"Shade troops, you mean?" Tamlin asked. There seemed little a shade could not do.
Rivalen nodded. "Yes, Hulorn. Shade troops from the enclave."
The plan pleased Tamlin. He would not abandon the people of Saerb, but he would risk little. He nodded at Rivalen.
"Thank you for the advice, all, and for the offer, Prince. We will do as Prince Rivalen advises. We are adjourned."
Rivalen knew that Tamlin was, at his core, a compromiser. He wanted always to feel as if he were doing something but he wanted also to take no risks. Were he to flip a fivestar to decide a question, he would hope for it to land on its edge so that he could choose a middle course. For now, that served Rivalen. But sooner or later the young Hulorn would have to choose obverse or reverse. Rivalen had grown fond enough of Tamlin to allow him a chance to make that choice.
"Prince Rivalen, will you remain a moment?" Tamlin asked.
"Of course, Hulorn."
While they waited for Vees and Rorsim to exit the conference room, Tamlin poured himself a goblet of wine. When they were alone, he said, "I have heard nothing from the envoys sent to hire mercenaries. It has been too long. Something has happened to them."
Rivalen allowed concern to show in his eyes, though his own agents had killed Selgaunt's envoys. Rivalen wanted the Hulorn entirely beholden to the Shadovar.
"They perform dangerous duty," he said. "No doubt the overmistress has many spies in Selgaunt, just as you do in Ordulin."
Tamlin sipped his wine, regarded Rivalen over the rim. "I would feel more at ease with our situation were Shadovar troops in the city. You have said often that your forces are highly mobile. If they were at our disposal, perhaps we could take the offensive rather than await a siege? Mirabeta has taken a risk sending out half her army to Saerb."
Rivalen nodded and gave Tamlin what he most craved-praise. "You think aggressively, Hulorn. That is admirable and befits a leader of a nation."
Tamlin tried to hide his smile behind another drink of wine but Rivalen saw it. Tamlin said, "I will settle for winning this conflict and remaining the leader of Selgaunt."
Rivalen looked pointedly across the table. "Why rein your ambition so? You should be as aggressive with it as you are in your war planning."
"How do you mean, Prince?"
Rivalen looked away. "I hesitate to speak it."
"Come," Tamlin said. "We have already been candid with one another about sensitive matters of faith. This is no different. I have come to rely on your candor, Prince. Please."
Rivalen nodded. "Hulorn, I believe Sembia has been transformed by this conflict. The overmistress has rendered the High Council moot and your people accept it as if it were always so. It is a dead institution. Sembia will have its autocrat. It is only a question of who it shall be and whether he shall be benevolent or… otherwise."
Tamlin paused in mid drink. The moment stretched.
"Intriguing," he said at last, his tone thoughtful, and hurriedly added, "That you think so, I mean."
Rivalen knew he had laid the foundation. He was bringing Tamlin along at exactly the right pace. He'd seen it before. He knew the look in a man's eye when ambition found purchase. Tamlin's expression showed it. He thought he wanted to be a shade and a king. What he really wanted was deeper than that. He wanted to step out of the shadows of his father, of Erevis Cale, of his own self-image as an unaccomplished son of an accomplished father. Rivalen knew the feeling, had experienced it himself thousands of years earlier. Perhaps that was why he was so fond of the boy. Besides, it amused Rivalen that Tamlin sought to escape the shadows of his past by stepping into the shadows Rivalen offered.
"I know the wait for Shadovar reinforcements is difficult, Hulorn," Rivalen said. "But be assured that our troops will arrive as soon as they are freed from other obligations. Let us then decide what course to take in war. In fact, it is my hope that I will be able to lend even more aid than troops at that time."
Tamlin raised his eyebrows. "Oh?"
"I will inform you when I have more information to tell."
Tamlin smiled. "The Sharran keeps his secrets, eh?"
Rivalen donned a false smile. "Indeed, but only because matters are still a trifle unclear." He spun shadows around his fingers.
Tamlin watched him intently, then said, "The leading priests of the city, those who remain, have informed me that they will not fight directly against Mirabeta's forces. They will aid and heal, but none will bear arms or cast spells to harm. I presume the priests of Ordulin and Saerloon have taken a similar position."
"Perhaps or perhaps not. Your priests play at neutrality to preserve the status of their faith, whatever the outcome of the war. It is disheartening. You need not accept their terms, Hulorn."
"No?" Tamlin asked.
"No. There are priests in Shade Enclave whom I may be able to call upon. Hulorn, perhaps now is an appropriate time to discuss Shar's faith further?"
Tamlin tipped his goblet toward Rivalen. "I think I would enjoy that very much."
The night was old but Elyril did not attempt to sleep. Minddust and excitement kept her heart racing for hours. She had long ago giddily dismissed the steward and now sat in the study with Kefil.
And with the book.
The mastiff lay at her feet, licking his paws. The book lay against her breast, warming her skin and the invisible holy symbol she wore at her throat. She fiddled with the magical ring on her finger, amused that she knew yet another secret of which the Nightseer was ignorant. He would learn of it soon enough, when he bent his knee to the Lord Sciagraph.
And to you, Kefil projected.
She smiled, replayed the events in her mind again and again.
Kefil said, The guardsman, Phraig, was not a man.
"Not while he was in this room," Elyril agreed. "Then, he was a vessel of Shar."
Kefil grunted indifferently and shifted his position.
Elyril stared at the walls and listened with pleasure to the death rattles of everyone who died in Yhaunn over the next slice of the night: an elderly chandler, a young girl with wetlung, a male prostitute who fell from a balcony, a cobbler with a weak heart. The grief of those the dead left behind she offered to Shar and Volumvax as sacrifice. Cradling her book and thinking of the Lord Sciagraph, her mind drifted into dark places.
Kefil's growl brought her back to herself.
Had she fallen asleep?
The darkness in the room deepened. A presence emerged from the black. Kefil scrambled to his feet, growling and snapping.
She recognized the presence immediately and felt such ecstasy that she could scarcely breathe. Her body tingled; her muscles went weak; her heart rose. She closed her eyes, fell to the floor, and whispered, "I kneel before Shar's shadow, who shrouds the world in night."
Silence, Volumvax commanded.
The sound of his mental voice in her head made her giddy and lightheaded. He had never before spoken to her. The room spun; her breath came so fast she feared she would pass out. Indeed, she must be Shar's chosen servant!
You dare call to me? the Lord Sciagraph said.
Dread devoured Elyril's excitement. She fumbled for a reply. "I… did not. I am grateful my lord has blessed me with his presence. I… have news."
She kept her head down but held up the book given her by Phraig.
Silence for a moment, then, You possess half of the book to be made whole. What is its secret?
"A ritual hides behind the words."
You are my servant, and Shar's.
The praise sent such a thrill through Elyril that she gasped.
"It was left behind by servants of Mask. The Lady put it into my hands."