Curse of the Shadowmage

Seven

Mari groaned. Why did these things always seem to happen to her?

“I thought Cormik adored you,” Morhion said coldly.

“I thought he did, too,” she said through clenched teeth.

“Well, if you don’t mind my saying, he has a rather peculiar manner of expressing his affection.”

For emphasis, Morhion rattled the heavy iron shackles that bound his wrists. He and Mari were chained to a rough stone wall in a dank underground chamber. The muffled sounds of raucous laughter and clinking coins drifted down from above. They were somewhere in the basement of the Prince and Pauper, the seamiest gambling house in Iriaebor.

“In case you’re wondering, you really aren’t being helpful, Morhion,” Mari replied in a surly tone. “Can’t you get us out of here with a spell?”

“No, I can’t. Casting a spell requires ritual gestures as well as magical words”—he cast a rueful look at the thick bands of iron that held his hands immobile—“a fact of which your dear friend Cormik seems well aware.”

“Everyone’s entitled to a few mistakes,” Mari grumbled. She seemed to remember Caledan saying that exact phrase once when the two of them were caught in a similar predicament. Things were worse than she thought if she was starting to sound like Caldorien.

Mari racked her brain, trying to think of what she might have done to get on Cormik’s bad side. Cormik was the proprietor of the Prince and Pauper, but he was also one of the most powerful underworld lords in Iriaebor. Officially, Mari could not condone Cormik’s illicit practices, but he had helped the Fellowship to defeat Ravendas. Besides, she had always liked his daggerlike wit and impeccable sense of taste.

It must have been that incident a year ago, she decided. Cormik had wanted her help in prying some compromising secrets out of a particularly wealthy nobleman. Mari had haughtily told Cormik to go ask one of the painted ladies on the Street of Lanterns instead, and had run him out of the Dreaming Dragon. She had not spoken to him since that day. Well, if he was still holding a grudge, she was going to have to find a way to—

The chamber’s ironbound door flew open. Mari blinked against the glare of crimson torchlight that gushed through the opening. When her vision cleared, a figure stood before her. Cormik. He was a corpulent man with a florid, pockmarked complexion and a jewel-encrusted patch over one eye. As ever, he was clad in gaudy finery that involved voluminous quantities of blue silk, wine-colored velvet, and gold brocade. Flanking him were two hulking bodyguards, each bearing a jeweled sword.

Mari licked her lips. “Cormik, if you’ll let me explain—”

He cut her off with a wave of a chubby, ring-laden hand. “Haven’t we been through this once before, Harper?” he said impatiently. “I didn’t want to hear Caledan’s explanation then, and I don’t want to hear yours now. I’m a busy man, you know.” He made a sharp gesture to his bodyguards. “Jad, Kevrek—deal with these two for me.”

Cormik strode from the chamber. His two bull-necked servants stepped forward, grinning fiercely as they reached into leather pouches on their belts. Mari’s eyes widened as she caught a glint of silver and a wisp of steam. She shut her eyes, bracing herself against the coming attack.

“A mirror and a hot towel?” Morhion’s incredulous voice said beside her.

Mari’s eyes fluttered open. She gaped in surprise. Sure enough, each of the bodyguards held a small silver mirror and a steaming cloth towel.

“Of course,” one of the muscle-bound men said in a surprisingly cultured voice. “You’ll both need to freshen up before your audience with the Master.”

“Dungeons can be so messy,” the other hulk added in an equally genteel tone. “Don’t you agree?”

Jad and Kevrek held up the silver mirrors while Mari and Morhion wiped themselves clean of dust and cobwebs. The towels were deliciously hot and scented faintly with ginger. Mari was forced to admit that she felt refreshed. However, she was still furious with Cormik.

A few minutes later, Cormik’s bodyguards led Mari and Morhion into a brightly lit chamber richly appointed with Sembian tapestries and Calishite statuary.

“So, did you like my little ruse, Al’maren?” Cormik inquired coyly. The rotund man was sprawled across a pile of embroidered cushions, a glass of pale wine held loosely in one stubby hand. “I can’t believe you fell for it a second time!”

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not laughing,” Mari griped. “Are you laughing, Morhion?”

An ironic smile touched the corners of the mage’s lips. “Actually, I think I am.”

Mari flopped sulkily onto a pile of cushions and treated Cormik to her best scathing look. It was an expression she had perfected in her years working with Caledan. After a moment, Cormik squirmed uncomfortably.

