Prince of Ravens

CHAPTER SEVEN

Although Jack wanted to make inquiries about where exactly in Sarbreen a great abandoned temple might be found, he had to keep an eye on his social calendar if he wanted to continue to present himself as a lordling reestablishing himself in the city’s noble circles. The Sarkonagael seemed safely hidden in Sarbreen for now; he could retrieve it at his convenience. So, with some regrets, Jack passed the rest of the day in his newfound social engagements. He endured a long and rather tedious lunch at the home of Lady Moonbrace and a circle of her relations and friends-all of them very prim and proper ladies whose average age must have approached eighty years-discovering that they seemed most interested in the fact that he was a young, unmarried lord new to Raven’s Bluff and a potential prospect for their various matchmaking skills. Fortunately Jack escaped with little more than vague promises to attend various affairs where he gathered that nieces, daughters, and granddaughters would be thrown at him in the hopes that one might stick.

The reception at the playhouse was somewhat more interesting (and expensive). It was attended by a rather more eclectic group of nobles, merchants, and adventurers who’d blundered into enough good fortune to consider themselves patrons of the arts. Several of the reception guests were fine-looking young women who seemed quite taken by the rumors of Jack’s derring-do in Seila Norwood’s escape from the Underdark. He had to remind himself constantly that these were circles in which Seila and her family frequently moved. As tempting as it was to flirt with bored noble lasses intrigued by someone as novel as Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame, he couldn’t afford to let any stories of misbehavior get back to Seila, not if he hoped to pursue the Norwood fortune and her very lovely favors as well. Jack survived the occasion by replacing in his mind’s eye the more fetching and forward ladies at the theater with Lady Moonbrace’s friends, and made a note to himself to reverse the procedure the next time he found himself in Lady Moonbrace’s company.

The next day, the formal invitation to the celebratory affair at Norwood Manor was waiting for Jack when he came down for his breakfast. He admired the elegant card-golden ink on bleached vellum, hand-lettered with flowing calligraphy-which read, Dear Friend, the Lord and Lady Norwood humbly request your attendance for a banquet and spring revel at Norwood Manor on the occasion of their daughter Seila’s return safe and whole from captivity. “I observe that the event is described as a return and not a rescue,” Jack sniffed. He felt a little offended, but then he read further: Please join us on the evening of the Tenth of Tarsakh as we celebrate this joyous occasion and honor Lord Jaer Kell Wildhame, the hero responsible for Seila’s return to Norwood Manor. Dinner will be served at seven bells; regrets only.

“Well, that is more like it,” he said aloud. “Now, what else do we have here?”

Beneath the invitation was a small envelope addressed to him in a feminine hand; he opened it and discovered a note from Seila, a reply to his letter of a day or two ago. She wrote about the hustle and bustle of the party preparations, the simple joys in rediscovering the routines of her life before the slavers abducted her, and hinted at the return of two or three former suitors who had thoughts of resuming their pursuits now that she had been miraculously brought away from captivity in the Underdark. “Why, I think she means to make me jealous,” Jack muttered. “Well, those noble popinjays who think they can pick up where they left off will be in for a surprise. First, this is a matter of business to me, not idle romance. I will not be easily daunted. And second, none of them managed to rescue Seila from the drow.”

He read on and found that Seila had asked him to come visit her before the banquet and to stay the night afterward. His heart skipped a beat at that thought, until he read a bit further and discovered that a guest room on the far side of the manor from her chambers was reserved for his use. Still, it was heartening to see that she cared enough to make special arrangements for him-a very good sign indeed, really.

Jack glanced at the topmost handbill waiting by his breakfast; it was the morning of the eighth. He would want to be at Norwood Manor the afternoon of the tenth, but that meant he still had the better part of two days before the party. “Edelmon!” he called.

The old valet answered at once. “Yes, Master Jack?”

“What engagements do I have in the next couple of days?”

“I have arranged for Master Limner Nander Willon to call at three bells this afternoon to consult with you on the Wildhame arms and emblems. This evening there is a performance of The Bride of Secomber at the Stane Opera House; you have been invited to join Lord and Lady Flermeer in their box. Tomorrow Master Silverstitch hopes to perform a fitting, and the Ravenaar Historical Society has invited you to speak at their monthly meeting.”

Jack raised an eyebrow. “The Historical Society?” he asked dubiously.

“Its membership includes representatives of many of the city’s most respected families, Master Jack. They are very anxious to speak with you, because it is rumored that you knew the notorious Warlord Myrkyssa Jelan personally.”

Jack wondered what the bespectacled bookworms of the Historical Society would make of the fact that the Warlord was at large in their city at this very moment. He’d decided to keep the tale from the authorities for now; he wasn’t completely confident that it would be possible to convince a magistrate or watch-captain that a legendary threat of long ago was walking the streets of the city today, or that it would profit him to bring it to their attention. After all, he had once been pursued by the Knights of the Hawk simply because he was acquainted with Myrkyssa Jelan. “Very well, I will attend,” he said.

“Oh, and a Master Tarandor of the Wizards’ Guild has requested an appointment the morning of the tenth.”

“Hmm, I’m not sure when I might ride out to Norwood Manor. Or, for that matter, when I’ll return. Put him off for now, I’ll meet with him after Seila’s revel.”

“Very good, my lord,” Edelmon replied. He bowed and withdrew.

