Dawnbringer: A Forgotten Realms Novel (31 page)

Saestra in turned handed the leather cylinder to one of her ladies, who took it with long-clawed fingernails.

“Many thanks for the thoughtful gift, Sanwar Beguine,” she said, an amused smile quirking the sides of her mouth. “But you didn’t come all the way and into the lair of a vampire simply to give me a present, and you have the air of a man who intends to say more.”

Sanwar swallowed, steeling himself. “If you know the name of House Beguine, you know the name of House Jadaren,” he said, and saw a gleam of recognition in her eyes. “And you know of the enmity between them.”

Saestra tilted her head. “But surely that’s a thing of the past? Did I mishear, or was there not an alliance made? A wedding celebrated?”

“It wasn’t celebrated by me,” Sanwar said through set teeth. “And I acknowledge no alliance.”

He said it more forcefully than he intended, and the vampire trio to Saestra’s right stirred slightly, out of their unearthly stillness, like leaves touched by a breeze. He heard a faint giggle.

The human guard tightened his grip on the mace and furrowed his brows.

The vampire stared at him a long moment, her eyes so smoky dark they looked like pools of darkness one could fall into forever.

“I see,” she said at last. “You cling to your ancient hatreds. And yet an alliance means more trade, and more
goods moving across the land, and more for my people to share with the virtuous folk of Turmish and Camlishan.” Her voice hardened. “What do you journey so far to ask of me, merchantman?”

Cold sweat prickled across his body, and for a moment he regretted the absence of his guards. They would have stood no chance here, however.

Stand firm
, urged the voice inside him.
There’s no profit for her in your death
.

“My niece’s family live in Jadaren Hold now,” he said. “You know how well it is warded.”

She made a slight, palm-up gesture with her hand, her meaning clear.
So?

“I have sources who tell me she’s in danger,” he continued. “I am prepared to overcome the spells that protect the Hold to ensure her safety. But the Jadarens are well manned and have had years to plan their defenses. We are only a merchant house, with guards we employ to protect our goods and ourselves—and their numbers are limited. I have no army at my command.”

“And I do,” said the vampire.

“And you do.”

There was another long, deceptively lazy pause.

“What interest have I in your petty squabbles, merchantman? Let Jadaren Hold stand for all eternity, if the gods will let it. I have little interest in what lies within.”

“Perhaps. But I have a sweeter bargain to offer you.”

What he thought of as the voice within him welled up, silently, and became a presence, reaching out to the mind of the vampire before him.

Listen. Listen to what he says
. He saw her blink, then frown, and he knew she had heard.

“How long has it been since the Sanctuary of Shadrun-of-the-Snows made it its duty to protect travelers? How long has it interfered with your affairs, right on your borders?”

Her face tightened, and his heart leaped at the confirmation that he was right. The gamble paid off. The existence of the sanctuary was a sore spot for her.

“That hovel in the mountains, with its chanting monks and caravans of stinking donkeys? I have no interest in it whatsoever.”

“With all due respect, my lady Saestra,” said Sanwar, “you are lying.”

Her entire body stilled, and he could feel the cold emanating from her very bones. The vampire trio behind her froze as well. Ponta did nothing whatsoever.

“That’s enough lip from you,” snarled the human fighter to Saestra’s left. He shifted the mace and lashed out at Sanwar, a blow meant to drop him.

Time seemed to slow to a torturous crawl. Sanwar watched with dispassionate interest as the weapon approached his face. He had no time to duck, and he knew he should be afraid, horrified—but he could summon no emotion.

Like an afterimage, something flashed behind his eyes—a geometrical figure drawn in deep purple. In an instant it was gone, and he felt invisible hands seizing his shoulders and pulling him aside so that the mace missed him. The fighter, overbalanced, sprawled on the floor.

Time snapped back into place, and Sanwar staggered, dizzy.

The brute swore and attempted to get up, but the halfling Ponta slipped past Sanwar as neatly as a cat and kicked him deftly under the chin. He grunted and fell back down. The mace clattered from his hand and didn’t move again.

Saestra turned her attention back to Sanwar as if nothing had happened.

“Did I just hear you call me a liar, Master Beguine?” she said lightly.

His back hurt with the effort of facing her. “Yes, my lady,” he said, schooling his face to look unafraid. “My regrets, but I did.”

She laughed. “You are quite right. I did lie. I care very much about Shadrun-of-the-Snows and its place on my borders and its interference with my people.”

He stifled the impulse to lick his lips. “I can give you the key to Shadrun-of-the-Snows, my lady. It lies within Jadaren Hold.”

Sanwar couldn’t determine when he began to realize that the loci of the warding that must lie within the Hold had something to do with the Power that pulsed beneath the seemingly placid surface of the sanctuary. But his inner instinct told him he must bring one to the other and—

Burst the bond of my prison
.

Before the cold eyes of Saestra he almost frowned, distracted. Where had that thought come from?
How
did he know one was related to the other? Whose prison?

Something coiled within his mind touched his jumbled thoughts, and they quieted. His books and studies had told him along the way. One did not always know where one’s fragments of knowledge came from.

