Brimstone Angels

CHAPTER NINE

Neverwinter 12 Kythorn, the Year of the Dark Circle (1478 DR)

Farideh kept her eyes on the horizon of the road as it wound down through the high hills, in and out of Neverwinter Wood. Eventually, the city would be there. Eventually, she would have to tell Mehen she wasn’t going on with them to Luskan. She was staying in Neverwinter. Her stomach knotted. She hadn’t said a word to Mehen since the night before, and after another night of fitful, interrupted sleep, Farideh didn’t trust herself to make it through a conversation as fraught as the one she intended, and she ran through it for perhaps the thousandth time in her imagination.

First she would say, “I’m staying in Neverwinter.”

“No,” Mehen would say, “you’re not.”

“I am, I need better training. I will stay here and find a warlock who knows what I can do. Who knows how I can do … Who knows how to do what we do better.”

She chewed her lip. She needed to be more convincing than that.

“You want me to control Lorcan better. How am I to do that without training?”

Mehen would say, “I don’t want you to control Lorcan. I want you to get rid of him.”

As if it were that simple. As if she only had to say “Begone!” and he’d vanish forever. As if she would be happy once she had no pact, no devil, no Lorcan-as if the sword would suddenly be enough.

No, she thought, as if having Mehen and Havilar as my protectors would suddenly be enough. Stay here. Keep out of the way. You’ll just cause trouble.

Surely Mehen did not want her to continue clinging to his elbow like a little girl-no weapon, no profession, no future? He would never say such a thing, but everything he did say to her seemed to draw a heavy line under the idea: Nothing was as good as being the foster daughter of Clanless Mehen. To look outward was to imply the life Mehen wished for them was not enough.

But it wasn’t enough, she realized now. For so many years, it had been fine-better than fine-but now … now it was as if she’d outgrown her leash and choked on the collar. She couldn’t bear, she realized, to be nothing but the daughter of Clanless Mehen.

Havi … Thinking of leaving Havilar was even harder.

Sometimes it felt as if the world looked at them and saw one person. And all that person’s attributes had to be divided between the twins. If Havilar was the reckless one, Farideh must be the responsible one. If she was the cheerful one, then Farideh was the gloomy one. If Farideh was the clever one, Havilar was the foolish one. How much, Farideh sometimes wondered, are we who we are because of that divide? Was she gloomy, because people had said all along Havilar was cheerful? Did Havi act foolish sometimes because people called Farideh clever? Did Farideh worry because there could only be one reckless one?

But I am reckless, she thought. I took the pact. I won’t leave Lorcan. I’m planning to abandon my family before they can abandon me.

She had always known Havilar was Mehen’s favorite-a little detail that rubbed against her heart like a grain of sand, until she hardened against it. It just was. But last night … last night, he had been afraid-they all had been afraid-and he had blamed Farideh for everything.

In fact, she thought, the only person who had asked her if she was all right at any point in that terror of a night, was Lorcan.

She rubbed her arm where her scar lay, dull and ordinary as it had been for the rest of the night and the entirety of the morning, and wondered, for perhaps the hundredth time that morning, whether Lorcan was all right.

Lorcan was lying about the rod. Farideh had gone off into the woods before they left and tested it. Nothing but her usual spells. Nothing extraordinary. It didn’t make the wave of fire happen on its own. The fact that Lorcan had lied to her-or at least talked her in a circle again-had her grinding her teeth.

But at the same time she was so grateful he had wrapped his arms around her and given thanks she wasn’t dead. Even though the archer had shot Havilar, Farideh looked into his eyes and saw-without a doubt-that the orc wanted her dead. When she tried to sleep, all she could see were those dark, vicious eyes watching her as if she were prey, and Havilar’s wound becoming her own.

If she said this, Mehen would be angry she wasn’t worrying about Havilar.

If she pointed out only Lorcan checked to see if she was all right, he would think Lorcan was corrupting her.

But if she was walking all the way to Neverwinter, worrying about the fact that her scar hasn’t so much as twinged … had he been corrupting her?

She squeezed her eyes closed and opened them wide a few times. Maybe someone would call for a halt. Not her, not after last night. She’d rather pass out on her feet then ask Mehen to stop.

Havilar dropped back to walk beside her, and for a few dozen feet, she didn’t say anything. She tucked her arm around Farideh’s.

“You’re swaying a little. And you’ve got shadows under your eyes, worse than ever.” Havilar kept step with her, watching her face. “Do you want me to tell Mehen I’m going to throw up?” she whispered. “So we can stop? I might throw up from the poison, right?”

“No,” Farideh said. “It’s fine.”

Havilar squeezed her arm. “I never said thank you,” she said quietly.

“You would have done the same.” Farideh cracked a smile. “Probably quicker, too, and with less … excess.”