Jack finished his breakfast, and contemplated his day for a moment. It seemed that he had a few hours available; this might be a good opportunity to lay the groundwork for retrieving the Sarkonagael from the depths of Sarbreen. Although no one else seemed likely to divine its location as Jack had done, it wouldn’t be wise to assume the book would remain hidden forever. After all, he couldn’t be certain that some other competent adventurer wouldn’t stumble across the Sarkonagael by following some other line of investigation or through sheer good luck.

“Not so urgent that I cannot attend Seila’s revel first, but too important to leave to chance for long,” Jack told himself. He was less than enthusiastic about venturing into the infamous dungeon of Sarbreen again, let alone venturing into any subterranean place where dark elves might be lurking. But as it so happened, he knew someone who was very familiar with Sarbreen. He hopped up from his chair, threw on a cape and hat, and set out into the city.

The morning was foggy, but the mists had a burnished glow above the rooftops that suggested they might soon burn off. Jack walked over to Moorland Ride and followed that street north until he reached Vesper Way near the city wall, and then he turned left. At the mouth of the alleyway between Moorland and Manycoins a stealthy motion caught his eye; Jack took two quick steps toward the center of the street and set his hand on his rapier’s hilt. Peering through the chilly shadows he glimpsed a cloaked and hooded figure retreating down the alley. The figure turned to glance back at him just before ducking into a cellar stair. Jack thought he saw a face of inky black framed by fine white hair and perhaps a hint of ruby-red eyes, but he couldn’t be certain.

“Surely that was not a drow abroad in daylight,” he murmured aloud. Then again, the morning was foggy; it was not a bright day by any means. He stood still for a long moment as passers-by strode past and carts trundled over the cobblestones, but no one else seemed to have noticed the cloaked figure. Were the dark elves spying on his movements? Had he caught sight of a drow engaged in some other private business that had nothing to do with him? Or were his eyes simply playing tricks on him?

Jack finally removed his hand from his swordhilt with a small shrug and went on his way. He knew that there were drow under the city, after all, and this fellow hadn’t paid any unusual attention to him. There was no sense in borrowing trouble, so to speak. Crossing Manycoins Way, he found the Smoke Wyrm and rapped on the taproom door.

This time, old Tharzon himself answered. “Jack! Come to trade more tales already? Or do you prefer to start the day’s drinking early? It’s not good to get in the habit of drinking in the morning, you know.”

“Sound advice, friend Tharzon, and counsel I intend to heed,” Jack replied. “No, I have need of your unmatched knowledge of Sarbreen and its dark and dangerous ways. You knew more about the place than anyone in the city a hundred years ago; I can only imagine your wisdom has grown since.”

The gray-bearded dwarf gave a low laugh. “It didn’t take you long to find yourself some new scheme, did it? Well, come inside. I will see what I can do.” He led the way to the taproom-empty again, as it was still an hour shy of opening for the day-where Kurzen was busy breaking out new kegs and setting them up behind the bar. The younger dwarf gave Jack a friendly nod and went on with his work as Tharzon and Jack found seats by the hearth.

“Where’s that fetching noble lass of yours this morning?” Tharzon asked.

“At Norwood Manor, so far as I know. Her father decided that he’d be happy to put me up here in town, so I’ve been staying in a fine house over in Tentowers.” Jack gave Tharzon a grin. “I think he suspected my motives toward Seila.”

“Aye, well, he would be wise to,” the dwarf agreed. “So what do you want to know about Sarbreen, Jack?”

“Have you ever heard of a great hall with pillars carved in the shape of ancient dwarf warriors? The floor is made of honey-gold marble, and there is an altar of some sort in the shape of a great anvil. Behind the altar is an old mosaic of a hammer surrounded by fire.”

“Ah, the Temple of the Soulforger. That’s the place you’re speaking of, Jack.”

“The Temple of the Soulforger?”

“Moradin’s shrine, Jack, Moradin’s shrine. Sarbreen held a magnificent cathedral consecrated to the maker of all dwarves. There’s no mistaking the anvil altar.”

“Where is it?” Jack asked. “Do you know how to get there?”

Tharzon’s brow lowered as he eyed Jack for a moment. “What business do you have in the Temple of the Soulforger, Jack? You don’t intend anything … disrespectful, do you?”

“No, no, nothing like that. I consulted with a seer of the Diviners’ Guild yesterday, and that’s the place I saw in my vision. Someone collected a number of old tomes and scrolls and left them in the temple; I’m looking for one in particular. The temple itself I have no designs upon.” Well, not unless there’s some great treasure lying about just waiting to be pocketed, he added to himself.

Tharzon held Jack’s gaze a moment before nodding to himself. “In that case, then yes, I can tell you how to find it. But it’s on one of the deeper levels, and it’s not a journey for the faint of heart. That quarter of Sarbreen is dangerous, Jack, very dangerous, with monsters of sorts you won’t find roaming the sewers just beneath your feet. If you mean to get to the Soulforger’s Temple, you’ll want some good swordarms at your back, and probably a mage as well.”

Jack sighed. He’d hoped the temple would be somewhere close to the surface and not terribly perilous to reach. After all, his circumstances were reasonably comfortable at the moment, and he didn’t feel any particular driving need to risk life and limb unless the prize was truly extraordinary. On the other hand, he knew where the Sarkonagael was and no one else did. It would be a shame to pass by that sort of opportunity, especially with the chance to double his fortune as the stakes.

