Shadow witness

CHAPTER FOUR

I with himself for not harming the would-be thief, Gale walked back through the receiving room hall and into the parlor. The thick Thayan floor rugs-each depicting red dragons in flight-felt wonderful beneath his sore feet The cozy feeling of the parlor tempted him to kick off his boots and collapse into one of the richly upholstered chairs and retire for the night, but he resisted the urge. Instead, he strolled around the room and admired the thematic oil paintings that adorned the walls. The first painting depicted a roiling sky, against which elf knights mounted on hippogrifls warred with orogs mounted on wyverns. Each subsequent work represented a different point in the aerial battle, with the elves finally defeating the orogs in the last painting. Gale smiled as he moved from one to another, captured by the artist's skillfull rendition of the combat. Thamalon had commissioned the half-elf artist Celista Perim to paint the works two years ago. Ever since, Cale had found himself drawn to them. J:Apart from his own sparsely furnished bedroom, $lthe parlor had become his favorite room in Storm-weather. Rarely used by anyone else in the family, at night it seemed his own private refuge-just he and oUie elves. When his troubled conscience kept him awake and he did not feel like reading, he often came down here to think, to lose himself in the unblemished 'heroics of a war that had occurred only on canvas.

Bathed in the dim light of a single candle and the soft glow of embers in the fireplace, he collapsed into his favorite overstuffed chair, put his feet up on the hassock, and allowed himself a moment to enjoy the solitude.

This would be a good time for a smoke, he thought wistfully. If only I smoked. He thought fondly of his pipe-toting friend, Jak Fleet, and smiled.

The distant bustle of the ball carried through the hall and nearby double doors, but the parlor itself was quiet, removed from the celebratory tumult. The candlelight flickered off the four suits of ceremonial armor that stood silent guard in each of the room's corners-each suit was engraved with a crossed hammer and sword on the breastplate, the arms of some long forgotten Selgaunt noble's house. The parlor's decor reflected his lord's love for the history of other peoples, places, and times.

Maybe that's why I like it so much, he thought. Because I'm from somewhere else.

Unlike most of Selgaunt's Old Chauncel, Thamalon did not consider the city such a beacon of cultural superiority that other cultures were not worth studying.

;.

Though most obvious in the parlor, the whole of Storm-weather fairly brimmed with unique antiquities drawn from the four corners of Faerun. The library alone was stocked with treatises from all over the continent, some written in languages even Cale did not understand. Though he despised Selgaunt generally, he loved Stormweather.

He allowed himself a few more moments of peace before forcing himself to rise. He adjusted the cast bronze dragon figurines atop the walnut mantle, walked the short hallway to the adjacent main kitchen, and pushed open the doors.

As he had suspected, the kitchen staff sat eating and chatting around the cleaver-scarred butcher's block. The moment he entered, the eight young women on staff-Brilla tolerated only women on her staff-gave a start and the talking fell abruptly silent. Cale smiled knowingly. Because he allowed Brilla a free hand in running the kitchen, he usually only made an appearance when something had gone wrong with the meal.

Eight pairs of exhausted, apprehensive eyes stared at him and nervously awaited his next words. None of them said a word.

"Everything is all right," he assured them, but the apprehension written in their expressions did not change. He looked from one pretty face to the other and realized thathe did not know most of their names. Have to remedy that, he thought. He had always made it a point to know everyone in the household, even kitchen help.

When at last he found a familiar face among the girls, he grabbed her with his gaze.

"Aileen, where is Brilla?" Aileen gave a slight start when he spoke her name.

"In the pantries, Mister Cale," she responded immediately. A slight, very attractive girl with wispy blonde hair and bright green eyes, Aileen had been on staff since the summer. "Shall I go and get her?"

"Thank you, Aileen."

She jumped down from her stool and hurried out the other side of the main kitchen, toward the pantries. Gale winced when she began to shout.

"Brilla! Brilla! Mister Cale wants you! Brilla!"

While he waited, the rest of the young women halfheartedly picked at their plates and studiously avoided eye contact. They^ must have heard that he was an ogre.

After a few minutes, Brilla waddled defiantly into the main kitchen, a dead chicken clutched in one thick-fingered hand, an apprehensive Aileen clutched in the other.

"Mister Cale," she acknowledged with a nod. She scooted Aileen back to her stool. "Go, girl, finish your meal. I told you he doesn't bite."

Blushing, Aileen took to her stool. Brilla turned her sour gaze back to Cale.

"I hope this is important, Mister Cale. I was just preparing to pluck the chickens for tomorrow." She held up the dead chicken for emphasis.

In a good humor, Cale barely suppressed a smile.. Brilla stood almost as wide as she did tall, her thick legs as sturdy as tree stumps. With her long black hair pulled back and tied into a sloppy bun, she reminded him of the archetypal dwarven oenoen, the esteemed house matron, but without a beard.

Careful, man, he reminded himself jovially. You'd be as dead as that chicken if she knew you were comparing her to a dwarf.

Unlike most of the household staff, big Brilla was not and never would be intimidated by him. He respected her for that. That's why he left her alone to run the kitchens.

"Mister Gale?"

He swallowed the last of his smile and put on his expressionless, head butler's face. "I wanted to congratulate you." He crossed his hands behind his back and nodded to include the kitchen staff, "To congratulate all of you, for work well done. Lord Uskevren has informed me that the meal received numerous compliments." He paused dramatically before adding, "Particularly the dessert torte."

At that, Brilla beamed. She had created the recipe for the torte herself and had personally selected the Calishite barkberries. She turned her broad smile on her staff, the eight of whom were sharing tired smiles of their own.

"Did you hear that, gir-" A high-pitched scream cut short her praise. Brilla cocked an eyebrow. "Now what was-" Another wail rose and fell.

At first, Cale thought the screams merely the giddy squeals of an empty-headed noblewoman, but another terror-filled shout, this one from a man, changed his mind. Something was wrong.

Instinctively, he fell into a fighting crouch, though he had no weapon. The kitchen girls jumped down from their stools.

Loud thumps suddenly sounded through the walls and startled the girls. They began to chatter fearfully. The heavy stomp of boots and angry shouts joined the frightened screams and carried down the forehall from t?e feasthall.