“No,” Havilar said. “Well, yes, that. Thank you for getting rid of him. But I meant the arrows.” She clutched Farideh’s arm a little more tightly. “Gods, you can’t imagine how they hurt … Mehen might have been upset, but I’m glad you did cut them out. Especially since it probably wasn’t easy.” She swallowed. “Actually I might throw up if we talk about it.”

“Let’s not then,” Farideh said, and she squeezed Havilar’s arm back. They walked a little farther on, before Havilar pulled her to a stop.

“I told,” Havilar whispered. “I told Mehen about Brin. And the spell he did. The prayer. It wasn’t fair,” she said when Farideh tried to interrupt, “that he was blaming you for the arrows.”

“What did he say?”

She hesitated. “I was trying to help.”

“Havi? What did he say?”

Havilar bit her lip. “He’s angry we lied. And he’s still angry about Lorcan. I thought you said Lorcan wouldn’t come through if there were people around?”

Farideh shook her head. “He does what he wants, I suppose. I’ll work on it.”

“Mehen thinks you ought to-”

“I know what Mehen thinks.”

Havilar let go of her arm. “Well I think it too. Where does this end? You aren’t even trying to get rid of him anymore.”

“No one told you to get rid of Kidney Whatsit, there, just because you kept hitting people on the head when you started. I just need a chance to practice.”

“There’s a very big difference between a devil and a blunted glaive. And it’s Eater-”

“Oh, go argue with Brin!”

Farideh hurried to catch up to the rest of the group, where Havilar would be less willing to give her trouble. After last night, it was all too clear what Havilar’s problem was: she was jealous. Jealous of all the wrong things, Farideh thought. Havilar didn’t care that Farideh could cast a wall of flames or make lava erupt out of the ground. Havilar cared that somebody was paying attention to Farideh and not to her.

Havilar was jealous that Farideh was doing something without her.

She lifted her head and saw Tam watching her. She dropped her eyes and scowled at the ground. As far as she knew, the silverstar hadn’t worked out that she was a warlock, but the way he looked at everything it seemed far more likely he knew and just hadn’t decided to say anything. Yet.

“There it is!” Brin called.

From the crest of the road, Farideh could see the shattered remains of old Neverwinter, the bones of the new city growing over them. In places, the reborn city looked as if nothing had ever happened to it. In others, the damages of the fall of Neverwinter were fresh as if it had happened mere tendays ago. Rivers of hardened lava poured down the mountain’s slopes. The wide wall that stretched away as far as she could see was broken through in places. And slashed across the western end of the city-

“Karshoj,” Havilar breathed. She clambered up on a rock. “What in the Hells is that?”

Beyond another high wall, dotted with soldiers on patrol, a rift split the southwest quarter city in twain. It was as if some god had taken an enormous blade and sliced through the surface of the city, peeling open the world and leaving behind a deep wound that festered with blue fire. The hairs all along Farideh’s spine stood up.

“Spellplague,” Brin said.

“Spellplague?” Havilar repeated, excitedly. “Hells and broken planes-do you think there are spellscarred here? It would be so exciting to have a-”

“Thrik!” Mehen barked. “Don’t you even tease about that. If you so much as go near that rift-”

“All right,” Havilar said. “I was only saying.”

Farideh watched the dancing blue light that illuminated the deep rift and played up the crumbling walls. How many people thought the same as Havilar joked? — that there was power to seize there, that it might be harnessable. That they might be able to tame something as unpredictable as spellplague. As many as think the same of devils? she thought bitterly.

“What if the quarry went near it?” Havilar said. “Or into it?”

“Then we let her go, because none of us are going near that,” Mehen said. “And stop trying to make up reasons to.”

The size of the remaining walls beggared belief. Like mountains, they distorted the distance between the rise where they’d first spied the city and the gates themselves, and it was only as Farideh registered the people ahead of her on the road that she appreciated the massiveness of the city wall of Neverwinter.

The road leading to the gates of the city was crowded with carts and horses and bodies. Farideh pulled her cloak closer and concentrated on keeping the shadows from swallowing her up.

The guards at the gate kept a close eye on them as they passed, but between Tam’s shabby stateliness, Brin’s well-cut clothes, and Mehen’s stiff back, the guards seemed to approve of their little group well enough, and pointed them in the direction of the northern districts.

Now, Farideh thought. Now is when you do it. She looked at Havilar, and thought about their argument, the last one they might ever have.

They don’t have to leave you, Farideh thought. They just have to let you stay. It didn’t soothe her any. Mehen and Havilar would never agree to her plans. Especially as ill-formed as they were. Where did one find warlocks?

“This is where we part,” Tam said. He took out his coinpurse and handed over two gold pieces to Mehen. “It’s been a pleasure. I’m sorry we never tracked down that archer.”

Mehen grunted. “May your roads be clear and your travels easy.”

