Realms of Valor

A VIRTUE BY REFLECTION

Penn Othmann couldn't explain why he felt so nervous as he closed up his small, exclusive shop. The day had been uneventful, and, following his usual routine, he had worked well into the evening cataloguing antiques. Yet as Othmann was about to pull the door shut behind him, lock it, and speak the word that would have engaged the shop's magical wards, a terrible fit of anxiety overtook him. He wanted to go back inside and hide. That would be childish, he told himself. There's nothing to fear from the night in a civilized city like Arabel. Nothing at all.

Then the figure leaped out of the shadows. Othmann felt an explosion of pain in his upper arm, and he cried out. He had been stabbed. Futilely he wished he had trusted his instincts, but it was too late to chide himself. Survival was all that mattered now.

Before Penn Othmann could make another sound, his mouth was covered by his assailant's hand. Othmann was forced back with incredible ferocity, his head slamming into the wall. A burst of pure white light filled his vision.

His attacker gripped his arm and spoke into Othmann's ear in a low voice. "Run. If you scream, I'll gut you."

The merchant desperately wanted to tell the dark, misshapen figure that he was a wealthy man, that he could pay any price for his life, but the tone of that threat told him such pleading would gain him nothing.

Instead, Penn Othmann ran, just as he had been told. He raced through the darkened streets of the city, darted into alleyways, leaped over gates, and plunged down deserted avenues. The flaxen-haired merchant prayed his heart wouldn't give out. He wanted to stop, to catch his breath and rest, but his pursuer was never less than a few paces behind. The physical regimen he had endured as training for the city's weekly footraces had kept his body hard and lean, but the cold night air bit deeply into the bloody wound in his arm. Othmann's proud, handsome features were screwed up in pain and exertion. His sky-blue eyes were fixed on the continuous maze before him.

He wasn't aware that he was being driven along a chosen path, toward a particular destination, until he turned a corner and saw a dark green wall of foliage ahead. A nightmare-black gap was carved into the shrub wall, a dark archway that served as entrance to the beautiful gardens of the Citadel. Two guards lay on their chests. They might have been dead, but Othmann couldn't tell for sure.

Suddenly he knew exactly why he had been brought here. He stopped, and the footsteps behind him ceased. The cold realization that escape had never truly been possible flooded into him, accompanied by a fear unlike any he had ever known. Trembling, Penn Othmann turned and looked into the face of his executioner.

The dark figure grinned in delight and advanced.

A delicate whisper moved through the fabric of Myrmeen Lhal's dreams, causing the lithe, sensuous brunette to stir gently awake. "Myrmeen," the voice said in rich, melodic tones, "it's time to begin your day, my dearest."

Her dark blue eyes, tinged with slivers of gold, fluttered open. It was morning. The voice repeated its message, and Myrmeen reached over to the ornate nightstand beside her bed and allowed her hand to drift to a beautiful crystal phoenix.

"Myrmeen, it's time to-"

The voice was abruptly silenced as her fingers grazed the small statue. The phoenix was a gift from an admirer, a magical construct that had the ability to capture sounds then release them once again at a time of her choosing. The voice that had woken her had been her own.

Myrmeen sat up in bed and turned to appraise the quality of the light streaming through the large window to her left. The radiance was delicate and soft, filtered through pale blue curtains that fluttered ever so gently, though the windows were closed and there was no breeze. Myrmeen smiled at this. The curtains had been charged with several spells of protection-as had many of the objects in the vast, opulent bedchamber-and the energy moving through them caused them to sway. If an intruder were to somehow break through the glass, the curtains would rap themselves around the unfortunate fellow and slice him to pieces. Brutal, yes, but such protective measures were not uncommon or unnecessary for the ruler of any large city in Cormyr.

And the traps and wards might be hidden anywhere in the room. The wall behind the bed was decorated with a bronze mural of barrel-chested fighting men grappling in various death-duels. The metal reverberated with a low, rhythmic thump, not unlike the beating of a human heart. A sunken bath with rapidly churning scented waters lay a few steps away. On the walls, between paintings of startling elegance, weapons of arcane origins were mounted. Any of these might prove to be far more than the trappings of wealth.

Myrmeen frowned, fell back upon the bed, and tried to go back to sleep. She had been burdened by nightmares that were already beginning to fade, and she worried that the effects of the restless night she had endured would plague her the entire day. If she could get an hour or two of proper rest, she might be able to face the day without yawning in some dignitary's face.

The dreams were of her troubled childhood, her disastrous first marriage, and the death of her second, beloved husband, Haverstrom Lhal. She knew that she should be used to the nightmares, but they disturbed her with renewed power each day. She was no longer certain they would ever leave her alone.

A warm, comforting wave eased through her body as she settled upon the bed, her bare back exposed to reveal the network of scars she had gained in her days as an adventurer. Suddenly she felt a hand gripping her shoulder, as hard and cold as bronze. She snapped instantly awake and turned to look at the mural behind her. The warriors were locked in their familiar poses.

Shaking her head, Myrmeen untangled herself from the twisted mass of sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. As she faced the sunlight, the shards of gold within her dark blue eyes sparkled.

The phoenix sculpture by her bed trembled and delivered another message: "It is time, milady. The delegation has arrived. I, for one, do not envy you. On the other hand, all I have to worry about is getting a good night's sleep. Fare thee well, and enjoy the delegation."

"Another delegation," Myrmeen muttered. "Kill me now." A knock came at the door. "One moment!"

Myrmeen reached to a spot in midair, as if she were pulling apart an invisible set of curtains. A shining rift appeared in the air, and, from that opening, a sparkling black gown leaped over her shoulders, slimming itself about her thin waist, generous breasts, and perfectly proportioned hips. Her headdress followed, along with her gloves, jewelry, and shoes. Another mage had given her this gift-a beautiful dresser that existed half in this plane of existence, half in another. She could also use the dimensional rift to make a hasty retreat from her quarters if the Citadel were overrun by attackers. The amorous sorcerer had assured her that only she could open or close the gate.

"Enter!" she called.

The door opened, and Myrmeen turned to face Evon Stralana, Arabel's minister of defense. The tall, wiry, dark-haired man seemed quite troubled. His already pale skin had gone pure white.

"The delegation," Myrmeen said, smiling. "I'm late."

"It's not that," he said gravely.

Her stance changed suddenly. This was no trivial matter, she sensed. Something was terribly wrong, something that had broken through Stralana's cool, reserved shell.

