Few men were called to true faith. Rivalen's father and most of his brothers were powerful wizards-several were even more powerful than Rivalen, but they were only wizards. Their understanding was therefore limited. Rivalen was more-he was both archwizard and priest, a theurge. Among the Twelve Princes of Shade Enclave, he was unique. Among all men, he was unique.
Rivalen had received Shar's calling as a young man, when Netheril still had ruled much of Faerun. To prove his faith, Shar had required him to arrange the murder of his own mother, Alashar, and Rivalen had done it. The death of Alashar had sunk the most high into despair and that, in turn, had led him to Shar, the Lady of Loss.
Through the ensuing years, Telamont had turned all of Shade Enclave to the worship of Shar. Rivalen had taken the dark rites and become first her priest, then her high priest. As a reward for their service, Shar had gifted the Tanthuls with special knowledge-how to bind their essence with shadowstuff. She had taught them of the secret weft of magic, the Shadow Weave, and had helped Shade Enclave avoid the otherwise complete destruction wrought on Netheril by Karsus's Folly.
She had given Rivalen still more. She had whispered to him his Own Secret: Rivalen would bring about the destruction of the world. She had birthed a plan then that would only see fruition two thousand years later.
Rivalen still marveled at the depth of Shar's planning, at her patience. He did not regard the murder of his mother as a betrayal of his father. Alashar's death had served a more important purpose than her life. All was according to Shar's plans.
"Come," Brennus said, and gestured him from the doorway into the chamber.
The brothers crossed the smooth floor of the scrying room. The shadows gave way before them to reveal a massive cube of tarnished silver, half again as tall as Rivalen-Brennus's scrying cube. Dim images played across one of the four vertical faces.
Brennus's two homunculi sat cross-legged on the floor, their backs to the brothers, watching the images displayed on the cube. The tiny humanoid creatures, each constructed by Brennus, absently fiddled with their toes while they watched intently. When they noticed Brennus, one nudged the other and both jumped nimbly to their feet. Toothless smiles opened under flat noses. Both had droopy eyes the same steely color as Brennus's. Their gray skin creased like old leather as they bowed. To Rivalen, they looked like unfinished clay sculptures.
One of the homunculi croaked, "The master arrives. We have observed the images as you commanded. There is nothing of interest to report."
"Well done," Brennus said.
The homunculi preened at his praise. They asked, "Up? Up?"
Brennus smiled and extended an arm downward. The homunculi grinned and gripped his shirt sleeve to clamber up his arm, then took station on either shoulder. From there, they eyed Rivalen through narrowed eyes.
"I do not understand your fascination with constructs," Rivalen said, studying the creatures. His brother was also adept at crafting golems.
The homunculi stuck their tongues out at him.
"No more than I understand your fascination with numismatics," Brennus answered.
"Coins are bits of history, Brennus. Countless realms rose and fell during our two-thousand-year absence from Faerun. Collecting the coins of those failed kingdoms reminds me of the fragility of empire. A useful lesson, as we craft another."
"Crafting constructs reminds me of the fragility and delicateness of life," Brennus retorted. "A useful lesson, as we take those of others." He grinned and his fangs gleamed. "You see? We are similarly motivated, Rivalen."
The homunculi giggled.
Rivalen smiled and tilted his head to concede the point. He studied the images that the homunculi had been watching. Brennus waved his hand before the device and the images cleared and brightened. The homunculi clapped.
In one of the images, two women sat in solemn counsel across an ornate wooden table. A blue tapestry featuring a purple dragon hung on the wall behind them. The younger of the two, an attractive woman with blond hair, gestured intensely as she spoke. The other, a dark-haired, dark-eyed woman with a serious countenance, remained still and listened, sometimes offering an observation.
"The Regent of Cormyr and Lady Caladnei," one of the homunculi observed.
Rivalen nodded and turned to the other image. A man with long gray hair and a thick beard sat in a padded chair, studying a thick tome in an expansive library. Smoke spiraled toward the ceiling from an ornate, dragon-headed pipe set on the desk before him.
"Elminster of Shadowdale," the other homunculus said.
Rivalen recognized Mystra's Chosen. He faced his brother. "Impressive. No doubt the most high is pleased."
Brennus smiled distantly. "Perhaps not as much as you think. The Steel Regent and Caladnei incessantly discuss and debate the plots and counterplots of her nobility. They are convinced, correctly, that some of the rebellious nobles are allied with us. But they do not know which. Other than that, we have learned little of value. As for Elminster, the image is fake. He thinks to deceive us by feeding us an illusory image."
"A fake, a fake, a fake," one of the homunculi chanted.
Rivalen raised his eyebrows and more closely examined the image of Elminster.
"Are you certain? The detail is extraordinary."
Even as he watched, the false Elminster leaned back in his chair, took up his pipe, and studied the ceiling, as if pondering a point he had read in the tome before him. Care lines creased his face, though his eyes looked as young as a man in his prime.
"I am certain," Brennus answered. "The illusion is a spell tag. It is designed to attract divinations, twist the magic, and turn them back on the caster, allowing Elminster to scry those who would scry him. I prevented that, of course." Brennus eyed the image with open admiration. "Still, it is extraordinary work. He is clever, and his spellcraft formidable. I have been unable to pierce his defensive wards."
"Yet you continue to scry the illusion? Why?" Rivalen asked.
"It amuses me to do so. And I hope to turn his own spell against him. It must reach back to the real man somehow. I simply have not figured out the method. But I will."
Rivalen had no doubt. Few could match Brennus's skill with divinations.
Brennus gestured at the cube and the images of Elminster and Alusair went dim.
"Bye-bye," said one of the homunculi.
"Shall we proceed?" Brennus asked.
Rivalen nodded.
Brennus asked, "The most high is aware of your plan?"
"Only you and our father are aware of my plan," Rivalen answered, deliberately leaving out any mention of Hadrhune. "And the most high wishes it to remain just so until events progress further."
The two took positions before one of the blank faces of the scrying cube. Speckles of black tarnish marred the silver face.
Brennus held up his hand and the homunculi mimicked his gesture. Streams of shadow leaked from his flesh. He spoke an arcane word and the tarnish on the cube face began to swirl and eddy.
"What do you hope to see?" Brennus asked, as the magic intensified.
"Shar teaches that hope is an indulgence for the weak," Rivalen answered.
"Of course," Brennus answered with a half-smile.
Rivalen said, "Therefore, let us not hope. Instead, let us expect. And what I expect to see is opportunity. Consider it yet another test of faith."
Brennus smiled at that.
The swirling cube face took on depth, dimension. Rivalen felt as though he were looking into a hole that never ended. He felt nauseated, as he always did when scrying, and had to look away for a moment.
Brennus extended both arms and pronounced the name of the Overmaster of Sembia: "Kendrick Selkirk."
Rivalen looked back to see colors spinning on the cube face as the magic of the device sought its target, found him, and wormed its way through a number of wards against observation. The colors slowed, expanded, and an image began to take shape.