“Oh, stop looking at me like that,” he said testily. “I’m sorry I had to have you thrown in chains, but you really should have given me some warning before you stopped by the Prince and Pauper.”

“So this is all my fault?” Mari inquired dubiously.

“Everyone in Iriaebor knows you’re good friends with the monk Tyveris. And everyone also knows Tyveris is City Lord Bron’s closest advisor. I couldn’t very well have acted as if we were the best of chums when you walked through my front door. If my clients thought I was in cahoots with Bron, I wouldn’t have a customer left. I’d be ruined.”

Mari was forced to admit, she could see the logic of his actions. However, she wasn’t about to concede the argument that easily. “Couldn’t you have thought of something besides throwing us in your dungeon?”

Cormik shrugged noncommittally. “I was rushed. It’s hard to be creative under pressure, you know.”

“All right, Cormik. I’ll forgive you this once. But you owe me a favor.”

The corpulent man gave her a sardonic wink. “Why, I’ll do anything you desire, my sweet.”

“I’m sure you would,” she noted dryly. “But don’t get your hopes up. It’s your mind I need, Cormik, not the rest of you.” Mari drained her wine, gathering strength, then proceeded to tell Cormik all they had learned concerning Caledan, the Shadowstar, and Stiletto.

When she finished, Cormik seemed visibly shaken. “Caledan is becoming a shadowking?” he murmured in disbelief. “I always knew the man had a dark side, but this is ridiculous.”

“So, do you know anything about this Stiletto character or not?” Mari asked impatiently.

A calculating gleam appeared in his one good eye. “I’m afraid that’s an answer that will cost the Harpers a good amount of gold, Al’maren.”

“I’m not asking for the Harpers,” she said quietly. “I’m asking for myself.”

“Is there a difference?”

“There is now.” Mari swallowed hard. She might as well get used to telling people. “I’ve resigned from the Harpers, Cormik.”

His reaction surprised her. “Good for you, Mari! It’s high time you left behind that meddling bunch of do-gooders. And don’t worry about money. You can always come work for me.”

Mari smiled wistfully. “I just might take you up on that offer when this is all over.”

“What of Mari’s question?” Morhion asked grimly.

Cormik shot him an annoyed look. “Don’t worry, my good, repressed mage. I hadn’t forgotten.” His gaze returned to Mari. “Because the information is for you, my dear, I’ll waive the usual fee.”

“So you know where we can find this Stiletto?” she asked excitedly.

“No, I don’t. However,” he added in response to her crestfallen look, “I think I know someone who might.”

The sun was shining overhead as Mari and Morhion followed Cormik along a precarious stone bridge high above the streets of the Old City. Over the centuries, Iriaebor’s myriad towers had been connected by a tangled web work of bridges, stone arches, and midair causeways. Many of the bridges were crumbling and in ill repair, and a few were trod only at great risk, but it was still possible to travel from one end of the Tor to the other without ever descending to the streets below. Some of the larger causeways were broad enough to accommodate merchants’ stalls, and vendors hawked food and drink. Everything one needed to survive was available on the heights, and some folk who lived high in the towers never bothered to venture down to the ground.

The three passed through an open turret atop a dilapidated tower and proceeded onto another bridge. It was a spindly arch, its stones cracked and pitted with age. Mari could feel the span shudder beneath her with every step. Nervously, she clutched the stone balustrade to steady herself. A chunk of the railing broke off in her hand. She swallowed hard, casting a look at Cormik.

“Are you certain this bridge is safe?” she asked in a quavering voice.

“Oh, the bridge is sturdy enough,” Cormik replied, “but I wish someone would clean up after the pigeons.” With a sound of disgust, he hiked up the hem of his rich velvet robe and picked his way delicately around the piles of bird droppings.

To Mari’s relief, they soon turned onto an intersecting causeway that was in better repair. After that, they followed a confusing succession of bridges until the city seemed to spin beneath her.

“Do watch where you’re going, Mari,” Cormik complained.

Mari blinked. The rotund man had stopped on the bridge, and she had run right into him. She gasped, seeing why he had halted.

The bridge ended in midair. The stones trailed off raggedly, as if half the bridge had collapsed and the other half had remained, hanging unsupported over the city below. In panic, she clutched Cormik’s hand and hauled him backward.

“We have to get off!” she shouted urgently. “The rest of the bridge could collapse at any second.”