'Tell me," Myrmeen snapped.

"There's been a murder."

"Who was killed?"

"A merchant. Penn Othmann. I don't believe I've ever seen his name on your appointment schedule."

"No, the name doesn't sound familiar." She waited. There had to be more. Stralana wouldn't have been this concerned over a murder. Arabel was a large city and violent death was not uncommon. "What else?"

"The body was found in the gardens."

Her hands curled into fists, her nails biting into her palms with enough force to draw blood. "Was the man killed there, or was the body dropped there?"

"He died in the gardens."

Myrmeen felt her skin grow cold. "What about the guards?"

"They were found this morning, ensorcelled but unharmed. They have no memory of what occurred."

"The spells protecting the gardens?"

"Stripped away."

"I want to see."

"Yes," Stralana said. "I thought you might."

The fiery tongue of sunlight darted between the leaves high above the central gardens near the Citadel. Gazebos, rose-entangled archways, and topiary renditions of various gods and demigods surrounded the two figures who stood at the center of the gardens, where Othmann's head had been discovered. Soldiers had been posted to keep out the curious.

"By all the denizens of Hades," Myrmeen whispered as she turned to Stralana. "There are pieces of this man strewn from one end of the garden to the other. Whoever- or whatever-did this obviously hated him with a passion."

"Yes," Stralana said flatly.

As she studied the carnage, Myrmeen began to shake; the gardens had once been a private retreat for her and her husband. "I want to know who did this."

"I understand. Procedures have been followed, but the body resists all forms of divination and spirit magic. His soul has taken flight and cannot be reached."

“Then other means must be applied. Have our hunters gone over the tracks?"

"Of course. They claim the murderer-or murderers- covered any traces they may have left behind. It's impossible to tell how many were here, if they were men or women, if they were even human."

Myrmeen frowned. "He was a merchant you say?"

"Yes. He sold artifacts. Some magical, some not, His shop was near Elhazir's Exotica."

"I've heard several of the cleaning staff talk of Elhazir's. They display the fake jewelry they find there proudly, as if it were the real thing. Elhazir sells copies of my best dresses. She peddles trinkets she claims were blessed by the gods with fearsome power." Myrmeen paused. "Was Othmann in competition with Elhazir? Could this have been a case of professional rivalry?"

Stralana shook his head. "I sincerely doubt it. As with everything else, the magic items Elhazir sells are cheap fakes. Othmann sold genuine objects of power." The minister cleared his throat and added, "On a related matter, several youths came upon the open door to Othmann's shop during the night. They went in, unaware that a series of magical wards had been set in place. Two of the boys were burned, but not fatally. Another was reduced to the mental level of infancy, and still another was transformed into a pale, brittle creature for whom the slightest movement could result in shattered bones and ruptured organs.

"That's how we came to know Othmann was missing. We had been trying to locate him to ascertain the nature of the shop's wards, so that the mages hired by the parents of the children could have the spells countermanded. We also wanted to know why he had left the door open in such an enticing fashion. The boys had been wrong to go inside, but they had practically been invited.

"One of the guardsmen who had been given Othmann's description was also one of the first men to arrive at the gardens this morning. That's how the victim was identified so quickly." Stralana gestured to a guard standing apart from the others. "I've asked the lad to wait until you're done here, in case you wish to speak with him." When Myrmeen shook her head, he shrugged and continued.

"I sent two of our finest sorcerers around to Othmann's shop the moment we had the body identified, along with several of our investigators. Elhazir was upon them very quickly. She was filled with questions, and when she learned that Othmann was dead, she seemed genuinely grieved. The woman told our agents much of what we needed to know-that Othmann specialized in high-priced artifacts, magical and otherwise. His shop was open by appointment only. Elhazir gave him referrals whenever it became obvious that her clients knew what they wanted and would not be tricked by her fast tongue. In return for sending him clients, Othmann gave her a healthy commission."

"Was Othmann a sorcerer?" Myrmeen asked quietly.

"No one seems to know."

"But he trafficked in items of power. I would wager that if he was not well-versed in the Art, he was closely affiliated with someone who was. That person may have been the one who subdued our guards, defeated the spells protecting the gardens, and killed Othmann."

Stralana nodded. "That would make sense, but Elhazir made no mention of a partner. Othmann seemed to run his trade completely alone."

"She's lying or ill informed. What did she tell your men of Othmann's personal affairs?"

"Only that he kept them extremely private. They enjoyed a professional relationship and nothing more."

Myrmeen paused to consider this. "I don't want anyone going into Othmann's shop until I'm through with the blasted delegation this morning. Then I'll join the men there. Oh, and I'll want to talk with Elhazir myself."

The pale-skinned man waited patiently for her next command.

"Evon, I need to visit the gazebo. It would be best if I did it alone."

"Of course. But…"

Myrmeen leveled a cold gaze on her minister. "But what?"

"Nothing, milady," he murmured. Lowering his eyes in respect, Stralana left her and returned to his men.

Alone, Myrmeen walked through the gardens until an elegantly adorned gazebo loomed before her. Carved into the far wall was a representation of a phoenix, her late husband's symbol. She thought of his funeral pyre and the vain, ridiculous hope she had nurtured that somehow he would rise from his own ashes. He had risen only in her heart, where a part of him would remain forever.

But those mournful thoughts were quickly replaced in Myrmeen's mind by shock. Blood spattered the gazebo's walls, marring Haverstrom's phoenix. Whoever had murdered Othmann had left his body in the gardens as a message to her. There could be no other reason for this senseless vandalism.

Anger flooded into her with renewed vitality. Since her husband's death, there had been many times when the pressures of ruling Arabel were too much to bear. She needed a place to which she could retreat, a place where she would always feel safe. The gardens-and this spot in particular-had been that sanctuary. Standing in this gazebo, Myrmeen had always been able to recall the joy, love, and comfort she had found in her husband's arms.

Images raced into her mind. She thought of one morning after invaders had attempted to take the city. Haverstrom had been stabbed, and his healers called it a miracle that he had survived. She could almost hear his voice as he raised his armored fist in the air and railed against his enemies, promising that they would experience the dark miracle of his vengeance. And now she, too, would seek out that dark miracle.

Myrmeen cried out in rage, the shout of a warrior thirsting for revenge. When she had regained control of herself, she placed her hand on the wall for support. Her husband had proposed to her in this gazebo. They'd kissed for the first time in its cool shade….

