Paul Kemp - Shadowbred

A rosy glow illuminated the riders and they looked almost celestial galloping through the high grass on their leather-barded warhorses. The glow emanated from the upraised blade of an armored figure who rode at their head-a sandy-haired man in a mail hauberk, helm, and enameled breastplate. He alone bore a blade rather than a horse spear. In his left hand he carried a standard and it billowed straight out behind him: a silver horse rampant on a violet field, the heraldry of Saerb. The rider beside him blew a note on his horn and the Saerbians spread into a line.

"For Saerb!" the riders shouted in unison.

Cale saw a nervous ripple make its way through the mercenary ranks as horses turned circles and men sought orders. Malkur and his sergeants issued commands and the mercenaries formed a makeshift line. The archers let fly a disorganized volley of arrows that found no targets in the onrushing Saerbians.

A few of the house guards behind Cale recovered themselves enough to let out a cheer.

"Huzzah!" shouted one.

Cale thought the mercenaries might make a stand. He considered shadowstepping into their ranks to kill Malkur but did not want to get caught in the Saerbian's charge.

The Saerbians let loose another horn blast and lowered their spears. The thunder of charging hooves vibrated the ground under the Selgauntans' feet.

Malkur shouted an order, turned his horse in a circle, and signaled a retreat. As one, the mercenaries whirled their mounts and sped off. The Saerbians let out another blare of their horns and thundered after.

A second wizard in the mercenary company cast a spell as he rode and the air between the two cavalry forces froze solid into a curtain of ice that rose fully twenty paces vertically and stretched several bowshots across the plain. Its edge nearly reached the Selgauntans. Cale could feel the cold it radiated.

The glowing rider at the head of the Saerbian forces shouted and pulled his mount to a stop. The others did the same, and two hundred warhorses reared and pawed. The chill air near the wall of ice made their snorts visible as frozen mist.

The mercenaries, heads down, galloped away as fast as their horses would bear them.

From behind Cale, Tamlin incanted a spell and shot a lightning bolt at the fleeing mercenaries. It hit a horse and rider squarely and sent them careening head over heels and smoking into the turf. His fellows did not slow.

"After the bastards!" shouted one of the house guards.

Ren echoed Cale's thoughts. "Leave it, Maur. It's over."

Cale turned, nodded at Ren, saw that Tamlin and several of the house guards showed wounds from arrows or spells. He hurried to Tamlin's side.

Tamlin eyed him with a question on his face and Cale remembered his mask. He removed it, held it in his hand, and uttered a healing prayer as he touched Tamlin. The pallor left Tamlin's face and he breathed more easily.

"A shade and a priest," Tamlin said. "You provide one surprise after another." He looked at the mask. "Which god do you serve, Mister Cale?"

Cale mumbled something incomprehensible and moved to the wounded house guards, healing each in turn. None of the men asked him any questions, but merely mouthed gratitude. Cale felt Tamlin's eyes on him throughout.

The rumble of approaching hooves heralded the Saerbians' arrival. Cale, Tamlin, and the house guards rode forth to meet them. Although he was no astute judge of horseflesh, even Cale could see that the Saerbian horses were magnificent. Leather barding protected muscular bodies covered in reddish brown fur. The riders bore short spears and mail. All wore serious looks, but none more serious than their leader.

An enameled rose decorated his breastplate and a similar symbol hung from a chain at his throat. Short, sand-colored hair topped an angular face spotted with several days' growth of beard. He sheathed his glowing blade and handed the standard to one of the men beside him. Cale could not shake the impression that the man was still aglow, though he could see plainly that he was not.

"The gods keep Saerb," Ren said with a smile, and many of the Saerbians smiled.

The leader dismounted and said, "I am Abelar Corrinthal. And these are men of Saerb. You are Selgauntans, no?"

Cale, Tamlin, and the house guards answered with nods and ayes.

"You have our thanks," Cale said to Abelar, and extended his hand. "I am Erevis Cale."

Abelar regarded him with a furrowed brow but extended his hand anyway. No shadows emerged from Cale's skin at Abelar's touch.

"Corrinthal?" Tamlin said. "You are kin of Endren?"

Abelar nodded and a challenge lit his eyes. "His son."

Cale gestured at Tamlin and said, "You have saved Selgaunt's leader. Thamalon Uskevren the Second, Hulorn of Selgaunt."

A murmur went through the ranks of the Saerbians.

"The hulorn himself is on the road?" Abelar asked.

Tamlin nodded. "Traveling to Ordulin for the moot. You are far from home, Abelar Corrinthal."

"We have been many days on the road," Abelar answered with a nod. "When we heard that the Saerloonian delegation had been attacked, we-"

"The Saerloonian delegation was attacked?" Tamlin asked. "By whom?"

Abelar answered, "I suspect by the same forces that attacked you, Lord Hulorn."

"But the forces that attacked us wore Ordulin's colors," Tamlin said.

"Mirabeta Selkirk is behind it," Abelar said. His men nodded, grunted agreement.

Tamlin stared at him for a moment. "That is preposterous! Mirabeta Selkirk is the Overmistress of Sembia. Why would she make an enemy of Selgaunt?"

Abelar said, "Because she wishes more power for herself and knows that Selgaunt will not support her. Just as she knows that Saerb will not. Events are moving quickly, my lord. You have been away from your city only a few days and matters have run ahead of you." He reached into a pocket and removed a folded piece of parchment. He handed it to Cale, who handed it to Tamlin. "This is a proclamation issued by Mirabeta Selkirk five days ago. When I heard of it, I expected an attack on your delegation. We have been riding after you since."

Tamlin unfolded the parchment, read it, and his expression went from puzzled to angry.

"That is absurd! Forces out of Selgaunt did not attack the Saerloonians!"

"Nor did any man from Saerb," Abelar said. "I assure you of that."

Tamlin handed the letter to Cale and he read it to himself.

Yesterday, soldiers from Selgaunt and Saerb engaged in a most cowardly and ignoble surprise attack on members of the Saerloonian delegation as they made their way to Ordulin for a moot of their peers. This attack appears to be retaliation for the arrest of the murderer Endren Corrinthal and in furtherance of his and his co-conspirators' attempt to seize power in Sembia through force of arms.

Cale did not bother to read the rest.

"She is lying!" Tamlin sputtered. "Lying!"

Abelar nodded. "It is all a lie. My father did not murder the Overmaster, yet Mirabeta has condemned him to the Hole of Yhaunn." Uncomfortable glances passed between the men from Saerb at that news.

Abelar continued, "Selgaunt and Saerb did not attack the Saerloonians, yet we are named traitors to the nation. The truth no longer matters. The people and the nobility believe the lie because they prefer where it leads. Mirabeta has made you, and Saerb, the enemy that she will use to secure her rule."

"I will not have it," Tamlin said, shaking his head. "Sembia will not have it."

"It is already done, my lord," Abelar said. "Most of the nobility in the realm are behind her. Only Daerlun stands neutral, but that's only because it contemplates secession to Cormyr. Mirabeta has won the rest with promises, fear, and false patriotism. Already she has sounded a muster in Ordulin and Saerloon, and troops from all over Sembia are gathering. Come spring, Selgaunt and Saerb will be assaulted by her two armies. You have two options. You can accept her lies and go meekly to the gallows or you can fight. There is no other way."