With his keen ears, Cale thought he caught the sound of the savage snarls of an animal intermixed with the shouts. What in the Hells? With the girls clamoring beside him, he could not make out any other details.

"Quiet down," he ordered.

Nine mouths clamped shut. He walked to the kitchen door, pushed it open a bandwidth, and listened.

The distant but distinctive sounds of shouting men, plied iron, and panicked screams filled the air. A battle!

Suddenly, from close by, he heard a man shout in surprise, then a loud scream of pain followed by vicious snarling. The sound made the hair on tike nape of his neck rise. That had come from the parlor.

As though reading his mind, Brilla observed nervously, That sounded like an animal loose in the parlor." As one, the girls gasped and clustered together fearfully.

Gale let the door close and turned to the women. "Get in the herb pantry," he ordered, as calmly as he could. Judging from the sound, the source of the growls was a big aninia), "Block the door and don't come out unless I say so."

They stared at him blankly, dumbfounded.

"Move! Now."

That got them going.

."Yes, yes, of course," said Brilla. "Mister Cale is right. Come along, girls. Hurry now."

While casting nervous glances back at the wall through which the sounds of combat were made, Brilla quickly led the fearful staff out of the rear of the main kitchen toward the herb pantry. Cale waited till they had gone, then barreled through the kitchen door and raced toward the feasthall. He stopped cold when he reached the parlor, his favorite room.

Shouts, screams, and the crash of breaking dishes sounded loudly through the feasthall's double doors. Across the parlor near the archway to the forehall, dimly visible in the candlelight, a bipedal form in tattered clothes hunched over the body of a slain household guard. The wet chomping sounds of a feeding animal filled Gale's ears. When he gasped in surprise the creature looked up from its meal, wide eyed and startled. Gale's stomach roiled. He had expected an animal, not… this.

Strings of flesh clung to the creature's dirty fangs and inch-long claws. Yellow eyes stared out of a blood soaked, feral face. When those eyes found Cale, they narrowed to ochre slits. A purple tongue half as long as a man's forearm wormed out of its mouth, swept its lips, and slobbered up the last bits of flesh that clung to its face. It gave a low growl, a sound as savage and merciless as the fiercest animal, yet inexplicably human. It left the corpse and took one step toward him. His stomach fluttered nervously.

It registered in his mind that the creature had eaten the fallen guard. Ghouls, he realized. Ghouls are in the house! He had never before encountered undead, but he had heard enough tales to recognize the warped body of one of the creatures. No wonder the monster's growl had sounded vaguely human.

The panicked shouting from the feasthall grew louder, increasing in intensity. Men screamed, ghouls snarled-lots of ghouls-and women shrieked in terror. Cale, however, could spare no thought for the events hi the feasthall. The ghoul before him began to prowl across the parlor toward him.

Involuntarily, he backed up a step. He reached for a weapon, patted himself for anything, but quickly realized that he had nothing. He cursed himself an idiot for leaving the kitchen without at least a carving knife. Think before you act, he rebuked himself.

Picking its way through the eclectic collection of furniture, the ghoul stalked closer. It moved in a hunched crouch, a vile, sickly-gray predator ready to pounce. As it approached, it tensed its clawed arms, smacked its lips, and gave a thoughtful snarl. Cale could have sworn it actually leered at him.

It knows I'm unarmed, he thought, and he realized that this savage, flesh-eating monster still retained some intelligence.

What in the Nine Hells is happening? Where's the house guard?

He knew the answer the moment he thought the question. One of the house guards already lay dead on the parlor floor; the rest were fighting in the feasthall. Judging from all the screaming and breaking dishes, he did not think that Jander and his men were faring too well.

For an instant, he considered making a dash for the kitchen to retrieve a weapon, but dismissed the idea. He could not risk leading the ghoul to Brilla and the kitchen girls.

With his gaze never leaving the yellow eyes of the ghoul, he sidestepped along the wall. As he moved, he tried to keep furniture between himself and the ghoul. It seemed to enjoy his efforts. It playfully circled to cut him off and pawed at the air, content for now merely to toy with him.

Up dose, Gale nearly gagged on the creature's stench. It stank like the rotted remains of a corpse baking in the sun. He tried to breathe through his mouth to keep from vomiting. With only a high backed wooden chair between them, he got a good look at the creature for the first time.

A spider web tracery of purple veins showed through its gray, leprous skin. A bit of blood from the dead guard still glistened scarlet on its sunken cheeks, and its fanged mouth and feral eyes promised a similar end to Gale. The remains of its befouled clothes hung in tatters from a hunched, twisted body. Its claws, filthy knife blades caked with dirt and gore, clenched and unclenched reflexively while it stalked him. A strange mark on its shoulder caught the can- dlelight and grabbed Gale's eye.

He stopped and stared, stupefied.

The ghoul had a tattoo hiked into the flesh of its shoulder, a familiar tattoo, two crossed daggers superimposed over a cracked skull.

A wave of nausea and dizziness washed over Gale. He fought it off and studied the twisted, savage face of the ghoul. The clothes that might once have been the favorite blue cloak of a man Gale had known.

"Krendik," he whispered in disbelief, the words drawn involuntarily from his constricted throat. He tasted bile and swallowed it down. "Krendik?" he said again, louder this time.

The ghoul stopped snarling and stood upright for a moment, as though hearing Gale say its name recalled the memory of its former humanity. In that instant, the feral gleam in its yellow eyes fell away. Its mouth softened from the rictus of savage hunger and a familiar face revealed itself. Behind the blood, the stink, and the twisted form, Gale recognized with certainty the face of Krendik, once a fellow Night Knife.

"Gods, man," he breathed. "What happened to you? What has the Righteous Man done?"

Krendik the ghoul crouched low, threw its head back, and snarled into the rafters. All traces of its former humanity vanished. He returned his gaze to Gale, insane eyes narrowed conspiratorially, and hissed, "Maassk."

Gale stared, dumbfounded. Mask? He did not understand. He knew that the Righteous Man was trying to convert everyone in the guild to the worship of Mask but that didn't explain this.