The sight of what had been done made Myrmeen want to draw blood of her own. Quelling those dark thoughts as best she could, she walked from the gazebo until she came upon a collection of her men, then commanded three of them to strip off their breastplates and give her their padded doublets. They did not hesitate to obey.

On the way back to the gazebo, Myrmeen tore the shirts into strips and paused at a small fountain where she soaked the rags she had made. She returned to the small building and stared at the crimson spatters. Stralana had been over this place; his hesitation earlier told her that much. And since he did not say otherwise, it was safe to assume they gained no clues from it.

Myrmeen began to wipe away the blood staining the white walls. Soon she was covered in sweat and her clothes were ruined. She made several trips to the fountain, but all the water in the Inner Sea wouldn't restore the gazebo to its former pristine condition. And even if she could wash away the blood, the place wouldn't be the same, for she could never wipe away the memory.

"I miss you, Haverstrom," she said, running her fingers lightly over the walls. "But know wherever you are that I will avenge this."

She turned and silently stalked out of the gardens.

An hour later, Myrmeen stood in her throne room, flanked by guards. Evon Stralana and several of his soldiers observed the scene stoically from the back of the room. Two men, a woman, and a collection of almost a dozen cats, both domestic and wild, milled before the throne. The delegation had identified itself as representing a race that rarely revealed itself to mortals-the cat lords.

Myrmeen stiffened, worried that her fear of the jaguar they had brought might become apparent to the animal. She was surrounded by guards and magical wards, but she was quite familiar with the speed and ferocity of such animals.

The female cat lord smiled, apparently sensing Myrmeen's discomfort. She wriggled her gloved fingers, and the jaguar lay at her feet. Myrmeen watched the creature nervously, thinking of Penn Othmann's shredded corpse.

"My name is Siobhan," the woman said. "With me is Niccolo and Sauveur."

Myrmeen nodded as she looked at each of the cat lords. Siobhan's age was impossible to discern. She seemed quite young, but there was a stiffness to her movements quite unusual for one of her race. Perhaps it was the high leather boots she wore; they looked rather uncomfortable.

Still, no one could deny Siobhan's beauty. Her black hair cascaded to her waist, almost lost against her dark but elegant clothing. The woman's piercing, gray-blue eyes fastened on Myrmeen as she pulled her lips into an enigmatic smile. As she bowed her head in greeting, the heart-shaped amulet around her neck bobbed. One side of the riven heart was blood red, the other black.

Behind the lovely Siobhan, Niccolo ran his hand through his thick auburn mane and Sauveur rolled his head, allowing his silver hair to graze his shoulders. Both men were strikingly handsome.

After exchanging pleasantries, Myrmeen asked Siobhan to proceed with her request.

"I cannot," Siobhan replied. "Our lord dominante is not among us. He must have been detained."

The doors burst open, and a devastatingly handsome green-eyed man entered. His features were sharply defined, his cheeks, nose, and jaw strongly chiseled. The man's lips were sensuous and inviting, his eyes the deepest emerald Myrmeen had ever seen. He was dressed in black with gold and light blue trim. His shirt was bright red.

Myrmeen took her throne, and the delegation crowded more closely around her. Siobhan gestured at the dark man. "I would like to introduce Lord Zacharius."

The green-eyed man moved forward, took Myrmeen's hand, and gave it a tiny lick. Myrmeen was startled, until Zacharius winked and added, "People always expect that type of thing from me." He took her hand a second time, gently kissed it, then withdrew.

"Lord Zacharius-"

"Zaz, please. My name is Zaehlas Alandovos Zacharius. But then, it's been shortened over the years. Humans seem to find Zaz most appropriate. Rolls off the tongue easier."

"In this chamber, Lord Zacharius is more fitting."

"As you wish."

Myrmeen sighed. "What may I do for you?"

"You have something we want. Something that belongs to us, actually. We have come to reclaim it. Now, to tell you what we have come to Arabel to find, I must first tell you something of our race. Long ago, wars were fought among the various tribes of the cats. Natural enemies struck out against one another. Centuries of bloodshed ensued."

"By 'the cats,' you mean the cat lords. Your people."

Zacharius hesitated. "Yes. Of course."

Siobhan laughed and knelt down to scratch the ears of the jaguar at her feet. A half-dozen of the other felines meowed jealously. The jaguar yawned, then rolled its head and turned to Myrmeen. There was a startling intelligence in the creature's eyes, and the gaze was almost hypnotic…

The trance was shattered when a small gray kitten broke from the pack and leaped into Myrmeen's lap, startling her.

"Ah, you'd best beware," Siobhan said with a laugh. "That's our fiercest warrior."

The kitten looked up at Myrmeen and mewled piteously. She stroked its side, and the kitten closed its eyes and curled contentedly in her lap.

Lord Zacharius said, "Satsuma, a great leader of our people, gave his life to unite the warring tribes against a common enemy. That enemy, though defeated, played one last cruel trick. Satsuma's bones were stolen by the enemy's soldiers and scattered throughout Faerun. We have cause to believe that one of these secret burial chambers rests beneath the university. Allow us to reclaim our fallen leader and finally send his soul to the rest it deserves, and you will have our gratitude for all time."

"Beneath the university?" Myrmeen asked. "Exactly where beneath the university?"

"We don't know. The whole structure will have to come down, of course."

"I see."

Lord Zacharius cocked his head. "Is that a problem?"

"I would think so. The clerics of Tymora who staff the place are rather fond of it. So are the students." Myrmeen frowned. "What's the source of your information? Who told you Satsuma's remains were here?"

"I can't tell you that," Zacharius said brightly. "What I've told you thus far is more than any human has ever been allowed to know about our race."

"I'm honored," Myrmeen said wearily. "I'm also placed in a very awkward position. It took many years to have that building erected and to make it the success it is now. I sympathize with your needs, Lord Zacharius, but your request is somewhat extreme."

Under normal circumstances, Myrmeen would have rejected Zacharius's proposal without further discussion. She could not, however, get the image of Penn Othmann's savaged body from her thoughts. It returned whenever she glanced at the jaguar lying at Siobhan's feet.

"I will need time to fully consider your request," Myrmeen said at last.