He leaned a little closer to Tharzon and asked, “Have you kept your hand in the game at all, Tharzon? Do you know where I might find a few trustworthy fellows who’d be willing to dare Sarbreen for a great prize?” Once upon a time Tharzon had been a thief almost as skilled as Jack himself, although the dwarf was by nature a tunneler and a lockpick. His thefts were patient and methodical affairs, the sort of work for which Jack had never had the temperament.

“I retired forty years ago,” the dwarf replied. He tapped his cane on the ground. “My knees are ruined, and my back’s none too good, either. I decided a long time ago to let younger dwarves worry about what sort of monsters they might meet in the dark and whether the authorities might nab them as they went about their trade. Too much risk, not enough profit.” He gave a small shrug. “Besides, the Smoke Wyrm returns a decent living for an honest day’s work.”

Jack glanced around the taproom and raised an eyebrow. “Friend Tharzon,” he said, “I have the feeling that your honest day’s work is more loosely defined than you let on.” After all, a profitable and well-known business was the perfect cover for a fence; the taproom likely provided Tharzon with all the spare coin he needed to buy what working thieves had to sell. “Tell me, do you export that excellent stout of yours?”

“As it turns out, we ship it all over the Vast. Tantras, Calaunt, Procampur, even across the Dragon Reach to Harrowdale sometimes,” Tharzon admitted. “Sometimes the kegs are a wee bit heavy.”

Jack tipped his cap to his old comrade. “Clever, my old friend, very clever. So what of it? Do you know any good hands who could help me?”

“I thought you intended to make a great show of becoming respectable, Jack.”

“Becoming respectable is a surprisingly expensive process. And there’s nothing disreputable about venturing into the lost halls of Sarbreen to indulge an interest in archaeology or lost artifacts. Who knows what sort of harmless eccentricities the Landsgrave Jaer Kell Wildhame might indulge? Why, strange tastes and extravagant habits are the very hallmark of nobility!” Jack paused a moment to further consider Tharzon’s point. “Still … it wouldn’t do to be seen in truly unsavory company. No murderers, necromancers, or gnomes, if it can be helped.”

Tharzon leaned back in his chair, absently knotting his thick fist around his cane. His eyes took on a sharper, more calculating expression as he gazed toward the hearth. “I have a few handy fellows in mind,” he said. “They’ll want a cut of the prize, mind you. But they’ve had a thin time of it lately and they shouldn’t drive too hard a bargain. I could arrange for you to meet them in a day or two.”

“Can I trust them?”

“Only if you’re a fool, but I can see to it that you’ve got a friend at your shoulder.” The old dwarf rapped the cane on the floor again and called to Kurzen, still working to ready the taproom for the afternoon’s patrons. “Boy, leave that nonsense be for now and come have a seat. There’s business to discuss.”

Kurzen set the last of the kegs in place behind the bar, brushed his hands off on his apron, and came over to join his father and Jack. “What’s the work, Da?” he asked.

“Sarbreen, the seaward quarter, five levels down. Jack here has a book he’s looking for, and if there’s one valuable tome lying about, there’s likely to be two. We’ll bring in Narm and his band. They haven’t been too lucky of late, so they ought to be willing enough.”

Kurzen studied Jack for a moment, his dark eyes stern and unfriendly. “I’ve heard plenty of good stories about you, but it’s my neck as well as yours. Are you any use in a scrape?”

“Ask your Da,” Jack replied. “I saved him from a deep dragon once. And we fought the Warlord and her sellswords together.”

The younger dwarf looked over to Tharzon, who shrugged. “Jack’s not the man you want if you’re looking for a scrape, but he’s a good fellow to have on your side if you find one you weren’t expecting,” he said. “He’s quick on his feet, he’s a fair hand with a blade, and he’s got a little magic. But most important he’s got an eye for opportunity, and his wits are sharp. You could do worse, my boy.”

Jack nodded to Tharzon and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. Anything he said after that wouldn’t help much, so he waited for Kurzen to make up his mind. After a moment, the younger dwarf gave a grudging nod of his own. “All right, I’m in,” he said. “When do you want to make the try?”

“Four or five days from now,” Jack decided. Sooner would be better, but there was no way he was going to risk missing the Norwood revel by getting himself stuck in Sarbreen somehow. “Now, let’s talk about how we’ll split the loot. In my experience it’s best to deal with that question right up front to prevent unfortunate misunderstandings later.”

Any fears Jack might have felt about boredom setting in before the grand event at Norwood Manor proved ill-founded. He spent the afternoon of the eighth designing the Wildhame arms with the help of the limner, claiming to remember a device of three sable stags on a golden field divided by a scarlet chevron, with grapevines wreathing the emblem and the motto DARE, STRIVE, TRIUMPH on a scroll below. Master Willon thought it was a handsome crest indeed and promised to have it rendered and engraved in a tenday. After that, Jack attended the opera, discovering that the Bride of Secomber was a work of comic genius, flamboyantly played by its talented cast. Lord and Lady Flermeer struck him as somewhat coarse and grasping, asking him to bring up this suggestion or that with his good friend Marden Norwood when it was convenient; Jack soon realized that the Flermeers were desperate to get themselves into Norwood’s good graces, but he played along by generously offering to endorse any proposals they wished to advance.

