it from me, first," declared Sivana, sketching a flourish with the blade before leaping up to grab the bars of a big steel cage hanging behind the stage. The troupe still hadn't found a use for the gigantic prop, which Mistress Quickly had bought for a production of "The Royal Prisoner" the previous spring.

  Tal grinned at the challenge and started toward her, but before he'd taken a second step, powerful arms closed around his waist and lifted him off the floor.

  "My boy!" cried a husky voice. Mistress Quickly set him down just long enough to kiss him full on the mouth. As usual, her breath smelled of garlic and pipeweed.

  Quickly was a big woman, almost six feet tall and wound tight with muscle. She was the only one in the troupe who could have lifted Tal off the floor, and when she held him at arm's length to look him over, he doubted he could escape her powerful grip.

  "You look little worse for the wear," she said appraisingly. "Tasty as alway
s," she added with a leer, revealing a prominent gap between her front teeth. Her features were broad and almost comical, even without the garish makeup she wore on and off the stage. No one dared guess at her age, though to account the thousands of stories she told of her five late husbands, she might have been a hundred.

  "Let's hear the whole story," boomed Quickly, "and not in any tavern full of tilting ears. Who'll be a dear and fetch us a keg?"

  *****

  The long journey and the many reunions since his return finally caught up with Tal shortly after dark. With some difficulty, he extricated himself from his friends with a promise to return soon.

  His tallhouse wasn't far from the theater, so he walked. He made it all the way home before realizing that he'd forgotten to call out to his father's guards. Mindful of the irony, he hoped he hadn't lost them by accident.

  He'd forgotten to ask Eckart for another key to the front door, so Tal went to the cellar entrance again. As he descended the stairs, his boot struck something, causing a ceramic clatter. He bent down to pick it up. A bowl from the kitchen.

  With a startling scream, a furious animal threw itself from a ledge at Tal's face. Razor claws tore his skin before the creature pushed away and dropped to the ground. Tal turned to see the orange tabby retreating across the street, hissing and yowling as it was chased out of its territory.

  "Damn it!" hissed Tal. He touched his cheek and felt the wetness there. His affection for the local cats was diminishing by the day.

  *****

  "Take that, you scoundrel!" cried Tal. His sword was a blur against a weakening barrier of retreating parries. Between each sharp rap of the blades, he could hear his opponent's labored breathing. Tal hadn't yet broken a sweat, despite a night full of troubling dreams. "Had enough?" he called.