Teed," Krendik mouthed, and a foul brown slaver dripped from between its filthy fangs. "Feed."

The ghoul lunged at him.

Gale shoved the rocking chair into Krendik and frantically backpedaled. His eyes scanned the parlor for a weapon. Nothing! Gale scooted to his right.

Krendik bounded nimbly over the toppled chair and lashed out with a filthy daw.

Gale stumbled backward. Inadvertently, he crashed into one of the suits of armor-and nearly tripped over the display pedestal. Unthinking, he grabbed at the armor to steady himself. It toppled. He flailed to keep his balance while the mail crashed to the floor and sent bits of armor skittering across the floor.

The ghoul pounced on him.

Krendik crashed into him like a battering ram, claws flailing maniacally. The force of the charge drove Gale backward into the wall and blew the breath from his lungs. Snarls rang in his ears. The stink of rotted flesh and fetid breath filled his nostrils. Claws tore through his clothes and raked agfin and again at his unprotected flesh.

Reeling, and with no weapon at hand, he tried to pull it close and throttle it with his bare hands. The squirming ghoul pulled him off balance and the two tumbled to the armor-strewn floor in a chaotic pile of limbs, fangs, and claws.

Surging with adrenaline, Gale used his greater size and strength to roll atop the snarling beast and slam a knee into its abdomen. It squealed in pain and slashed at his chest and shoulders. Filthy claws tore gashes through his doublet and into his flesh. Warm blood ran down his arms. The ghoul sank its teeth into Gale's bicep and shook its head to rip his flesh open.

Through the pain, Gale felt his muscles begin to grow thick. The snarls of the ghoul became distant. His vision began to blur. Some kind of venom…

If his body did not resist it, he would be immobilized and the ghoul would eat him alive. He tried to punch at the squirming thing but with sluggish muscles he managed only a few feeble blows. Fight it, gods-dammit! Fight!

The ghoul took advantage of his weakness and squirmed loose. Once free, it tore into his flesh with a manic flurry of raking daws. Gale awkwardly rose to his feet, stumbled backward, and tried to fend off the blows with his limbs. The ghoul ripped into him without mercy. His blood dribbled from the ghoul's filthy fangs now. Snarling, slashing, and biting, Krendik tore into Gale's body. Stinking, brown saliva pelted Gale's face and drove him backward. He felt himself growing weaker. Stubbornly, he tried to fight back, but he knew his efforts to be futile. He was too weak. Soon he would not be able to move at all.

Distantly, he noticed that the chaotic noise from the feasthall had grown to a fever pitch. It sounded as though every dish in Stormweather was being shattered and an army was fighting on the dance floor. He had a sudden vision of the entire house guard slain and rampant ghouls feasting at leisure upon paralyzed victims. Thazienne! Thamalon! Shamur! In his mind's eye, he saw his family being devoured alive, like him,,

No! Anger heated his blood into a bonfire. A flood of rage washed away the ghoul's paralyzing poison like a cleansing rain.

"No!" he shouted into the ghoul's face, mere inches from its shark-toothed mouth. He caught it by the wrists and forced them out wide.

"No!" He pulled it toward him and at the same time kicked the ghoul square in the chest. Bone cracked and it squealed in agony. Its jaws snapped reflexively and brown spittle flew. Still holding it by the wrists, Gale threw it to the ground and landed on top of it, knees first. More cracking bones; more pain-filled squeals.

He released the ghoul's arms, endured repeated retaliatory claw rakes, and dosed both his hands around its throat. Blood flowed freely down Gale's sides but he did not feel it. He felt only hot rage.

"No!" he shouted again. Gagging, the ghoul left off tearing at his sides and aimed for his forearms. Cale endured the pain and only tightened his grip.

With a grunt, he jerked the ghoul's head forward and promptly slammed it back against the hardwood floor. Tkttd. Stunned, its eyes rolled backward for a moment. -

"No!"

Its tongue lolled from its mouth and lay between its fangs. Cale released its throat only long enough to slam his palm under its lower jaw. Impaled between rows of fangs, the tongue exploded hi a spray of stinking purple blood. The ghoul squealed in agony, squirmed desperately, but Cale held it pinned. Spit foamed between its teeth and blood continued to pour from its tongue. In desperation, it slashed into Gale's ribs, but he maintained his hold.

"No!" He slammed its head against the floor.

It shrieked and clawed like an angry cat, but Cale had long passed the point, where he felt pain.

"No!" Thud. Again and again, he slammed its head into the floor. "By…" Thud. Its squeals of pain gave way to stunned whimpers. ".•.. the…" Thud.

Incoherent, it clawed weakly at his chest and arms. He pounded it mercilessly.

"… gods.. •" Thud.

Its head cracked open like a Yule nut. Reeking gore poured from its broken skull and formed a puddle of wet stink on the parlor floor.

Gasping, weakened from blood loss, Cale collapsed on top of the corpse. The rush of rage fled his body as fast as it had come, and the vacuum left him quivering and exhausted. Blood and putrescence covered him but he hardly noticed. As his lungs heaved for air, he tried to gather himself.

The desperate shouts coming from the feasthall gave*"*" no time to rest. The terrible sounds pulled him to his feet and refueled his anger. Thazienne! Nearly slipping in the ghoul's brains, he bounded over the corpse and sprinted for the feasthall.

He stopped cold in the double doorway. Perivel's birthday celebration had been transformed into a chaotic melee of blood, screams, and death. Cale took it hi, horrified.

Near him, the oak feast table and most of the dinner chairs lay overturned. Broken dishes lay scattered across the floor. Toppled candles and spilled oil lamps had started a few scattered fires. Cale watched Shamur's tablecloths burn and the plush velvet curtains smolder. Wispy clouds of black smoke filled the room and gave the whole scene the look of some surreal vision from a nightmare. From everywhere, a horrid cacophony of terrified screams, hungry growls, and angry shouts filled his ears. Smears of blood stained everything red.

A pack of at least ten ghouls rampaged freely amidst the chaos. They bounded haphazardly through the clutter, attacking anything that came within their reach. Many guests were already paralyzed. He winced when he saw the wounds torn hi their bodies. The ghouls had devoured hunks of their bodies while they stood helpless. His eyes moved frantically from victim to victim, looking for the members of his family. He didn't see them.

