Paul Kemp: Shadowstorm

"They will not heed us," Regg said. "And they may arrest us. They banished you, Abelar. Abbot Denril sent you from them."

Abelar nodded. "That, he did."

The memory pained him. Abelar had learned how to wield a blade and shield from Denril, long before the priest had become Abbot and taken charge of the abbey. Denril had sponsored Abelar's entry into the Order of the Aster after Abelar, at eighteen winters, had saved a passing caravan by slaying a rampaging ogre single-handedly. Denril also had presided over Abelar's dismissal from the Order and the abbey after Abelar had refused to acknowledge the truth of the Risen Sun heresy. Their parting had been bitter.

"He is as much politician as priest," Regg said with contempt.

"You underestimate him," Abelar said.

Regg looked at him from under his bushy brows. "I pray you are correct, but fear you are not. He would gain much were he to turn you over to Mirabeta."

Sunlight caught the flecks of mica embedded in the abbey's smooth walls and they sparkled like a dragon's trove. The stained glass arches set into the upper windows of the chapel's towers flashed in the sun.

When he had first come to the abbey, Abelar had sometimes snuck out before dawn just to sit in the grass, commune with Lathander, and watch the light from the rising sun grace the abbey. He missed the feeling of those days. They had been… innocent. It had been easy then to know friend from foe, right from wrong.

Much had changed.

"They will be at Dawnmeet," Regg said.

"We will give them time to finish," Abelar said, and turned Swiftdawn so that she faced the rising sun.

Regg did the same and they held their own Dawnmeet service, reciting a brief prayer together.

"Dawn dispels the night and births the world anew," they said in unison. "May Lathander light our way, show us wisdom, and in so doing, allow us to be a light to others."

They dismounted and took a meal of hardtack in silence. Like everyone in Sembia, they rationed their food. The priests in Abelar's company used their spells to provide the men with enough food to stave off hunger, but Abelar hoarded it like it was gold.

After they had eaten, they remounted and rode toward the abbey.

"The guards in the gatehouse will soon see us coming," Regg said. "They will be prepared for our arrival."

"Aye," said Abelar. He held his shield forward, in plain view, so that the rose of Lathander emblazoned on it would be visible.

Elyril and Mirabeta sat at a small table on the open-air balcony of the three-story tallhouse that the overmistress occupied while in Ordulin. Elyril wore a simple, long-sleeved dress to shield her pale skin from the morning sun. Her dark-haired aunt wore a formal green day gown.

A banner flying Sembia's heraldry-the raven and silver-hung from the roof eaves above them. Smaller pennons flanked it to either side, both flying Ordulin's golden wagon wheel on a field of green. All three flapped softly in the gentle breeze. The hum of conversation and the rumble of wagons carried up from the cobblestone street below. Elyril heard the occasional order barked by the uniformed Helms who kept the pedestrian traffic at a discreet distance from the overmistress's tallhouse.

One of Mirabeta's mute serving girls, pole-thin and sunken-eyed, stood unobtrusively near the open double doorway that led into the tallhouse. Mirabeta had brought her own staff to Ordulin from Ravenholme.

"The sunlight is pleasant," Mirabeta said.

Elyril and her aunt breakfasted on dried currants, day old bread, and a light, fruity wine from Raven's Bluff.

"It is," Elyril lied.

Mirabeta glanced up at the pennons. "I think I will change Sembia's colors to something that includes the Selkirk falcon."

The overmistress smiled, obviously pleased at the thought. She still held the same satisfied air she had worn since a rump session of the High Council had elected her War Regent. Elyril did not share her aunt's sense of ease. Since setting the Sembian civil war into motion, she had received contact from neither Volumvax nor the Nightseer, and her communions with Shar had resulted only in frustration. She did not fully understand her role in events and her ignorance irritated her. She felt herself on the verge of a revelation, but always it remained just out of reach. Only increasingly frequent use of minddust allowed her to endure the uncertainty.

"Malkur Forrin is returned to Ordulin," Mirabeta said. "The Hulorn escaped him. I received the news yesterday."

"That is regrettable," Elyril said. "How did the Uskevren manage to escape? Perhaps word of events reached him on the road?"

"I have no details yet," Mirabeta said, and sipped her wine. "My envoys to Cormyr and Cormanthyr report a favorable response to our overtures. Both the Regent and the new Coronal appear to accept the premise that our… current troubles are and should remain an internal Sembian affair."

"That is welcome news, aunt."

In truth, neither Cormyr nor the elves of Cormanthyr were in positions to take sides in the Sembian conflict. Both had recently fought wars of their own. Sighs of relief in Arabel and the elven halls had probably greeted Mirabeta's gentle demand that they remain neutral in Sembia's conflict.

Footfalls approached from within the tallhouse. Mirabeta's chamberlain, Turest Gillan, appeared in the doorway. A defect of birth-common among the Selkirks' inbred servants-caused his heavy-lidded eyes to look in two different directions. Tufts of gray hair jutted this way and that from his overlarge skull.

He stood in silence, waiting to be recognized. Elyril watched his form blur and shimmer, moving rapidly through time. He changed from adolescent to elderly and back to his fifty or so winters in the span of a heartbeat. Only Elyril seemed to notice the changes.

"Turest?" Mirabeta said at last.

The chamberlain bowed, avoiding eye contact, not an easy matter for a man who looked in two directions at once. Mirabeta would flog even her chamberlain for presuming to look her in the face. Elyril had once heard the chamberlain scream while being punished. He had a pleasant, high-pitched screech that amused her.

"A credentialed messenger has arrived, Overmistress. He bears a missive under seal from Yhaunn."

Mirabeta swallowed a currant and dabbed her mouth with a hand cloth. "Verify that the message is genuine. If so, bring it to me and extend such courtesies to the messenger as are appropriate. If not, bring it to me and have the messenger fed to the dogs."

"Yes, Overmistress."

Elyril and Mirabeta shared a curious glance as Turest exited the balcony. The mute serving girl, as quiet as a ghost, moved to the table and refilled their wine goblets, then returned to her station.

Elyril said, "Perhaps Endren Corrinthal has died in the Hole."

"Tymora has never favored me with such good fortune," Mirabeta said, but smiled nevertheless.

Turest returned shortly thereafter, bearing an ivory scroll tube traced in gold, its cap sealed in wax. He presented it to Mirabeta.

"Rynon has examined it and assures me that it bears no baleful magic or poison, Overmistress. The seal appears genuine."

"Well done, Turest," said Mirabeta.

Turest bowed, nodded at Elyril, and withdrew from the balcony.

Mirabeta examined the seal for herself, hummed her satisfaction, and cut the wax with her thumbnail. She popped the lid and withdrew several sheets of rolled vellum, also officially sealed. She broke the seal, unrolled the vellum, and read. Her expression changed from curious, to alarmed, to angry.

Elyril set down her wine glass. "Aunt?"

Mirabeta stared past Elyril. "Yhaunn has been attacked. The Nessarch reports that much of the lower city is in ruins. A kraken of enormous size rose from the sea and destroyed the lower districts."