The following day, he spent his morning with the Historical Society-which, as it turned out, provided him with an excellent opportunity to address a longstanding injustice of which he hadn’t been aware. Rather to his chagrin, Jack discovered that he was not remembered kindly in the accounts that had survived from his former time. Some versions suggested that he was a common criminal in Jelan’s employ, while others presented him as a feckless dupe whose bumbling efforts nearly handed the Warlord her final victory, and a few failed to mention him at all. Outraged, he went to great lengths to correct the inaccurate records of the events surrounding Myrkyssa Jelan’s fall in a manner that suitably reflected his own involvement. In the afternoon, he called on master tailor Gregor Silverstitch to pick out several of his finished garments for the Norwood banquet.

As Jack went about the town from the opera house to the Historical Society’s meeting-place to the tailor’s fitting room, he kept his eyes open for mysterious figures skulking about in dark cloaks, but no more drow-real or imagined-crossed his path. By the time he returned home the day before the Norwood ball, he discovered that new invitations and calling cards were waiting for his attention.

“What do these people do when they’re not calling on each other?” Jack wondered aloud, examining the correspondence in his study. “Why, keeping up with the social obligations is a profession all its own.”

“Many gentlemen occupy themselves with their investments and speculation,” Edelmon informed him. “Others take an interest in sporting events, such as hunting, boating, racing, or various games of chance.”

That caught Jack’s interest. “I assume wagering is involved?”

“Very much so, Master Jack. As they say, horse racing is the sport of kings.”

“That has distinct possibilities. See if you can’t find out when the next event of that sort is to take place, and who I would have to ingratiate myself with to win an invitation. I am a great admirer of contests of skill.” He was an even greater admirer of gambling, of course. If he couldn’t find a way to separate a few foolish layabouts from generous portions of their inheritances, then he was no thief at all. He was a professional, after all, and he’d knife through any casual gamblers’ games like a wyvern stooping on sheep. The only difficulty would be to avoid winning so much that he made an enemy or acquired a reputation.

“I shall look into it directly, sir,” Edelmon replied. He reached over to tap a finger on a small note. “This may be of interest to you. The Turmishan Embassy is hosting a tea the day after tomorrow; Lady Mislen Hawkynfleur wrote to express the hope that you’ll attend.”

Jack glanced up at the ceiling, trying to recollect which of the various personages he’d met over the last few days was Mislen Hawkynfleur. After a moment it came to him; she was one of the stately old matrons of Lady Moonbrace’s circle. “We shall regretfully decline,” Jack replied. “The Norwood affair is the only thing on my calendar for the next two days, Edelmon.”

He went to bed early, already drawing up schemes by which he invested in racehorses (or jockeys) and wondering just how one might go about fixing the results of a regatta. When he arose, he was greeted by another fine spring morning, unseasonably clear and warm. “An auspicious beginning to the day,” he remarked, and immediately began his daily ablutions. For the ball he decided to wear a long, mustard-yellow coat strikingly trimmed in silver piping over a ruffled white shirt, with red suede boots and a matching red hat crowned by a white plume; his rapier rode in a scabbard low on his left hip. Jack took a quarter-hour to admire his sartorial splendor as he congratulated himself in the mirror and adopted various poses and stances to show off his new clothing. Then he directed Edelmon to pack him a small valise for the night, and engaged a carriage to drive him out to Norwood Manor shortly after noon. A little less than an hour later his carriage clattered down the long drive of the Norwoods’ estate and came to a halt at the manor steps.

“Jack, you’re here!” Seila hurried down the steps to greet Jack as he climbed down from the coach, and leaned forward to quickly brush her lips against his cheek. She wore a simple blue dress to her ankles; no doubt she had a gown picked out for the evening, but Jack was struck again by her midnight hair and her luminous smile.

He found himself grinning foolishly at her before he regained his composure. “How could I miss this occasion?” he replied. He followed her inside as a valet fetched his bag. The great house was full of servants and workers who were decorating for the party, arranging the furniture, tending to ovens that already smelled delicious, and setting up pavilions and lanterns in the grounds just behind the manor. Scores of tables and hundreds of chairs were appearing before his eyes, and Jack had to admit he was impressed. “I can see this will be some event,” he remarked. “How many people did your mother invite?”

Seila glanced over her shoulder at him. “Everybody,” she said. “I think we’re expecting around three hundred guests, perhaps a few more. To tell the truth, I’m a little embarrassed by all the attention.”

“Nonsense! You deserve it, my dear, after what you went through.”

“You endured even worse treatment than I,” Seila pointed out.

“Well, in that case I deserve it, too,” Jack answered.

She laughed, and caught his hand, leading him out on to the veranda behind the manor. “I’ve missed you these last few days, Jack. Oh, I’ve heard a great many things about your doings in town-everybody is talking about you-but I can hardly believe you’re the same person who brought me out of Chumavhraele. How have you been? Have you improved your opinion of our age?”

Jack shrugged. “I am very comfortable at Maldridge, of course-I must thank your father again when I see him-and I am making new friends. However, I have missed you as well. It’s a strange thing to begin a whole new life all at once.” He leaned on the balustrade, gazing out over the gardens. “I feel sometimes that I am waiting to wake up and find that this was all a strange dream.”