"I understand." Zacharius wiggled his fingers. The gray kitten in Myrmeen's lap leaped from her and went to him. Zacharius paused at the door, waiting until Siobhan, Niccolo, Sauveur, and the cats had all filed out. "Summon me when you've made a decision. I will not be hard to find."

With a strange, enigmatic smile, he turned and left. The doors were shut behind him.

Evon Stralana broke from his soldiers and came to Myrmeen. "What do you think?"

The noblewoman's face was set in a scowl. "If you find as much as one cat hair on the merchant's corpse, I want Lord Zacharius and his entire entourage brought in for questioning. In any case, find out everything you can about him and have your men keep a very close watch on the entire entourage. I want to know where they're staying, who they contact while they're here-everything."

"Consider it done. In the meantime, may I suggest we try to learn more about the victim?"

A short time later, Myrmeen stood outside Othmann's shop. The mages soon completed their work, verified that it was safe to enter, and allowed Myrmeen to follow them inside. There were no windows, so torches had to be lit.

The interior of the shop consisted of a few shelves on the walls, several glass cases, a desk with three chairs-one behind, two in front-and a small room in the back, where empty crates were piled up to hide a large black box. They approached it cautiously, since it was warded by three spells. These proved to be simple enchantments, easily undone by the skillful sorcerers. Inside, they found several bags of gold and a handful of precious stones.

The mages examined several of the artifacts around the shop and verified that each was of very high quality. The power resting within them was quite genuine. Only a dilapidated Harp of Myth Drannor brought a skeptical frown.

The first mage, a tired older man named Volney, turned to his partner. "All right, Walcott, take this down: a ring of invisibility, five vials of healing potions, two small jars of ointments to restore youth and instill longevity, and a chalice from which a man might drink and see his future. Fairly standard stuff."

Walcott seemed world-weary and definitely unimpressed by Volney's casual dismissal of the store's contents. He nodded agreeably anyway, then turned to Myrmeen. "He has amulets that will explode upon the wrongful death of the owner. Take half a city block with for revenge, too. There are items here to trap a shapeshifter in its present form, and much more. It makes no sense at all that he was killed so easily."

"What are you saying?" Myrmeen asked.

Walcott shrugged. 'The man knew the streets could be dangerous at night, yet he never traveled with guards of any kind. He obviously felt safe from any mundane threat."

“That's true," Myrmeen said, recalling the testimony of several other shop owners she had questioned while waiting for the mages to complete their task. "Unless, of course, he carried some of these objects of power on him, so that if he were attacked, he'd be able to defend himself." She paused. "But when we went over his body and his clothing, we found nothing."

"Perhaps that's what the killer was after," Volney said, hoping to reclaim his faltering position of authority. "Some object Othmann carried on his person."

"If he had a weapon, why didn't he use it?" Myrmeen asked.

"He may not have had the chance," Walcott noted grimly. "Not if his murderer was a powerful mage."

Myrmeen found it very warm in the shop. She wiped away the sweat that was starting to fall into her eyes. "So you think this was a matter of theft? Then why bring Othmann to the gardens? The wards protecting this place were already undone. Why not drag him back inside and kill him here? They could have cleaned the shop out."

"If his murderer was a true master of the Art," Walcott said, "he wouldn't have been interested in most of the shop's contents. Like we said, this stuff is all pretty standard."

Volney nodded sagely. "And to a high-powered wizard the wards at the gardens would have been child's play to undo."

All three were startled by a knock at the door. Evon Stralana appeared and ushered an attractive woman into the room. Myrmeen had sent the minister of defense to fetch the owner of Elhazir's Exotica for questioning. The woman had honey-blond hair, doe eyes, and a hardness about her mouth that seemed incongruous. She was overdressed, her wardrobe overwhelmed entirely by the cheap, flashy jewelry she sold. Her dress was a poor imitation of Myrmeen's latest formal gown.

Scurrying in behind the woman was a young girl with wide, frightened eyes and a simple white dress. The child looked beyond her mistress, to Myrmeen, and her eyes widened.

"Lord Lhal," the first woman said. "I am Elhazir. This is my assistant, Andreana."

The girl bowed and opened her mouth to speak, but Elhazir cut her off. "Is there some service I may perform for you, Lord Lhal?"

Myrmeen stared at Elhazir's red, bleary eyes. The woman's heavy makeup had been applied recently, but it couldn't hide the fact that she'd been crying for hours. "Perhaps if you could answer a few questions…."

"Of course."

"How did you know Penn Othmann?"

"He came by now and then to talk. Lots of the other merchants did. Business has been slow."

"You also had a financial arrangement with him."

"Yes, but it was a rare occasion when I had cause to send one of my customers to Penn."

"Did you hear or see anything suspicious last night?"

"Nothing."

"Did he seem anxious or frightened lately?"

"No, he seemed quite normal."

Myrmeen placed her hand on the shoulder of the young girl. "Did you see or hear anything?"

Andreana shrugged. "I never paid much attention."

"Yes," Elhazir snapped, "that's your problem. You never pay attention to anything, you little halfwit."

Myrmeen watched the girl's hair fall into her eyes as she looked down. It did not disguise the hurt she saw there. Turning to Elhazir, Myrmeen asked, "Would you have any objections to my men searching both your house and your business?"

"Do what you like," Elhazir said. "I'm not hiding anything."

"Of course not, but maybe you're overlooking something important. One other thing. We've heard from several parties that Othmann was involved with a red-haired woman about my age," Myrmeen lied. "Do you know anything about her?"

Elhazir was stunned. She flinched, then bit her lower lip. "No, I can't."

"He also had a wife in Suzail," Myrmeen added. "We're thinking she may be our prime suspect."

"A wife," Elhazir said flatly. "How interesting."

"If the wife found out about the mistress-or mistresses-she might have hired a mage to kill him."

"A mage? He was killed by a mage?"

"Yes. You didn't know that?"

"I didn't."

Myrmeen nodded. "I see. And about the wife?"

"He never said anything about being married."

"Thanks for your help," Myrmeen said abruptly. "Both of you are dismissed."

The woman nodded, took the arm of her assistant, and left the shop. One of Myrmeen's soldiers accompanied her. The dark-eyed ruler turned to Stralana. "Othmann and Elhazir were lovers."

"I gathered as much from your, shall we say, creative inquiries."

"I want you to use your best men to conduct the search of Elhazir's home and business. Go through everything."

"You're hoping to find some tangible evidence of Elhazir's relationship to Othmann? To establish her motive?"