Tam smiled, but it was an uneasy smile, as if he were trying to decide what to say. “I’ll be in the city for a few days, at least. Should you … need anything, I’ll be in the Temple of Selune in the northern district. The … new one.” He looked to Brin, as if he were making certain the boy had heard him well enough. Brin squirmed, but nodded.

He said his farewells to the twins. “Take care of that blade,” he said to Havilar.

To Farideh, he said quietly, after an awkward moment, “It will be all right. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Before she could think of a reply, he nodded once more to Mehen and was off.

Now, she thought.

“I’m-”

“Does that mean his ‘apprentice’ isn’t accompanying him?” Mehen interrupted acidly. “How surprising.”

“So you figured me out.” Brin took a deep breath, seeming to screw up his courage. “I have a proposal.”

“Do you now?”

“Your bounty? That dark-haired woman? You did get ahead of her.”

A thrill of triumph went through Farideh-she had been right-before she realized Brin shouldn’t know anything about the bounty.

“Oh?” Mehen folded his great arms over his chest. “So I have two budding experts?”

“She isn’t north of here,” Brin said, “and it’s a waste of your time to go any farther. I know … I know because she’s my cousin. Constancia Crownsilver. She’s … she’s chasing after me.”

Whatever Mehen had expected Brin to say, that was not it. His ridges all stood a little straighter and sharper, and he tapped the roof of his mouth.

“You’re not lying now?” he said, roughly. “You’re not wasting my time?”

“No,” Brin said. “And that’s the heart of my proposal. She wants to find me and bring me back to Cormyr. She’s clever and she’s dangerous, and I know she’s going to find me eventually. If I stay with you three … well, then when she finds me you can capture her. That should slow her down a little bit.” He wet his lips. “But in return, you need to promise me that you’ll be gentle with her. Whatever she’s guilty of, she isn’t a danger to anyone but me. Just make sure she knows you’re taking her to the Temple of Torm and I promise she’ll go easily.” Mehen snorted. “What do you have to lose? You haven’t caught her yet, and you’re only running out of road.”

“If we stayed,” Farideh said, “and waited here, there are plenty of ways to make a little coin, I’ll bet.” Many of the people passing them were hauling building materials deeper into the city-carts of lumber and stone, workers with tools slung over their shoulders, sledges of bricks. “And we need supplies.”

Brin nodded. “So? Do we have a deal?”

Mehen gave a great rusty sigh. “One condition: you make yourself known. There’s no sense to us squatting in this city while this woman races right past us. Once we know where we’re staying, I want the guards and your priest friend and the priests you do assist, boy, to know exactly where that is. If she’ll come to us, I want the path easy and clear.”

“All right,” Brin said, and he held out a hand to shake. Mehen ignored him.

“Supplies first,” he said. “And we’ll see if anyone can point us to work.”

They wended their way up the crowded main road, following in Mehen’s wake. The buildings that lined the way shone with fresh paint and fresher lumber. The roof slates hadn’t even gotten mossy yet on most of them. And while the road itself was cobbled in places with ancient bricks and in others with worn-down lava flows, it was level and clean.

It was only when they’d gone a hundred steps or so that Farideh realized Havilar didn’t have her hood up … and no one was staring.

It nearly stopped her in her tracks. People were noticing certainly, but their eyes passed over the twins without much fear or menace. It was as if they’d grown bored of tieflings. One’s a person, she thought, two’s some people … Tentatively, she pulled her own hood off. The more she looked around her the more faces she noticed herself. And more and more of them were tieflings as well. Those old men with their scraggly horns, that woman with her bright red skin, those girls with their tails poking out through their skirts. She made eye contact with a tiefling man with a longbow slung over one arm and got a saucy wink in return.

Havilar dropped back to walk beside her. “This place is lousy with tieflings,” she said. “Gods, why are you blushing now?”

“No one’s looking at us either,” she said, ignoring Havilar’s question.

“Oh, people are looking,” Havilar said. “At least, some of these fellows are looking at me.”

“I mean they’re not surprised,” Farideh said, blushing even harder.

“Do you think they’re all right?” Havilar said. “I mean, the way people go on … Maybe this is where all the evil tieflings come from.”

Farideh sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s not some city that creates evil tieflings like some sort of export. They’re probably as good or as bad as anyone else.”

“Anyone else with devil’s blood,” Havilar said, looking askance at an old woman in bloodred robes sitting in the shadow of a half-finished building.

Mehen stopped in front of a ramshackle shop with everything from waterskins to whetstones displayed in the small, dusty windows-Claven’s General Supplies and Armory-and barked at them to catch up and put their hoods back on. Farideh did as she was bade, even though not even she was nervous about walking through Neverwinter uncovered.

