"Good," Olive replied, "because however wonderful he may be, Victor Dhostar is still the head of a rival house. What was that thing your grandmother used to say about marrying into rival houses?"
" 'You can marry into them, but don't offer to cover their losses,' " Thistle replied. "Olive, Lord Victor doesn't need my money, but if he did I would give it to him because I know he would use it for the good of all Westgate." Olive tched just as Lady Nettel might have done.
"Don't you halflings have any sense of romance?" Thistle snapped with annoyance.
"Sense and romance," Olive sniffed. "Now there are two words that definitely don't go together."
Thistle harrumphed and stormed off the veranda, just as she had the day before, leaving Olive in complete possession of her breakfast.
After assigning duty rosters to the newly trained guards, Olive spent the rest of the day in her room, strumming nervously on her yarting. Try as she might, she could not shake off a sense of impending doom she had, not for herself but for Thistle Thalavar. The halfling was racking her brain trying to figure what Victor Dhostar's game was. Thistle was a good match for any noble in the city, but men like Dhostar didn't care about making a good match, Olive realized. They cared only about power.
Jamal came casing on Olive at Castle Thalavar shortly after sunset. "There's something very strange going on," the actress reported. "Kel says there are all sorts of Night Masks out tonight. He followed a pair of them down to Castle Vhammos. He says he thinks they're all holding some sort of war council."
Olive set down her yarting and began strapping on her scabbard. At that moment, Miss Winterhart burst into the room. The younger halfling was dressed all in leather and armed for combat with a human-sized sword strapped across her back in the fashion of warriors of the north.
"Lady Thistle has gone to Castle Vhammos," Winter-hart reported, "but I didn't dare approach too closely. The guards are letting all sorts of unsavory types enter, but I do not think they will let a halfling pass. I know another way in. Follow me."
Winterhart turned about and strode off with Olive and Jamal dashing after her. The younger halfling led them to her quarters in the lower regions of the castle. Olive was just wondering if there was some secret passageway Lady Nettel had neglected to mention when Winterhart plunged, like a diver into a pond, into the mirror hanging on her wall.
Olive's startled reflection rippled for a moment and then was still. "I'm probably going to regret this," the older halfling whispered just before she stepped into the darkness of the mirror.
Jamal was left facing her own reflection. There was probably nothing she could do, she told herself. She wasn't much of a fighter, and she doubted very much there would be any call for an actress wherever the mirror took her. "Some cheap hero you are," she said, glaring at the aging face glaring back at her. Taking a deep breath, she leaped into the mirror, thinking, I know I'm going to regret this.
Darkness seemed to fill the other side of the mirror. After a few moments, however, Olive's eyes adjusted to the dim light cast by a brazier. She stood in the center of an underground cavern containing items removed from the lair of the Faceless-most notable were the remaining iron golems, the empty rack for the masks of the Night Masters, and the skull of the dragon Mist, with the red lights spinning in its eye sockets. "Where are we?" Jamal whispered.
"The Faceless's newest lair, I'd guess," Olive replied. "Winterhart, how'd you get a magic portal mirror into here? What's going on, woman?"
Winterhart held up a finger to indicate Olive should wait for a moment. The younger halfling stood before Mist's skull, holding a small golden wand.
"Your associate is in the chamber above with the Night Masters and their followers," the dragon's skull was saying to Winterhart. "There are over two hundred Night Masks waiting for the Faceless to lead them to Verovan's hoard."
"Verovan's hoard!" Olive gasped in astonishment. "But where are Lady Thistle and Lord Victor?" she demanded.
"Lord Victor has taken Lady Thistle to the top of the southern tower," Mist reported. "With no idea that her lover is the Faceless, Lady Thistle is showing him how to open the portal to Verovan's treasury." "Dhostar is the Faceless?" Jamal gasped. "Of course," Olive said. "That explains how he managed to make it look like his father was the Faceless."
Mist growled at Winterhart, "I've fulfilled all my promises to you, warrior. Free me now, as you promised," the dragon's spirit demanded.
Winterhart stepped forward and tapped the golden wand on Mist's disembodied skull. "Rest now, wyrm," the halfling said.
The light spinning about in the skull's eye sockets seemed to flow toward Winterhart's golden wand, then vanished. The bone of the skull crumbled into dust. An eldritch wind blew through the cavern, blowing the dust about in a cyclone. By the glow of the brazier the dust seemed to take on the shape of a red dragon.
"Farewell, you red-headed witch," Mist's voice whispered, "and farewell to you, Olive Ruskettle."
Then the wind increased, knocking Winterhart to one knee before carrying the dust away to some far plane.
Olive had her sword pointed at Winterhart before the other halfling could rise to her feet. "You've known all along that Victor Dhostar is the Faceless?"
"Of course," Winterhart replied. In the blink of an eye, the prim halfling had drawn her own sword and crossed the blade against Ruskettle's. "That is why I led you here, so you could witness his moment of triumph."
Twenty-Three
With Winterhart on one knee, Olive pressed her advantage before the other halfling had a chance to demonstrate her superior skill with a blade. Olive circled to Winterhart's left side and lunged with her blade, but the younger halfling switched her sword to her left hand and parried her opponent neatly.
"Ruskettle, you're making a mistake," Winterhart declared. "I’m not working for the Faceless."
"Oh, no," Olive replied sarcastically. "You just have a secret entry to his lair so you can come for tea."
As the two halflings faced off against one another, Jamal looked around for something, anything she might use to help Olive fight Winterhart. A two-handed broadsword hung on a wall behind the iron golems. The actress grasped the weapon by its hilt and slid it from the hooks that held it in place. The sword was unbelievably heavy, and Jamal was unable to raise it without her arms shaking from the exertion.
"Perhaps,you would care to try something smaller, Jamal," a man whispered behind her.
The actress swung around, trailing the broadsword with her, but unable to raise it to defend herself. Kimbel stood in a doorway, eyeing her with cruel amusement. She glared at the assassin who unfastened the scabbard about his waist and tossed it at her feet. Distracted by the sound of Kimbel's voice, Olive retreated a step from her opponent, giving Winterhart a chance to get to her feet. "Winterhart," Kimbel barked, "you haven't got time for this. The Faceless is about to address his troops. You'll miss your cue." The assassin retreated through the doorway.
Winterhart dashed after him, calling out, "Come on, Ruskettle, Jamal. You don't want to miss the fun." She disappeared into the darkness beyond the door.
Olive exchanged a confused look with Jamal; then the halfling raced after Winterhart. Jamal dropped the ridiculously heavy broadsword. She considered for a moment the sword and scabbard Kimbel had given her. It could be a trick, but she needed a weapon. I really wish I'd read the script before I jumped into this play, she thought as she followed Olive.