Seila reached out to turn Jack’s face toward hers, and she smiled sadly. “I think I know what you mean,” she said. “It’s been harder than I would have imagined to find myself home again. I suppose I’d given myself up for dead; I made my peace with many things. Now here I am, surrounded by the people and things I have loved all my life, and none of them seem the same. They haven’t changed, of course-I have. But my mother, my father, the household servants who have known me all my life, they seem anxious to simply pick up and carry on as if I hadn’t been buried in that awful place for months and months. Why, they hardly want to speak of what happened, but I feel I have to talk to somebody or I’ll just burst!”

Jack stood in silence for a moment, weighing her words. He was many things, but a canny student of the human heart was not one of them. Still, from time to time he chanced upon insight, and one came to him as he looked at Seila standing in the sunshine. “Your family and friends don’t mean to misunderstand you,” he finally said. “Whether they know it or not, they think it’s a kindness to forget those awful days as quickly as they can, and they believe that you must want to do the same.” A sudden thought struck him, and he laughed softly at himself. “And that might help to explain why your father was so anxious to remove me from your house. Well, that and the fact that he must worry that I entertain designs upon your virtue.”

Seila glanced away with a small snort. “He’s been worried about that since my fifteenth summer, give or take. It seems that every young man with prospects in the Vast knows that I’m the heir to the Norwood fortune and has a mind to seek my hand. Every few months a new suitor arrives at our doorstep, a complete stranger who hopes to persuade my father that he’s the best match for me … and at the same time sweep me off my feet with charm and flattery.”

Listen well, Jack, he told himself. She’s telling you how not to win her affections. “I gather none of them have won your heart,” he said carefully.

“My father points out that I’m now in my twentieth year, and it’s time to settle this question for the sake of the family. I know there are several good prospects that would please him well, and that a girl in my situation must make this sort of decision with her head, and not her heart. Still … I don’t feel that I am ready to marry yet, especially with the shadow of my time in the drow castle lingering over me.” She looked back up to Jack. “I should warn you, by the way, that several of my former suitors will be in attendance tonight. I have no doubt they’ll spend much of the evening trying to elbow each other out of the way to get to my side.”

He straightened up and rendered her a formal bow. “I shall of course defend you from any unwanted attentions,” he declared. “No well-born bore will ruin this night for you as long as I have anything to say about it.”

“Do I detect a note of jealousy?” Seila asked sweetly.

“I’m afraid I’m becoming far too fond of your company to share it easily. Your father may not be entirely wrong about me, after all.”

Seila blushed and lowered her eyes. “Jack, I don’t know if I-if we-”

“I understand,” he said. “It’s best not to rush into this sort of thing, especially because we met in such dark circumstances. It would be easy to mistake one’s feelings.” He reached out to rest his hand on hers. “But you’ll forgive me if I hope that no tall, handsome lordling from a fine family sweeps you off your feet tonight.”

Seila looked into his eyes again, and Jack could feel his head swim. For a moment they stood there together a little awkwardly; Jack realized he had no idea whether to say more, to say less, or simply to reach out and plant an audacious kiss upon her sweet red lips. Fortunately, Marden Norwood inadvertently came to Jack’s rescue. The silver-haired lord appeared on the veranda and caught sight of Jack. “Ah, Wildhame,” he said, striding over to offer his hand. “I thought I’d heard that you were here. Good of you to come.”

“Lord Norwood,” Jack replied. He returned the old lord’s handclasp firmly. “My thanks for the invitation; I am happy to help commemorate the occasion.”

“How are you settling in at Maldridge?”

“Very comfortably; it’s a splendid old house, and I have no complaints with the staff you left to me. I thank you again for its use.”

“The least I could do,” Norwood answered. “Now, if I could ask you to join me in my study, I have a small surprise for you-and perhaps a puzzle you might help me solve.”

“More gentlemen’s talk, Father?” Seila asked.

“Not this time, my dear. In fact, I think you’ll find this interesting, too. Please, join us,” Marden Norwood beamed and ushered Jack and Seila back inside to the same dark-paneled room where Jack had spoken with him about the drow and their plans. A large parchment map lay unfurled on the great desk, its corners pinned with stone paperweights.

“As you can see, I’ve found an excellent map of the Vilhon Reach from just a few years before your time,” Norwood said. “I don’t believe I mentioned this during our previous conversations, Jack, but as it turns out we Norwoods are in part descended from Vilhonese aristocracy. My grandmother’s family fled Chondath during the Plague Years and settled here in the Vast, where she married into the Norwood line.”

Jack covered his surprise by coughing into his fine silk handkerchief. “How interesting,” he finally replied, adopting a carefully casual manner. “I did not realize you had any knowledge of the Vilhon Reach. Are you familiar with its history and lands, then?”

Norwood smiled. “As Seila can tell you, I am something of an amateur historian.”

“Oh, yes,” Seila agreed. “Father reads constantly, and his personal library is one of the finest in Vesperin. I couldn’t tell you how many dinner conversations have been taken over by whatever happens to have caught his interest that day.”

Norwood shook his head modestly and continued. “I wouldn’t say I am an expert on the old Reach, but I have been studying up on Vilhonese lands and titles. Naturally, I was curious what had become of your homeland, so I searched through my tomes and dispatched a few letters to other collectors of old lore who might be better informed than I am. Are you well, Wildhame? You look faint.”