A bell tinkled over the door as they entered. The shop was tidier than its exterior suggested, though just as varied. Shelves of tinctures and salves lined the walls. A spool of rope that came to Farideh’s hip stood in one corner, waiting to be measured out in more usable lengths. A cobbler’s bench stood in the opposite corner, and a tailor’s form beside it, plus a row of dummies bedecked in armor pieces. A curtain hung over a doorway behind the counter’s table, and a slim, bald man wearing worn, but well-mended robes came through it, a broad smile on his face.

“Well met, friends,” the man said, “and welcome. Is there anything I can help you find? Anything you might need assistance with?”

Mehen stopped tapping his tongue. “We need some information and some supplies.”

The man smiled and set a pair of spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “Let me know how I can be of service.” He seemed to notice Havilar and Farideh, tucked behind Mehen then. “Well, good morning there. Well met! Are you traveling with this fine soldier, my dears? Or is he traveling with you?” He chortled to himself. “Come, come, you needn’t hide yourselves.”

“Leave them be,” Mehen growled.

But Havilar had already pulled the edge of her hood back, uncovering enough of her face to see the ridge of horn on her brow and the solid color of her golden eyes.

“There, there,” the man said, “I meant no disrespect. I don’t know where you’ve traveled from, but there are few here who would ask a lovely girl like that to wrap herself head to toe on such a summer’s day. There, my dear,” he added and Havilar pulled the hood away, freeing her sweat-stiff hair. “Much better, isn’t it?”

“Much,” she agreed, and she wandered over to admire the armor, trailed by Brin.

Farideh cautiously followed suit, the man nodding encouragement. But when she pulled free of the hood his gaze seemed to catch on her, and his smile wavered.

She nearly cursed. It was the eyes, of course-she should have been ready for that. Her cheeks burned and she turned her attention-and her eyes-to the shelves of wares displayed along the wall.

Mehen rattled off a list of things they needed-oil for lanterns and for weapons and for cooking, thread and needles, cloth for bandages, and such. “And what’s your price on healing potions? We’re short two.”

“Fifty and twelve,” the shopkeeper said, busying himself behind the counter. “I’m afraid you’ll find we’re a bit more expensive up here in the hinterlands.”

Mehen shook his head. “Leave the potions off. We’re also interested in a possible bounty for a squad of orcs in the forest. Who should we ask about that?”

The man took a moment to reply. “That … would probably be the Lord Protector’s business,” he said. “Or perhaps the House of Knowledge? The Oghmanytes won’t have much for you, but they’ve taken over the care of those affected by the Chasm and the rigors of the journey here.”

Mehen snorted. “Which is closer?”

“Oh, the temple is at the far end of the Wall. And the Lord Protector is ensconced at the Hall of Justice west there.” He chuckled to himself. “Head north-you won’t be able to miss either. Do you need somewhere to stay? My, ahem, friends have many spare rooms. Some with good fireplace?” Farideh glanced back at the man and Mehen. The shopkeeper had a look of anticipation, as if he were expecting Mehen’s reply to be significant.

“No,” Mehen said, completely missing the man’s meaning, whatever it was.

“Mehen!” Havilar cried. “Look at this armor!” The armor in question was little more than strategic chainmail patches and leather straps. Even the dummy looked cold. “I would look fantastic in this armor.”

“My armormaker calls that the Cunning Fox design,” the shopkeeper said. “Very easy to move in. I could have it ready in a tenday or two. It would be lovely on you.”

“It would be useless.” Mehen grunted. “Bah! One swift chop here”-a thunk as he hit the dummy-“and you’ve had your lung collapsed. This is armor for people playing adventurer.”

Farideh turned back to the bottles. Reds and blues and greens. She picked up a dark blue one, tilted it to catch the light. Potion of Vitality, the handwritten label read, for poisons, illness, and most grievous wounds. She set it back down very carefully. It was probably worth more coin than she’d ever seen in one place.

A good thing too. The shopkeeper was suddenly beside her, pulling down pots of oil. He looked over at her and frowned again. She blushed and kept her eyes on the bottles.

“Would I be mistaken,” he murmured after a moment, “if I asked if you bore a mark?”

Farideh caught her breath. She glanced over at him, trying to gauge how dangerous the situation, how disturbed he was by her appearance, before she tried to explain it was only an eye-

But the shopkeeper was smiling now. When she didn’t reply, he made a vague gesture at the side of his chest, then glanced over at the others.

A warlock’s brand, she thought.

“You’re … you too?” she whispered. “How … how did you know?”

He pulled another pot of oil down. “A gift. When you’re bound, it leaves a particular signature.” He eyed her again, in a way that made Farideh feel as if he were appraising the set of her viscera. She fought not to shudder. “You’re new to this, though. Yours is very faint. And you’re a warlock.”

“Yes,” she said. “Wait … you aren’t? I thought that was the only way to …”

He chuckled. “No, but I know plenty. I could introduce you.”

