Paul Kemp - Shadowstorm

"I am shocked at the destruction," Elyril said, though she was amused at the many ghosts of the dead that lingered around the wreckage, particularly around the stiltways. They floated here and there, grimacing. Kefil snapped at those within reach. Elyril continued. "The attack was outrageous, outside the bounds of decency."

Kalton licked his thin lips and looked about at the destruction. "On that we are agreed, Milady."

She put a hand on his forearm and saw the eager gleam it elicited in his eye. Kefil growled a warning.

"The rebels will be made to pay," she said. "I assure you of that. And my aunt soon will send additional aid to assist with the rebuilding here."

He placed his hand over hers and she held her smile despite his sweaty palm.

I wish to devour his balls, Kefil projected.

The thought pleased Elyril but she commanded the mastiff to heel.

Kalton caressed her hand. "I am pleased to hear that. Your aunt is an impressive woman. As are you."

She smiled and gently disengaged her hand from his. "Would it be possible to speak to the Watchblades who were guarding the Hole the night of the attack? My aunt is interested in determining the specific identity of the attackers who freed Endren Corrinthal."

He smiled and bowed, "We have already questioned them, as well as the corpse of the raider we felled, but you are welcome to speak to them again. The Watchblades I will put at your disposal. The corpse we preserved in anticipation of further investigation. I will arrange for all of that tonight, if it suits you.

"It does. Thank you, Kalton."

He smiled. "But before any of that, I insist you join me for a meal. It is already late afternoon and I am spoiled by your company."

Kefil circled around to Kalton's shadow and tore it to shreds. Kalton did not notice.

"You flatter me," Elyril said, and faked a smile. "Of course I will dine with you."

Later, prior to the meal, she stroked Kefil and inhaled an extra snuff of minddust, which helped her endure Kalton's babbling and his storm of boring stories. She laughed aloud when a swarm of flies burst from his mouth. He gagged and spat and she laughed all the harder. He seemed puzzled by her mirth and she did not bother to explain.

Afterward, she returned to her official residence-a well-appointed, two-story home and office near the Roadkeep that housed official guests of the Nessarch.

Did you murder him? Kefil asked. The mastiff lay stretched before the stone fireplace, faking sleep.

"Of course not," she said. "I am an ambassador. He is the Nessarch's son."

You are mad, Kefil said, and began to snore.

Elyril ignored the dog and prepared for her interrogations. She clothed herself in spells from Shar that allowed her to detect lies and that made her words supernaturally persuasive. She had the steward send for the guards from the Hole and interrogated them, one by one, in a small study.

Her spells made all of them deferential and cooperative but most had seen little. Moments after they had first heard the kraken attack, magical darkness had shrouded the interior guard post. They had never seen their attackers. The guards at the top of the lift had caught only a glimpse of the raiding party before they had been rendered unconscious by attackers who emerged from the shadows behind them.

Shadovar, Elyril assumed. She wondered how involved in events the Nightseer might have been. She pulled idly at the magical amethyst ring on her finger.

None of the guards had been complicit, Elyril determined, and none of them were lying. She had expected as much. The Nessarch's priests would have ferreted out any traitors.

The raiders numbered less than ten, by all accounts, but had moved so quickly and quietly that the guards had been unable to organize an effective response. By the time the guards had responded in number, Endren had already been freed. The guards had pursued, but one of the raiders sacrificed himself to give time for his fellows to escape; he killed seven guards with his hands before the other guards finally cut him down. His magically preserved body remained in the possession of the Nessarch's charnel keeper, in the bowels of the Roadkeep. Priests of Waukeen had questioned his corpse at the Nessarch's request, but learned nothing. They intended to try again, or so thought the guards.

The raiders never made it back to the lift. Instead, they fled down an old mineshaft. Stones and bolts had knocked them from the walls but no bodies had been found at the bottom. Importantly, Elyril learned that the Hole's zone of dead magic ended before the shaft hit bottom.

And that was how the raiders escaped, she assumed.

After hours of discussion with the guards, Elyril had learned little. Two tasks remained to her: an interview with a former guardsman named Phraig-the same Phraig who had been forced by the attackers to lead them to Endren-and an interview with the dead raider. Priests of Waukeen might not be able to compel the corpse to speak, but a priestess of Shar would.

While the steward sought Phraig-he had quit the guard recently-Elyril arranged for a carriage to transport her back to the Roadkeep.

When she arrived, she found that Kalton had instructed the staff to extend her every courtesy. A guard escorted her deep into the Roadkeep's lower levels. There, an elderly charnel worker in a stained leather apron met her.

"The corpse of the dead raider taken from the Hole," she said, and the small old man bobbed his head.

"Yes, Milady."

As they walked, the old man said, "The dead without a family or temple are brought here and interred in the old mines. We have converted them to catacombs."

Elyril nodded but paid little attention. The smell of death filled the air. She found it exciting.

Presently, they reached a small room. The elderly man fumbled with a key, turned the lock, and opened the door. Candlelight spilled out. The body of the raider, wrapped in grave cloth, lay atop a wooden table.

"Milady does not need to see the body underneath, I trust?" he asked.

"On the contrary," Elyril said. "I do."

The old man's face fell and he grumbled, "I will have to rewrap it, Milady. Has the Nessarch approved this?"

Elyril glared at him. "I serve the Overmistress of Sembia, granther. And the Nessarch answers to her. You are not too old to be flogged."

The old man paled and tottered to the table.

"No need to be hasty, Milady. No need for that, now."

He produced a small knife and slit the cloth that bound the body. Stink filled the room, despite the preservation spells. He cleared away the wrap to expose the body and stepped back.

"That will be all," Elyril said. "I need to examine his body for a certain mark. I will summon you when I have completed my investigation."

The thin, gray-haired man eyed her with suspicion but dared not gainsay her. He bobbed his head and withdrew. The closing door flickered the candle flames that lit the room.

Elyril ran her fingers over the dead man's purpling skin. An easterner, Elyril saw, from the eyelids and swarthy skin. But not a shade. Slashes from the guards' blades gaped in his flesh like open mouths. They whispered secrets to Elyril.

Make the book whole, they said. The storm will follow.

She touched her invisible holy symbol and quietly incanted the words to a spell that would pull a portion of the dead man's spirit back to his body. As she chanted, the room grew dark, the shadows long.

A soft purple glow emanated from the dead man's wounds. His eyes creaked open to reveal black orbs.

"Name yourself," Elyril commanded.

The stiff head turned awkwardly in her direction. The dead eyes fixed on her. "Return me to the night eternal, priestess."

"Name yourself," Elyril repeated.

The corpse's mouth hardened, but Elyril's spell pulled the words out. "I am Skelan."