Corpses lay scattered about the floor amidst the dishes and dining furniture, their bodies desiccated and unrecognizable. Not ghoul work, Cale realized, but he had no time to give it further thought.

He saw that the ghouls had herded most of the surviving guests to the far side of the feasthall, away from the double doors. Away from any means of escape. Though a few guests had tried to break the large, leaded glass windows, the beautifully crafted metal veins that depicted dragons in flight and men in battle imprisoned the guests as effectively as a jailer's cell. Outside, the safety of the patio and gardens tantaliz-ingly beckoned, just out of reach. Inside, the slaughter continued.

Here and there about the feasthall, groups of cornered noblemen fought the ghouls as best they could. The men pushed the women behind them and used table knives or heavy platters as makeshift weapons and shields. Gale watched transfixed as a ghoul leaped past the feeble weapons wielded by one elderly nobleman, knocked him to the floor, and began to feed. The man's pathetic screams ended when the ghoul tore open his throat.

The three old women the elderly nobleman had beea trying to protect screamed in terror and tried to flee. Two other ghouls bounded after them, pulled them down from behind, and began to feast.

Cale pushed aside his nausea and fear and looked frantically through the smoke for his family. Where are they, dammit?

At last he spotted them, across the hall standing behind a protective screen of the surviving house guards. Jander Orvist and the rest of his blue uniformed men had backed the family and many of the guests against the back wall and formed a semi-circle of flesh and steel around them. Each house guard brandished along sword and stout buckler. They made no move to attack but lashed out at any ghouls that came near.

Through the smoke, Cale could make out Shamur and Thamalon. The pair were struggling to get free of the ring to return and protect the rest of their friends, but Jander personally held them back.

Good man, Cale thought. The only safe place on that side of the feasthall was right where they were, behind Jander's men.

He saw that Tamlin, too, stood within the ring near his parents. He looked pale from fear, but still held his ground near the perimeter of the ring shielding two young women. Vox, Tamlin's huge, hairy bodyguard, had somehow produced a wide-bladed short sword and now stood alongside the guards, a grim scowl on his face. Many of the house guards, their uniforms stained black with blood, had already fallen to the ghoub'^claw8.The ghouls now looked to be keeping their distance. Captain Orvist was waiting for an opportune moment to make a run for the double doors.

For now, the ghouls seemed content to attack only the groups of guests left outside the ring of Jander's men. Selgaunt's noblemen fought, shouted, and died by fang and claw. Ghouls devoured the soft skin of the city's noblewomen. The macabre feasting was within view of the horrified guests being protected by Uskevren house guards.

Despite the protests of Lord and Lady Uskevren, Jander Orvist let no one break from the ring. Cale searched the faces behind Jander's men-he saw Lord and Lady Foxmantle, and Lord and Lady Talendar, among others-but didn't see Thazienne.

Jander, in the midst of trying gently to restrain Thamalon, suddenly threw Lord Uskevren behind him, shouted something to his men, and pointed with his blade to the ceiling. Gale's eyes followed his pointed blade.

He saw nothing but black smokeSudden motion among the ceiling rafters drew his eye. Quick as an arrow shot, a huge, bat-winged shadow with long, clawed arms swooped down from the smoky ceiling toward the house guard perimeter.

"Look out!" Gale shouted, but knew they could not hear him through the noise.

The crowd of guests had also followed Jander's pointed blade. They backed up and cowered as the shadow dived toward them. Jander stood over Tha-malon and brandished his long sword Two other guards flanked Shamur. Vox edged toward Tamtin.

Difficult to distinguish from the smoke, the shadow darted over the flashing steel of Jander's men. A few quick-thinking house guards had readied crossbows and fired on the creature, but the bolts passed through its body without effect. It swooped into the crowd like a kingfisher and scooped up a young nobleman. The nobleman dangled and squirmed from the shadow's clawed grip. Gale did not know the young man's name. The creature hovered over the terrified crowd of guests. Its eyes flared yellow in the black oval of its face. Several of the women fainted. Many of the men cowered in fear, even some among the house guard. Meantime, the young man in the shadow's clutches screamed and kicked frenetically but his blows passed harmlessly through the creature.

Gale watched in fascination as the shadow, hovering only two armspans above the crowd, placed a claw on the scrabbling man's chest and slowly tore open a hole in his torso. Inch by inch the man's body split open. He screamed, convulsed, and died.

Gale expected a rain of entrails to shower the terrified crowd below, but nothing spilled from the wound but a whitish vapor streaked with swirls of gray. The mist flowed toward the shadow's mouth like iron shav ings to a lodestone. The creature drank it in greedily. As it did, the nobleman's body began to collapse in on itself as though sucked empty-eyeballs shrunk and fell back into the collapsing sockets. The jawbone fell open in a soundless scream.

When only a dried husk remained, the creature threw the body into the cowering crowd below and began to scan the hall below for its next victim.

Gale's gaze swept the feasthall near him and took in the many desicated corpses that Uttered the ground. The shadow had already fed well. No wonder Jander had been forced into a corner. How could the house guard hope to fight off such a creature? He had to find Thazienne!

He searched the hall, but through the smoke Gale couldn't see her anywhere. With one eye, he kept a watch on the shadow. It continued to lazily circle near the ceiling. Gale searched for Thazienne. Where was she, godsdammit?

Thazienne!" he shouted from the doorway, heedless now of whether ghouls noticed him or not. Tazi!"

Through the smoke, he spotted her across the feast-hall. She stood opposite from him, near the musicians' dais, fighting a ghoul. It toyed with her the way the one in the parlor had toyed with him.

She had torn her jade gown off at the thighs and now skillfully brandished a softly glowing dagger. Gale thanked the gods she had defied her father and worn the dagger under her dress. Her short hair hung wildly about her face and her eyes glowed with the fire of combat. Behind her, tiny Meena Foxmantle cowered against the wall, wide-eyed with fright.