“That … I would appreciate that greatly.” She smiled. “I came to Neverwinter because I heard … That is, there are supposed to be many of you here. I hardly know what I’m doing.”

“You’re alive and you’re hale,” he said with a chuckle. “You’re doing better than most. When your friends have found where they are staying, come back and visit,” he added. “We’ll talk more then.” He hurried back to the counter and began wrapping Mehen’s purchases into several neat bundles.

Havilar was still arguing with Mehen. “But if I’m faster, then-”

“Then you’ll have your organs speared on the move. You have perfectly good armor,” Mehen said, handing over a stack of coins and taking the bundles. “Let’s go.”

Farideh glanced back once as she headed out the door. The shopkeeper smiled again and waved. Though she didn’t mean to, she thought of Lorcan’s wicked smile-of how angry he’d be if he knew she were looking for ways to control him.

That’s exactly why you need to do this, she thought, waving back at the shopkeeper. It was unaccountably lucky she’d found what she was looking for so quickly-Lorcan would hardly have time to convince her not to speak to the shopkeeper anyway.

Rohini was walking back from the market when she spotted the dragonborn-a big surly fellow with an overlarge sword and a distracted expression.

Perfect, she thought, watching him draw closer. Better than anyone she’d seen all morning-the city might have had plenty of big, muscley sorts, but Rohini wanted clever ones too. Skilled ones. The sword on his back was a fine, unusual weapon and suggested he was no mere brute.

She slipped through the crowd, keeping pace. Being a dragonborn made it all the better. Durable with all those scales, she thought. Built like a pit fiend. He could likely snap one of the Sovereignty’s regular servitors in half-and that was before she got to spellscarring him.

She’d need more, but the best way to find more dragonborn was still to take this one. And if that didn’t work, well, he could go dig sickly orcs out of the ruined quarter instead of Rohini.

A human boy with streaky, dark hair was trailing after him, carrying a bundle of packages. When the crowd thinned, she sprinted toward him and crashed directly into the boy with the packages. Her basket of supplies dumped over, scattering candles and rolls of muslin and tinctures in metal flasks. The boy crashed to the ground with the packages. The dull clink of something within breaking, and a deep golden liquid began to seep through the cloth.

Perfect, Rohini thought.

“Oh!” Rohini pulled the boy to his feet. “Oh, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “I just … Gods, they went everywhere.” He bent down and started picking up candles. She looked up to see the dragonborn storming back toward her. “I must beg your forgiveness, goodsir. I was in such a hurry …” The dragonborn kneeled and began picking up the packages, cursing under his breath. “You must let me repay you.”

“Mehen!” The dragonborn’s eyes looked past Rohini and into the crowd. Two tieflings came rushing up, and it took Rohini a moment to recognize that they belonged with the dragonborn; there were so many tieflings in the city. It took a moment more for her to realize they were twins. Curious. And not a complication Rohini wanted.

“You’ll never believe what they’re selling-” one of them started. She looked at the packages on the ground. “What happened?”

“Just a little spill,” Rohini said, focusing again on Mehen. “If you’ll come with me to the House of Knowledge, I can give you coin for what I’ve ruined.”

“House of Knowledge?” the dragonborn said. “Heard you might be willing to pay out bounties on orcs in the wood.”

“Well,” she said, putting magic in her voice to lure him in. “I can’t provide you with any sort of bounty. But I can always use help. There are patients to-”

“Never mind,” Mehen said, and turned as if to count his charges. Rohini wrinkled her nose. He was going to be difficult. She reached out and touched his arm.

“Oh, let me finish,” she said. “There are patients who need tending, but also plenty of chores. And there’s a wall on the southern side which has collapsed. I could certainly use someone strong to help us rebuild it.” Mehen turned back to her and she smiled. “You would have room and board in the House of Knowledge, of course. And I’m sure we could find the stores to give you a little coin to make your time better spent.”

Mehen shook his head once, as if shooing a fly. He peered at her a moment. “That … sounds like a good idea,” he said. “Safe. Simple. What was your name?”

“Rohini,” she said.

“I’m Mehen,” he said. “And these are my daughters, Farideh and Havilar. And that is Brin.”

Rohini kept her expression polite and blank, but in her thoughts this new piece of information was being turned and twisted and tried to fit into place. Tieflings always passed their curse down, but not through a dragonborn-nothing crossed with a dragonborn. Not even elves, who seemed to bed everything in sight despite their high and mighty protests. How had these two convinced him he was their father? And who was Brin?

Kill them now, the demon in her urged.

No, the devil whispered. They may be useful.

“I’m sure you have quite a tale there,” she said.

Mehen nodded, but as he nodded, it seemed his whole body rocked back and forth. The domination was secure.

