Afterward, eager but apprehensive as well, the Talendar lord had expected immediate and spectacular consequences. Thunderbolts, rains of fire, and hosts of the conjured minions that had ever been Marance's specialty as a wizard. Instead, his brother had simply cast one divination after another, and occasionally wandered the benighted city in a Man in the Moon mask, until Nuldrevyn had begun to wonder if the wizard was ever going to do anything. Perhaps he'd simply rattle around his musty apartments forever, like a harmless phantom.
But it seemed that during Nuldrevyn's sojourn in the capital, things had finally started to happen. Now he simply had to hope that Marance's scheme, whatever it was, was a sound one.
Nuldrevyn was hobbling by the time he reached the door to Marance's suite. In his youth, the Talendar lord had virtually lived in the saddle, but nowadays, a lengthy journey on horseback was a strain that inevitably left him stiff and sore. He'd be damned if he'd travel in a coach or a litter, though. He might be old, but he wasn't a cripple yet.
Noticing his distress, Ossian took his arm and helped him to a chair. Ossian was a good lad, and with his long shanks and wry face, the very image of a Talendar. Indeed, he looked very much as his father had looked in his youth, before that mop of curly, gingery hair had turned white and fallen out. Nuldrevyn had already decided that Ossian would succeed him as head of the family, though of course he hadn't told him so. You couldn't tell young people such things, or they'd lose their edge.
Marance rose to welcome his brother. Then, just as Nuldrevyn's backside was settling on the cushion, a dark, thin, sinuous shape shot out from under the chair and up in front of his knees. The Talendar patriarch screamed and recoiled.
"Father!" Ossian said, clutching his shoulder. "Father, listen! It isn't a snake, it's that wretched imp!"
Marance strode forward and rammed the iron ferule of his staff through the black tendril. Purple light flared and crackled from the rod. The dark shape splashed to the floor where it lay convulsing, its shape fluctuating wildly from one instant to the next. Gradually, the stench of some foul substance charring filled the air, until finally Bileworm stopped writhing. Marance lifted the staff away.
"Is he dead?" Nuldrevyn croaked.
"No," Marance said. "He's too useful to kill, even for so heinous an offense. But I have punished him severely, and now I offer my apologies for his misconduct."
"How did he know I have a horror of snakes?" Nuldrevyn demanded. "Did you tell him?"
"Of course not," said Marance. A few wisps of magenta light were still oozing about on the polished ebon surface of his staff. "He simply has a talent for discovering such things, and he has dwelled in Old High Hall for a while now."
"You mean, he's been prowling about the castle spying?" Nuldrevyn asked.
Marance shrugged.
After a moment of silence, Nuldrevyn realized he'd received all the satisfaction he was likely to get, and, grimacing, resolved to put the matter aside. "Ossian said you want to see me."
''I do indeed," Marance said, smiling. "We have cause for celebration." He moved to the sideboard, where Nuldrevyn himself had placed a small wrought-iron wine rack stocked with a selection of his brother's favorite vintages. In his previous existence, Marance had fancied himself something of a connoisseur, and consumed such treasures with relish. But most of these bottles remained untouched, their surfaces cloudy with dust.
Now, however, Marance leaned his staff against the wall, selected a port, dexterously uncorked it, and decanted it into three silver goblets. He handed the extra ones to Nuldrevyn and Ossian, then lifted his own on high. "A toast," he said, "to the destruction of Thamalon Uskevren and his House, which, I'm pleased to report, is finally at hand.''
They drank. "I'll gladly toast the ruination of the horse at anchor," Nuldrevyn said, alluding to the rival House's escutcheon, "as long as we can accomplish it without bringing misfortune on ourselves."
Still a shapeless smear on the floor, Bueworm began to creep and hump his way toward a dark corner as if he truly were a snake, and a sorely injured one at that.
"Ah, brother," said Marance, shaking his head, "you've grown so cautious. You were bolder in our youth. Do you remember the adventures we shared? Those midnight raids when we attacked Thamalon's caravans, burned his warehouses and ships, slaughtered bis retainers, and yearned for a chance at the upstart himself?"
"Yes," Nuldrevyn replied, "and I remember how it all came out, too. My dear brother dead, and Thamalon reestablished among the Old Chauncel despite everything we tried to do." He frowned. "Understand me. I want the wretch and his issue dead. How could I not? But times have changed. The Old Owl has powerful friends and a seat on the city council. We can't afford to wage open war on him, lest we provoke other Houses into taking up arms against us. You'll have to act discreetly."
"I know that," Marance said. "You'd already made it abundantly clear, and I assure you, no one who matters will ever know that it was we Talendar who ushered Lord Uskevren into the grave. Tell me, do you remember the tales of the first Shamur Karn?"
Nuldrevyn cocked his head. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"I'll explain in due course," the wizard said, setting his goblet down on an inlaid walnut table. The cup was still full. "Do you remember?"
"Of course," Nuldrevyn said. "She was before our time, but people still tell the stories and sing the ballads. She was an aristocratic lass who craved excitement, put on a red-striped mask, and became the boldest thief Selgaunt has ever seen by preying on her fellow nobles. Finally one of her victims identified her, and she had to disappear."
Over in the corner, Bileworm began the process of rearranging his substance into humanoid form. He let out a hiss of pain.
"That's right," Marance said, drifting back to the sideboard to retrieve his staff. "As it turns out, that lass and the Shamur who married Thamalon are one and the same."
Nuldrevyn laughed. "That's mad!"
"Not at all," the wizard said.
"But if it were true, Lady Uskevren would be one hundred years old."
"There are magical ways of cheating time," Marance replied, "elixirs of longevity and such."
"Perhaps such things do exist," Nuldrevyn conceded, "but you yourself watched the Shamur of today grow from the cradle to maidenhood, don't you remember?"
"Yes," said Marance, "just as I recall how all the old men used to tease her about her uncanny resemblance to her notorious great-aunt. I assume you remember me putting a curse on her."
"Yes," said Nuldrevyn, "what a pity it didn't work. Had she died, you would have completed the rain of the Karns and delayed Thamalon's return to respectability with a single stroke."
"It did work," Marance said, "we just couldn't tell it at the time. Demure little Shamur died, but what we couldn't know was that her namesake had secretly returned to Selgaunt and taken up residence in Argent Hall. Or at any rate, the Karns knew how to contact her, and to save her family, she assumed the dead girl's identity and proceeded to marry Thamalon."
"I see," said Nuldrevyn. "Shamur the madcap rogue, the reckless, laughing rapscallion, the mistress of the sword, became the starched, straitlaced grande dame we know today. A woman whose one eccentricity is her abhorrence of weapons."
Marance's pale lips quirked upward. "She's quite an actor, isn't she?"
Nuldrevyn started to jeer, then hesitated. Marance had never been given to flights of fancy, and if he actually credited this bizarre idea, he must have a reason. "How do you know all this?" the Talendar patriarch asked.
In the corner, Bileworm extruded his wedge-shaped head from his squirming mass.