"Want to talk about it?"
Tal thought about it for a moment, then decided, "Maybe later."
"You've got Chaney watching your back, I hope." Tazi glanced at the window. "He's out there playing lookout, isn't he?"
"Actually, I told him to slip away as soon as I got in. I don't want him to get into the habit of loitering beneath your bedchamber. He's still sweet on you."
"I know," said Tazi with a sigh, "but I'd hoped you'd put that notion out of his head. He's a disgusting braggart about women, and so fickle!"
"He's not a bad fellow," said Tal, "and I thought you'd fancy him, since Mother so obviously disapproves of him."
"Maybe I fancy someone else," she replied. She glanced away mysteriously.
"Aha! So that's how it is. Want to talk about it?'
"Maybe later," she said. Now they were even.
"Fair enough," said Tal, patting her hand gently. "I'd better get out of here before someone tells Thamalon I'm here."
"Visit me again soon."
"I'll try."
"Promise."
"I promise I'll try," he said, kissing her on the forehead.
He walked to the door. Before he could touch the handle, however, it opened so quickly that he had no time to hide. A dark figure whipped into the room to stand between Tal and the bed. Tal tensed for an attack as the intruder crouched with hands curled at his sides, ready to strike. The morning light showed the clean silhouette of his shaved head but left a shadow across his face.
"Cale?" said Tal. He had never seen his father's butler move with such speed, nor appear so dangerous.
"Master Talbot," replied the tall, gangly man, relaxing slightly.
Even as the light revealed his face, a peculiarity in the shadows left a brief domino across his eyes. Tal had-always thought of Cale as dangerous but not in the physical sense. Something about the recent attack on Stormweather had changed him. Tal considered what that might be as Cale remained protectively beside Tazi's bed.
"It is good to see you've finally arrived."
"Finally" sounded like a reprimand, and Tal bristled. He realized he was clenching his fists and released them with an effort.
"Tal came as soon as he could," said Tazi.
"Of course," said the butler. "Scaling the wall must have required a considerable delay."
"Erevis!" said Tazi, plucking at his loose sleeve.
Tal raised an eyebrow at her use of Cale's first name. Only recently, the Uskevren siblings referred to the gaunt butler as "Mister Pale" when they were sure he wasn't within hearing.
"I mean only to point out that your brother's undetected entry points to a failing in house security. No doubt Lord Uskevren will want to discuss it personally with Master Talbot."
"That's my cue," said Tal, heading toward the door.
"Your father left strict instructions," said Cale, "that you were not to leave the house without a blade and an escort. It was clear that he wished to speak with you as well."
"I brought my own escort," said Tal. "He's waiting outside."
"Foxmantle?" Cale frowned. "Your father would not approve."
"My father can kiss my-"
"Tal!" said Tazi. She sat up with an effort. "Both of you, be nice. Tal, you take a sword from the armory before you go. Cale, you wait until Father wakes before telling him Tal was here."
Both men stared at the young woman.
"Understood?"
"Yes, Tazi," they said in unison.
Tal arched an eyebrow at the servant's use of his sister's familiar name. If Cale noticed, he pretended otherwise.
Tal and Chaney stood with Cale within the Storm-weather armory and dueling circle, where Tal had his earliest fencing lessons. Set in the floor were concentric rings of alternately light and dark hardwood forming the dueling circle. A mute row of practice dummies stood at attention beside a rack of wood and bone practice weapons. Wicker fencing masks hung on a tree nearby, along with worn suits of padded armor. On the opposite wall hung real weapons, mostly long swords and spears.
"You have ten minutes before I wake your father," said Cale. His attitude had softened since the encounter in Tazi's bedroom, but he still seemed different from the servant Tal had come to know over the past seven years.
"Sorry about the window," said Tal. "Since we were children, none of us ever thought of someone else breaking in that way."
"No," said Cale, his voice tinged with bitter recrimination, "but I should have."
Tal let the comment sink in for a moment. Cale's duty was the administration of the house, not its defense, but Tal knew that Cale felt more than an employee's responsibility to Thamalon Uskevren. He never understood the bond between the two men, but only a fool would fail to see it.
Thinking of his father reminded Tal of their last confrontation. Thamalon had warned Tal to stay away from Larajin, intimating quite strongly that there was to be no impropriety between the family and their lesser. Tal never thought of the servants as anything other than family-with the possible exception of Larajin, whose friendship was even more important to him. Thamalon had never cautioned Tal about being familiar with any of the other servants, and Tal finally realized why he had been warned away from Larajin. His father was keeping her as a concubine.
Thinking of Thamalon's hypocrisy, Tal muttered an obscenity.
"I beg your pardon," said Cale. Chancy did his best impression of a second coat of paint. He was always quiet around Cale.
"Not you," said Tal. "Sorry. I was thinking of someone else."
Cale looked straight ahead. "There are more swords in the armory, but the dueling room contains the better blades."
"Thanks, Cale."
The gaunt man merely nodded.
"So," said Tal, trying to lighten the tone, "can you make that twenty minutes before waking the Old Owl?"
Was that the shadow of a smile on Cale's lips? Tal decided he would think so.
"The kitchen staff could use a visit," the butler allowed. "It might take as long as half an hour."
"Thanks, Erevis," said Tal. He held his breath while awaiting a reaction.
Fortunately, Cale did not object to the use of his familiar name, though his eyes narrowed slightly.
"Good day, Master Talbot," he said. Then he was gone.
Chaney waited until the gaunt man was out of sight. "Erevis, is it? Whatever happened to 'Mister Pale*?"
"Shut up, Chane," said Tal. "He might hear you."
Tal walked along the wall of blades with a purpose. While there were dozens from which to choose, only one held any interest to him.
When he was ten, Tal worshiped his uncle Perivel, whom he had never met. Thamalon's older brother had perished the night the Uskevren's rivals tore down the original Stormweather Towers. He died defending the house against other members of the Old Chauncel, who had come to punish Aldimar Uskevren for trafficking with pirates. In a nation of powerful merchants, there was no greater form of treason than to steal from your neighbors.
Among his other youthful glories, Perivel had ridden out after bandits in his day. After one foray, he returned with the head and sword of a notorious ogre chieftain whose forces had virtually halted commerce from the Dale-lands. He often carried the monstrous blade for show, but it was too big for even the Great Bear to employ.
Two thick iron bolts held the big sword up on the dueling hall's southern wall. At its broadest, the blade was wider than Tal's hand was long. The dull gray metal never rusted nor did it gleam with an ever bright enchantment. It had a place of honor, away from the other swords. To each side, big kite shields bearing the horse at anchor guarded its flanks.
"You can't be serious," said Chaney when he saw where Tal's eyes came to rest. "Thamalon will kill you."