To her astonishment, he shook off her hand. “Calm down, Mari,” he said in a perturbed voice. “You’re rumpling my silk shirt.” He fussed with the soft material, smoothing out wrinkles that would have been imperceptible to less fastidious eyes. “Now, follow me. And whatever you do, don’t look down.”

With that he turned and stepped off the end of the bridge. Mari screamed. She lunged forward, trying to grab him, but he had already vanished from sight. Frantically, she peered over the edge of the bridge. She could see the labyrinthine streets of the Old City far below, but she caught no glimpse of Cormik. His body must have already landed.

“Why, Morhion? Why did he do it?”

“Indeed, why?” Morhion echoed her, but Mari had the distinct impression he was mocking her. “Cormik was hardly the suicidal type. In fact, I’ve never met a man as obsessed with staying alive.”

Mari shook her head in disbelief. Yet she had seen Cormik step off the edge of the bridge.

“Oh, stop this nonsense,” a voice said impatiently. “We haven’t got all day.”

A chubby hand shot out of thin air and grabbed Mari’s green jacket, yanking her off the end of the bridge. This time she was too surprised to cry out. She braced for the shock of the plunge, but she wasn’t falling. In fact, she could feel a hard surface beneath her deerskin boots.

Cormik was glaring at her. She looked down. That was a mistake. Though it felt as if she were standing on solid rock, all she could see beneath her feet was clear air and the twisting streets a hundred feet below. A wave of nausea crashed through her, and she clutched Cormik’s arm for support.

“Didn’t I tell you not to look down?” he chided her.

“Invisible,” Morhion murmured with interest. “The bridge doesn’t end at all. It merely becomes invisible. And when we stand upon it, we are invisible as well.” He turned to Cormik. “This was wrought with powerful magic. Who are we going to find at the other end of the bridge?”

“You’ll see,” Cormik replied mysteriously.

Cormik was right, Mari realized. It was definitely better if she did not look down. Her feet were content to believe they trod upon hard stone, and she didn’t want to give them any other notions. She kept her gaze fixed ahead. Far below was a dark and seamy section of the Old City. They continued to walk.

“We’re here,” Cormik announced.

“Er, where’s here?” Mari asked hesitantly. “I don’t see anything.”

“Must you always be so negative, my dear?” Cormik asked in exasperation. “I know it’s difficult for you, but just trust me.”

He moved forward and vanished from sight. Mari knew there was little point in protesting. “Here goes nothing,” she grumbled, stepping forward.

The tower was invisible as well, at least from the outside. Once within, Mari found herself surrounded by comfortable, solid stone walls. The three passed through an arch and into a circular chamber with a domed ceiling. Instantly, Mari was dazzled by a shimmering spectrum of ruby, emerald, sapphire, and diamond-white light.

“Welcome, Cormik,” a husky voice said. “This is a surprise. And I see you’ve brought friends. Well, don’t just stand there. Come in.”

After several moments, Mari’s eyes adjusted to the dazzling illumination. The chamber’s walls were encrusted with precious stones, and the gems refracted the light of countless candles. The effect was breathtaking. In the middle of the chamber, on a chaise of crimson velvet, reclined the figure of an incredibly beautiful woman. Her short hair was like a wave of polished onyx, her skin as lustrous as burnished amber, her eyes as bright as violet sapphires.

“Hello, Jewel,” Cormik said, his bow surprisingly graceful for a man of his girth.

“Greetings, my dear, doddering coot,” she replied sharply.

“Ah, my sweet, hideous hag—I see you’re still grating on the nerves.”

Mari frowned at this curious exchange. Cormik had called the woman “Jewel.” The name seemed vaguely familiar, but Mari couldn’t remember where she had heard it. Certainly she had never seen the exotic woman before. At first she had thought Jewel to be about her own age, but now she wasn’t so certain. There was something strangely old about Jewel’s sharp violet eyes and smoky voice.

“Now, let me see,” Jewel mused, turning her attention to Cormik’s companions. “This must be the Harper Mari Al’maren and the mage Morhion Gen’dahar. Cormik has told me much about you. But don’t worry yourselves, loves, for I seldom believe anything Cormik tells me.” She smiled warmly, and Mari returned the expression despite herself. She found she liked this mysterious woman.

Jewel bade her guests sit on crushed velvet lounges. Servants clad in black leather jerkins and black silk masks appeared with glasses of ruby-colored wine. Each of them wore a long knife at the hip. Mari drained her glass quickly in an effort to settle her nerves.

“I’m so glad you brought your friends, Cormik,” Jewel said in her throaty voice. “It is good to finally meet some of those who journeyed with my grandson.”