The tieflings gave each other a puzzled look-the sort of look that was full of meaning if you knew what to look for. The one with the sword on her belt stepped forward and set a hand on the dragonborn’s shoulder.

“Mehen wux bensvenk?” the girl said. Draconic, Rohini thought, or something close anyway. Mehen looked at her and blinked. The domination shivered off of him. Rohini tensed.

“Of course I’m well,” he said. He looked back to Rohini. “We’re … We’d be happy to help for a little while. Not our usual undertaking, but if there’s a little coin and some meals to it, we’d be pleased. Where should we head?”

Rohini’s pleasant smile returned. “You can follow me. The House of Knowledge is to the north, near the Chasm, merely a song away.”

“But,” the one with the glaive said, “Mehen, you said we weren’t to go anywhere near the rift.”

“This is different,” he said, and if he didn’t believe it, he would soon enough.

Rohini led them up to the House of Knowledge, the ancient temple spreading along and into the wall. The tieflings gawked and stared as if they’d never seen a building before, as they passed through the entry and into the open hall. The sun shone down through the many windows. Through the broken panes, the sounds of the city wafted in. The strong scent of medicinal herbs and dusty books pervaded the place, as well as the electric sensation of the faded blessings only Rohini felt.

“Here we are,” Rohini said, gesturing at the chamber off the main corridor where the supplies were stored. “You’ll need to wear robes to mark you as part of the hospital. There are plenty of spare ones in the cabinets over yonder. Why don’t you three go find some that fit and then we’ll see about rooms?”

The three glanced up at the dragonborn before following Rohini’s suggestion. Good, she thought, or bad. Depending on Mehen.

“You,” Rohini said, slipping in front of Mehen as he tried to follow, “should stay with me though.”

He watched his three charges as they walked away. “What for?”

“I have some questions.” The power of Rohini’s charm trailed along her exhalation, coiling around Mehen like a serpent. His eyes snapped to her, grew distant, then glassy. “And,” Rohini added, “you dearly want to answer them, don’t you?”

“Yes,” the dragonborn said. “Anything.”

“Tell me,” Rohini said, “are you a warrior of Tymanther? Or some other company?”

“Was,” the dragonborn said. “Clanless now. Just a wanderer.”

“A pity.” So no easily found and captured dragonborn tromping alongside him. Ah well, she’d think of something. “And what did you do to deserve such a fate?” She ran a finger along the dragonborn’s jaw frill. “Take up with Tiamat?”

“Love,” the dragonborn said, “when clan came first.”

“Charming,” Rohini said. Easy to toy with and better than worrying about crossing the Dragon Queen. He was almost a perfect specimen. “Tell me about the tieflings and the boy. You think they’ll be trouble if you come away with me?”

“Yes,” the dragonborn said. “Havilar’s glaive is as good as her right hand. She’s quick and she moves with the battle-difficult to hit. She tells me the boy has the blessing of Torm, though he’s not a true priest. His magic doesn’t work always, but if it doesn’t come, he’s likely passable with his sword.” Something flickered in him, threatened to break through the charm, but failed. “But it’s Farideh who will help the other two stop you,” he said. “She is clever enough to combine them, to lead them when they’re afraid or reckless. And she has a pact with a devil.”

Rohini laughed. “Does she now? Well, perhaps she and I could strike up a bargain. Who does she work for? What sort of powers does she have?”

“She creates fire out of nothing. She makes it rain brimstone. She can vanish from one place and reappear a distance away in a burst of smoke-”

Rohini swore, and Mehen stopped reciting. She looked back over her shoulder at the two tiefling girls tying each other’s aprons. A devil-pacted warlock was one thing, a Malbolgian-pacted warlock was another-and the last spell the dragonborn had named was special to Glasya’s powers. This would take some caution, lest Rohini’s plans come apart and Invadiah remove her altogether. The last thing she wanted was the godsdamned pradixikai swooping down on her careful work. She’d simply have to find the pact maker and have the girl removed.

“I don’t suppose you know this devil’s name?”

“Lorcan.”

Rohini went as cold as if she’d been thrown bodily into a chapel full of priests casting blessings. “Lorcan?”

The dragonborn nodded. “She says he’s a cambion, but what I know is he looks like a young man, but with a devil’s form. Wings and horns and such.”

“I know what a cambion is,” Rohini snapped. If Invadiah’s son was in Neverwinter, was he there to aid the erinyes? Or undermine her? Or just undermine Rohini? Had Farideh been the one who’d jostled Mehen from his domination? This wasn’t part of the plan.

“Does she tell you what Lorcan says to her? What he asks her to do?”

“Sometimes,” the dragonborn said. “Sometimes she tells her sister, and Havilar tells me. And what she doesn’t tell Havilar, she keeps to herself.”

“Then you don’t know what Lorcan wants or where he has himself hidden.”

The dragonborn shook his head. “He came when the orc attacked, and then left. I don’t trust him.”

