5 FLAMERULE (NIGHT)
When he strode into her chamber-kicking one of her guards through the doors, in fact-Eden was hardly surprised. He must have bled from half a hundred wounds and borne twice as many bruises, but one would never know it from his implacable carriage. Her brother came before her as an invincible, conquering champion.
“Lord Shadowbane,” she said. “So kind of you to pay me the honor of a visit.”
She lay on her divan, toying with her platinum coin. She was a queen, after all, and it would not do to seem fearful-even if she did share the room with thirteen of her best bodyguards. Just in case.
Hardly seeming to notice the assembled toughs, Shadowbane raised his helm and fixed his pale eyes on her. “Two days,” he said, his voice tinged with weariness. “In two days, there will be-”
“A kingmaking,” she supplied. “So I’ve heard. How’s the shoulder, by the way?”
Kalen looked at his arm, which twisted oddly from his shoulder. He seemed not to have noticed. “Dislocated.”
“Shall I tend that for you? The Lady pro-”
Kalen crossed to the wall and slammed his body against the stone. His arm popped back into place. He turned back to her, his face blank.
“-vides,” Eden finished. “Well, I hear you’ve been quite busy today, making your wishes known in ‘your’ city. My fellow servants of the Lady-”
“Hired trash,” Kalen spoke in anger. “Moldering refuse too pitiful to matter.”
Her men grumbled and reached for their steel, but she waved them to silence. “My brothers in Luck,” she said, “tell me you’ll protect the city until this kingmaking of yours, and that any violence done will be returned tenfold. Is this so?”
Kalen nodded.
“Impressive, Shadowbane,” she said, careful not to name him brother. “Have you been fighting every single rogue who disobeys your edict? Killing a few, I imagine.”
Kalen said nothing, only smiled slightly and laid his hand on the hilt of a dagger. Inspired by just that small threat, the shudder that passed through the room touched even Eden.
She started to believe he could truly do it.
“Me lady,” said one of her men-picked by the toss of her coin to replace one of her advisors. “Let’s kill this pissant now. Let’s-”
“No.” Eden raised her hand to stay her men. “I haven’t and won’t cross your reign, King Shadowbane, and then we’ll have our kingmaking. Luskan has been too long divided.” She sat back and flipped her platinum coin from one hand to the other. “But after a new king is chosen, you will no longer be welcome in Luskan. Your reign will end with blood.”
Kalen shrugged. “Two more days,” he said. Then he turned and walked away.
Eden’s men drew steel, but she waved again, stopping them.
The day would come-very soon-where steel would be the answer. Steel … and the scroll she kept rolled up and tucked into her bodice near her heart.
She could feel the plague’s hunger. It was so much more than a disease-so much more than a mere weapon. It held the keys to power in the city, perhaps in all Faerun. Keeping it restrained was like balancing a coin on edge: it took constant vigilance. But Eden was born for such a struggle. She wondered when misfortune would strike and her control would slip. The risk thrilled her.
“We wait,” she said to the faithful. “We follow Shadowbane’s edict of nonviolence and on the seventh day of Flamerule, the goddess will grant us a great blessing.”
The men looked dubious, but they knew better than to contradict her. They feared Eden more than any goddess.
Let him have his days of hard-fought peace-let him think his plan working. She controlled the plague and she would keep it quiet. Then, when it came time for the kingmaking, she would use it to destroy him and put herself on the throne of Luskan.
We hunger.
When we try to rise, the call defeats us and we cannot eat.
Murmur whispers to us-a voice not our own, yet part of us. Murmur says wait. Be patient. If we attack now, we will reveal ourselves. We will be slain.
We hunger.
We build our strength, eager to consume. We are ripper-tearer-destroyer. We are doom, for this world and a thousand others.
Murmur says wait. Murmur says we will feast soon.
We hunger.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
6 FLAMERULE (DUSK)
"The Gods must be mad,” Kalen said. “Ten peaceful days in Luskan.” “Ten days,” Sithe said, a dozen paces behind him. “But not without battle.”
“Indeed.”
Neither Kalen nor Sithe had slept more than a few hours during the last tenday. They’d spent that time in the streets or on the rooftops, breaking arms or jaws, putting folk on the ground. Every time they took down an edict-breaker, they hauled the unfortunate back to the appropriate tavern to lie on a cot and heal. Between the two of them, they must have beaten half of Luskan senseless.
And in all that time, Kalen had killed no one. Even Sithe had killed only one foe-Duulgrin. Ten days of peace, without real bloodshed.
The Dead Rats had not been idle during Shadowbane’s reign, either. Every time a battle saved a business or righted a wrong, Kalen sent Rats with some of their own stores: food, wine, rope, supplies of all sorts. The gang was, like its namesake, notorious for hoarding. The efforts had helped: Luskan actually seemed like a city once more, albeit barren of anyone on the streets, and that was something Kalen had never thought to see.
Also, the Rats had kept ears and eyes open, seeking disappearances. As far as they knew, the Fury hadn’t struck again, so Kalen’s plan was working. He hoped tomorrow would draw the source of the scourge out of hiding.
The two enforcers stood, watching the sun set from the roof of an abandoned building flanking the market square. The place where tomorrow, a king would be chosen.
“You know this kingmaking of yours will end in blood,” Sithe said.
“It is the way of Luskan.” Kalen nodded.
The genasi gave him an approving look. “You are ready, then?”
Without waiting for an answer, she came at him, leaping through the air with impossible speed. Her axe scythed across as though to take his head from his shoulders. He bent at the knees, no faster or farther than he knew he needed to. He trusted himself. The axe passed within a hair of his scalp. He rose in its wake so smoothly it seemed to have passed right through him.
They faced each other across five paces-Sithe with her axe, Kalen with his daggers drawn and ready. He pulled back his increasingly tattered cloak, showing only a plain black tunic and leggings.
“No armor?” Sithe asked.
“I am armored by my faith,” Kalen said. “Just as you are.”
“Faith in what?”
“That I am no murderer for my god,” Kalen said.
“We shall see.”
Sithe attacked again, her axe tracing an arc of fire through the air. He dived around her, his blades slashing along her side. She swayed just wide of his steel, but the attack had come close-close enough to have drawn forth her warding darkness. The dying flames of Sithe’s axe illumined their faces.
“Are you going to tell me?” Kalen asked. “What Myrin meant-‘all for nothing’?”
“Why should I know?” Sithe asked. “I have spoken thirteen words to the girl.”
“Because you know something of nothing, Lady Void.”
That struck her. Her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. He could not help thinking he had made a terrible mistake.
She raised her hand and an invisible force wrenched him straight into her scything axe. He dodged low at the last instant and rolled between her legs. He rose and faced her once more.
“You’ve set aside your armor, but all your defenses are still in place,” she said. “You refuse to accept the truth. You fear to be your god’s instrument-the hand of vengeance.” She raised her axe. “You prefer fear to faith.”