Eric De Bie - Shadowbane

“Myrin,” Kalen implored. “He-Toytere is using you. To what end, I don’t know, but you need to come with me. I want-” He trailed off.

Myrin did not waver. “You want what ?” She looked him right in the eye.

To that, Kalen had no response.

“Good,” Myrin said. “Glad we had this talk.”

They broke apart, both of them breathing hard. Rhett stared at them, his eyes wide.

“Myrin,” Kalen said. “Luskan has been an overflowing latrine for a century. Hundreds of folk far better than you or I have tried to save this city and failed.”

She rose to the challenge. Runes of blue fire appeared on her skin and flames started crackling around her fingers. “Better than you , perhaps.”

“Please, just listen to me.”

“I’m staying.” Myrin turned away, then spoke over her shoulder. “And if you really want to help me, then you’ll just have to stay, too.”

Kalen stared at her back. He saw her shoulders trembling, though with anger or something else, he did not know. She was being stubborn to a fault. It reminded him of Cellica, and why not? The two women had been the best of friends, for the short time they’d known each other. Then Cellica had died and the very same assassin had kidnapped and almost killed Myrin. Why couldn’t she see he only wanted to protect her?

“Rhett,” Kalen said. “I’m leaving. Come with me or stay, it’s all the same.”

Myrin stiffened at those words, but she stood firm.

Rhett, on the other hand, loosed a groan of frustration. “Enough,” he said. “I don’t know what passes between the two of you and I don’t care. But for the space of ten breaths, will you listen to a compromise?”

Try as he might to dismiss the boy as an empty-headed noble fop, Kalen found that Rhett often made a great deal of sense. He nodded.

Myrin too was looking at Rhett with an expectant gaze. “Go on,” she said.

“Right,” Rhett said. “No one can leave anyway, what with the plague.”

The plague. In his drive to find Myrin, Kalen had almost forgotten about the plague. He saw again the dead Dustclaw with risen welts and rotting flesh and the things moving under his skin.

“The Fury,” Myrin said crisply. When Kalen and Rhett both looked at her blankly, she explained. “It’s what the people of Luskan call it. No one knows how it spreads, but once you catch it, you go mad-trying to kill anyone and anything in sight. Eventually, you die in a fight or the plague consumes your mind.”

“Right,” Rhett said with a shiver.

“You seem to know much about it,” Kalen said, struggling to keep his voice calm.

“Toy told me.” Again, Myrin seemed to have left their argument completely behind. She spoke efficiently, as though reciting from memory. “It leaves skeletons of all different races, bleached and stripped of any remaining flesh. Some believe it’s a magical malady.” She shrugged, as though that were not just possible but likely.

With a chill, Kalen remembered the skeleton he’d found in the butcher’s shop, wedged into the closet. Had that also been a victim of the plague? And what of the rat, trapped with the bones, who had perished only heartbeats after attaining freedom?

“I propose that we find the source of the plague,” Rhett went on. “If it’s a natural malady, we find out where it comes from and how it spreads. If it’s a wizard, we stop him. In this way, we help Luskan-which makes Lady Darkdance happy.” He looked at Myrin, who nodded. “With the plague gone, the quarantine will end, which makes me happy. I can go back to interesting duties, if Father can get the Guard to take me back.” Rhett smiled. “Also with the quarantine gone, we can leave Luskan, which makes Saer Shadowbane happy. All three of us get what we want. Right?”

“Right.” Myrin looked positively delighted by that suggestion.

Kalen couldn’t help shaking his head, frustrated but impressed. Perhaps there was something to this boy after all. The sword had chosen him-no doubt it had a purpose. But could Kalen take that chance again, after what had happened to Vaelis? He didn’t often pray and he’d sworn never to beg, but right now, he felt like doing both.

Mercy, Threefold God , Kalen said silently.

“Very well,” he said finally. “If Myrin really is in command, we can do this thing. But”-he fixed Myrin with his gaze-“will you promise to leave with us when it’s over?”

“Very well.” Myrin nodded. “That’ll give us, me , plenty of time. To make a difference, I mean.”

Suddenly suspicious, Kalen scrutinized Myrin. She was not saying everything. A year ago, she’d worn her thoughts on her face, but now he couldn’t read her as easily.

“Very well,” Kalen said. “Rhett, you’re Myrin’s warder.”

Myrin’s smile evaporated. “What? Sir Reginald ?”

“It’s Rhett, actually,” the lad said. “And me ? What about you?”

“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.”

“ Mystra , Kalen! You’d think he was plotting some imminent betrayal right now.”

“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.