Downshadow

SEVENTEEN

flThen she realized Kalen wasn't in the Room of Records either, If Araezra slammed her fist on the table. Pain flared and she kissed her wrist to lessen it.

Damn that Kalen-where the Hells was he? He wasn't at home, and he wasn't anywhere at the barracks. This, the Room of Records, was his favorite place-it was peaceful and quiet, and he could read. Where could he be?

And who the Hells was that girl? Wearing his tunic, with hair like that? Had he brought a ^irl home from the Smiling Siren?

She felt sick. Everything was going wrong that day-everything. Except for Jarthay being so kind, she'd have sworn this was still a nightmare. The commander being sensitive made it seem more a fever dream.

Who was that girl? Gods, had Kalen fallen in love with someone else? Gods!

In her anger, Araezra hadn't noticed the door quierly opening or anyone entering. Only as she sat there, willing herself not to cry, did gooseflesh rise on her arms. She realized she was no longer alone. "Who's there?" she asked. "Kalen?"

Light vanished from the room and she gasped. The Room of Records had no windows, and with the door shut, it was utterly lightless. Pushing her uneasy shivers aside, she pur her fingers to the amulet she and those of her rank wore and whispered a word in Elvish. The medallion glowed with a gentle green light, softly illumining the room around her.

She made out the desk nearby and anchored herself. The candle on the edge of the desk gave off a little plume of smoke from its too-short wick.

"Fool girl," she said. "Scared by a burned-out candle."

She saw another source of light, then, coming from her belt. She froze and reached down, very slowly, to the hilt of Shadowbane's sword. She remembered that it had scalded her hand before, but the hilt was no longer warm to the touch. Instead, it felt cool and comfortable. Right. Light leaked around the edges of the scabbard and she drew it forth, gasping in awe at the silver shimmer that fell from it.

"Gods," she murmured. She cut the blade twice through the air, marveling at the way the light trailed. It felt so efficient-a killing weapon, beautiful and deadly.

Then she thought she saw movement against the wall. "What was-?"

She crepr forward, Shadowbane's sword held before her like a talisman. She approached, letting the circle of light creep closer and closer to the wall, until Nothing.

Nothing had moved-it was just a Watch greatcoat hung on a peg by the disused hearth.

Araezra loosed a nervous breath.

Then a man was there, leaping inside her guard. She gasped and tried to slash, but he was too fast, batting the sword out of her hands. The weapon spun end over end toward the door and clattered to the floor. Her attacker seized her by the throat and hip and crushed her against the wall. She could see, by the dim, flickering light of the sword, that it was a smooth-faced dwarf. His features were flawless, making him look all the more monstrous to her eyes. She knew his name-remembered Kalen menrioning a beardless dwarf.

"Arrath Vir," she squeaked.

"I am pleased that you know me," the dwarf said. "It means you might be useful." He fixed her eyes with his own. "Tell me-who is seeking me? A name."

"Piss-urk!" He pressed his arm tighter against her throat, cutting off air.

"Know rhat you are mine to slay on a whim." His eyes bored into hers. "You are powerless. The Warchmen in the barracks-all those swords and shields sworn to serve this city. All those men who hunger for your beauty. All of them mean nothing to you now."

Her face felt as though it would burst from the pressure within. As though he sensed this, Rath eased his arm enough that she could breathe.

"All the years spent cultivating your life-everything you learned as a child, all the pointless loves and hates that have defined who you are. All of it ends, here and now, at my whim." He smiled gently. "You will die at my hands, no matter what you do now."

Araezra gasped but could not speak. She could barely breathe.

"Aye," he said. "But you've a choice. Aid me, and I shall make your death a painless one. Do not, and I shall not."

Araezra looked over Rath's shoulder.

"What say you?" The dwarf eased his grasp so she could just choke out words.

"Pick… it… up," Araezra said.

Rath looked back, and there stood Kalen Dren.

Kalen had trailed Fayne through the streets as best he could, but she was like a devil to follow. She would vanish around a corner and appear elsewhere, a dozen paces to one side or another. Eventually he lost her entirely.

Perhaps it was good riddance-to be free of whatever scheme she'd concocted for the revel-bur in truth, no small part of him wanted to see her again. To finish whar they'd started.

But duty came before beguiling lasses who showed up at his door unannounced, and so he made his way to the barracks. Araezra was hot in any of her usual haunts-her office, the commons, the training yard-and Kalen was a little relieved. He didn't feel like facing her, and if duty had called her away before he got the chance, then so be it. After Talanna had been hurt, he didn't feel like he could lie to Araezra anymore.

