“I am honored to be granted the grace of a visit from you,” the vampire said, in a rich, deep voice with a sardonic edge. She turned the missive around in her fingers. “Even in this backwater I have heard of House Beguine. Your caravans thread the countryside, and your agents are in every city. But surely if you wish to do more business in Erlkazar, it would be more expedient to speak to the barons directly?”
The barons governed by day. But Saestra was Queen of the Night Barony of Erlkazar, the shadowy organization composed of both the undead and the living. Saestra ruled the Night Barony, and the Night Barony from its lairs beneath the Daylight Baronies ruled Erlkazar and terrorized its neighbors.
It was Sanwar’s understanding that she interfered very little with the common people of Erlkazar, and bade her people leave them be-although she could hardly be blamed if foolish folk risked being away from the safe haven during the darkness. She could not manage every bandit, vampire, or lycanthrope.
“With respect to all the noble sirs,” replied Sanwar evenly, “you are the only power worth consulting in Erlkazar.”
Saestra smiled at him coldly. “You are too kind. And well-informed.”
“I bring a small gift, not worthy of you, but perhaps of interest.” From inside his robe he brought out a cylindrical case, made of ancient leather and capped with brass. Red lettering, flaked with age, circled it. He didn’t miss that the halfling woman watched closely when he reached under his clothing and that the human didn’t.
“I’m a collector of old texts and chronologies,” Sanwar said. “I came across this-a genealogical scroll of the Karanok family. To anyone but a scholar, it’s not that valuable, I admit-more an antiquarian curiosity. But such as it is, it’s yours.”
“Ponta,” said Saestra, and the halfling at her side stirred and came to him, reaching out her hand to take the container. She examined it, gave the leather a sniff, and presented it to her mistress.
Saestra in turned handed the leather cylinder to one of her ladies, who took it with long-clawed fingernails.
“Many thanks for the thoughtful gift, Sanwar Beguine,” she said, an amused smile quirking the sides of her mouth. “But you didn’t come all the way and into the lair of a vampire simply to give me a present, and you have the air of a man who intends to say more.”
Sanwar swallowed, steeling himself. “If you know the name of House Beguine, you know the name of House Jadaren,” he said, and saw a gleam of recognition in her eyes. “And you know of the enmity between them.”
Saestra tilted her head. “But surely that’s a thing of the past? Did I mishear, or was there not an alliance made? A wedding celebrated?”
“It wasn’t celebrated by me,” Sanwar said through set teeth. “And I acknowledge no alliance.”
He said it more forcefully than he intended, and the vampire trio to Saestra’s right stirred slightly, out of their unearthly stillness, like leaves touched by a breeze. He heard a faint giggle.
The human guard tightened his grip on the mace and furrowed his brows.
The vampire stared at him a long moment, her eyes so smoky dark they looked like pools of darkness one could fall into forever.
“I see,” she said at last. “You cling to your ancient hatreds. And yet an alliance means more trade, and more goods moving across the land, and more for my people to share with the virtuous folk of Turmish and Camlishan.” Her voice hardened. “What do you journey so far to ask of me, merchantman?”
Cold sweat prickled across his body, and for a moment he regretted the absence of his guards. They would have stood no chance here, however.
Stand firm, urged the voice inside him. There’s no profit for her in your death.
“My niece’s family live in Jadaren Hold now,” he said. “You know how well it is warded.”
She made a slight, palm-up gesture with her hand, her meaning clear. So?
“I have sources who tell me she’s in danger,” he continued. “I am prepared to overcome the spells that protect the Hold to ensure her safety. But the Jadarens are well manned and have had years to plan their defenses. We are only a merchant house, with guards we employ to protect our goods and ourselves-and their numbers are limited. I have no army at my command.”
“And I do,” said the vampire.
“And you do.”
There was another long, deceptively lazy pause.
“What interest have I in your petty squabbles, merchantman? Let Jadaren Hold stand for all eternity, if the gods will let it. I have little interest in what lies within.”
“Perhaps. But I have a sweeter bargain to offer you.”
What he thought of as the voice within him welled up, silently, and became a presence, reaching out to the mind of the vampire before him.
Listen. Listen to what he says. He saw her blink, then frown, and he knew she had heard.
“How long has it been since the Sanctuary of Shadrun-of-the-Snows made it its duty to protect travelers? How long has it interfered with your affairs, right on your borders?”
Her face tightened, and his heart leaped at the confirmation that he was right. The gamble paid off. The existence of the sanctuary was a sore spot for her.
“That hovel in the mountains, with its chanting monks and caravans of stinking donkeys? I have no interest in it whatsoever.”
“With all due respect, my lady Saestra,” said Sanwar, “you are lying.”
Her entire body stilled, and he could feel the cold emanating from her very bones. The vampire trio behind her froze as well. Ponta did nothing whatsoever.
“That’s enough lip from you,” snarled the human fighter to Saestra’s left. He shifted the mace and lashed out at Sanwar, a blow meant to drop him.
Time seemed to slow to a torturous crawl. Sanwar watched with dispassionate interest as the weapon approached his face. He had no time to duck, and he knew he should be afraid, horrified-but he could summon no emotion.
Like an afterimage, something flashed behind his eyes-a geometrical figure drawn in deep purple. In an instant it was gone, and he felt invisible hands seizing his shoulders and pulling him aside so that the mace missed him. The fighter, overbalanced, sprawled on the floor.
Time snapped back into place, and Sanwar staggered, dizzy.
The brute swore and attempted to get up, but the halfling Ponta slipped past Sanwar as neatly as a cat and kicked him deftly under the chin. He grunted and fell back down. The mace clattered from his hand and didn’t move again.
Saestra turned her attention back to Sanwar as if nothing had happened.
“Did I just hear you call me a liar, Master Beguine?” she said lightly.
His back hurt with the effort of facing her. “Yes, my lady,” he said, schooling his face to look unafraid. “My regrets, but I did.”
She laughed. “You are quite right. I did lie. I care very much about Shadrun-of-the-Snows and its place on my borders and its interference with my people.”
He stifled the impulse to lick his lips. “I can give you the key to Shadrun-of-the-Snows, my lady. It lies within Jadaren Hold.”
Sanwar couldn’t determine when he began to realize that the loci of the warding that must lie within the Hold had something to do with the Power that pulsed beneath the seemingly placid surface of the sanctuary. But his inner instinct told him he must bring one to the other and-
Burst the bond of my prison.
Before the cold eyes of Saestra he almost frowned, distracted. Where had that thought come from? How did he know one was related to the other? Whose prison?
Something coiled within his mind touched his jumbled thoughts, and they quieted. His books and studies had told him along the way. One did not always know where one’s fragments of knowledge came from.
Saestra tilted her head, considering him. “Interesting,” she remarked. “I wonder if you are lying in your turn.”