“You shouldn’t.” Rohini scowled. Bargaining with Invadiah’s spoiled son would be an enormous waste of her time. The cambion would probably think he had some sort of leverage. But if she didn’t, there was always the chance she was going to rile Invadiah. What was he up to?

Perhaps he was up to nothing-perhaps she should be asking about Invadiah.

She considered Mehen a moment, wondering if it was worth having to dispose of the tieflings and the human, to risk Invadiah’s anger or subterfuge, to get a dragonborn for Anthus’s servitors. It wasn’t.

Rohini smiled.

“You mentioned there were orcs?” she said. He nodded. “Are there more in Neverwinter Wood?”

“Swarms,” the dragonborn said. “Scouts from Many-Arrows, they say.”

“Perfect,” Rohini said.

The Hall of Justice was not a Tormish temple, not really. But looking on it, Brin still felt as if he might throw up.

Before the catastrophes that had rocked Neverwinter, before the Spellplague that had remade the world, the Hall of Justice had been a temple to a god called Tyr. But Tyr had died-as so many gods had in those days-and his priests found their prayers unanswered. The temple beside the river had stood the century since, the plasterwork giving way here and there to time, earthquakes, and the furious volcano.

Then came Lord Neverember, who took over the temple as his own and filled it with new priests whose god was still listening, to soften the fact he’d commandeered the temple. There were holy champions inside now, performing the rites to Tyr alongside those of Torm, and more guarding the doorway, but it was not a Tormish temple. Not really.

Brin still hesitated at the opposite side of the road.

Even if there are Tormish priests and paladins in there, he told himself, they aren’t Tormtar. They wouldn’t be the brutally efficient sort of holy champion he knew from the Citadel. In fact, Brin felt pretty certain that if Constancia came to the Hall of Justice looking for him, she’d first dress down the two plinth-heads slouching on either side of the door and giving the medusa-eye to passersby. They were holy champions, by the gods, they could bloody well stand up straight! If her squire brought her a breastplate that dull, she’d give him a nail brush and an hour to remedy it!

Brin shuddered. Ye gods, if he came back smelling of puke Havilar would never let him hear the end of it.

Nothing for it, he told himself. He needed to make sure Constancia found him. He’d already gone to the southern gate and told the guards his name-his real name-where he was, and that he was expecting his cousin to arrive. They’d chased him off for pestering them, but they’d remember if Constancia showed up asking.

The Hall of Justice seemed the next likeliest place she might go-but would she, if there was a bounty on her head? Would she take the risk?

Should Brin be taking the risk?

He thought of the orcs, of the way he’d panicked when the twins appeared, of Constancia’s perpetual expression of disappointment. Now was not the time to be a coward. He took a deep breath and started to cross the road.

The door to the temple swung open as Brin reached the foot of the stairs, and of all people, Tam came out. He spotted Brin, and an almost maniac look overtook the expression of disconcert he’d worn.

Brin started to turn, but the silverstar was quicker. He grabbed Brin by the shoulder and stopped him in his tracks.

“Ah,” he said. “My assistant. Come along. I need your help with some rituals.” He steered Brin on the road north, toward the river. Brin went along, too startled to fight at first and then a bit relieved he wouldn’t have to face the Tormish priests.

“Why is it,” Tam said once they’d gone a ways, “when I ask after a young man of your description traveling from Cormyr, does the ranking priest of Torm turn gray and ask that I bring you in to speak with him? Please don’t do me the discourtesy of telling me you don’t know,” he added as Brin started to speak.

Brin shook Tam’s hand off. “Fine. I don’t intend to tell you. Better?”

“Much,” Tam said. “I’d rather you be honest than assume I can’t spot a simple lie.”

“I did all right before. You were perfectly happy to believe I was just some lovestruck idiot.”

Tam chuckled. “It made more sense than what we have here.”

“More sense than a silverstar traveling to Neverwinter for ‘a few days’ on the Harpers’ coin?” The road came to a bridge, a wide stonework pathway traced with carvings of fishes and sea life. They shouldered their way through the foot traffic. “I don’t see why you’re asking about me, anyway. It’s not your business.”

“Everything that doesn’t fit is my business,” Tam said. “Are you going to explain yourself, or let me guess?”

Neither, Brin thought. He was back to wanting to vomit. “Where are we going?”

“The Blacklake District. I told you. I need a hand with a ritual,” Tam said. “Your accent’s what’s troubling me. I’ve known Cormyreans enough to hear that your vowels are short, but not short enough. You don’t use much of the Suzailan slang. But you have the cadence down. And the manners.”

“My tutors would disagree,” Brin said.

Tam stopped and pulled Brin to a stop beside him at the end of the bridge. Brin’s stomach started doing flips. “Answer me one question, and do me the courtesy of honesty,” Tam said, all seriousness. “Are you fleeing Netheril?”