The ghoul backed off, circled wide, then suddenly bounded over a toppled chair to try to get at Meena. Thazienne jumped in front of it and slashed open its forearm with her dagger. The gray-skinned beast recoiled with a growl, blood from previous victims still dripping from its daws. It backed off and again circled, less playfully now, then rushed in to attack her with a flurry of claw rakes. Despite his concern, Gale picked his way toward her cautiously, trying to avoid the attention of the rest of the ghoul pack.

Thazienne leaped backward and nimbly dodged a claw attack. She ducked low and lashed out with the dagger, this time to the ghoul's abdomen. The creature staggered backward. She shouted something, reversed her stroke, and slashed it backhand across the throat. Purple blood sprayed from the wound. The ghoul clutched at its neck and fell writhing to the floor. Without hesitation, she pounced on it and drove her dagger through its chest.

Thazienne!" Cale shouted, to get her attention. Thazienne!"

She didn't hear him. There was too much shouting. Several ghouls did hear him though, and eyed him hungrily..

After making sure the ghoul was dead, Thazienne grabbed Meena by the hand and began to lead her across the feasthall toward Jander and the protective circle of guards.

Smart girl. Cale headed that way as well.

He looked up and caught the shadow creature's baleful yellow eyes. They fell on Thazienne and Meena. It stopped circling and hovered.

Thazienne!'' Cale shouted, but still she did not hear him through the tumult. The shadow began to flow sinuously earthward.

Cale threw caution to the wind. Leaping chairs and tables, he ran across the hall and through the carnage. He ignored the paralyzed but still living guests, even those being fed upon by ghouls. He ignored the hungry slavers of the ghouls, loud in his ears as they bounded after him. He saw nothing but the need to get to her before the shadow did.

Something crashed into Gale's back. A ghoul buried its fangs into the muscles of Gale's shoulder and its claws tore at his face. Off balance, he skidded into an overturned table, a snarling ghoul astride his back.

Tableware, broken dishes, and the ghoul's fangs and claws bit into his flesh. The chamel reek of the creature filled his nose and he swallowed bile. Fueled by his fear for Thazienne, he flipped the ghoul over his back and slammed it onto the table. It squirmed and slashed but he held it fast with one hand and a knee. His other hand frantically fished the debris nearby for the first sharp thing he could find. His hand closed on the hilt of a carving knife.

With a grunt, he drove the blade through the ghoul's throat and into the wood of the table underneath. Pinned, it gurgled, kicked feebly, and died.

Tazi! He wiped the blood from his face, ignored the pain in his shoulder and sides, and jumped to his feet.

The shadow had landed on the floor to cut Tazi off from the ring of house guards. Now only twenty paces from Cale, Tazi shoved Meena Foxmantle behind her and held the enchanted dagger before her in a trembling hand. The shadow flowed toward Tazi, faster now. Beyond her, Cale saw Thamalon and Shamur struggling frantically to get free of the house guard ring, but Jander refused to let them go. Cale raced for her, leaping over and through debris and corpses.

"Thazienne!"

As the shadow neared, Meena Foxmantle swooned and fell to the floor at Thazienne's feet. With its long clawed arms outstretched, the shadow darted in for her.

Tazi!" He realized how stupid it was to shout the moment he did it. If he distracted herShe showed no sign of having heard him and he thanked the gods for her single-mindedness. She paid attention only to the living darkness that swirled around her, -.-'

When the shadow drew near enough, she slashed with her dagger. Incredibly fast, the creature easily flowed out of the reach of her small blade. She did not pursue it, instead standing protectively over Meena.

Cale was almost there.

Suddenly, with bunding speed, the shadow darted in and flashed a claw. Thazienne leaped to the side but the blow still torera gash in her shoulder. Immediately, her face turned ashen. She staggered, clutching her shoulder, and fell to her knees.

"No!" Gale shouted, but knew his cry to be futile. Thazienne stood perfectly still and the suddenly vacant look in her wide, haunted eyes burned holes into his soul. Her dagger clattered to the floor.

"No!"

Before he took another stride, the shadow slashed again, tore open her gown, and opened a wound in her chest. Gray vapor began to pulse from the gash toward the shadow's waiting mouth. Thazienne's mouth fell open.

Cale could feel the creature's eager anticipation. The thing radiated hunger like heat from a fire.

"No, gods damn you!"

He leaped over the last chair in his way and charged into the shadow at a full run. Flailing wildly with his fists, he ran right through the insubstantial body of the creature and felt nothing but a pitiless cold, as though he had stepped unclothed into the freezing air of a cold Hammer night. Unable to halt his charge, he crashed into Thazienne and knocked her flat Forcing his numb limbs to answer his commands, he turned to fight, turned to protect Thazienne. He faced the shadow, filled with the heat of rage, and charged it again, fists first.

Taken aback by Cale's fearlessness, the creature darted backward, out of his reach. Cale did not pursue. He stood his ground over Thazienne, fists clenched. His breathing came in labored gasps and his body shook with emotion. He stared without fear into the shadow's flaring yellow eyes.

"Come on!" he shouted, and beckoned it toward him.

The shadow circled around him, watchful, curious, predatory. He turned as it moved, kept his eyes on it all the while. The shouting and growling all around him seemed to fall away. There was only Cale and the shadow, nothing else mattered.

He sensed its amusement with him, the same way he had felt its hunger, but he felt no fear. Let it come.

Weaponless but for his hands, he dared it with his eyes to try again for Thazienne. He momentarily lowered his gaze from the shadow to her and saw that the vapor that had bled from her wound still clung in wisps around her body. The creature had net yet fed. And it never will, he vowed. Not whilfrllive.

"Come on," he challenged. "Come on."

Meena Foxmantle, now awake and trembling with sobs on the floor behind him, pulled pathetically at the leg of his breeches. When he tried to reassure her with a quick glance, his eyes fell on Thazienne's dagger- Thazienne's enchanted dagger-lying on the floor only a few feet away.

Without a moment's hesitation, he dived for the blade. As he did, he noticed with his peripheral vision the shadow darting in to strike. He grabbed the steel, rolled to dodge the shadow's attack, and jumped up with the now glowing dagger held before him. The moment he stood, the cut of a shadowy claw tore open his side.