Jack didn’t doubt that he looked stricken. Somewhere a mile or so under my feet, Jaeren and Jezzryd Chumavh are enjoying a laugh at my expense, he told himself. He put a hand to the bridge of his nose, pretending to steel himself for a moment. To Seila’s father he said, “Forgive me, Lord Marden. It’s simply struck me again that my homeland is lost now in the past. I find it hard to believe that it is all no more.”

“Father, have you no compassion?” Seila scolded. “Why, it breaks his heart just to think of it!”

Jack pinched himself hard enough to bring a tear to his eye, and looked down at the floor again as he struggled to regain his composure.

“I am sorry,” Norwood said, raising a hand in a placating gesture. “I simply hoped that I might be able to provide Lord Wildhame with some unexpected good news about the existence of his old family lands or the survival of his kin. Truly, I did not mean to press.”

Jack waved away the old lord’s apology, making a show of rallying to the topic. “No, no, your father’s curiosity is quite understandable,” he said to Seila. “Please, Marden, carry on. What can I tell you about Wildhame?”

“Well, it seems that I know less about the region than I’d thought, because I cannot quite place the landgraviate of Wildhame nor discover anything about your family.” Norwood grimaced. “I simply did not know where to begin.”

Jack drew in a breath, and quickly reviewed everything he’d ever studied for the purpose of creating Jaer Kell Wildhame. He’d actually researched the part at some length back when he first concocted the persona, anticipating that he might need to answer awkward questions. “Wildhame is-was-a county near the Nunwood, rather small and out of the way.” He found the small forest on the map, and pointed with the greatest confidence he could muster. “Good hunting in the woodland, as you might expect, and good wine country, too; our vineyards produced a strong, full-bodied red that was best laid down a few years to mellow.”

“Ah, just south of the Nunwood?” Marden peered at the map. “Strange, I would have thought those lands to be under the rule of Hlath.”

“Oh, the Wildhames are a Hlathan family, Lord Marden. Why, we have a fine house within the city walls, not a stone’s throw from the king’s palace,” said Jack. “But I think of the manor of Wildhame as home.”

The silver-haired lord sighed. “This map shows Hlath and the Nunwood, as you can see, but neither survived the Spellplague. The eastern shore of the Vilhon today is a wilderness where no civilized folk travel if they can help it. I am afraid you are very likely orphaned of family and home both.”

“I intend to go see for myself as soon as I am established here,” Jack declared. “Not that I doubt your learning or counsel, Norwood; I simply will not be able to rest until I know the fate of my home. One can still take passage to Turmish, I assume?”

“Of course.”

“Then, when the spring storms have passed, I may do exactly that.”

“Well said, Wildhame,” Norwood replied. He clapped Jack on the shoulder and nodded in approval. “Norwood coasters sail regularly to Alaghon; I will be happy to provide passage whenever you wish to make the journey.”

“Again, I thank you, Norwood.” Jack had not the slightest intention of sailing off to meander around a land where, as Seila’s father put, no civilized people set foot-especially since the landgraviate of Wildhame existed only as a figment of his imagination. He’d find one reason or another to delay sailing until the weather turned again, and by the time he might be expected to try once more, he was certain he could produce “proof” that his lands were destroyed, obviating the need for a tedious journey. By then, if all went well, he might be so established among the elites of Raven’s Bluff that there would be no need to ever produce any proof of Jaer Kell Wildhame’s aristocratic birth.

Seila’s father bowed. “But of course,” he said. “Now, I believe that we have a few hours yet before the guests begin to show up. Seila, why don’t you introduce your friend to your Aunt Derina and your cousins? If I’m not mistaken, their carriage was just drawing up to the door when I spotted the two of you.”

Seila sighed, but she took Jack by the arm. “Come on, Jack,” she said. “I’m afraid it’s time to meet some more of the family.”

Jack spent the afternoon in Seila’s company, smiling and bantering his way through a series of introductions to aunts, grand-uncles, second cousins, and dear friends of the family. The Norwood clan seemed small at first introduction, but it turned out that Lord Norwood had two sisters who’d married into other noble families, while Seila’s mother came from the Boldtalon clan. Other than Marden Norwood’s sudden and disconcerting interest in the Vilhon Reach, Jack considered the afternoon a success overall. Although he had little time alone with Seila, he made sure to take the opportunity to study her relatives by asking seemingly innocuous questions about who was related to whom, and remind them of his role in Seila’s rescue by praising her stoicism and courage in the face of adversity.

The banquet itself was a thoroughly enjoyable affair, even though Jack was, as Seila had warned, introduced to Baron Terent Ampner, Saer Avernil Skyhawk, and Lord Erik Therogeon. All three of the noblemen were said to be interested in courting Seila or striking an alliance with the Norwood family, although Baron Terent was easily twice Seila’s age and Lord Erik was a strikingly shy young fellow who seemed quite flustered any time he was addressed by a pretty woman. Avernil Skyhawk, on the other hand, was tall, sandy-haired, and confident, a rival Jack would have to be wary of. He turned out to be a decent fellow, too, and praised Jack effusively for the daring rescue, which made it hard for Jack to dislike Skyhawk as much as he wanted to. However, Jack was the guest who was seated at Seila’s elbow, just one place removed from Lord Norwood himself. Jack gamely joined in the table conversation, engaging several of his recent acquaintances from Lady Moonbrace’s luncheon, the reception at the playhouse, and of course the meeting of the Historical Society. Wine flowed freely, but Jack indulged with care; he did not want to be remembered for some drunken faux pas.