"That's part of it," Myrmeen said. "Frankly, I wouldn't be surprised if she's a mage herself-or knows the identity of the mage who killed Othmann. But we can't arrest her without cause."

"What if my men find nothing?"

"Then have her watched night and day. She's upset enough now after that story I made up about Othmann's wife and other lovers that she might make a mistake. Let's hope she gives herself away or leads us to the one we seek."

A scream ripped through the street, causing Myrmeen, Stralana, and one of the soldiers to race out of the shop. The mages and another soldier remained behind.

"It came from there," a young flaxen-haired soldier named Kynan Tofte said as he pointed at an alley across the street. There they found an old woman crouched atop a pile of trash. She brandished a broom as if it were a sword, holding off the collection of hissing, clawing cats at her feet. The felines had trapped the woman and seemed prepared to attack.

"This does not bode well," Stralana said as the soldiers went to the woman's aid. "Does it?"

Myrmeen watched the cats scatter into the alley, then shook her head. "No, I'm afraid it doesn't"

For the next three days, incidents involving the feline population of Arabel abounded: Two dozen people were assaulted by their household pets the first afternoon. Ten times that number reported confrontations that night. No one was seriously injured, though many claimed to have nearly died of fright.

A marauding pack of cats, several hundred strong, pounced upon an outdoor fish market in the middle of the day and seriously depleted the merchant's supplies before they were driven off. Bakeries and dairies were vandalized. Arabel's most prominent tailor came to Myrmeen in tears, reporting that his entire warehouse of clothes had been ripped to shreds by tiny claws. In several incidents it was obvious that human hands, or hands that were human at least part of the time, had been at work. A half-dozen outdoor performances by dramatic touring companies had been interrupted, and one which relied heavily on magic to carry off its action had been stopped dead, the actors terrified of getting their faces scratched by the animals.

Like most in Cormyr, Arabel's citizens had long believed cats to be the eyes and messengers of the gods. Killing a cat was a serious offense, and many preferred to suffer the indignations heaped upon them by the felines rather than risk offending some powerful deity. Some crouched in corners and prayed for guidance as their businesses were vandalized. They begged for illumination, horrified that they had somehow offended their gods.

Others became tired of the whole strange situation and took up arms against the beasts. Several cats had been killed, a few maimed. Those who slew them were later found to be the victims of mysterious accidents; bits of fur-some matted in blood-had been found at the site of each incident. The gods had taken vengeance, the devout whispered fearfully.

On the second night, reports of disturbances had escalated to include traders who had been accosted just outside the city's walls by monstrous creatures swathed in darkness. The merchants' wares had been destroyed. Other traders complained their stock had been similarly targeted when they'd attempted to leave Arabel.

Through it all, Stralana's men kept Lord Zacharius, Siobhan, Niccolo, and Sauveur under constant surveillance. The cat lords' whereabouts could be accounted for at all times. They had been nowhere near the sites of even the most minor conflict. Nevertheless, Zacharius had not been idle. Using his credentials as a diplomat, he had successfully charged to Myrmeen and the city outrageous bar tabs, bills for fine meals, and several visits to local brothels. At the last of these he had left a note which read, "Dearest Myrmeen, I could never resist a good cathouse. Yours, Zaz."

It was commonly believed that Zacharius was responsible for the growing number of strange episodes involving the felines. He may not have committed any of the acts himself, but he was certainly behind them. Despite the incidents throughout the city, though, the people were truly beginning to like Lord Zacharius, and it had nothing to do with his roguish charm. Myrmeen examined the pattern of attacks and realized the cat lord and his people had targeted individuals who had been known to cheat their customers, to treat their neighbors badly, or those who had otherwise achieved a hearty level of dislike among the common populace.

Myrmeen wanted to lock the man up, but it wasn't until the third day of the weird siege that she had just cause. Someone secretly poisoned the entire night watch, though none fatally so. And though the unconscious men and women weren't discovered until morning, their beats did not go unkept; dozens of Zacharius's people somehow knew of the mishap and took on the task of patrolling the night. All of the cat lords were quite friendly and performed their tasks so efficiently that the substitution wasn't noticed until the new shift came on at sunrise.

Less than an hour later, Myrmeen and Evon Stralana caught up with Lord Zacharius outside a popular eatery. He was taken to the Citadel and imprisoned. Along the way, he seemed completely oblivious to the anger of his captors and his very circumstances. In the street, some people cheered him.

"I love this city," he cried. "Arabel is an amazing and friendly place. I intend to recommend it to all my people."

Myrmeen locked Lord Zacharius in the lowest levels of the palace, demanding an end to the attacks against her citizens, but Zacharius claimed he was innocent of any wrongdoings-except the business with the guardsmen, of course. That, he noted with a smirk, had been a harmless prank.

The cat lord was clear on one thing, though: his presence was most certainly an indirect, contributing factor to the local chaos. The sooner he got what he wanted and was gone, the better it would be for all involved.

After a day had passed with Lord Zacharius in custody, Myrmeen understood why he had been completely nonplussed by his incarceration. The green-eyed cat lord escaped repeatedly from an array of cells in the dungeon, but even Stralana could not explain how he was doing it. Men were stationed to watch him constantly, and mages were commissioned to prevent his jaunts. None of it had mattered. He came and went as he pleased. Regardless of precautions, the cat lord simply vanished from the prison to show up elsewhere in the city, enjoy an expensive meal, entertain a luscious young lady, then return to the palace, making a grandiose royal entrance.

Night had fallen, and Myrmeen Lhal sat in her throne room, brooding over the murder of Penn Othmann. Presently, the investigation was at a standstill: Stralana's inquiries into Lord Zacharius's actions since his arrival in Arabel-before and after his incarceration-had given no indication that the cat lord had been in any way affiliated with Penn Othmann. According to the records, Zacharius arrived the morning after the murder, right on schedule for his audience. And Zacharius could account for almost every moment of his time away from his cell, and he did so willingly, even to the point of garrulousness.

Myrmeen's investigation of her other suspect was faring no better. Stralana's men had uncovered no evidence at Elhazir's home or business to substantiate the suspicions of an affair between her and Othmann. And if the woman was a mage, she kept no spellbooks, no obvious components for enchantments, and no true objects of power. In fact, Elhazir had no correspondence or records to indicate that she had ever been affiliated with mages of any skill. Myrmeen, hoping that the magic-wielding murderer might make contact with Elhazir, decided to give the situation a few more days.

