“Yes, Excellency. Of course. And the Palanthian Legion?”
“I’ll lead them myself. We’ll march toward the mountains. The legion isn’t big enough to stop Ankhar by itself, but if he does try to come through the high country, we’ll be waiting to give him a nasty surprise. I expect we’ll be able to hold up his progress until you arrive to help finish the job-hopefully once and for all.”
“May all the gods hear you,” Dayr replied sincerely.
Blayne woke up suddenly, sensing that someone was in the room with him. It was night, and the cramped little boarding house cubby that had been his home in Palanthas was utterly dark. It should have been utterly silent, as well. But Blayne had heard something, a soft sound that had interrupted his sleep. And when he listened, he plainly discerned the sound of breathing.
“Who’s there?” he demanded, sitting up, reaching for his matches. With a scratch against the striking board, he smelled sulfur and heard the wooden chip burst into flame. He even felt the heat of the little fire on the fingertips holding the match.
But his room was as dark as ever.
Magic!
The skin on the back of his neck prickled, and he thought about his short sword-suspended from a hook on the back of the door, way across the room. “Who’s there?” he asked again before cursing and shaking out the unseen match as the flame seared his fingertips. “Why can’t I see?”
“It is important that my identity remain secret.”
The cool voice startled him, brought him bolt upright on his grimy mattress. Blayne discerned no threat in the voice, rather more a tone of almost paternal affection, as though his visitor were a revered counselor-even though he had never heard the voice before.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“I bring you news-good news, from your friend in the gray robe.”
“Finally!” Blayne cried involuntarily. He blushed over his outburst-and because he had just inadvertently confirmed to the unseen visitor his connection with Hoarst the Gray. “I mean… I have done what he asked when he sent me here. But I feared he had forgotten me.”
“Not at all,” said the other man with an avuncular chuckle. “And he will be pleased to hear of your success-as I am pleased.”
“So… you also know about my mission in Palanthas?”
“Yes. The Legion of Steel is an important component in our plans, as the nation moves beyond the reign of the emperor. I take it that you have made the necessary contact with them, then?”
Blayne considered for a few moments, wondering how much of his secret mission he should be divulging to the mysterious stranger. It seemed the man was a confidant of Hoarst’s and that he already knew a great deal about Blayne. After all, the young lord had taken his room in a shabby inn with the clear intention of remaining incognito. Yet somehow, the stranger found and knew him.
“Why this peculiar darkness?” Blayne asked bluntly. “I sense that you’ve cast a spell to block any light in my room.”
“It is very important no one know who I am,” replied the man, his easy tone indicating he took no offense at Blayne’s question. “That is all. You can trust me; I am a friend.”
And, in truth, Blayne felt he did trust the man. Of course, he didn’t know about the charm spell his visitor had cast, the subtle magic that made pleasing the powerful cleric’s every word. Nor could he see the black mask the Nightmaster wore across his face.
So Blayne told him all he had learned during several meetings with the secret order of knights known as the Legion of Steel.
“There are about a hundred of them in the city, organized into six cells,” he reported eagerly. “I’ve only been to visit one of the cells, of course-that’s deliberate on my part. But they have been preparing for their day ever since the emperor passed his new edicts.”
“Excellent. One hundred knights is a few more than I had expect-that is, hoped — to find here,” the other man said.
“But you said you brought news for me! From Hoarst,” Blayne remembered suddenly. “What is the news?”
“Ah yes, that. Good news, indeed. The Black Army has taken over the High Clerist’s Tower, and even now our mutual friend sits in control of the pass,” the stranger explained.
“They took the tower?” Somehow, the truth of that seemed rather daunting to Blayne. It was good news certainly, but still… suddenly, rebellion did not seem like an ideal thing to support. Actual conflict was being waged. The thought-the reality-was unsettling.
“Did the garrison fight? Were there many killed?” he asked anxiously. “On either side?” he added quickly.
“There was no bloodshed, none whatsoever,” said the kindly visitor. “It seems that disgust with the emperor is growing like a well-watered crop, all across the land.”
That was a surprise; Blayne would not have expected the duty-conscious General Markus, one of the emperor’s most loyal adherents, to surrender so easily. But it made the good news better.
“That crop has been watered with my father’s blood,” Blayne remembered bitterly, wondering if he was trying to remind his visitor or himself. “It is time the emperor reaps his violent harvest.”
Selinda tried to scream, but her throat was so dry that no sound emerged. She struggled to move, to break free from some kind of cloaking net that inhibited her movement, but felt as though her whole body were encased in heavy mud. The tiniest effort, such as wiggling a finger, was a great challenge. Actually running away, she discovered, was quite out of the question.
Where was she? How did she get there? Her eyes were open, but she saw only a vague, almost black grayness. Had she been blinded?
She had the vague sense that a lot of time had passed since she had last been aware of her surroundings. Some memories returned, slowly… the smoke-filled inn, the exotic music… people were laughing- Selinda was laughing-overcome by hysteria. She recalled her dance of wild enjoyment, the boisterous cheers of the other patrons. That drink! A lotus… something…
And Lame Hale.
“Hale!” she called angrily-or rather, tried to call. But still her mouth seemed to be filled with cotton; her tongue, her lips were unresponsive to mental commands. She tried to move again and failed-and for the first time realized that she was physically restrained. Her vision was clearing slightly. She made out a growing illumination, a spot that might have been a window, and the shapes of worn planking on the ceiling over her head.
She was lying on her back, on some sort of mattress. Her hands were over her head, each bound by the wrist to some sort of thick restraint. With a shudder of relief, she realized that at least she was still dressed; indeed, she was wearing her own clothes-she could feel the familiar, rare silk nestled against her skin. But what was happening to her? How had she come to such a pretty pass?
“Ah, my dear. How nice to see that you are awake.”
The voice came from very close beside her head, and she started in panic.
“Hale?” she asked, recognizing the voice. “What did you do to me?”
“Nothing… yet.” The smirk was evident in his voice. “You are worth far more to me intact than damaged.”
“My worth? What in the world are you talking about? Are you planning to sell me?”
“Very astute!” said the man. She could make out more details finally, and when she twisted her head slightly, she saw him out of the corner of her eye, sitting smugly against the wall of the room. Selinda tried to think, to clear the fog from her mind and hatch some sort of plan. But all she felt was a headache. “A splendid-looking creature such as yourself will fetch a fine price in the east.”
“But-how dare you!” she spat. “Why, they’ll be looking for me!”
“I haven’t failed to note that you invariably visit us alone, my dear. I am guessing, with a fair degree of certainty, that you haven’t told anybody where you are. So let them look for you-within a few days, you could be hundreds of miles away from here. I have only to give the order, to make the deal.”