He reached the unlatched door of the Room of Records-just a little ajar, so he could see inside-and froze. Rath was inside, holding Araezra captive.

At first, neither of them noticed his appearance, so he kept to the shadows and stood, unmoving, in the doorway. He was not wearing Shadowbane's leathers and cloak, but the Guard uniform was black and he could use that to his advantage. He called upon the lessons he'd learned firsr in Luskan-how to stand still and silent-and thought hard.

Kalen's instinct was to strike, but he suppressed it. Rath held Araezra at such an angle that if Kalen stepped forward, the surprise could prove fatal for her. With his training as a thief, Kalen could kill the dwarf in one, fast blow, but he could not cross the room without one or the other noting him. The silver glow of Vindicator illumined the room enough for that.

Neither could he cry out for guards-as Araezra would surely die in the confusion. And if he went to get aid quietly, he would be abandoning his friend to death.

He had to do something, though. He had He had no sword. The scabbard at his belt was empty.

How had he forgotten that? He had dropped the blade when he brought Myrin back, and never retrieved it. He'd even walked past the barracks armory on his way, coughing and feigning weakness as always. He could reclaim Vindicator, but surely moving the light source would alert Rarh.

Think, he told himself. Think.

But nothing came. He was the weakling Kalen Dren who could barely hold a sword, much less fight with it. There was so little he could do. The dwarf had been too much for him at his prime as Shadowbane, armed and on even ground. If he attacked now, in any way, Rath would kill them both. If it were just himself, he might take Tymora's chance, but it was Rayse.

He felt helpless. He could not attack, could not flee, and if he revealed himself…

That was it.

Making sure to hunch as usual, Kalen stepped forward, out of the shadows, and coughed-softly, but distinctly.

Araezra's eyes danced with stars, but she clearly saw a figure step out of the shadows and into the silvery light: Kalen! His hand was not a dagger's length from Shadowbane's sword. "Pick… it… up," she said.

Rath looked, and a smile spread across his face, particularly at the stooped way Kalen stood, and his empty belt. He only smirked as Kalen stood over the silver blade.

"Touch that steel," Rath said, "and I snap your commander's neck."

"Valabrar," Kalen corrected, in his damnably precise manner.

What are you doing? Araezra thought at him.

"Speak thus, again," Rath said. "I do not understand."

"She is a valabrar. To explain"-Kalen gestured to the two gauntlets on his breastplate-"two, for vigilant. Araezra wears five for a valabrar. One would be a rrusty, three a shieldlar-"

"Silence," the dwarf said. "If you wish this Araezra to live, down any weapons you carry, shut the door, and do only as I say."

Kalen inclined his head, the way he did whenever an instruction was given. Not taking his eyes from Rath, he slid the door quietly shut. He spread his hands to show them empty.

"Kneel," Rath said. "There-where you will block the door."

Kalen did so without argument, sinking to his knees.

Araezra wanted to scream at him. Burn him, what was Kalen doing?

The dwarf smiled at Araezra, and she could smell the brandy on his breath. "What a finely trained mastiff you have," he murmured.

"Let him go," Araezra said. "Don't hurt him. I'll do whatever you want."

"Such as?" A bemused fire lit in the dwarf s eye, as though she had reminded him of a private jest. "What could you possibly offer me?"

"Me." The word tasted like wormwood in her mouth. "I'm beautiful, did you not say it?"

Rath smirked.

Then he hauled Araezra away from the wall and threw het to the floor near the desk as though she were an empty tunic. Her head knocked againsr the stout darkwood and her vision blurred. She reached to pull herself up, but the dwarf caught her hand-her sword hand- and twisted it. A crackle of bones sounded and her wrist exploded in pain. She uttered a screech that did not reach any volume, because he kicked her in the belly and blew any air from her body. The scream became a wet sob.

Kalen was saying something.

The dwarf looked at Kalen then. "I did not hear you, trained dog," he said.

"You should flee this place," Kalen observed in his indifferent manner. "You can accomplish nothing here."

The dwarf lunged across the distance between them and stood over Kalen, one hand grasping him by the brown-black hair that hung messily in his eyes. "Why, dog?" he asked. "Do you offer me a threat?"

Kalen's eyes did not leave Rath's, and he shook his head. "Only a fact," he said. "You are in the heart of our barracks, and a cry will call more Watchmen than you can defeat alone."

