Their bodies were emaciated, smeared in mud to protect them from the sun. They shaved their heads with crude knives to keep away lice. Sometimes their appearance alone was enough to have folk fumbling at their purse strings.
Dantane was not impressed. He turned to the encroaching maggots and hissed a spell. His hand glowed brightly, spitting sparks that hissed as they struck the mud-covered bodies. The Wraiths halted their charge and scattered to the far sides of the alley. No matter how hungry or desperate they were, none of them wanted to battle a wizard.
Eddricles waited for him beside one of the beer wagons, scowling fiercely when a plump-faced man tried to offer him a sample. He stood examining a belt strung with multiple gold chains. He wrinkled his nose critically.
“Paint is never going to conceal the fact you’ve only gold enough to make half a belt. I suggest you reduce the number of chains—twelve is hopelessly gaudy—or sell belts to starving ladies.” He tossed the belt back at its red-faced owner and rounded on Dantane. “I detest charity work,” he said, by way of a greeting. “Speaking of which, you, my boy, are fortunate I’m in a good humor. Walk with me, but not too close. I don’t want anyone to think I like you.”
Dantane reluctantly fell into step beside the moneychanger. It was said Eddricles could determine the value of a gem without the aid of a glass. Dantane suspected the man’s extraordinary vision was due more to the fact that he was also a wizard, but he’d never asked Eddricles to confirm or deny the theory. In the moneychanger-wizard’s presence, one tended to listen, plead, or weep. Dantane listened.
“The next time you send me a missive, please don’t bother to include the words: magic, portal, sorcerers, or Morel—gods, especially Morel. Do you know what they’re saying about the whelp?” He didn’t bother to let Dantane answer. “They say he employs a wizard, a wizard who murdered a bard at the man’s own party and blew the top of one of his towers off.” He whirled abruptly, forcing Dantane to sidestep. “Do you happen to know what fool wizard is begging from Morel’s table these days? What a bountiful feast it must be!”
“No one knows who I am,” Dantane said calmly, speaking for the first time.
“They’d bloody well better not!” Eddricles stormed. The normally aloof moneychanger was as agitated as Dantane—and perhaps the whole of Faerûn—had ever seen him. “You and Morel have been rutting all over the lives of respectable wizards in this city. We haven’t been able to meet in safety since Morel returned.”
Eddricles and several other Keczullan wizards met often in secret to share magic and discuss their craft without threat of molestation. Dantane knew they feared their own activities coming to light in the wake of Morel’s string of tragedies.
“I did not murder the bard,” Dantane said as they resumed their walk. “And you should know the woman was not a bard, nor a woman at all, but a powerful merchant’s son, one who dabbled too deeply in magic he did not understand.”
“Hells, Dantane, you’ve just described every young family in Amn. They’re all delving into business they shouldn’t be.”
Dantane scowled. “I was not aware the merchants or the Council of Six made any exceptions where their hatred of magic was concerned.”
“Oh, they don’t, and neither did those young hotheads like the one you scraped off Morel’s floor. Not at first. When the corpses were still cooling from the plagues, the families who’d lost all were ready to grab any wizard and tear him to pieces. Likely some of them did too. Publicly, the grudge against the arcane still stands. But much as Amn would like to live in a comfortable, xenophobic nest, wider Faerûn encroaches. The Sythillisian Empire is a reality, and the truce will never last. Amn needs power and allies, and these allies will scoff at the notion of a society fighting wars without using killing magic—as well they should.
“But more than that is the inevitable cycle of time. These young merchants and their children are fascinated by the things their parents have forbidden them. It will be many more years before the plagues are forgotten, but I wager you’re seeing the start of it right now, with these magic items.”
“Do you know where they’re coming from?” Dantane asked as they passed in the shadow of a dressmaker’s tent. “The magic items? Are the Shadow Thieves running the operation?”
Eddricles considered the question. “If the items are as powerful as you claim, the Shadow Thieves had better have a hand in their distribution. They may be extortionists and cutthroats, but at least they have the resources to handle such magic.”
“Not this time, if the debacle at Morel’s party is any indication,” said Dantane. “What about the portal?”
Eddricles laughed loudly. The sound was disconcerting, as if he lacked sufficient practice in the action. “Do you think me an idiot, boy?”
Dantane wisely kept his silence.
“Do you believe I will give you information on one of the best-kept secrets of one of our most powerful merchant families without the guarantee you’ll make it well worth my while?” Eddricles pulled Dantane to one side of the avenue, where the crowd was sparse. He hustled the wizard close by the collar of his robes and spoke rapidly into his ear.
Dantane listened and nodded. “It can be done. I’ve had assurances from Morel.”
The moneychanger rolled his eyes, clearly not happy, but he nodded agreement. He spoke again, softly, so Dantane had to strain to hear him. He managed to catch the most important word, and his eyes widened.
“Bladesmile.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Meisha came awake to total darkness and hands pressing her upper arms. She struck out, found a human throat, and dug her fingers into it. She heard a ragged cough and the smell of garbage hit her square in the nose. She relaxed her grip and heard Talal hiss, “Sune suck me, but you’re a mean one.”
“Why is it dark?” she asked. “I left a candle burning.”
“I blew it out. We have to move, Lady,” he said urgently, pulling her up from her pallet. “Don’t,” he hissed as she began chanting a spell. “No light. No damn fire. Give me your hand.” He took her down the passage out of the warrens toward Varan’s chamber. Meisha could see a faint line of light beneath the wizard’s door. “Where are we going?” she asked.
“Shh! They’re coming,” Talal whispered.
“The Shadow Thieves?”
“Them—Balram too. And his son. One big, happy clan again.”
Meisha stilled. “Both of them? Why?”
“To make sure you’re dead. We have to hide you. If they find out we kept you alive …”
“Wait.” Meisha caught his arm, stopping him in front of Varan’s chamber. “You said they never go in here. They’re afraid of Varan.”
Talal shook his head so vigorously Meisha felt it through his entire body. “He’ll attack you again. They’ll find your corpse, and it’ll still be bad for us. Come on!”
“I won’t touch anything. I won’t disturb him.” Voices drifted out to them from the warrens.
“They’re gathering everyone together,” Talal said, fear rising in his voice.
“Then we’re out of time.” Meisha hauled the door open. Ambient light from the room cast shadow pits on Talal’s pale face. “I’ll be fine,” she promised. She reached out to ruffle his hair playfully, because she knew it would annoy him.