After the dinner, the guests retired to smoking rooms or parlors while the household staff cleared away the tables in the banquet hall to make space for dancing. Jack accompanied Seila to a drawing room as he plotted his next move. But he was intercepted in the hallway outside the door by a lean, balding man who wore the elegant dress robes of a mage. “Lord Wildhame?” the mage said. “May I have a word with you?”

Jack and Seila turned to face the fellow. He was a man of striking appearance, with winglike sweeps of black hair brushed back above his ears and a long, pointed goatee; both his beard and his temples were shot with narrow streaks of silver-white. Dark eyes glittered beneath a strong brow and a rudderlike nose, but his smile was warm and sincere. The mage inclined his head to Seila, and then Jack. “Allow me to congratulate you on your escape from your imprisonment and your return to Raven’s Bluff.”

Jack returned the fellow’s nod. “I only did the best I could in the circumstances, Master …?”

“Ah, I beg your pardon. Tarandor Delhame, at your service.”

“Master Tarandor,” said Jack, inclining his head again. Where had he heard that name before?

“Please forgive my confusion, but are you by any chance also known as Jack Ravenwild? And enrolled in the Wizards’ Guild as the Dread Delgath?”

Seila’s eyebrow lifted. “ ‘The Dread Delgath’?” she asked. “I shall have to add that to Ravenwild, I suppose. Exactly how many pseudonyms do you have, Jack?”

“In the past I sometimes found it advisable to adopt various aliases for my purposes,” Jack answered. “Remember, it was a different day and age, and the Warlord’s agents were everywhere. It saddens me to say it, but even the Wizards’ Guild was not completely above suspicion then; I did not trust them with my true identity.” He returned his attention to the mage. “I take it you must have spoken with Initiate Berreth.”

“Indeed. The Guild is fortunate to have such a celebrity as yourself among its membership.”

“I am sure the Wizards Guild must include many illustrious gentlemen and adventurers whose exploits outshine my own modest accomplishments,” Jack declared. “It is a pleasure to meet one of my esteemed colleagues in a social setting.”

“Ah, I must admit that I am not actually a member of the Raven’s Bluff guild, although I am acquainted with some of its masters,” said Tarandor. “I belong to the Mage Guild of Iriaebor; I am only visiting for a short time, and must return home soon.”

“What brings you to Raven’s Bluff, Master Tarandor?” Seila asked.

“I have learned that my master left important arcane matters for me to attend here in the Vast,” Tarandor replied. “In fact, I would dearly love to speak with Master Ravenwild about some old business that I think he may be able to help me resolve. It’s something of a mystery, and it’s puzzled me for years.”

Jack wondered what in the world the mage might be referring to, and then his memory finally placed the fellow’s name. “Ah, of course, you’re the Master Tarandor who called at Maldridge. Forgive my tardiness in replying, I have been very busy in the last couple of days.”

The mage waved his hand. “Think nothing of it. But I do need to speak with you, the sooner the better.” Seeing Jack’s hesitation, Tarandor hurried on. “Not tonight, of course. Perhaps noon tomorrow?”

“I may not return to the city until late tomorrow, and I have a previous engagement the day after,” Jack replied. “Better make it the evening of the thirteenth. Shall I expect you at Maldridge around seven bells?”

A look of impatience crossed Tarandor’s features, quickly smoothed away with a small nod and smile of acceptance. “Actually, I hope I can persuade you to join me at the warehouse of Mumfort and Company. It’s in Bitterstone, off Red Wyrm Ride.”

“A warehouse?” Jack asked.

Tarandor spread his hands apologetically. “I have come into possession of a large statue there, which can’t easily be moved. The statue is what I wish to speak to you about.”

“Master Tarandor, I know nothing about any statue.”

“When you see it, I think you will understand why we sought your professional expertise. In the meantime, the less said, the better.”

Jack frowned in puzzlement. He truly had no idea what the wizard was referring to, but he had to admit that his curiosity had been piqued. And it was rather flattering to think that the Guild recognized his unusual experience and expertise and believed he might be of use to a prominent mage visiting from a distant city. It might be a wise investment of his time and effort to go along with Tarandor’s request. “Very well, Master Tarandor, I will offer what help I may. Seven bells on the thirteenth, the Mumfort warehouse on Red Wyrm Ride.”

“Excellent!” the wizard replied. He nodded again to Seila and to Jack. “In that event, I will delay you no longer. My congratulations on your safe return, Lady Norwood.” With that, the wizard withdrew.

“That was mysterious,” Seila remarked.

“Indeed. I am the sort of person around whom mysteries and conundrums seem to gather.” Jack indicated the drawing room. “Shall we?”

After a short respite, the guests were summoned back to the banquet hall, which the household servants had transformed into a grand dance floor. A quartet of musicians were situated on a small balcony overlooking the hall; as the partygoers streamed back in, they struck up a merry air, and the dancing began. To his surprise and horror, Jack discovered that he was not at all familiar with the steps of the dances; apparently those, too, had changed during his long absence. Fortunately Seila was a very understanding partner, even if she did laugh at the startled look on his face when everyone on the floor went one way and he went another.

“I see that I am once again a century out of date,” he cried in frustration. “How mortifying! I have always been a good dancer.”

