Paul Kemp - Shadowbred

"I have changed a bit," Cale acknowledged. "But not you, Brilla. You look as lovely as ever."

She turned away and blushed under her gray hair, pulled into a tight bun. "Now, Mister Cale…"

Cale smiled and said, "It is a true pleasure to see you, Brilla."

Brilla had always been a rock of sense among the staff. Chatty and stubborn, but always sensible. She beamed. "And you, Mister Cale."

"No need for the 'Mister,' Brilla."

"You will always be Mister Cale to me, Mister Cale."

Cale decided not to argue the point.

"Ah!" she exclaimed. "Your hand!"

Cale pulled his sleeve down over the stump. "It is nothing, Brilla."

"Nothing! How can you say such things?" She took his forearm in her hand, pushed up his sleeve, and examined the stump. There was no point in resisting her.

"It has healed well. How did it happen?"

"Another time, Brilla. Well enough?"

She let his arm go, frowning. "Well enough. Perhaps tonight? I have a torte that you will love, Mister Cale. Ingredients have been hard to come by of late, but I have improvised a little something with grapes from the Storl Oak vineyard and maple syrup. Will you be dining with Tamlin?"

Probably Brilla alone called the Hulorn by his given name.

"I am not certain," Cale said. He did not know exactly what Tamlin desired of him. "But if not, I will make a point to come to the kitchen."

Brilla accepted that with a smile. Most of her front teeth were rotten or missing. "It feels right to see you here again, Mister Cale."

"Thank you, Brilla."

She watched him, smiling all the while, as he and Ren entered Stormweather's double doors.

Irwyl awaited them in the arched foyer, arms crossed, brow furrowed. His short hair hung over a face as pointed as an arrowhead. He wore a prim look, a tailored vest, and linen pantaloons. He looked more a steward than Cale ever had. His eyes widened somewhat at Cale's appearance, but he masked his surprise well.

"You look well, Irwyl," Cale said.

"As do you, Mister Cale. Different, but well. That will be all, Ren."

Ren nodded, turned to Cale, and extended a hand. "For everything, my thanks."

Cale shook his hand. "Of course. I will be around for a while."

"Good to hear," Ren said. He nodded at the butler and took his leave.

"Do you require anything?" Irwyl asked Cale. "A refreshment? A… change of clothing?"

Cale smiled. "No, Irwyl."

"Very well. Follow me, then, Mister Cale," Irwyl said, and started for the parlor.

Before they reached it, Irwyl turned around and faced Cale.

"May I be candid, Mister Cale?"

Puzzled, Cale said, "Of course. What is it?"

"Do you intend to take your previous station? I would like to know if I need to seek a new situation. Times are difficult but I suspect the hulorn would be generous with severance."

Cale would have laughed aloud had he not seen how serious Irwyl was. He wiped the burgeoning smile from his face and said, "Of course not, Irwyl. My life has… gone in a different direction." He gave Irwyl a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Besides, I would be a poor substitute for you."

A relieved smile broke through Irwyl's stony exterior. "Very good, Mister Cale," he said, in a much softer tone. "Follow me, please."

Stormweather Towers had changed little. Cale felt as if he were walking back in time. Tapestry and art-bedecked halls and walls, carved wooden doors, arched ceilings. All of it seemed so far removed from Cale's life.

Irwyl led him into the parlor, the parlor where Cale often had played chess with Thamalon the Elder, or spent a long night discussing the plot of this or that rival of the Old Chauncel. The book-lined walls and reading chairs remained, as did the ivory and jade chessboard and pieces. Cale felt Thamalon's absence the same way he felt the absence of his severed hand.

"I have informed the hulorn of your arrival," Irwyl said. "He will see you shortly."

While he waited, Cale paced the parlor, examined the spines of the books, the suits of ceremonial armor that stood in the corners of the chamber, the sculptures small and large that dotted the room.

The parlor was still Thamalon's, even more than a year after his death. That pleased Cale. He stood over the chessboard, pondered, and advanced the queen's pawn.

"Your move, my lord," he murmured.

A cleared throat from over his shoulder turned him around.

Tamlin wore a long green jacket, a pale, stiff collared shirt, and the tailored breeches that seemed fashionable in Sembia that season. He wore a number of pouches on his belt-components for his spells, Cale figured. Some gray at his temples accented his otherwise dark hair. Shadows darkened the skin under his eyes, which widened at Cale's appearance.

A man of about the same age stood beside Tamlin. He wore a snugly fitted purple vest with a collared black shirt, and high boots rather than shoes. A rapier and dagger hung from his belt. A short beard masked a tight mouth and small eyes set closely together. He, too, looked surprised at Cale's appearance.

"Mister Cale?" asked Tamlin tentatively.

Cale bowed formally. "Lord Uskevren."

Tamlin approached him, mouth open, but arm outstretched. They clasped forearms.

"Gods, man!" Tamlin said, shaking his head and smiling. "You look so… different."

Cale nodded. "Many things have changed since our paths crossed last, my lord."

Tamlin studied his face. "So I heard, and so I see. Same man underneath, though. Yes?"

Cale hoped so. "Yes. You look a bit different, my lord."

Tamlin ran his fingers through the gray in his hair. "Ah, yes, this. Well, heavy is the head that wears the crown and all that, right?" He laughed, a forced sound, and gestured at the man who had accompanied him into the room.

"Do you remember Vees Talendar?"

"Talendar?" Cale paused to think. A rogue wizard of the Talendar family had once orchestrated an attack on the Uskevren. It culminated in a lengthy battle with summoned monsters atop the High Bridge.

Vees flushed. "No doubt you recall my Uncle Marance's unfortunate bout of madness and the consequences of the same."

"Our families have long since come to terms with those events," Tamlin said with a dismissive wave, and Cale was not certain if he was speaking to Cale or Vees. "The Talendar and Uskevren are fast friends now."

"That is something good that came of my uncle," Vees said.

"The past is the past," Cale said to Vees, nodding respectfully. "Lord Talendar."

Vees smiled, a polite gesture but nothing more. "Mister Cale," he said.

Tamlin gestured at Vees. "Vees's advice has been invaluable to me, Mister Cale. Due to him, I was elected Hulorn."

"Indeed?" Cale asked.

"Your own talent got you elected," Vees said, and Cale knew he was silver-tongued. Vees eyed Cale's leather armor, his weapons. "You do not look much like a steward."

"Mister Cale was always more than that," Tamlin said.

"A bodyguard, more like," Vees said. "At least from what I have heard."

Cale recalled that the Talendar family had sent Vees to Waterdeep for an education and he had returned a priest of Siamorphe. Cale thought it strange that he did not wear a holy symbol openly. He knew also that the Talendars had financed the building of a temple to Siamorphe on Temple Avenue.

"How is construction proceeding?" Cale asked, to change the subject.

Vees looked surprised that Cale knew of the temple.

"You mean the temple? Quite well, Mister Cale. The Lady's new home will be completed soon."

"Perhaps then you can give us a tour, at last," Tamlin said with a laugh. He looked to Cale and said, "The priests keep the place locked as tight as a Calishite Pasha's harem room."

Vees smiled and explained to Cale, "There are only two priests other than myself, and the sanctification rites require that the interior be open only to servants of Siamorphe until the process is complete. It is taking quite some time. You understand, I am sure."