His body went instantly numb, as though he had been immersed in ice water. He kept his fingers wrapped around the dagger's hilt only by sheer force of will. No blood flowed from the deep cut in his ribs-‹he would have welcomed the warmth-rather, he felt a nauseating yet seductive tug on his soul. In his mind's eye, he saw a horrible vision of his desiccated, pruned body falling in dried pieces upon Thazienne and Meena. In that terrifying instant, he realized that he faced not merely an undead creature, tike ike ghouls, but a demon from the Abyss-for only a demon could drink a man's soul.

Seeing his vulnerability, the demon's yellow eyes flashed in the void of its oval head and it raised a second claw high to strike. Again, Cale felt waves of hunger coming from the emptiness of its body. Its over-long arm extended high and seemed to Cale to reach all the way to the ceiling rafters. The claws looked as long as broadswords.

Desperately, he willed his numb body and thick brain to answer his command to move. Move! Move!

The claw sped downward for the kill.

At the last possible moment, he dived under the demon's arm and reflexively stabbed upward with Thazienne's dagger. Unlike his punches, the blow from the enchanted dagger actually bit into the demon's shadowy substance. Cale felt resistance as the blade penetrated the demon's being-soft tension, then sudden give-as though he had poked a hole in a wineskin. His hand hurt from the cold.

The demon jerked back and Cale sensed rather than heard a surprised howl of rage and pain. Black, foul-smelting smoke hissed from the wound in its arm. It jerked back and circled him at a distance, leaking foulness. Its yellow eyes narrowed. Cale sensed it hiss. It was no longer amused.

His eyes fell on Thazienne, motionless on the floor, and he charged it with a roar.

Startled, the demon's yellow eyes went wide and it flowed backward. Cale chased after and stabbed maniacally with the dagger. Heedless of the creature's daws, Cale attacked. He was interested only in killing the thing that had harmed Thazienne.

With each telling cut, the demon's shrieks of pain and surprise thumped in Gale's brain and fed his anger. He stabbed, ducked, rolled, and stabbed again. Shadowy claws flashed about him but he kept moving and avoided them all. He spun, ducked, and cut again. As he fought, he shouted incoherently, bellows of primal rage.

Reeking shadow stuff streamed out of the demon from a handful of dagger wounds. Cale pressed it relentlessly.

Without warning, the wounded demon suddenly took wing and streaked, still bleeding, from the feast-hall. Cale sensed its pain and shock. He chased after it on foot for a few paces, waving the dagger and shouting challenges.

When it left his sight, he came back to himself.

Except for some soft crying and pained moans, the feasthall was silent. Cale looked around.

The ghouls had ceased attacking and now stood idle, as though the defeat of the demon had left them stunned. Their faces hung slack. Their expressions were vacant.

Jander Orvist needed no better opportunity. His voice boomed from across the feasthall. "Now!" he ordered, and the house guard charged, blades held high.

The ghouls did not even move to defend themselves. The surviving Uskevren house guards brandished then* long swords and began to chop them down tike farmers harvesting wheat. ‹3ale dropped the ice-cold dagger and rushed to Thazienne's side.

As though freed to return by the absence of the demon, the white vapor that clung in wisps around her body-her soul, Gale now knew-flowed back into the slash in her chest. Immediately, the wound knitted itself shut to leave only an ugly pink scar. He knelt beside her and brushed the hair from her forehead. She looked so pale. Her body felt as cold as Oeepwinter snow.

Ignoring the pain of his own wounds, Gale pulled her limp body close and cradled her to his chest. She still breathed, he realized, but only barely. His eyes welled as he rocked her back and forth. Please, gods, not her, please.

Thazienne," he murmured. "Please come back, Thazienne." He buried his face in her dark hair and tried to warm her cold body with the heat of his own.

Moments later-it seemed an eternity to him- Meena Foxmantle's sobs brought Gale back to himself. She lay on the floor near him, curled into a fetal position, trembling so badly that she looked as if she were convulsing. Her terrified eyes stared vacantly at him. He reached out and gently placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. She grabbed at his arm like a drowning person clutching a lifeline and held so tight that he lost all feeling in his hand within moments.

"It's all right," he said. "It's going to be all right." He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.

While Captain Orvist and the house guard finished with the remainder of the ghouls, Thamalon and Shamur charged across the feasthall, the Foxmantles close behind.

Gale saw them coming and lifted Thazienne from the floor.

Tazi!" they shouted in shared alarm. They rushed forward and touched her hands and face. Upon feeling the coldness of her flesh, Thamalon recoiled in shock. Shamur's already tear-streaked face went white. She clutched her husband's wrist with one hand, raised the other to her mouth, and looked; upon the limp form of her daughter.

"Gods," Thamalon oathed, and tears formed in his eyes.

Gale's knees trembled. Tears welled in his eyes. A house guard tried to relieve him of Thazienne but he refused to let her go.

"Send for a priest, Lord," he said to Thamalon, his voice quavering with emotion. "Send for a priest now."

Riven glared at the gate guard of the manor house and stormed past without a word, violence on his mind. The sleepy, bearded house guard took one look at Riven's scowl and apparently thought better of challenging his entrance to Whitebirch.

Fortunate for you, Riven thought. He would have welcomed an excuse to vent his anger by gutting one of Verdrinal's lackeys.

His foul mood only worsened as he strode through the neatly landscaped, illumined grounds and approached Whitebirch Manor itself Verdrinal's manse exuded decadence, which of course fit the man perfectly. The front was bedecked with winter shrubs, perfectly hedged, statues of nude women frolicking with leering satyrs, snow dusted benches, and a wooden veranda. Riven found the whole sight vaguely offensive, as though the very air here somehow soiled him. Not for the first time, he marveled that a fool such as Verdrinal could have risen so far within the Zhentarim. The bastard actually equaled him in rank!

You get born to the right family and anything's possible, he supposed with a scowl. The only heir of the Isterin family fortune, Verdrinal Isterin provided a

W.tnocc legitimate face for many otherwise illicit Zhentarim operations. Apart from his wealth and family name, Riven thought Verdrinal a useless, incompetent man. Equal in rank or not, Riven held him in contempt.

