But it had for the Righteous Man. Once, Gale had watched him burn down an entire guild warehouse, with eleven guildsmen trapped inside, just to ensure that he had eliminated one among them whom he suspected to be a traitor. It would be just like him to try to hurt Gale before killing him.
Gale's thinking had gone no further, then. At that moment, High Songmaster Ammhaddan and three other underling priests had walked huffing and wide-eyed into the feasthall. The priests insisted on healing Gale's wounds and he had reluctantly stood still for a few moments while their song spells closed the numerous cuts in his chest, back, and shoulders. Afterward, he had dispatched three of the priests to tend the wounded among the house guard and had escorted High Songmaster Ammhaddan from the slaughterhouse to Thazienne's room.
She had looked worse than when he had first left her, so he had waited apprehensively in the hall while the High Songmaster had used song spells to try to heal her.
Now that he knew her to be safe-or at least knew that she would live-he began again to consider the depths to which the Righteous Man would sink. The masked dog had dared attack him here! Had dared harm Thazienne!
Rising anger began to wash away his fatigue- anger at himself for adopting this selfish, asinine plan ten years ago, anger at the Righteous Man for using
Gale's family as a way to get at him. As he stomped through Stormweather's carpeted halls, he gritted his teeth and clenched his fists in rage.
If the Righteous Man had targeted him, as he now suspected, then he was already a walking corpse. He could admit that forthrightly-his death was only a matter of time. Sooner or later the Righteous Man would come to finish him, or more likely still, send Drasek Riven to do the job. Unfortunately, at least as far as Gale was concerned, Riven had not been among the ghoul corpses. Given that situation, Gale could not remain in Stormweather and risk another attack on the family. But where to go?
He knew the answer almost as soon as he posed the question-the Night Knife guildhouse. Thinking of it gave him a focus for his anger. He would take the battle to them.
I'm coming1 for you old man, he silently vowed. I may*be a dead man, but I'm taking you with me.
He stalked into the library and began to pace and think. The smell of burning ghoul corpses carried through the shuttered windows. Spells that allowed High Songmaster Ammhaddan's priests to magically communicate with the dead ghouls had revealed nothing. Gale had therefore directed the house guard to pile the dead creatures near the stables, cover them in lantern oil, and burn them to ashes. The lingering reek of the burning pyre only fueled his anger.
Seething with rage, he hardly noticed the blazing stone hearth. He barely saw the shelves of valuable, leather-bound books that he so loved. He paced the floor, thinking, planning, stewing. His lord's chess set, the pieces skillfully carved from imported ivory, the board itself crafted of aged mahogany, stood untouched on a walnut end table. He restrained the urge to shatter t?e valuable pieces against the wall.
He tried to calm himself.
He lit a single candle, carried it to the end table, and fell into one of the accompanying chairs to await his lord. He could feel his pulse pounding in his forehead, every beat of his heart feeding his rising rage. Get yourself under control, he ordered.
With a supreme effort of will, he calmed himself and remained still.'
After a time, Thamalon walked into the room and pulled the door shut behind him. He had shed his doublet and now wore only a light shirt, blue pants, and cloth slippers. He looked exhausted-the events of the night understandably weighed heavy on his mind-but his blazing eyes could fire a torch. When he entered, Gale immediately climbed to his feet, but Thamalon ordered hi" to sit down.
Grim faced, Thamalon walked to the small wine rack he kept near his oak work desk and pulled out a bottle of Storm Ruby. He stabbed the cork with a screw, jerked it out, and poured two glasses. Gale could see the barely controlled anger in the tense set of Tha-malon's powerful shoulders.
He and I are much alike, Gale realized. We both understand that uncontrolled anger works against us, not for us. Both men had to struggle mightily to control that anger. Of course, guilt did not pollute Tha-malon's anger. That burden was Gale's alone.
Thamalon strode over to him, handed him a silver goblet, and sat opposite in his favorite rocking chair. For a time, they sat in the dim light of the fire and silently regarded one another, two friends who took comfort in each other's company. Riddled with guilt, Gale found it difficult to look Thamalon in the eye. Uncomfortable, he placed his wine untouched onto the table beside him.
"You wanted to talk, Lord?" He managed to keep his voice level, though he thought his guilt must be plain on his face.
Thamalon gazed at him from beneath bushy brows for a long moment before replying. "I wished to thank you again for your bravery tonight-"
"Unnecessary, Lord," Gale interjected with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"Without you…" Thamalon trailed off and took a gulp from his goblet. He gripped the metal so tightly his fingers went white, "Without you, things would have ended much differently."
Gale nodded but held his tongue. Where was Thamalon going with this?
Thamalon set the goblet down on the table. "I did not know you were capable of such things, though I've long suspected." His discerning eyes pierced Gale like blades.
If you knew what I was really capable of, Gale thought, you'd have thrown me out years ago.
After a moment of awkward silence, Thamalon spoke, "It*s time we played a match, Erevis."
"Lord?"
Thamalon sat forward in the chair and indicated the chessboard with his eyes. "A chess match. We have never played. It's time we did."
"Tonight? After-"
"Tonight." Thamalon took another gulp from his goblet and slammed it down on the table so hard it knocked over several chess pieces. "Ill have the heads of everyone responsible for this, Erevis! Everyone."
Gale stiffened at that. Everyone responsible. A wave of fear and self-loathing drowned him. He looked across the end table and met Thamalon's angry gaze, fearful of what he would see there.
Thankfully, his lord's eyes held no accusations. Anger blazed in those gray orbs, but not anger directed at Gale.
Thamalon continued, "To do that, I will need to call upon all of my resources. Including you." He leaned forward, placed his forearms on his knees, and shot Gale a meaningful stare. "I need to know the full range of your…chess skills." He nodded at the chessboard. "I don't need to know where you learned to play."
Gale swallowed a sigh and immediately felt shame for the relief he felt. Thamalon did not suspect that Gale was responsible for the attack. He only wanted information about Gale's past and skills. He wanted to know what Gale could do to help find the guilty parties.
At that, he felt his face flush red and looked away. 7 am the guilty party, he thought. If Thamalon ever learned that his secret life had been the cause of the attack, he would never forgive him. Hells, Gale would never forgive himself, but he didn't want the last conversation he had with his lord to end with the revelation that he had been living in Stormweather as a spy.
Still, Thamalon obviously realized that Gale was more than a butler with a knowledgeable criminal cousin. Butlers didn't drive off demons. His lord had suspected-no, not suspected, known-him to be a former criminal and yet had trusted him enough to allow him to continue on as Stormweather's butler. Thamalon had even respected his privacy and asked no questions. His trust had gone that deep. Gale could never repay that debt, not fully.