Araezra realized Kalen was distracting Rath. She flexed her wristbroken, but she'd trained left-handed as well. She could still wield a sword, albeit poorly. She looked to the silvery blade on the floor. But it was nearer Kalen than herself, and he could not fight, could he?

Would he? She wondered.

"You can slay both of us, but you cannot silence both of us at the same moment." Kalen continued. "Thus, if you kill either of us, the other can cry out and you will die."

The dwarf did not blink, but the look on his face told Araezra he had counted the guards he had bypassed. "Why not call for them now?" he asked.

"Our bargain," Kalen said. "You leave this place and do not harm either of us, and we will not cry out. No one need die."

Araezra gasped and coughed, as her breathing once again became normal. "Kalen…"

He ignored her and stared at Rath, who seemed to be considering.

Then the dwarfs fingers touched the edge of Kalen's jaw, caressing it softly and gently-like a lover, and like death. "Very well, dog," said Rath. "But I want to hear you beg."

Kalen cast his eyes down.

"Beg for mercy," Rarh said with a cruel smile.

When Kalen spoke, his voice hardly rose above a whisper. "Please," he said. "Please."

"Kalen…" Araezra couldn't believe it. The Kalen she loved did not beg.

Rath sniffed. "You call yourself a man, and yet you take the coward's path," he said. He looked at Araezra. "Your mastiff is not a hound, my lady, but a mongrel bitch."

Kalen's eyes, gleaming pale at Araezra, seemed very, very cold in that silvery light.

Araezra rubbed her bruised rhroat. "Choose, dwarf," she said. "I have a good scream in me yet, and weak as he is, I've no doubt Vigilant Dren can muster such a cry."

Rath looked from her ro Kalen and back. Then he snorted.

"Very well." He hauled Kalen up, and to his credit, the man barely coughed. "Know that your cowardice falls beneath the weakest pup, for even such a cur can fight when cornered."

Kalen did not answer.

"Have you nothing to say?" asked the dwarf. Kalen only stared at Rath. Araezra felt a trembling anger build within her.

Then Rath was gone, nearly flying down the hall. Kalen slumped ro the floor, but he caught himself before his face struck the stone. Araezra saw his eyes, bright and furious and icy, gleam at her. Then he started to cough.

In an instant, as though that sound had given her strength, Araezra pushed herself to her feet. "Guard!" she cried, loud as she could. "Watch, Guard-to arms! Intruder!"

A great clamor of feet and steel arose in the rooms around them. Folk were coming, summoned by Araezra's cry. Araezra looked at Kalen, so weak and sad, lying there. She reached down. "Up, Vigilant."

He took her hand and climbed up shakily. "Are you hurt?" he asked.

She shook her head, furious words building in her throat. Kalen coughed. "Gods, Rayse, I didn't want you to get hurt. You know that."

"Spare me." Araezra shook her head, too angry and hurt to spend soft words on him. "I don't need anyone to protect me-especially not a coward."

Kalen cast his eyes down.

Araezra took Shadowbane's sword-it felt warm to the touch but did not burn her-then ran into the hall to muster the Watch.

Kalen stood shaking, wounded deeper than any sword could have cut.

He'd given everything to save Araezra. He had broken his greatest vow to himself, never to beg. And still, she had turned away from him. He had seen the contempt in her eyes.

He was less than a man to her, and he had pulled her low as well.

A coughing fit came upon him then, bubbling up like a cruel reminder of his failure, and he fought it down-in vain. He coughed and retched and spat blood into his hand.

That blood and spit could easily have been Rath's blood on his hands. The temptation had been so strong-to trick the dwarf into vulnerability and plunge a blade into his liver, kidney, or heart. Like a backstabbing thief, or like an assassin. The way he would have done in Luskan. But that would have sullied his vows, and the paladin in him would not allow it.

He lifted his hands to heal himself at a touch, but his powers did not come forth.

He realized why, and the understanding struck him like a slap across the face.

All this time, he had protected Waterdeep-this city of faceless citizens-and protected those he loved and cherished. But he could not do it at the cost of his own principles. He could not compromise the deepest commitment of all: to himself.

So that he might continue in his duty, he hadn't revealed himself after Lorien, or after Talanna had been hurt. The threefold god had not punished him for that. But when he hadn't revealed himself today, he'd chased away his only friend other than Cellica.

Although Araezra was alive, he knew he had acted wrongly. The

Threefold God had taken his powers for sacrificing his duty to himself for his duty to others.

He saw that he must do both-fight for the ciry, and fight for himself and those he loved. He would prove himself worthy.

He swore it.