Not bothering to use the bronze doorknocker, he kicked open the main doors and walked into the foyer. Not a guard in sight.

"Verdrinal!" he shouted up the main stairway. "Get out of bed and get down here!" He deliberately had come in the small hours, just to inconvenience Verdrinal the more. He must have caught the house guard unawares as well-Hov usually did better work.

Muffled voices and a shuffling from upstairs told him that he had been heard. In a few moments, a dark-haired young man in the purple uniform of an Isterin house guard emerged from the hallway and leaned over the banister. He scowled when he saw Riven.

"What do you want?"

"Get out of my sight," Riven retorted. "And tell Verdrinal to get down here, now."

The house guard's eyes narrowed. Riven assumed he was trying to be intimidating. "Hell be along soon enough";

Riven said nothing. Verdrinal was no doubt upstairs with a woman. The nobleman went through women the way other men went through clothes. The man's insatiable tastes made him weak-he lacked focus, lacked discipline.

"Why don't you fetch Hov, boy. Keeping an eye on me is no job for a little puke like you."

The house guard snarled and stepped back from the landing. He stomped down the stairs, a white-knuckled grip on his sword hilt. He walked up to Riven, face to face.

"Don't ever burst in here again or I'll put you down. I don't need Hov for the likes of you."

Before the guard could move, Riven whipped free a dagger and stabbed him through the gut.

The surprised house guard grunted in pain, tried to draw his own blade, but doubled over instead. Warm blood coursed over Riven's hand and stained the house guard's purple uniform black. Riven jerked the dagger free and kicked the guard to the floor.

"Never say don't to me, boy." He knelt and wiped his blade clean on the dying house guard's uniform.

"Drasek!"

Verdrinal's voice from atop the stairs pulled his gaze upward and wiped the satisfied smile from his face. The tall, brown-haired Zhentarim nobleman had taken the time to don a shirt and blue pantaloons. He pointed a long finger at the groaning house guard.

"What have you done? Do you have any idea how hard it is to find good men?"

Riven ignored both the question and the house guard's dying spasms. He stared into Verdrinal's eyes.

"If he was a good man, he wouldn't be dying on the floor. And if you ever call me Drasek again, Verdrinal, I'll leave you bleeding beside him."

Verdrinal smiled distantly at the threat and descended the stairs. "But Riven sounds so formal," he said with a phony smile. "And the two of us such old friends."

Riven spat on the foyer floor, sheathed his dagger, and said nothing.

The house guard gasped and finally expired. Verdrinal looked down at the expanding pool of blood on the hardwood floor. His smooth, handsome face creased with a flash of anger. "What a blasted mess." He stared ice at Riven. "Varra," he shouted over his shoulder. "Varra!"

After a moment, a pretty brunette maid in a white nightdress scurried into the foyer through an adjacent doorway. Upon seeing the corpse, she gasped.

"Clean this up please, Varra dear." He shot Riven an ingenuous smile. "Mister…Riven and I will be in the study."

The girl gave a frightened nod, whirled in a cloud of white nightdress, and ran from the foyer. Riven watched her go, aroused by the way the thin cotton hugged her slim hips as she ran. Verdrinal's voice stopped her at the doorway.

"Oh, and Varra…" She turned, eyes wide. Riven leered at her.

"Please let Hov know that I have company." She nodded again and ran off.

Riven glanced at Verdrinal and didn't bother to hide his derision. Hov, a brick wall of a warrior with a two-handed broadsword and a mean temper, headed Verdrinal's houseguards.

"Afraid?" he asked Verdrinal.

"Merely cautious, Riven, as always."

Cautious or not, Riven knew that he could put Hov down one-on-one, but the big bastard probably would bring along additional men. That could create problems.

Stay sharp, he reminded himself. Though Verdrinal was incompetent, he was also reasonably cunning, and he resorted to bloodletting almost as readily as Riven. He'd turn the house guard loose if Riven pushed him too hard.

Taking a deep breath, Riven struggled to quell the anger that had brought him here. Killing one of Verdrinal's house guards had helped.

Verdrinal strolled into the study off the foyer and lit an oil lamp. Plush chairs and expensive rugs covered the floors. Beautiful, Riven acknowledged, but decadent and useless, like Verdrinal himself. Bookshelves towered from floor to ceiling, filled with leather bound tomes and ribbon-tied scrolls. Riven doubted Verdrinal had read many of them. He collected books just as he collected women-pretty tilings to decorate his home and impress visitors.

Verdrinal pulled forth a decanter of liquor from a cherrywood hutch and poured himself a glass. "Drink?" he asked Riven.

"No."

Verdrinal shrugged and sauntered back to where Riven stood in the study's doorway. Neither man sat. Verdrinal eyed him over the rim of his glass.

"What is it you want, Riven? What time is it? Second hour? By Cyric, it'll be dawn in five hours." As if to make his point, he staged a theatrical yawn.

Riven forced down the urge to punch Verdrinal in his open mouth. No doubt Hov and his men were already watching from some secret room nearby.

"What I want is an explanation. And since Malix has gone underground, that leaves only you." Malix, Riven's handler and the highest-ranking Zhentarim agent in Selgaunt, had vanished soon after Riven had sabotaged the Righteous Man's summoning of the dread. "You know anything?"

Whirling the liquor around in his glass, Verdrinal regarded Riven shrewdly. His green eyes reminded Riven of a viper's.

"Malix has returned to headquarters to personally report recent events to Lord Chembryl. In the meantime, he's left me in charge."

Riven stiffened. "You!"

"Me."

"Temporarily, no doubt."

"Temporarily," Verdrinal said, conceding with a nod. He quickly added in an arrogant tone, "But until then, I'm your superior."

