Paul Kemp: Shadowstorm

"The sun rises and sets," he murmured to himself.

As they rode outside of crossbow range, Regg clapped Abelar on the shoulder and chuckled. "And you told me not to speak with heat."

Abelar could not bring himself to smile. "I was in error."

"You were not."

Regg's words did nothing to comfort him. "I miss my son, Regg."

He had left Elden, only four winters old, with a nurse back in the family estate near Saerb. Abelar wanted nothing more in that moment than to frolic in the sun and play orcs and knights with his boy.

Regg nodded and gave Abelar a sympathetic pat. He looked away and said nothing.

A call from behind turned them around. Three horsemen tore down the wagon path from the abbey. Rucksacks of gear swung crazily from their saddles. The horsemen waved a hand and shouted for Regg and Abelar to wait.

"That is Beld," Regg said, shielding his eyes. "With two others."

"It is."

Regg smiled. "We lost an Abbot but gained three blades. I will take that trade."

Abelar waved a welcome at Beld and his comrades. "The sun rises and sets," he said, this time in a firm voice.

Elyril and Mirabeta awaited Malkur Forrin in the tapestry bedecked meeting rooms within the overmistress's tallhouse. Elyril had gone several hours without a snuff of minddust and the lack made her irritable.

Bookshelves packed with scrolls and tomes lined two of the room's walls. Elyril eyed them and imagined holding in her hands the book to be made whole. Its lack, too, made her irritable.

Late morning sunlight carried through the large, leaded glass windows. Elyril sat in a soft armchair in a shadowed corner, out of the direct light. She leered at the shadows the sunlight cast on the wall and they leered back. She idly twisted the magical amethyst ring on her finger. She tried to remove the band but it stuck on her knuckle. She pulled harder and still it would not come off. She cursed it softly and the shadows laughed.

The ceiling creaked as the servants went about their business on the second floor. The sound grated on Elyril, made her itch behind the eyes.

"Aunt, I am eager to begin my preparations for the trip to Yhaunn. Perhaps I should retire to my suite and see to matters?"

She started to stand, imagining the welcome sting of minddust in her nostrils, the mind-opening perspective, the calm…

Mirabeta, who sat in a high-backed chair in the center of the chamber, did not look at her. "No. I want you here when Forrin arrives."

Elyril grimaced and gestured obscenely at her aunt's back. She walked to Mirabeta's side and drove her heel into her aunt's shadow on the floor. The shadow's wails delighted her but she kept the satisfaction from her face. The twisted faces that lived in the chamber's table laughed for her.

"I am your servant, Overmistress."

For now, whispered the faces.

A rap on the chamber door announced Malkur Forrin's arrival.

"Enter," Mirabeta called.

Turest opened the door and Malkur Forrin strode past him. Forrin brought with him the smell of leather, oiled steel, and the road. A chain hauberk hung from his shoulders, a broadsword from his belt. An open-faced helm capped his head. He doffed the helm, showing his graying hair and scars, and bowed.

"Overmistress. Lady Elyril. It is a pleasure to once more be in your company."

"That is all, Turest," Mirabeta said, and the chamberlain closed the door behind Forrin.

Forrin said, "My ladies, the payment we received was less than that to which we agreed. I have sent messengers to you and-"

Mirabeta's voice froze the room. "That is because the performance we received was less than that to which we agreed."

The mercenary's eyes narrowed in a question. "In what regard, Overmistress?"

Mirabeta's voice remained calm. "The Hulorn lives, does he not?"

Irritation creased Forrin's tanned brow. "He does, but what of it?"

"He is a man I asked you to kill," Mirabeta said, her voice rising with each word. "He is a man who, having survived your attack, entered into an alliance with the Shadovar of Shade Enclave."

Malkur drew himself up, crossed his hands behind his back, and stuck out his whiskered chin. "That is unfortunate, but hardly my fault. And may I remind the Overmistress that Miklos and Kavin Selkirk lie in unmarked graves in the wilderness-as you wished-while Saerloon is allied to your cause, believing itself attacked by rebels-also as you wished. All of that is due to Malkur Forrin and his Blades. Surely you do not intend to focus on the escape of a single man to renege on your bargain?"

Mirabeta rapped her fist on the table and glared at Forrin. "No. I choose to focus on the Hulorn's escape because allowing it was a failure, and I do not tolerate failure, in matters large or small."

Malkur's lips curled in a snarl, revealing a couple of missing teeth, and he put a hand to his sword hilt, a gesture Elyril marked not as a threat, but as habit.

"Failure?" he said. "Overmistress, the Hulorn was aided in his escape by a shade-no doubt a Shadovar, which suggests that the alliance you mentioned was in place before he escaped me and would have continued whether he lived or died. But still we would have had him. Only the arrival of Abelar Corrinthal's forces saved him."

"An excuse," Elyril observed.

Malkur glared at Elyril, back at Mirabeta. "An excuse? Perhaps if the younger Corrinthal had not been allowed to escape Ordulin, matters would have turned out differently. What of that failure?"

"That was a political decision," Elyril said.

"An excuse," Forrin answered with a sneer.

Elyril affected a thoughtful expression and looked to her aunt. "Aunt, did I mishear or did this mercenary just imply that Abelar Corrinthal is a better field commander than he? Perhaps we should-"

Malkur stiffened at the slight. "Hardly, Milady. Corrinthal's forces outnumbered mine more than two to one. And as I have already explained to the overmistress-"

"Shut your mouth," Mirabeta said harshly, and Malkur, eyes wide with surprise, did exactly that. Mirabeta continued. "You come into my presence and speak with such insolence?"

Before Forrin could stutter a reply, Mirabeta said, "Do you think that your knowledge of recent events insulates you from my anger? That it frees your tongue to speak to me as if I am one of your sergeants? I assure you, it does not."

Malkur's eyes went from surprised to sly. "I know what has happened here, Overmistress. I am a soldier but no fool. You have lied your way into a war, probably murdered your own cousin. I am pleased with both matters, but let us at least be candid with one another. Your grip on power depends upon those lies remaining as buried as Kendrick's sons."

Mirabeta sat as still as the dead. "My hold on power depends on nothing of the sort. What you think to have occurred is utterly unimportant. Are you so stupid as to think that the truth matters? Are you?"

"We are past that," Elyril said, nodding.

Mirabeta said, "I speak and the nobility and the rest of the populace believe what I say. The words no longer matter. They wish to believe me. They need to believe me."

Elyril saw the opening offered by her aunt and took it.

"So you go tell your tale, mercenary. And the overmistress will respond by saying that Malkur Forrin is a treasonous liar who seeks to discredit her to avenge his removal from the Sembian military by the Selkirk family."

"That is not so," Malkur said dismissively.

Elyril said, "You will be imprisoned in the Hole and die there."

"Overmistress…"

Mirabeta followed Elyril's lead. "Malkur Forrin and his Blades are Zhentarim all, and were behind a plot to murder the overmistress and replace her with a shapeshifter in her guise."

"Another lie," Malkur said, but less dismissively. Elyril saw nervousness sneaking into his eyes.