Saestra tilted her head, considering him. “Interesting,” she remarked. “I wonder if you are lying in your turn.”

“I might be,” he said. “It would be risky.”

“It would indeed,” said Saestra. “But then, a promising investment is worth some risk, as we both know.”

Saestra turned her head toward the shadows behind her. “Come,” she commanded.

There was another pale glimmer in the darkness, and a tall figure drifted toward her. It was a woman, with the pale mien of a vampire and clothing that would not look out of place aboard a ship. She wore her hair braided tightly at the back of her neck and a terrible scar twisted her face out of true, a slash that started at the corner of her left eye and ended at her lip. On a human, the scar would have been a vivid pink. On her, it was white as a salamander’s underbelly.

She turned her burning eyes on Sanwar, and now he knew true fear. He wanted to run even though every fiber of him knew he had no chance of escaping a predator like this.

But then those disembodied hands touched his shoulders, very lightly, and he managed to face her without flinching back.

“Helgre has little love for the Jadarens,” said Saestra. “And she possesses a certain familiarity with the woods around the Hold.” Her mouth quirked, as if she had remembered an old joke.

Looking at those eyes, rimed with frozen flame, Sanwar thought perhaps Helgre had little love for the Beguines as well.

The interview over, Saestra waited until her preternatural instincts told her the merchant was halfway back to his ship. The human fighter who had tried to discipline Sanwar still lay on his back, blinking stupidly at the rafters. Followed by her three ladies, who seemed to move without taking a step, Saestra drifted to him and looked down.

“What is your name?” she said gently.

He struggled to answer, and the halfling answered for him. “Holba, my lady.”

Saestra nodded. “Well, Holba,” she said, “I don’t allow my men to attack my guests unless I order it. I would teach you this lesson myself, but I haven’t the time, so I’m afraid you will not be able to use this knowledge at a later date. Ladies, if you would oblige?”

She made another elegant gesture and floated away, accompanied by Ponta and Helgre. Shrieks rang out behind her, heralding the short-lived education of Master Holba.

Just short of the relative safety of the ship, Sanwar heard the screams and shuddered.

L
akini wondered if Lusk would pine after Shadrun-of-the-Snows, but he seemed to be as comfortable at Jadaren Hold as anywhere. She did notice he always seemed to be watching and waiting for something to happen—an impatient edginess she had never before associated with him.

The mountain in which the Hold was rooted was covered in primal forests, and the devas returned to their old habit of patrolling together. Lakini reflected upon the sanctuary’s red-haired messenger and her determination to track Lakini down, and discovered that all in all she was content.

Her peace was shattered the day a delegation from a halfling merchant family from Waterdeep arrived to negotiate an exclusive contract for the silk trade to High Imaskar.

Lakini and Lusk were returning from patrol at dusk. They entered through the common passages at the base of the Hold that opened into enormous storage chambers, stables, and public gathering areas. The members
of the newly arrived Waterdeep delegation were grouped together loosely, unpacking their animals and checking their goods. Lakini caught a glimpse of folds of deep, smoky blue silk, and greens shot with threads of gold—gifts to encourage the Jadarens’ permission to use long-established routes. There was a bustle of stable hands converging on the delegation to unbridle and tend their animals, and a braying of donkeys and shouting of orders. Through careful maneuvering, Lakini and Lusk made it through the crowd without incident.

Toward the rear of the caverns, a halfling richly dressed in crimson silk was speaking to the stable master. As they approached, the halfling made an elaborate bow and hurried back to his delegation. As he passed them, nodding distractedly and politely, the close quarters made the hem of his silk robe lap over Lusk’s boot.

Lusk snarled and spun around to face him, half drawing his dagger. Folk sometimes joked about Lusk’s facial markings looking like a jungle cat’s, just as they said Lakini’s looked like a mask, but at that moment he looked truly tigerish.

The folk around them quieted and stared, and Lakini stared herself, too startled to react at first. The halfling looked puzzled, then, as it became clear the deva’s wrath was directed at him, alarmed. He muttered an apology and bowed low to the ground. Lusk looked at his defenseless back as if he’d like to smash the hapless halfling’s spine into the ground.

Truly alarmed, Lakini reached for Lusk’s arm. He jerked under her touch and turned on her, his teeth bared. Still she pulled him away, toward the back passages
and away from the harmless creature that had somehow offended him so deeply.

With a snarl of disgust, he sheathed the dagger, shrugged her hand off, and walked away. She trotted after him as a murmur swelled to fill the silence of his wake. The halfling, no doubt thinking he’d had a narrow escape from retribution for some fancied offense, scurried off to rejoin his party.

Halfway up the slope of the corridor, Lusk slowed his pace to let Lakini catch up. Still flushed with anger, he gave her a sheepish look.

“I probably shouldn’t have done that, but the filthy thing touched me. I don’t like halflings overly much.”

He said it as if it were natural to treat the race like toadfolk, defiling all they touched, and as if she’d understand and agree.

She wondered if she would have been able to react in time to stop him if he had tried to kill the halfling. In that first red moment, that had certainly been his intent. If he’d been alone, she suspected, he probably would have done it.