At that, Riven's anger boiled over. He no longer cared about the Zhentarim hierarchy or whether Hov and the guards were watching. He stepped close to Verdrinal and hissed into his face, "Well then, you arrogant little bastard, if you're the one in charge, then you can explain to me what in the dark is going on! I've lost six operators to this demon. Six.' And every one of them sucked dry as a prune. Malix said the dread would kill the Righteous Man and then leave. Leave!" He clenched a fist before Verdrinal's handsome face and barely restrained the impulse to beat the man to pulp. "Godsdamned mages never know what they're talking about!" -

Verdrinal endured the tirade without expression, even the insult and fist in his face. He waited to be sure Riven had finished, then replied in the tone of voice used to explain something to an angry child. "Things have changed, Riven."

Riven stared at him, amazed that Verdrinal could say something so obvious, and so stupid. "Really."

Verdrinal winced at the sarcasm, took a sip from his

"The dread has somehow managed to remain on our plane. Malix is not sure how. He is sure that it has summoned lesser minions," here he smiled, "and is now doing what demons do."

Riven found Verdrinal's self-satisfied tone infuriating. The man was speaking casually about demons, as though they prowled Selgaunt every other tenday! He forced down his anger only.because he needed information. "So what are we going to do about it? I can't keep losing men to this thing."

Verdrinal gazed at him condescendingly. "Manx's orders are to do nothing about it."

"Nothing! Did his brain turn to dung? It's killing my men. Our men. Good operators."

"True, but it is also killing the heads of certain noble families and a multitude of rival leaders. It appears to have taken the Righteous Man's enemies as its own." He smiled and waved his hand, a weak gesture. "Dent you see? It's doing our work for us. Well let it purge the underworld and only then move against it. That's why Malix went to see Lord Chembryl personally, to determine when to take the next step."

Riven had to admit the logic of the course. A few dead low-level Zhentarim operaiaves were copper pennies to the gold fivestars of dead patriarchs and rival guudmasters. Malix had been hoping merely to eliminate the Night Knives with the dread, but the creature was doing far better than expected; it was single-handedly securing Selgaunt's entire underworld for the Zhentarim.

"How do we know we can get rid of it?"

Verdrinal ignored the question. "It attacked Storm-weather earlier tonight." He grinned smugly, took a sip of his drink, and said nothing more. Verdrinal knew Riven's hate for Erevis Cale. He wanted him to ask for details.

Riven could not help himself. "And?"

"And at least twenty guests present for one of Tha-malon's balls were slaughtered." Casually, he took another sip from his glass. "Did you know that I was invited to that ball?"

Riven ground his teeth together. You should've attended, he thought, but didn't say. "Cale?"

"Lives. Apparently drove the dread off himself, though the Uskevren daughter was gravely hurt. Quite a man, this Erevis Gale. Quite a man, indeed."

Riven realized that he had been clenching his fists. He released them and said, "IH take that drink now."

"You know where it is."

Riven walked to the cabinet and surveyed the many bottles Verdrinal kept there. Able to read only with difficulty, he could not tell the vintage of any of the wines, but he'd be damned before he let Verdrinal know of his illiteracy. He grabbed a bottle at random and poured himself a glass. "Hell be looking for a cause," he said, and gulped the wine in a single drink. "Cale, I mean."

Verdrinal nodded. "I hope so. If all goes well, hell find his cause. That'll solve another of our problems, won't it?"

Riven nodded stiffly and poured himself another glass of wine. He gulped it down too.

A month earlier, Cale and that little halfling rat Jak Fleet had ruineoVRiven's otherwise perfect plan to kidnap the youngest Uskevren whelp, Talbot. In the process, they had marked Riven with a scar on his back that had yet to heal fully. More importantly, the failed operation had dealt a harsh blow to Riven's aspirations for rising within the Network.

Now I find myself answering to a decadent dolt, he thought.

Since then, the Zhentarim had been keeping a close eye on Cale. They would have done the same with the halfling, but Jak Fleet had vanished into the underworld. Riven had known ever since that Gale's death was simply a matter of time, but he had hoped to kill the bald overgrown butler himself. A man like Verdrinal would not understand that

Still angry, he walked back to face the nobleman and jabbed a finger into his chest.

"What about my men? I can't afford to lose any more.

Verdrinal backed up a step and placed a finger to his lips in affected surprise. "Dark! You've just reminded me of something. Oh my! Oh, this won't make you happy."

Riven's stare bored holes into him.

Verdrinal feigned dismay, bat Riven saw the mirth in his eyes as he spoke. "Before Malix left, he told me

'PaulS. Kemp to tell you to have your men go underground. To avoid the dread. That way-"

Riven smacked the drink out of his hands and gripped hi(tm) by his fish-white throat. "You dog!" He slammed his head into Verdrinal's nose. Verdrinal exclaimed and staggered backward, clutching at a broken nose streaming blood.

"You want to play games with me! I lost six men while you sat on that warning!" He jerked free a dagger, grabbed Verdrinal by the robe, and waved the blade before his dazed, watering eyes. "I should split you right now."

"If you do, you'll never get out alive," Verdrinal mumbled, and smiled through the blood pouring out his nose.

Behind him, Riven could hear the hurried boot stomps of Hov approaching alone. He spat into Verdrinal's face. "Won't be long and the time will come for you and me." Riven pulled Verdrinal's bleeding face close. "Just not tonight."

Verdrinal, recovered now from the blow to his nose, and actually grinned. Disgusted, Riven threw him to the floor.

"Our time can come tonight, Drasek," Verdrinal taunted. "If you want to stay. I'm sure Hov would appreciate some company."

Riven turned and found himself staring into the wide, leather-armored chest of Hov. He took a step back and looked up into the big man's dull brown eyes. Hov glared down, right hand on his sword hilt, left hand clenched in a fist.

"Anytime," Riven whispered. "I've already left one of yours dead on the floor. What's one more to me?"

Hov smirked but said nothing.

Riven stalked past and headed for the foyer. Behind him, Verdrinal's mocking voice rang in his ears. "Praise r to Cyric," the nobleman said, the standard Zhentarim words of greeting and farewell, but only among compatriots.

Without breaking stride, Riven shouldered over a delicate nude female statue. It shattered into hundreds of pieces on the foyer floor, chunks of marble splashed into the pool of blood that Varra had yet to clean up. Verdrinal squealed in protest.

"You bastard! You-*

Riven smiled and strode out the door. "Praise to Cyric," he said-mockingly over his shoulder.