Paul Kemp - Shadowbred

He decided it had been real. It had felt too good to be otherwise. He had stabbed his own god, and the bastard had deserved to be stabbed. How many priests would have liked to have done the same?

He smiled, then grinned, then chuckled. The chuckle gave way to laughter, which transformed into a full-on belly laugh. A passing sailor walking by eyed him as if he were mad, but Cale did not care. He could not remember the last time he had laughed so hard. By the time he finished, he felt better than he had in months.

He waited for the sun to rise fully over the sea, then rose and followed the light west, toward Stormweather, toward his past, toward his future.

He was still smiling.

29 Marpenoth, the Year of Lightning Storms

Mirabeta and Elyril sat across the table from Malkur Forrin. The rising sun cast blood-red light through the leaded glass windows of the small meeting chamber in Mirabeta's manse, Ravenholme. The mercenary's right eye drooped from an old wound and pale scars crisscrossed his muscular arms. He looked uncomfortable in his attire: the high-collared shirt and vest of a Sembian gentleman. Elyril imagined he would have preferred his mail and helm. He wore his graying hair in a helmcut. A broadsword, rather than a gentleman's rapier, hung from a battered scabbard at his belt.

"You sent for me, Overmistress?" Malkur said.

Mirabeta had employed Malkur's mercenary company, the Blades, often over the years, sometimes as escorts for the caravans of the Six Coffers Market Priakos, a trade consortium in which Mirabeta held controlling interest. Sometimes, she hired him for darker deeds. Malkur had proven his proficiency at bloodletting on several occasions. Elyril thought that he and Mirabeta possessed similar temperaments-ambition unrestrained by moral foibles.

Elyril also knew that her aunt and Malkur had occasional sexual relations. She thought it strange, since they did not appear to like each other much. She suspected the coupling was performed without sentiment. The mental image amused her and she had to swallow a smile.

"How many of the Blades are available at this moment?" Mirabeta asked.

Malkur rubbed his cheek with the back of his hand and pondered. "Three score are away on jobs. I have about a hundred men to hand. And all are eager. Most have been idle for nearly a month."

Elyril and Mirabeta shared a satisfied look. One hundred men would be enough. Elyril knew the Blades to be a diverse force. Most of them were former Sembian and Cormyrean soldiers with a taste for violence, but Malkur also commanded a few wizards, a cadre of warrior-priests in service to Talos the Thunderer, and a handful of highly skilled men who could act as scouts or assassins for the larger force.

Mirabeta said, "Malkur, I have some… delicate work that needs to be done. You have the stomach for it. Know that it is for the good of Sembia."

Malkur snorted derisively. "Sembia can sink into the Inner Sea for all I care. And I mean no offense, Countess. I am interested only in the payment."

Mirabeta smiled tightly. "I understand. Then have eighty of your men ride south along the Rauthauvyr's Road. Weerdon Kost has communicated with Lady Merelith already. The Saerloonian delegation to the moot is on its way north. They will skirt Selgaunt. I want your men to attack them."

Malkur did not flinch from the politically sensitive nature of the targets. Elyril thought he would have made a fine Sharran.

"All of them should die?"

Mirabeta shook her head. "No. Attack them from the south, in the guise of Saerbians and Selgauntans, as they move toward Ordulin. Through my house wizards, I will provide you with magical sendings telling you the exact day. Kill some and let the rest escape northward to me. I want them to bring me news of the attack."

Malkur stroked his whiskers, thoughtful. "You have the uniforms of Saerb and Selgaunt?"

Elyril shook her head. "Uniforms are too obvious."

Mirabeta nodded. "Your men should act in some way to convince the Saerloonians that their attackers are in service to Saerb and Selgaunt. I am sure you will think of something. After the attack, the men should return in small groups to Ordulin. It goes unsaid that none of your men should know of the nature of the attack until it happens."

"It also goes unsaid that none of them should be taken prisoner or left dead on the field," Elyril added.

Malkur looked at Elyril. "My men have never lost a battle, Mistress. Some nobles out of Saerloon and their ceremonial guard are not going to change that." He looked at Mirabeta and leaned forward in his chair. "The proffered payment, Overmistress?"

Mirabeta leaned back in her chair. "I will pay your men twice their normal fee. And you, Malkur, have my promise that when the time comes, you will be reinstated into Sembia's army and named my commander general."

Malkur tried to disguise it, but Elyril caught a flash of interest in his eyes. He had once been a general in Sembia's Helms, but Kendrick Selkirk had dismissed him from his post for excessive brutality in policing the roadways.

Malkur, pretending to ponder the offer, shrugged. "Promises are hard to spend, Overmistress."

"Triple the fee," Mirabeta said, and Malkur smiled. One of his front teeth was missing.

"Done, Overmistress," he said. "I will muster the men and await word from you."

Mirabeta said, "You cannot lead them, Malkur. I have a special task for you and a handpicked group of your men to perform."

Malkur's eyebrows rose in a question. The man fairly sweated greed. "Oh?"

"My informants have located Kendrick Selkirk's sons. They are in Scardale, preparing to journey to Ordulin."

Her words hung in the air, fat with implication.

Malkur's eyes narrowed and he said, "I would enjoy nothing more than seeing the sons of Kendrick Selkirk at the end of my blade."

"Here is your opportunity," Elyril said.

Malkur nodded and looked to Mirabeta. "Some of my Blades are skilled at what you require. And I have a diviner who may be able to locate them on the road. But Miklos Selkirk will be accompanied by his Silver Ravens. You will have a large battle to explain."

Elyril knew that Miklos commanded his own mercenary company called the Silver Ravens. They were less swords-for-hire than adventurers-for-hire. One of the Silver Ravens had been operating as a spy for Mirabeta for the better part of a year. He had informed them of Miklos and Kavin's whereabouts.

"No," Mirabeta said. "He is traveling in disguise, with only his brother. Few know he is coming. He hopes to arrive in Ordulin in secret and perform his own investigation of his father's death before revealing himself to the moot."

Malkur leaned forward in his chair and put his elbows on the table. "Miklos is well known, Overmistress. If word got out…"

"Word should not get out," Mirabeta said. "That would put us both in grave danger. That is why we can trust one another, Malkur."

Malkur nodded. "The Selkirk job will cost more. For the men, and for me."

Mirabeta smiled. "I would expect nothing less, dear Malkur. Quadruple the fees, then. A deal?"

Malkur looked pleased. He pushed back his chair and stood. "A deal, Overmistress. I can muster the men immediately."

Mirabeta stood and extended her hand to Malkur. He took it, kissed it, lingered over it.

"It is always a pleasure to be in your company," he said suggestively.

Mirabeta smiled, clucked her tongue, and waved Elyril from the chamber.

"Leave us, Elyril. We have… more business to discuss."

Elyril had no doubt. As she left her aunt and the mercenary leader to their lovemaking, she touched her invisible holy symbol and thanked Shar. The plan to employ the Blades to attack the Saerloonian delegation had been largely hers. With one stroke, they would invent a rebellion, make Saerloon a staunch ally, and eliminate Miklos Selkirk, a man who would have stood firmly against Mirabeta's appointment as war regent.