“Never fear, I’ll straighten you out soon enough,” Seila replied. “Step, step, step-step, turn and skip. Step, step, step-step, turn and skip.”

Jack was a quick study, and he picked up the new steps in short order. Regrettably he had to relinquish Seila’s company all too soon; there were only about a hundred or so gentlemen in attendance who wanted to dance with her. He was able to gain her hand two or three times during the evening, but for the most part he had to content himself with a glittering array of elegant young noblewomen, many of them Seila’s cousins, distant cousins, or dear friends. He told himself there were worse ways to pass an evening, but he kept an eye on Seila the whole time, mostly watching out for any of his potential rivals.

Sometime a little after midnight, he excused himself for a bit of air and strolled out onto the veranda, gazing over the pavilion and lanterns gracing the garden below. A familiar laugh caught his ear; he turned back toward the ballroom and saw Seila there in the middle of a knot of talkative young noblewomen. He gazed at her from his vantage, admiring the way her smile lit up her face. No, there would be far worse fates than to become the husband of Seila Norwood, he reflected. Not only would he be richer than he’d ever imagined and his place among the Ravenaar noble class cemented for life, he’d have that smile to brighten his days. Why, when he thought about it, he might not care if she were wealthy or not … “Stop that nonsense, Jack,” he murmured to himself. “The one sure way to miss your chance is to forget the game you’re playing.”

He gave himself a firm shake, readjusted his hat to a rakish tilt, and started to return to the fray. Then a voice nearby caught his ear. “Alas, my lady. You wound me, you truly do!” a man said with a low laugh.

Jack paused, and glanced around to find the speaker. He’d heard that turn of phrase before; a moment later he fixed his eye on a tall nobleman with long yellow hair, who stood on the balcony ringing the ballroom’s upper floor, conversing with a young noblewoman who laughed at his remark. Something about the fellow seemed familiar, but Jack couldn’t quite place him. “I’ve seen you before, but where?” he murmured aloud. The opera, perhaps? Or the meeting of the Historical Society?

Frowning, Jack stared at the mysterious lord for a long moment, forgetting about Seila and her friends on the dance floor. Tentatively he held out his arm and raised his hand slowly, positioning his fingers in his line of sight until he cropped out the upper half of the man’s face. All that was left was the bony jaw and the fringe of yellow hair falling about the fellow’s neck. “Ah, there you are,” Jack breathed. He’d seen that face and hair before, all right, but masked from the nose up in a leather cowl. The man standing on the balcony was Fetterfist the slaver … and he was apparently a guest at the Norwood ball.

“The dastard,” Jack fumed. Was he entertaining ideas of abducting her again? Or was he there simply because the Norwoods had innocently invited him among all the other assembled nobles of Raven’s Bluff, unaware of the fact that one of the city’s aristocrats was secretly a bloody-handed slaver? Either way, Jack meant to find out at once who the fellow was and expose him to the Norwoods-there was no reason to let Fetterfist walk about free one moment longer than he had to.

At that moment Fetterfist raised his eyes and spied Jack staring up at him. They locked gazes for a brief moment before the yellow-haired lord smiled, straightened, and turned to leave the balcony he stood on.

Jack swore and hurried inside to the hall just outside the ballroom, seeking the stairs to the upper floor. He quickly threaded his way through the elegant throng that mixed and mingled by the grand staircase, bounding up the stairs just in time to see Fetterfist descending the steps at the far end of the upper hall. Jack pursued the fellow at once, hurrying back down and crossing the ballroom to the manor’s foyer, deflecting greetings left and right as he rushed through the crowd. A moment later he clattered out onto the manor’s front steps, where a number of guests waited for their carriages to be brought up. He stood there on the steps, searching the crowd with his eyes, until he finally caught a glimpse of Fetterfist’s face glancing back from a carriage window to the Norwood’s manor. Then the coach with the slaver inside rolled away down the drive.

“Damn the luck,” Jack swore. He looked around desperately for some means of pursuit, but all he could see were more noble carriages and their coachmen. He briefly considered commandeering one, but at that moment Seila emerged from the manor and hurried down to join him on the steps.

“What is it, Jack?” she asked. “I saw you rush away. Is something wrong?”

He debated whether or not to alarm her before deciding that he would rather have her on her guard. “Fetterfist was here,” he told her.

Seila’s eyes opened wide, and a look of horror blanched her face. “No,” she gasped.

“I recognized him at a distance. Well, I am almost certain I did. When I saw him at Tower Chumavhraele half his face was hidden by that leather hood, but the shape of the jaw, the hair, his build, they all matched. And he seemed to take an interest in you.”

“Was he here as a guest?” Seila asked in a weak voice.

“I’m afraid so. At least, he was dressed for the party and seemed to fit in with the crowd.”

“Did you recognize him? I mean, do you know who he is?”

Jack shook his head. “I recognized his face, but that’s all. Remember, I don’t know many people in this day.”

Seila shivered in the cool night air, and wrapped her arms around herself. “Jack, if he means to take me back down to the drow again … I can’t go back to that dark awful place. I simply can’t!”

Jack caught her in his arms and drew her close; she buried her face in his neck. “Never fear about that,” he said. “We’ll make sure your father is warned, and we’ll find out who he is, trust me. I would die before I’d let them have you again.”

And, to his surprise, he realized that he meant exactly what he said.