Erik de Bie - Downshadow

Several times, Myrin stumbled and almost fell on one of the many trip steps between chambers that changed level slightly from room to room. Kalen caught her each time, as he knew the perils, and each time she lingered a little longer in his embrace before pulling away with a laugh.

They sat in a curtained alcove on the second floor of the Bell. A tall, thin servant wiped the table clean with an ale-stained rag as they sat. Then he stood waiting, and Myrin looked at Kalen awkwardly, out of her depth.

"You have the courses written?" Kalen asked.

The servant smiled and handed them printed menus-grand, elegantly scripted affairs on thick parchment. Myrin's eyes widened at the lists and she began reading immediately, fascinated.

In addition to a thick warming stew and fresh bread, Kalen ordered a pie of fowl while Myrin opted for boiled tahllap noodles with fresh vegetables and goat cheese. She tried a weak mulled wine, and Kalen requested a small glass of zzar for himself. The night was cold, and he felt like strong drink. The taste of almonds was intense enough tp touch his numb tongue.

Myrin particularly liked the first-spring strawberries that came before the meal, and Kalen was glad to let her have all of them. He rather liked her little smile and the way she closed her eyes as she set each one against her lips to savor the taste. Once, she caught him looking and blushed.

He looked away and sipped his zzar. It had a bite that warmed his insidcs.

"You should tell me about yourself," she said. She blushed again. "A little, if you like-I just remember so litde about myself, and I'd rather we spoke than sat in silence, aye?"

Kalen shrugged. "For instance?"

Myrin looked at her food. "That woman-Raysc. She's…" "My superior in the Guard," Kalen said. Myrin colored. "She's… she's very pretty." "Yes." Kalen fell silent.

Myrin was flustered. "I'm sorry-I didn't mean…"

Kalen shrugged. "Nothing else binds Rayse and me," he said. "There was once, but that was some time ago."

Myrin shook her head. "I didn't mean to ask-that was improper."

"All's well." Kalen reached across the table to touch her chin. Myrin looked up, startled, then smiled.

Kalen realized what he had done and retracted his arm. "Never you mind."

She started to speak but the words became half hiccup, half belch, and she covered her mouth, giggling. Kalen looked back at his food. He wished she'd stop doing that-he knew what Fayne meant, now, when she'd called Myrin "adorable."

"Kalen," Myrin said. "About today. About Fayne."

Kalen stiffened and wondered if she could read his thoughts.

Myrin looked down at her empty soup bowl. "I know why I'm seeking her, because she might be hurt, but why are you doing it?"

Kalen sipped his zzar. "Personal business," he said.

"Oh." Myrin bit her lip. She radiated disappointment like light and heat from the sun.

"Not that personal," Kalen said. "I… last night, I said something to her that was cruel and unfair. I need to beg her pardon." That was at least part of the trurh.

"Oh." Myrin didn't ask anything more, but her eyes lingered. Kalen ordered another zzar.

"Will you tell me?" Myrin asked. "Cellica told me only a little. What passed, last night?"

He shrugged. "It's not important."

Myrin's eyes fell and she said nothing. Kalen's reply seemed to have displeased her. He might have spoken again, but their food arrived, steaming and delicious. As always, Myrin fell to her plare with relish, as though to make up for years of fasting. Kalen ate only half-hearredly.

"Speak," Myrin said. "Tell me something-anything about you!" She smiled sweetly.

Kalen wanted to speak, but there were too many things he did not want to say-either to her, or to himself. About Fayne. About Lorien and Lady Ilira. It left him uncertain.

As she ate, he started speaking. Not of Fayne, or Ilira, or Lorien, or anything about Waterdeep at all. He spoke about Shadowbane.

He told her, in quiet tones that would not be ovetheard, of his quest. He spoke of his training in Westgate and of Levia, his teacher. He told her of the Luskan of his youth, when he and Cellica had stolen and begged for their meals, or used her voice when she could. How in his eighth winter he had met Gedrin Shadowbane-the Night Mask turned paladin, founder and leader of the Eye of Justice-who had changed his life.

Kalen told Myrin of the oath Gedrin had exacted from him- never to beg again-and he spoke tightly of Vindicator, bequeathed to him and now in the hands of Araezra.

"Perhaps she is more worthy of it," Kalen murmured.

Myrin looked up, wiped her eyes, and laid her hand on his wris$› "You protected me," she said. "You have your powers back. Should you not have your god's sword back, roo?"

Kalen smiled. "As the Eye judges," he said. "If I am worthy, it will come back to me. If I am not… then may it bring Araezra victory ill her aims. I hope she honors it as I tried to."

Myrin drew her hand away. "It must be well," she said. "Having a god to serve. I don't know what god I served-if I even had one."

They sat in awkward silence, and Kalen was aware that Myrin was looking at him from the corner of her eye. She had stopped eating, and without knowing why, Kalen could sense she was upset. Was it something about her memory?

"Kalen," Myrin asked finally, "why do you do this?"

He looked down at his drink.

"If I don't," he said, "then who will?"

Myrin kept her eyes on him. "Who was that man I sawyestereve?" she asked, barely whispering. "When the villain was running and you hurt him anyway-just to hurt him?"

Kalen understood why she was upset. "That man attacked you," he said.

"But he was fleeing," Myrin said. "He would have run away, but you gave chase. You hurt him, when you didn't need to. Why?"

Kalen shrugged. "You wouldn't understand."

"Stop it!" Myrin touched his hand. Kalen felt a little tingle, electric, beneath his skin. Her eyes were very bright in the candlelight. "This isn't you-you aren't so cold."

Kalen opened his mouth, but a delicate cough arose near their table. The servant had returned. He hovered, looking awkward. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt."

Kalen loosed Myrin's hand, and the girl looked embarrassed.

"Not at all," Kalen said. He reached in his scrip for coin. "We're finished, I think."

Other diners called for the servant, who nodded to Kalen and Myrin and left.

Kalen turned back to Myrin. He wished he could tell her everything-all the awful things he had done as a younger man-but he knew that would erase her smile. And that… he couldn't bear to do that.

"Mayhap we should buy me a weapon," Myrin said on their way back to Kalen's tallhouse. Her arm was linked in his, and any tension from the evenfeast had passed.

"Why?" Kalen examined her critically. Despite having eaten like a ravenous dog for two days, the girl was thin and light, almost frail. She didn't have the muscle or constitution for a duel at arms. "You have me."

She blushed. "But when you aren't there-like at the ball," she said. "A weapon for me to defend myself with, rather than with-you know." She waved her fingers.

"Like whar?" Kalen asked. "A sword?"

"A dagger," Myrin said. "Small, light, eminently fashionable." She mimed patting the hilt of a blade sheathed at her hip and grinned. "Easy."

"Daggers are more difficult than swords." Kalen shook his head, which was clouded with zzar. He wasn't accustomed to strong drink. "Most of knife fighting is grappling," he said in response to her disbelieving look. "You don't have that sort of build."

Myrin crossed her arms. "I still want one."

Kalen paused in the street and shrugged. He drew the steel he usually kept in a wrist sheath. Myrin's eyes widened when she saw the knife emerge seemingly out of the air, and he passed it to her. As she marveled ar it, he unbuckled his wrist sheath and secured it on her belt.