Paul Kemp - Shadowbred

Tamlin continued, "Meanwhile, is there anything you need before we leave tomorrow?"

"No, my lord." Cale had his armor, his blades, his armor… and his holy symbol.

"Very good, then. I will leave you to your own devices. Vees, accompany me to the palace. I have orders to issue and we have much to discuss."

Vees offered an insincere farewell to Cale and they parted. Before Cale left the parlor, he again advanced the pawn on Thamalon's old chessboard.

He wandered Stormweather Towers for a time. Servants and members of the house guard nodded and smiled at him when they passed him in the halls. Every room through which he walked held a memory.

Throughout all the events of his life, his love for the Uskevren had been a constant. And he had always known, deep down, that he could return to Stormweather if he had need. It was his sanctuary. The manse was where he had been born, or at least reborn, and it pleased him to be able to return to his birthplace. After wandering for a time, he headed for his quarters to await Shamur's return.

Even when Cale had been Stormweather's steward, he had never done much to personalize his quarters. The room was as bare as he had left it. He opened the shutters, sat in his old reading chair, took out Jak's pipe, tamped and lit. He spent some time remembering with fondness the adventures he and Jak had enjoyed in Selgaunt. He removed the book he had taken from the Fane of Shadows from his backpack-the book that contained lore about Mask, Shar, the Weave, and the Shadow Weave-and opened it.

To his shock, the pages were blank.

He flipped one, another, another. The whole tome was blank except for the final pages. On them were words written in purple ink in a tongue Cale could not read. Staring at the writing made him nauseated, so he slammed the cover shut. He looked at the cover of black scaled leather and assured himself it was the same tome. It was. He blew out a cloud of smoke and replaced the book in his pack. He did not know what to make of the book, but it made him uneasy. Had its magic served its purpose, and was now destroying itself?

Thoughtful, he smoked two bowls of pipeweed before a knock on his door disturbed his reverie. He laid the pipe on the side table and opened the door. Shamur stood in the doorway, still dressed in her green daygown. Jeweled pins held up her auburn hair. Cale thought the lines in her face, around her eyes, and at the corners of her mouth only made her more attractive.

She did not look surprised at his appearance. Perhaps she had been forewarned. "You look well, Erevis."

Cale bowed, embarrassed by the cloud of smoke that billowed out of his room. "And you, Lady, look as young and beautiful as ever."

She smiled, stepped forward, and embraced him warmly. "Mister Cale, you still lie as well as ever."

They separated and he gestured her in.

"Smoking, Erevis? That is new."

"A long tale, Milady," he explained. "A friend got me started. I will put it out."

He moved to the table to snuff the pipe.

"No need," she said. "The smell is not unpleasant. Thamalon enjoyed a pipe, you will recall."

Cale did recall. The Old Owl had not smoked often, but when he had, the entire east wing of the manse would smell of pipeweed for days. In the spring, Cale had the staff open the windows to air out the house. In the winter, nothing could be done but to wait for the stink to pass.

Shamur looked around the room, then turned to face him. "Your quarters look much as you left them, but you have changed a great deal. And not merely your appearance. What has happened to you?"

Cale smiled gently. "Nothing that can be undone or made easier to bear by sharing, Milady. Suffice to say that I have changed, but serve your family still."

She smiled. "Of that I had no doubt. It is good to have you back under our roof, Erevis."

"It is good to be back," Cale said, and meant it. "Please, sit."

Shamur sat in his reading chair. Her hair glittered in the fading sunlight.

Cale did not have another chair in the room so he sat on the bed nearby. Before he could speak, she said, "This house has been dying for a year. It started with Thamalon's passing. Then you left. And Talbot is gone almost always. Tamlin spends most of his day and much of his nights away at the palace. I hate it here."

Cale looked away. He did not know what to say so he broke with decorum and reached out to take her hand in his. Her skin felt warm. Shadows sneaked from his skin and danced over hers. She gasped but did not withdraw her hand.

"What happened to you, Erevis? Tell me."

Cale did not look her in the face. "Milady, I… must carry this alone."

She caressed his hand and he felt such a sudden, powerful attraction for her that he pulled away and stood up before it caused him to do something he should not.

"What is it?" she asked.

He shook his head. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He moved the conversation to the purpose for which he had wanted to see her, or at least the purpose for which he thought he had wanted to see her.

"Lady Uskevren, I have reason to believe that things are… unsafe in the city."

She leaned forward in her chair. "What do you mean? Have you informed Tamlin?"

Cale shook his head. "No, Milady. It is nothing that we can act on, nothing that I can easily articulate. But I would advise you and Tazi to leave the city for a time." He struggled to find a better explanation, failed.

"You want me to abandon Stormweather? I have only just returned."

"Not abandon, Lady. I am suggesting only that you retire to the upcountry estate until things settle down here." He grasped for an excuse, found one. "Tamlin would be better served with fewer things to think about. I will watch over him and vouchsafe his person."

"You two are traveling to Ordulin. You will not even be in the city."

"When we return, I mean," Cale said. "Please, Milady."

"What is it that you are afraid of, Erevis?" she asked, leaning forward in the chair.

Cale looked away. Anything he said would sound absurd. He could not tell her that the mad Chosen of Oghma had prophesied a storm, that Mask had met him in an alley and told him something similar. Instead, he offered a half-truth. "Milady, the city is on a blade's edge. The family of the Hulorn is a natural target for those unhappy with the state of affairs. I think you would be safest away from Selgaunt."

She stared at him, considering. He held her gaze but only with difficulty. Finally, she said, "I am always willing to leave Stormweather for the upcountry. And Thazienne has found the city stifling of late. Perhaps a vacation is advisable. My carriage is not yet unpacked. It would be easy to return to Storl Oak."

Cale exhaled with relief. "Just for a month or two, Milady. You should leave as soon as possible. Tomorrow. I will inform Irwyl to prepare Tazi's things."

Shamur stood. She studied his face.

"You are not always a good liar, Erevis. But I am thankful for your concern." She touched his cheek and exited the room.

Cale remained in his room, thoughtful, until Irwyl came to retrieve him to dine with Tamlin. Irwyl bore a change of clothes in his arms.

"Will you be changing for dinner, Mister Cale?"

The question was clearly a recommendation.

Cale eyed the soft material, the embroidery, the buttons gilded with precious metal. He shook his head.

"No," he answered.

He had worn a facade most of the years he had spent in Stormweather. Those days were behind him. He would wear his own clothing and his weapons. He was a man who wore leather and steel, not linen and gold.

Irwyl only raised his eyebrows and frowned slightly. "Very well."

Cale informed Irwyl that Tazi and Shamur would be returning to Storl Oak on the morrow. Irwyl nodded and led him not to the dining hall but to a private meeting room. Tamlin sat alone at a small table set for two.