The door to Myrmeen's throne room suddenly burst open, and Kynan Tofte entered. The young soldier cried, "He's done it again! One minute Lord Zacharius was in his cell, content as could be, lapping at the soup we brought him, the next he was gone!"

"Search the restaurants and brothels," Myrmeen growled. "He'll turn up … along with a sizeable bill."

Kynan Tofte lowered his head and nodded. "Of course, milady. Please forgive me for intruding."

"No apology is necessary."

The soldier turned his gaze in the direction of the untouched plate of food sitting beside her throne. She had been thinking about the desecration of the gardens and had been too upset to eat. The soldier seemed to consider making an encouraging comment, then thought better of it. He quickly exited, leaving the doors ajar. Myrmeen flirted with the idea of calling out to him, or to one of the servants, to close the door, then she chided herself for being so lazy. Crossing the room, Myrmeen sealed the chamber shut. She felt a slight chill at her back and turned sharply at the sound of someone biting into an apple.

Lord Zacharius sat upon the throne. He had one leg sprawled over the side, one arm over the back. The handsome visitor turned his dazzling smile upon Myrmeen as he dropped the partially eaten apple onto the tray containing the rest of her meal.

"Lord Zacharius," Myrmeen said, carefully hiding her surprise. "Is it exercise period for the prisoners? If not, I assume you have a reason for being here. You might also explain how you got into my throne room, while you're at it."

He shrugged. "The reason for my visit is simple. I merely wanted to extend my thanks for your warm hospitality, your old-fashioned generosity. It touches my heart, it does. I'm not often treated to free bed and board." He licked his lips. "The how? That's my secret and will remain as such."

"You were locked in a dungeon, Lord Zacharius. The 'hospitality' you spoke of was imprisonment."

"I suppose, if you want to look at it that way. But as you can see, I've hardly been confined. Why don't we try to make the best out of it?"

"Your imprisonment is as much for your protection as anything. Many hold you responsible for the acts of your people. They might attempt to harm you."

"Or they might reward me for getting back at the nasty, fat slobs that cheat them. You're aware of the protesters outside the Citadel, aren't you? Even as we speak, there are-"

"I am well aware of them," Myrmeen said curtly.

“Our citizens are outraged and frightened by the treatment I've received. They chant that the gods will be quite cross. They feel all the 'incidents,' as you call them, are the results of the higher powers defending my race."

"Those people are professional zealots," Myrmeen said, "looking for any cause."

"They've found mine."

Myrmeen narrowed her eyes. "They don't know what you truly are, Lord Zacharius. I doubt they would be so supportive if they knew of your bestial side."

'Threats don't become you," he drawled. "And please, call me Zaz."

"Lord Zacharius, this is a serious matter. Your kind has the power to hypnotize, to enchant. Is that how you've managed to get out of your cell nearly every evening for the past tenday? Is that how you got in here?"

"Nothing so crude as that. I thought we might spend a quiet evening together." The cat lord uncoiled his body and rose from Myrmeen's throne. She went angrily toward him, and they met in the center of the room. "And afterward, I thought we might once again discuss my proposal."

"I refuse to give any serious consideration to your request so long as the attacks against my people persist."

"What makes you think I have anything to do with it?" he asked as he absently brushed her arm.

Myrmeen pulled away and restrained an urge to strike the man. "I slighted you. I insulted your religious beliefs and refused your request to unearth the remains of your ancestor. Zealots have often killed for less."

"Do I seem like a zealot to you?"

Myrmeen looked away from the man's hypnotic gaze. "I don't know what to make of you."

"Of course you do. Trust your instincts. Listen to what they tell you."

"At the moment, my instincts tell me that, despite your diplomatic status, you should be questioned about the murder in the gardens."

"Do you suspect me of that murder?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

Myrmeen nodded. "You or one of your people. Your gift for getting in and out of heavily secured places has certainly done little to set my concerns aside. The way the dead man was savaged certainly seems like it could have been the work of your kind."

"Naturally you've considered that the victim may have been killed in this manner to cast suspicion upon any wild beast, not just my cats. The ploy has been successful in keeping your attention from the true murderer, if you're spending so much time worrying about me."

"Anything is possible."

"I don't even know this man who was killed."

"So you say."

He grinned, his green eyes sparkling. "Myrmeen, I could never lie to you."

Anger seized the noblewoman. "You seem to think you can get what you want by being charming."

"It's always worked before."

"Understand this, Lord Zacharius: Even if I was attracted to you-which I am not-I could make love to you tonight and order your death tomorrow."

"I see," the cat lord said. "Well, with that in mind, I think the act itself would be anticlimactic. Good night."

He walked gracefully to the door. "I want the activities of your people curtailed," Myrmeen called after him.

Lord Zacharius turned back and opened his hands in a solicitous gesture. "Even if my people are responsible for the local chaos, I'm sure they're just being playful. They like it here. I don't think I'll be able to convince them to leave. If anything, I think more will come."

"That would be unfortunate."

"I don't think so. We cat lords know how to have a good time. We'll liven the place up." He shrugged. "Oh, and would you be so kind as to summon an escort for me? I seem to have forgotten the way back to my chamber…."

Myrmeen was unable to sleep that night. She left the palace under heavy guard and was on her way to the gardens when she heard the scream. Having faced the horror of death many times in the past, the noblewoman knew the sound of a man facing his end. By the time she had passed through the maze of buildings flanking the gardens and discovered the limp, staring bodies of the guardsmen left on duty, Myrmeen knew what she would find in the maze of shrubs and flowerbeds.

A second man lay murdered in the gardens. His body had been torn to pieces. Blood was splattered everywhere, particularly in the gazebo. Myrmeen advanced on the corpse in disbelief, choking back a scream of rage. She tried to understand how this could have happened a second time.

Myrmeen was barely aware of her surroundings as her soldiers congregated around the corpse. Kynan Tofte soon uncovered the victim's head, then guided Myrmeen to the spot where it rested. She was surprised to find that she recognized the dead man's face.

It was Volney, the elder mage Evon Stralana had employed to secure and investigate Penn Othmann's shop a few days earlier. Stralana arrived and seemed momentarily stricken at the sight of the mage's corpse. In a hoarse whisper he said, "Volney and Walcott were supervising the surveillance of Elhazir."

