Vaddi felt himself coloring, but he covered his embarrassment with a laugh.
“Don’t answer that!” Kalfar chuckled.
“You have no reason to harm me, I think.”
“None at all. We are of one blood. It should be enough, but be careful. There are those you can trust, I promise you. On my blood.”
“The Valenar sorceress?”
“Ah, my boy, do I detect a quickening of the pulse? Zemella? She is a rare gem, is she not?”
“Well, yes, she’s a fine girl.”
Kalfar sat back and guffawed. “A fine girl! One way of putting it. Well, whether your feelings have completely colored your judgement of her or not, I can tell you that she is one you can trust. The blood of Dendris runs through her veins and yours. It is said that it is one of the oldest families of the elves and comes with dragon blood. Such things bind deeply, Vaddi, so you can trust Zemella with your life.” He leaned forward, suddenly very serious. “Mark that. With your life.”
“She was waiting for me at Taeris Mordel.”
Kalfar grunted. “Not a chance meeting then. But enough of this, I want to hear about that other creature, Caerzaal.”
Vaddi spent some time going over his flight from the north ami the meetings with Caerzaal. Kalfar listened enrapt, alternatively gasping and cursing. The vampire lord seemed to be particularly revolting to him, as though he had also once had the misfortune to cross paths with him, Voorkesh seemed to fascinate him, for he had heard of it but assumed that it was the figment of someone’s tortured imagination.
“This peddler intrigues me,” said Kalfar during a break in Vaddi’s narrative. “Nyam Hordath? If he’s been active in Pylas Maradal before, I ought to know of him.”
“He’s gone in search of old cronies.”
“And you say he’s coming back? Here? To meet you here?”
“So he says. I have grown somewhat fond of him.”
“So you trust him?” said Kalfar, brows knitting in a deep frown.
“So far he has done much to help me, and Zemella clearly trusts him.”
“But he’s a common peddler! Does it not occur to you that he’s hitched his wagon to yours in order to capitalize on your fortunes? Nyam Hordath? Why am I not able to recall that name?” He clapped his hands twice and the tall form of Abdas appeared like a mirage. “Abdas, can you think of anyone we have had dealings with, officially or otherwise, by the name of Nyam Hordath? A peddler from the north. No special traffic.”
“I will look into the matter, master,” said Abdas with a bow, and he left as discreetly as he had arrived.
“Stickler for details,” said Kalfar approvingly. “Marvellous brain, marvellous.”
“Do you think that Zemella will help me?”
“Call up her warclan? Maybe. She’s a restless type, like a lot of these Valenar. Your pardon, Vaddi, present company excepted, but you know what I mean. You like her, then?”
“Well, I don’t know her.”
“Ask her to help. Tell her you’re going north to wreak havoc among the Claw’s vermin. The Valenar, especially the Finnarra warclan, love a fight!”
Vaddi grinned. “We were hoping to travel quietly. Would a Valenar warclan be able to slip into Karrnath unnoticed?”
“You’d be surprised! Especially by the Finnarra. Ah, Abdas, that was quick. Very quick. News, I take it?”
The steward came back into the room with no more than a whisper of his robes.
“Indeed, master, Nyam Hordath appears to be the latest alias of, among others, Daal Hashard, Bereth Alendi, Tutos Munnermal … need I go on?”
“Tutos Munnermal? Munnermal? I know that name.”
Vaddi was intrigued. “From where?”
“Abdas will correct me if I am wrong, but three years ago, someone of that very name swindled me out of a whole string of superb clawfoots. A so-called dealer for the Talenta Clans, the halflings. Nasty lot to deal with. Munnermal was the broker.”
“He cheated you?”
“The halflings, too. Swapped thoroughbreds for a scrawny bunch from the Blade Desert. And he is coining to meet you tomorrow? This meeting I will enjoy.”
10
Dockland Intrigue
Vaddi was provided with a huge bedroom, lavishly decorated and stuffed with gorgeous drapes, carvings, rugs and all manner of luxury. Clearly Kalfar believed in enjoying life to the full and spared no expense in ensuring that his home, guest rooms included, was second to none. As Vaddi sank into the huge bed, none of the finery mattered. He could think of only one thing—the Valenar girl. He closed his eyes and fell again the heady pleasure of the flight from Taeris Mordel, their closeness, the scent of her hair. He forced himself to focus on other things.
Kalfar. Apparently a blood relative, so there seemed to be no reason not to trust him. But Nyam! If things were as Kalfar said, it was no wonder he would not come here. He said he would return in the morning, but will he? Perhaps he feels his work is done.
Vaddi sat on the edge of the bed. “Zemella,” he said softly, repeating the name.
Across the thickly carpeted floor, a huge window opened on to the warm night, a spangled sky arching over the city. Bright moonlight flooded in. By its glow. Vaddi saw something move. A long velvet drape partially obscured a pillar by the window. Something hid there, some living thing.
Vaddi eased silently from the bed and picked up his sword. He inched forward, poised to strike. A few feet from the window, the bottom of the curtain flicked out like a huge tongue and wrapped itself around his sword arm. In the few seconds it took him to disentangle it, a swordpoint danced before his eyes.
“If you are to survive in Pylas Maradal, Vaddi d’Orien, you’ll need quicker wits than that,” said a soft voice.
“Zemella? What are you doing here?” he said, immediately feeling stupid for having said it as she stepped out of the shadows.
She sheathed her sword. “I heard you call me.”
“Heard me?”
“There are things I must tell you privately. Sit down. Here.” She picked up his weapon and handed it to him. He took it, still bemused.
“I don’t have long.”
They sat together on the bed and he wondered if she could feel his heart thundering inside his chest, but she made no show of it.
“I have spoken to others in the city. It is a constant hive of activity. Traders from all parts of Khorvaire and beyond come here. Since the War, it has been a center of intrigue and treachery, plot and counterplot. It seems everyone is for sale.”
“And you?”
“Up to a point, but there are things I value. Is the talisman safe?” She was as taut as a bowstring, every inch a warrior.
Her question took him by surprise, but he reached for his shirt, balled up beside the pillow. The horn was inside it, tightly wrapped in leather.
“No, don’t remove it. Better it stays concealed. It is a very dangerous thing.”
“Can you tell me more about it?”
“Erethindel, the sacred horn. It is not what it seems. No one is sure who carved its runes. The Valenar believe it is not a horn but a tooth. A dragon’s tooth.”
Vaddi gaped at her. In the moons’ glow she looked like an exquisite statue, her lines perfect. He felt himself trembling, not daring to move.
“It has been disguised as a unicorn’s horn, and some time in the past was given to Indreen, your mother, to protect. It houses great power, but this power is impotent on its own. If it is to be released, Erethindel must be wielded by someone of the blood.”
“Dragon blood?”
“Yes. Have you used its power?”
Slowly he nodded. He told her about the island of the undead.
“You risked much in this.”
“Then there is dragon blood in me?”
“Yes.” She seemed cool, almost aloof.
“What does it mean?”
“No one is certain, but Erethindel seems to have been empowered by the dragons of Argonnessen either to control elven magic or to combine with it. It is an enigma to us. Perhaps Erethindel is a relic of former times. It is said to be capable of great good or great evil, depending who wields it. For this reason, the elves were reluctant to put it to use, not trusting its powers. It was given to Indreen to keep safe, far from Aerenal and Valenar.”