He wanted what he had been promised, and wanted it badly. First things firstly, Rivalen had said, and Thamalon had accepted that, but the time had come. Thamalon rang for his chamberlain.
Thriistin's thin body and thin hair appeared in the doorway. His coat and collared shirt, as always, appeared freshly donned.
"Hulorn?"
"You have sent for Prince Rivalen?"
"Two runners, my lord. He is not in his quarters."
Thamalon stared at the map, at the shades, his fists clenched.
"Bring a carriage around."
"Yes, my lord."
Thamalon didn't bother with Rivalen's quarters. Instead, he instructed the driver to take him to Temple Avenue. The hunched teamster grunted an acknowledgment and snapped the reins.
The carriage rattled along Selgaunt's cobblestone streets and Thamalon took pride in the crowded thoroughfares, the bustle of commerce, the absence of food lines. His city was well-protected and well-fed, having weathered a war and a famine and emerged the stronger. Under his rule, all of Sembia would do the same.
The populace recognized his lacquered carriage and Thamalon returned salutes and waves as he went. He was the Hulorn and the people loved their Hulorn.
Squads of Scepters patrolled the streets afoot. Two or three Shadovar soldiers bolstered the ranks of each squad, their ornate armor an odd anachronism even on the diverse, cosmopolitan streets of Selgaunt. Thamalon realized that he had come to take the presence of the Shadovar for granted. The people had, too. He imagined that no one would think twice of it when Sakkors reappeared in the sky over Selgaunt.
The teamster shouted to his team and the carriage turned onto Temple Avenue. Thamalon leaned out of the window.
Few worshipers strode the avenue's walkways and no other carriages rode its cobblestones. The clatter of the carriage's passage disturbed the starlings that perched in the nooks of the statues and fountains. A cloud of them took wing as the carriage approached and Thamalon ducked back inside to avoid the rain of their droppings. The driver, with no roof to shield him, cursed the birds for fouling his coat.
As they moved down the avenue, they passed one dark, abandoned temple after another, the stone corpses of dead faiths. Stairs and halls once filled with worshipers stood as fallow and empty as had Sembia's once drought-stricken fields.
Soon Thamalon would formally outlaw all worship but that of Shar. Anything of value within the abandoned temples would be taken and placed in the city's treasury. He would order the temples torn down and use their stone to repair damage done during the war, a fitting use for the temples of traitors.
"Stop before the House of Night," he said to the driver, who nodded.
The temple of Shar squatted on its plot, all sharp angles and hard, gray stone. A single tower rose from the center of the two story temple, a digit pointing an accusation at Selune. Only a few windows dotted its facade, and those the color of smoke or deep purple.
Once, Vees Talendar had tried to disguise it as a temple of Siamorphe, but all pretense had been shed. The black, lacquered double doors, standing open, prominently featured Shar's symbol-a featureless black disc ringed in purple. A large amethyst decorated the keystone of the doors' arch. In coming months, Thamalon would engage laborers to appropriately adorn the rest of the temple's exterior.
Without waiting for the driver to open his door, Thamalon let himself out and walked up the stone stairs to the doorway of the temple. He could not see within. Impenetrable magical darkness cloaked the entry foyer just beyond the doors, symbolically separating the church from the outside world. A congregant was forced to take his first steps into the temple blind, a moment of vulnerability to remind them of Shar's power. Within the darkness, the congregant was to confess a secret to the Lady.
Thamalon stepped out of the late afternoon sun and entered the darkness. Whispers plagued his ears, the combined babble of all others who had entered the darkness and made their confessions. He couldn't make out words but he heard Rivalen's deep voice among the cacophony, Variance's sibilant tone. For a moment he felt as if the floor had opened and he were falling, a vertiginous spiral into an unending void.
"I hated my father," he confessed through gritted teeth, and the feeling instantly ceased, the whispers subsided, and he knew his own secret had joined the babble.
The magic of the foyer tugged at the holy symbol of Shar he wore, lifting the symbol from his chest and pulling him by the chain. He followed its lead. In a few strides he emerged from the darkness to find himself face to face with Variance Mattick.
Shadows twirled around her in long, thin spirals. A scar along her cheek marred the dark skin of her round face. Her long, black hair melded with her shroud of shadows. She wore the purple robe of her office. He wondered if she, like Rivalen, was thousands of years old.
"Priestess," Thamalon said, inclining his head. "In the darkness of night, we hear the whisper of the void."
"Heed its words, Hulorn."
"I seek Prince Rivalen. He is not in his quarters, so I thought-"
"The Nightseer is within."
She made no move to step aside, nor offered further detail.
"May I see him?"
"He is at worship."
Thamalon looked past her, saw only the hallway and its purple carpet. "I think he will see me."
Variance smiled, the expression made sinister by the way the skin of her cheek creased around her scar.
"Remain here. I will inquire of the Nightseer."
Without waiting for an acknowledgement, she turned and walked down the corridor. She soon melted into the darkness of the windowless space.
Thamalon stood in the hall, irritated with the presumptuous manner in which Variance had ordered him to remain.
"As if I were a dog," he murmured.
His irritation only grew as the moments passed. He looked down the corridor, but saw nothing but the purple carpet and bare stone walls. Could she have forgotten him?
"Damn it all," he said, and started down the hallway after Variance.
"Hulorn," Rivalen said from behind him.
Surprise jolted Thamalon's heart. He turned to see Rivalen step from the darkness.
"You startled me," Thamalon said. "I did not see you."
Rivalen let the shadows fall away from him entirely. "Do you see me now?"
"I do," Thamalon said. "You look… different."
Rivalen stood no taller than he ever had, yet he appeared to Thamalon to fill the hall, to occupy more than mere space. The shadows enshrouding him appeared darker, like a bottomless hole. His exposed left hand was black, as if formed of coalesced shadows. The regard of his golden eyes made Thamalon uncomfortable. Thamalon had no desire to know what secret Rivalen had confessed to the darkness.
"You have disturbed my worship, Hulorn."
The incivility of the prince's words surprised Thamalon. Anger lurked in Rivalen's tone. Thamalon reminded himself that he was the Hulorn, soon to be ruler of all of Sembia. He and Rivalen were peers.
"I received word that you had returned, but had no word of the outcome of events. I expected to receive that from you."
Rivalen's eyes narrowed. "Expected? Why?"
Thamalon tried not to wilt under Rivalen's gaze. "Because I am the Hulorn."
Rivalen seemed to advance on him, though he did not move. "And what is that to me?"
"I…" Thamalon stuttered, swallowed, adopted a more deferential tone. "I should have said 'hoped,' Prince. I did not expect you to report to me. I hoped you would. We had kept close counsel previously and I… assumed that would continue."
"It will," Rivalen said, and something hid within the words. "We were… successful. The rift was closed. The Shadowstorm will retreat from Sembia, though Ordulin is lost to darkness forever."
Thamalon's heart surged at the news. "And what of Mister Cale? The Saerbians?"