Brin nearly sighed in relief. Netheril, the shadow empire north of Cormyr, had swallowed whole nations in its expansion. They worshiped Shar, the goddess of loss and the ancient enemy of Selune, and generally had the rulers of every other nation on their toes and hoping their successors would do something about the Empire of Shade. If that was all the silverstar was worried about …

“No,” Brin said. “Only in the sense that I’m farther from them here than there.”

Tam pursed his mouth. “One hopes. Come along.”

At the end of the bridge, a strange sort of procession crossed their path: a small man, his fine lightweight suit soaked through with sweat, followed by two other men, similarly … damp. It was hot, to be sure, but even the tieflings in their heavy cloaks didn’t sweat so much. Brin tried not to stare and failed.

The last man in the line, a lanky sort of fellow, turned and looked Brin directly in the eye. His own eyes were colorless. Eerie. They gave Brin the sense he was staring into the space between the stars somehow … like a hole between worlds …

Tam grabbed ahold of Brin’s shoulder again, and Brin blinked. The effect was gone.

The man turned away, and the procession passed on, up the crossroad toward a row of houses, leaning precariously over the sluggish river. They disappeared into the third one, a bluish monstrosity that looked as if it were being held together only by luck and a whim of the Weave. But like the man’s eyes, there was something strange about the building. Something wrong.

“Stay away from there,” Tam said too lightly, “would you?”

“Do I look a fool?” Brin asked. He looked back at Tam. “What were they?”

“I don’t know,” Tam said, heading again into the shattered quarter. “Based on what I’ve seen in this city, I don’t believe I wish to know.”

Brin hurried after him. “You can’t riddle me with questions and then turn around and drop vagaries like that. What do you mean?”

“When a city gets as old as Neverwinter, old powers entrench themselves in all the gaps and crannies.” He slowed, scanning the broken buildings and piles of rubble that replaced the rebuilt structures. “And when a city this old falls, that just makes the gaps and crannies much, much larger. If there aren’t Netherese agents here, I’ll be surprised. If there aren’t worse things-”

“What’s worse than Netherese?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out.”

Brin watched him a moment. “Are you really a Harper?”

“I couldn’t tell you if I were. Are you really a holy champion?”

Brin scowled and didn’t answer.

A few blocks on, a patch of ruins had been cleared, leaving behind a large, more-or-less flat plot of land, waiting to be built upon. Tam paced it out and found the approximate center.

From his pack, Tam took out four sticks of incense, smelling of sandalwood and vinestars and shimmering faintly silver.

“Here,” he handed them to Brin. “Put them in the corners of the square.” As Brin went around the plot and pressed them into the corners, Tam followed, murmuring prayers to Selune and lighting the incense in smooth, ceremonious gestures. Then, he sat down, cross-legged at the center of the space and beckoned Brin to join him.

“Do you know this ritual?” he asked. Brin shook his head. “That’s all right. You’ve assisted before with other rituals? It’s not much different. Just call down what power you can from Torm and add it to mine. I want this one to last as long as possible.”

“Will they mix?” Brin said sitting down across from him. “Torm and Selune?”

“Of course.” Tam shrugged. “Might change the look of the place a little, but nothing dramatic. Close your eyes.”

Brin tried to clear his mind, to focus solely on the scent of the incense, the sound of the blade on the whetstone, the weight of duty … and not the concern that the men from the eerie house were something worse or that Constancia might catch him and drag him back to do his duty or that there were Netherese hiding in the shadows. He started to pray, the hard tones of the prayers to Torm mixing with the soft, cyclical chant to the powers of the Moonmaiden, Selune.

An hour passed. Brin did not notice. Only that suddenly, the incense burned away and the sun was no longer hot on his back. He opened his eyes.

Instead of an empty space, the cleared land now held a temple made of marble and trimmed with silver foil. He and Tam sat in the middle of the temple, rows of backed benches facing an altar below a skylight that would let in the light of the full moon when it rose that night. Over the altar, a statue of a woman with long white hair and a patient smile stood guard, framed by seven silver stars.

“Is that what she looks like?” Brin asked, standing.

“Yes,” said Tam, coming carefully to his feet, “and no. I’ve not seen her face, but the ritual creates the statue, so in a sense, she decides. Does it look like someone …” He turned and trailed off.

It was missing some of the more obvious features. But if you added horns, the swell along the brown, the solid eyes …

The statue of Selune looked suspiciously like the tiefling twins. Tam studied the statue, his brow furrowed.

“What does it mean?” Brin asked. “Is it a warning?”

Tam pursed his lips. “It means something’s brewing. Where are you staying?”

“The House of Knowledge.”

“I suggest you head on back there,” Tam said, still frowning at the statue, “and start thinking about where you’re going to go next.”