Mari blinked in confusion. “I’m sorry,” she sputtered. “I didn’t realize I knew any of your kin.”

Cormik set down his glass with a frown. “Haven’t you been paying attention, Mari? Of course you knew her grandson. This is Jewel Talondim, Ferret’s grandmother.”

This was too much for Mari to absorb. “Ferret’s grandmother?” she said incredulously. “But she’s so … young. Ferret was a good ten years older than me, and Jewel can’t be a day over—”

“Ninety-three,” Jewel interrupted with a laugh. “Oh, I know what you’re thinking, but I can assure you there’s no magic involved. Just good blood. The women of the Talondim clan have always aged gracefully.”

“I believe that qualifies as an understatement,” Morhion commented matter-of-factly. Jewel gave him a solemn nod.

Mari had learned a little about Jewel from her grandson, Ferret. The Talondim clan were independent thieves, not allied with any guild. Normally, such free-lancers were eradicated by the fiercely territorial thieves’ guilds, but the Talondim family was unusually powerful—due in no small part to the strong hand and keen mind of the clan’s matriarch. As a result, instead of attacking the Talondim family, the thieving guilds of Iriaebor more often sought to forge alliances with Jewel. Thus the Talondim family prospered.

Mari was suddenly filled with sadness at the memories of Ferret. “Your grandson was a good thief, Jewel,” she said quietly. “I can’t tell you how much he helped us when we were fighting Ravendas. But more than that, he was a good man. I miss him.”

Jewel reached out and gave Mari’s hand a squeeze. “I know, love. We all do.” She sighed wistfully. “For the longest time I was furious with the Harpers and the Fellowship of the Dreaming Dragon, for taking Ferret away from me. But now that we’ve met at last, I can see why he risked everything to help you.”

Mari wanted to say how sorry she was, but the words would not come, so she settled for gripping Jewel’s hand fiercely. Jewel laughed and caught Mari in a maternal embrace. “There’s no need to cry, Mari. Don’t you see? We’ve already become friends.”

Despite a flood of tears, Mari couldn’t help laughing, for it was true.

It was Cormik who politely reminded them all why they had come to Jewel’s invisible tower, and they got down to business. It took some time to recount all they knew concerning Caledan’s transformation, yet Mari was amazed that Jewel absorbed it so quickly and with such aplomb.

“I have heard of this Stiletto,” Jewel confessed when Mari finally finished. “But I’m afraid I know very little about him.”

“Very little would be more than I know at the moment,” Cormik replied gruffly.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me in your case, Cormik?” Jewel asked smartly. “As far as my sources have been able to determine, Stiletto is a new underworld power in the Western Heartlands. He—or she, for no one really knows—appeared about two years ago, and since then has quickly risen to power in the world of thievery. Each day, more and more underworld operations fall under Stiletto’s control. Every thieves’ guild west of the Sunset Mountains has felt Stiletto’s bite, and I’m afraid the Talondim clan is no different. We’re all losing obscene amounts of money, so you can imagine that the location of Stiletto’s base of operations is something every guild-master and crime lord in the Western Heartlands would give his pickpocketing hand to know. Despite all our efforts, Stiletto has managed to keep his lair—and his identity—a secret.”

Mari chewed her lip in thought. “Well, at least now we know that Stiletto is somewhere in the Western Heartlands. That narrows it down a bit.”

“Oh, indeed,” Cormik replied drolly. “Now we have only a quarter of a continent to search rather than the whole thing.”

Mari scowled at him. “I was just trying to look on the bright side.”

“I think you’ll have to look harder,” Morhion advised gloomily. “I fear we have little chance of finding Stiletto before Caledan does. I have no doubt that the Shadowstar beckons Caledan. It may take time, but eventually its call will lead him to Stiletto.”

Jewel gave the mage an appraising look. “At the risk of uttering the obvious, why don’t you just let Caledan do the work for you?” Mari, Morhion, and Cormik stared at her, uncomprehending. “Think of it, loves. If Caledan is going to try to get the Shadowstar from this Stiletto, then why don’t you simply follow Caledan for now, and ask questions about Stiletto along the way? You might get lucky and learn where Stiletto is in time to beat Caledan there. And if not, at least you won’t be far behind.”

New hope flooded Mari’s chest. It wasn’t perfect, but it was a plan. “Jewel, you’re brilliant!”

The matriarch of the Talondim clan shrugged modestly. “It’s a gift.”