"He may have learned something that made him dangerous to the sorcerer we've been after. Stralana, get a search going for Walcott. Either he's in danger, too, or he's in league with the murderer."

"There's something else you should know," the minister said. "Volney's last report noted that the cats have been watching Elhazir, too."

"Where is Lord Zacharius?"

"In his cell, conducting some kind of game with the guards. Something with dice. It seemed harmless enough, and the men were bored."

"Get him. I want him with us when we confront Elhazir."

Stralana broke from her and hurried to see her orders carried out. Within ten minutes, Myrmeen, Stralana, and Lord Zacharius started off in the direction of Elhazir's Exotica. A group of soldiers accompanied them, and, by the time they reached the market district, a pack of felines trailed their every move. Myrmeen noticed the jaguar and looked around for Siobhan, but the woman was nowhere to be seen.

The door to Elhazir's was open, and the warm orange glow of torchlight could be seen from within. Before anyone could react, two cats slipped inside, one with auburn fur, the other pale silver.

Myrmeen turned to her soldiers and pointed at Lord Zacharius. "Keep him out here for now."

"That may not be wise," the cat lord said.

Ignoring him, Myrmeen went inside with Stralana and found that the place was a shambles, the ornate tapestries covering the walls shredded. Racks were filled with clothing that had been torn apart. Glass cases were shattered and displays had been overturned. The floors were covered in cheap, glittering costume jewelry.

The two cats were already there when Myrmeen discovered the girl, Andreana, huddled in the corner of a private room in the back. Elhazir lay at her feet. The older woman's hair was wild, her eyes staring. Her breathing was shallow.

Andreana was in tears. The moment she looked up and saw the cats approaching, she screamed something in a language Myrmeen had never heard before. Suddenly a reddish black tongue of flame erupted from her hands, covering the distance separating her from the cats in the blink of an eye. The felines leaped out of the way as the bolt struck the wall. As Andreana rose, her fists swathed in the reddish black energy, the cats raced away from her. "Why are you here?" she sobbed at Myrmeen. "To laugh at the halfwit?"

The noblewoman stared at the child. Here was the missing mage. Elhazir didn't need to leave her shop to contact the sorcerer; she'd been at the old woman's side all along. "Andreana? Who killed Penn Othmann?"

"He was a vile man. It's good that he died. He did things. Bad things."

“To you?"

Her tears covered her face. The sleeves of her gown fell back, revealing a network of scars on her arms. "Yes. Elhazir did, too. They beat me and burned me. They wanted to keep me in line."

"Did you kill him?"

"No," she snarled. "But I wish I had."

Myrmeen looked at the frightened eyes of the abused girl before her. "You're a powerful young woman. Why did you stay here with them?"

"My family is poor. They needed the gold I sent them."

"Was that the only reason?"

"No. Elhazir told me that my mother and father would be hurt if I disobeyed her or if any harm came to her."

Myrmeen bit her lip. "What happened here tonight? Was it the cats? Did they attack you? Or was it Elhazir?"

Beside Myrmeen, Stralana attempted to take a step closer to the girl, but the young mage fixed him with her wild stare and he froze. Suddenly, a blast of cold air came from the other side of the room and everyone turned to see Lord Zacharius standing in the doorway, a black cat in his hands. The cat had intense gray-blue eyes. Around the animal's neck was an amulet Myrmeen had seen before, a heart split in two. When she had last seen it, one side was blood red, the other black. Now both halves were crimson.

The cat was Siobhan.

"Guards!" Myrmeen shouted.

Lord Zacharius shook his head. "They won't be able to respond, I'm afraid. The same magic that made the other soldiers sleep in the garden has been employed. We're quite alone in here, except for my people."

Myrmeen looked to the door and saw the solid, brutish, human forms of Niccolo and Sauveur. A dozen other cat lords crowded in behind them. Evon Stralana grabbed for his sword. Myrmeen looked at him sharply, raising one hand. Reluctantly he released the weapon.

"You killed Penn Othmann," Myrmeen said flatly.

"Not at all," Zacharius said, raising the cat slightly. "She was the one."

"Siobhan," Myrmeen said.

"Yes." Lord Zacharius looked to the girl. Softly, he said, "Hello, child."

Myrmeen watched as Andreana drew back from him.

"You have nothing to fear. You know that," Zacharius began. "I have visited you many times. I told you that we would rescue you, if you would get what we wanted. We have fulfilled our end of the bargain. Will you renege on yours?"

"My parents," Andreana sobbed.

"They're fine. Elhazir's threats were meaningless. Even if the woman had been telling you the truth, my people would have protected your parents, even in Daggerdale. You must believe that. You've seen tonight what we can do."

Nodding tearfully, Andreana reached into her pocket and drew out the mummified remains of a tiny leg that ended in a cat's paw.

"Satsuma's remains," Evon Stralana whispered.

Myrmeen was staring at the amulet around Siobhan's neck when the words of her husband came to her: The dark miracle of vengeance will be mine.

"The bones of Satsuma were a ruse," she said flatly. "Nothing but a lie. This was about revenge."

"Yes," Lord Zacharius replied as he bent low and allowed the black cat in his arms to leap free. It landed with only three legs and looked briefly to the doorway.

Following the cat's gaze, Myrmeen saw the young mage, Walcott, standing between Niccolo and Sauveur. From his eyes, glittering even in the dark room, she could tell that he was one of them. At Othmann's shop, he'd tried to guide the investigation toward a murderous mage, away from the cat lords and the truth.

As Myrmeen looked away from the mage and stared at the crippled cat, she tried to make sense of what she was seeing. This cat was Siobhan. She was certain of that. But what had happened to her leg? The cat lord who'd presented herself as Siobhan at the audience.. Myrmeen thought of the high leather boots she'd worn, her graceless movements, and finally she understood.

The cat went to the young girl and stopped before her. Andreana set the leg beside the crippled creature and drew back. The cat lord grew in size, its features widening, the hair retreating from its skin. Soon the naked, human form of Siobhan sat before them. Her left leg ended in a stump just past her hips. She reached for the cat's paw and held it to her breast as she fought to hold back her tears.

"What's happening here?" Stralana demanded.

Myrmeen took off her cloak and draped it around Siobhan's shoulders. "A dark miracle."

The beautiful cat lord regarded Myrmeen with reddened eyes and asked, "How much have you guessed?"

"Some," Myrmeen said. "It would be better if you told me."

Siobhan looked to Lord Zacharius. "Do you trust her?"

“Yes," he said.

She nodded. "Twelve years ago, I was attacked by two men. It happened in your gardens, at that gazebo. They knew somehow that I was a cat lord. They considered me less than human and treated me as such. The mage used an amulet to trap me in my human form, then he and the other man forced themselves on me.

"I came back the next day to punish them, but Othmann carried a weapon of some power in those days. He hacked my leg off while I was a cat and stabbed me a dozen times. He thought I had bled to death and dumped my body in the trash. The leg he kept as a souvenir."

Myrmeen shuddered. "You survived and sought revenge."

"Lord Zacharius helped me. I would never have found him again on my own, since both men changed their names and employed magic to alter their appearances after the murder." She grinned wickedly, and her eyes flashed. "Maybe they thought I'd only used up one life and might come back to haunt them."

Zacharius frowned at the woman, then turned back to Myrmeen. "Some time ago Othmann learned of our quest for Satsuma's remains-which is quite genuine, I assure you. He claimed to have some information we required, but refused to part with it for a reasonable price. In truth, he tried to extort us. And when the negotiation got out of hand, he threatened my envoy, using Siobhan's leg as an example of his past dealings with our kind. Word reached me, and I put the two together. You've seen the rest firsthand."

"What about Volney?" Stralana asked.

"Volney and Othmann had a violent parting several years ago," Walcott replied. "I had to search Arabel for nearly a year before I found a sorcerer who bore the scent of Siob-han's blood."

"I don't understand," Myrmeen said. "Years have passed since the assault. Her blood had been washed from his body."

Walcott cleared his throat. "From his body, yes. But not from his soul."

"Walcott can sense such things. He's one of our most powerful mages," Zacharius said. "He befriended Volney, then guided him to your employ, where we could involve him in the murder investigation. Though the arrival of the cat lords made him nervous, Volney had no idea that it was his former partner who had been slain-after all, both had changed their appearances. And if all had gone as planned, we would have framed Volney for the murder."

Stralana rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "So, what happened?"

Siobhan answered this. "I needed my paw back as much as I needed revenge. Walcott has a spell that will restore me, you see." She rubbed the grisly prize lovingly. "Anyway, Othmann died without telling us where the paw was. We hoped Volney knew. When it became clear he was ignorant, we killed him and returned to Elhazir."

"She claimed not to know," Lord Zacharius said, "but she was using the child's powers to hide some objects from your men-including the paw-which she'd stolen from Othmann's shop. She figured the paw must be worth money, since we were searching for it, then decided it was dangerous. I suppose she thought that as long as she held onto what we wanted, we wouldn't harm her. Tonight, when several of my people went through this place in search of the paw, she snapped. The fear was too much for her."

Myrmeen glanced at Siobhan's locket. "There's one thing more, isn't there? The reason why the bodies resisted all forms of divination and spirit magic?"

"Yes," Siobhan said, fingering the locket. "How could you contact their souls when they were safely locked away?"

Myrmeen looked at the brilliant red halves of the heart-shaped locket. They seemed to pulse slightly, like a living, beating heart.

Lord Zacharius knelt before Andreana. "You're free, you know. If you like, you can travel with us for a time. We'll see that you get back to your parents."

"What about the gold Elhazir was giving me? That's what interested my parents. They didn't want me."

Confusion clouded Zacharius's handsome face. "I thought you wanted to live with them again."

Andreana bit her lip. 'They'll just send me somewhere else. I might have to work for someone just like Elhazir again. Maybe even worse."

"But your concern for them-"

"I didn't want them hurt. I still don't. That doesn't mean I want to go back there."

Walcott stepped forward. "I could use some help. She could apprentice to me."

Lord Zacharius raised one eyebrow. "Would that suit you?"

"If I was getting paid," she whispered. "And if no one calls me a halfwit."

"Demanding, aren't you?" Zacharius said with a smile. "Very well. Your skills as a negotiator show you are a girl of rare intelligence, Andreana."

The girl's face lit up.

Myrmeen looked at the crowd of cat lords outside the doorway, then stared into Zacharius's emerald eyes. "I may not be able to stop you from leaving here tonight, but you cannot seriously expect there to be no repercussions. The lot of you have confessed to premeditated murder. There are laws to be upheld."

"Yes," Lord Zacharius said. "There is justice and there are laws. The two are not always the same. The choice is yours, Myrmeen. You can turn us into fugitives, or you can keep what has transpired within this room a secret. We have done what should have been done a long time ago. I have no regrets."

Myrmeen looked to Stralana. He was staring into Siobban's gray-blue eyes. "Evon?"

"If we had caught Othmann and Volney-or whatever they were calling themselves-at the time of the assault, their sentence would have been death," Stralana said. "They got what they deserved."

Siobhan nodded silently. There was gratitude in her eyes.

Stralana regarded the woman lying at Andreana's feet. "As for Elhazir," he noted coldly, "I have too often been called upon to have my men collect the bodies of children who have been beaten, then discarded by such as this woman. I have no sympathy for her, either."

"You've described my feelings exactly," Myrmeen said. "Lord Zacharius, you are free to leave, on one condition: I want you to never return to my city. Is that understood?"

"Damn," he hissed. "I was going to recommend Arabel as a vacation spot for my kind."

Despite herself, Myrmeen almost smiled.

Lord Zacharius lowered his gaze. "I am sorry for the pain this ordeal has caused you."

"So am I," Myrmeen said.

The knowledge and shared pain of Siobhan's ordeal now tainted her memory of her once-beloved gazebo. Like the blood on Haverstrom's phoenix, she knew it would never quite fade. The sanctuary it had once offered was gone forever.

On the walk back to the palace, after Zacharius and his people had departed, Myrmeen came upon a cat who had trapped a bird and was slowly torturing it to death. She stopped and stared at the gruesome spectacle. Evon Stralana, who was walking beside her, touched her arm.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

Myrmeen thought of the agony Siobhan had suffered at the hands of her attackers and recalled the slight glow in each half of the woman's amulet. Penn Othmann and Russka Volney had not only wounded the cat lord, they had also taken something private and extremely precious away from Myrmeen.

She felt nothing but hatred for them.

"It's strange," Myrmeen said as she watched the cat slowly tear the life from its prey, "but somehow I feel comforted by the knowledge that all cats like to play with their kills…"