The Night Parade

Two

The group arrived in Calimport a few weeks later, before sunrise. At Myrmeen’s insistence they spent their time stashing caches of gold, false papers, and weapons throughout the city. They made a full circle of the port city and saw opulent mansions sitting side-by-side with shantytowns. Traveling down a street at random sometimes led them to fantastic outdoor markets where the finest jewelry and clothing could be found, along with the most succulent of foods. That same journey just as often led them to scenes of abject horror, such as children with bellies bloated from starvation fighting their parents for the disease-ridden rats they had captured in the gutters, or street people openly relieving themselves before the disguised Harpers.

The group’s youngest member, Ord, was especially disgusted when a young man tried to sell himself, his sister, his mother, or anyone the warrior might desire, for the night’s comfort. The boy preferred life in the wilderness to the casual degradations he and his companions frequently encountered in the city.

Close to nightfall, they returned to the inn that first had caught their attention when they had passed through the city’s gates. They were in one of three rooms they had rented for the first leg of their stay, and the cook sent one of his apprentices with a pair of baskets containing their dinner. The Harpers devoured the meats, wines, and sweetbreads with barbaric speed, or so it appeared to Myrmeen. She had been used to taking her time with a meal and preferred to conduct business that strongly affected her city or her romantic life while sipping from crystal goblets filled with the most expensive wines in the land. Those days would have to be put aside, she realized, if she wanted the acceptance of not only the Harpers with whom she rode, but also the commoners whose assistance she would need if she was to find her daughter. Snatching the wine bottle from Reisz’s hand, Myrmeen threw her head back and took a slug. The wine was of a crude vintage and burned going down her throat. She did not betray her discomfort as she handed the bottle back to the older man.

“It’s very good,” she managed to say.

Reisz’s smile was tight as he watched the sudden flush brought to her face by the liquor. As he continued to stare at her, his smile deepened and the battlefield of scars on his face joined with the deeply driven age lines surrounding his eyes and mouth; together they bunched up as if they were an army of warriors raising clenched fists to the sky. He could not look away from her.

“You’ve had almost a day to think about it,” Reisz said as he moved to Myrmeen’s side in the darkened chamber. “Have you come up with a suitable identity yet?”

Myrmeen looked away and sighed. She was almost too exhausted to think about it any further after the busy day she had endured. Burke and Varina sat on the floor, cuddling like children who believed they had invented the concept of love. The bearded man with pale blue eyes gave his wife a quick kiss, then said, “Reisz is right. You’re the one who insists on using another name. Let’s hear it.”

Myrmeen tried to appear brave as she said, “Magistra, the mage, teller of men’s fortunes, diviner of their souls.”

She gestured with a weak flourish and tried to convince herself that it was the poor wine that had inspired this lame attempt at creativity. Silently cursing herself for mentioning this one out loud, especially in light of the blank stares she received from her friends and allies, Myrmeen thought of the half dozen scribes and poets whom she could boast as lovers. She wished she had possessed the foresight to have assigned one of them to this task before she had left Arabel. Merely rolling around in passionate embraces with them had not, apparently, led to any of their inventiveness rubbing off—not with words, anyway.

“And you’re the one who’s supposed to be leading us?” Ord said with a bitter laugh. “Your name’s not that uncommon. Just use it.”

Burke placed his head in his wife’s lap. “I’m afraid the boy’s right. That was perfectly dreadful. Better than most you’ve come up with today, but still dreadful.”

“Tact, husband,” Varina countered as she lightly slapped his forehead. “Tact.”

“He was being tactful,” Reisz said. “I mean, the phrase ‘cow dung’ didn’t enter into his evaluation, now did it?”

Ord raised an eyebrow. “From the way you smell, old man, I’m not surprised that’s one of your preoccupations.”

Reisz sniffed himself under the arm and sadly agreed. Myrmeen joined the others in a healthy round of laughter. Soon the moment passed and Myrmeen took advantage of the conversation’s lull to bring up their purpose for coming to the city in the first place: “If everyone’s rested enough, I feel we should think about making some inquiries about this baby merchant that my ex-husband mentioned.”

“Yes, I certainly hope that all divorces aren’t conducted as such in Arabel,” Ord said, the wine beginning to affect him. Burke said the boy’s name in a tone of warning, and Ord looked away with a casual shrug.

“There’s no better time to start gathering information than at night, when the city’s foulest scum come out,” Myrmeen said, trying to ignore the boy’s words.

“That’s a profound observation,” Ord added as he rolled his eyes. “Tell me again, how long has it been since you’ve performed this line of work?”

“Child, I’m warning you,” Burke said gravely, “you could be back on your parents’ farm, working in the fields, if you would prefer.”

“My parents are dead,” Ord said coldly. “Or don’t you remember how I came to you?”

“They might be gone, but their fields are still waiting,” Burke said. “Now keep your impolite thoughts in your head. If I want to hear your wit and wisdom, I’ll come over there and shake them out of you. Am I making myself understood?”

Ord lowered his head. “Indeed, sir.” Without raising his gaze, Ord said, “My apologies, mistress Lhal.”

“No harm done,” she said softly. “You have a right to your opinion.”

“No, actually he doesn’t,” Burke said. “Just trust me on this, will you?”

Myrmeen shook her head, surprised at the unexpected turn in the relationship between the Harpers. Burke obviously had assumed the role of Ord’s surrogate father, and from the subdued manner of the formerly nasty and boastful young man, it was a responsibility he took quite seriously.

“Besides,” Burke said, “we can’t go yet. We have to wait for Cardoc to make contact with us.”

“Yes,” Myrmeen said, anxious to move away from the tense exchanges between Burke and Ord. “You mentioned him briefly. He’s to be our mage for this mission.” Frowning, she said, “Do you really think it’s wise to bring in another body? There are enough of us already that we’re going to draw some attention.”

“This city is filthy with magic,” Reisz said darkly. “Doing business in Calimport is one of the rare times when I welcome any help we can get, even if it comes from a damned spook like him.”

“What are you talking about?” Myrmeen asked. “What’s wrong with Cardoc?”

“Oh, there’s nothing wrong with him,” Varina said as she stroked her husband’s lustrous hair. “He’s just a very private person. And the last thing you have to worry about with him is his getting in the way or drawing attention to himself. He’s very good at what he does.”

“And what is that exactly?” Myrmeen asked, suspicious.

Burke sighed heavily. “Some things about Cardoc have to be seen to be understood.”

“That is true,” a voice said from the darkened corner of the room. Myrmeen whirled in surprise as a tall, dark man wearing a shining black vest, a white shirt, and black leggings and boots appeared, several cloaks in his arms. With alarm she noticed that the coat rack had vanished the instant he had made himself visible.

“That can’t be done,” Myrmeen said in astonishment, though what she really meant was that Cardoc’s spell could not have been achieved easily. During her reign, she had been showered with magical items as gifts from admirers, and before that she had been witness to mystical sights that would have driven a lesser woman insane. She simply could not accept that Cardoc had so easily deceived a room full of the Realms’ finest defenders.

Myrmeen rose from the bed and introduced herself. She quickly learned that such niceties were totally wasted on the man, whose stoic expression made him appear part of the furniture even when he was visible. Cardoc was a tall, dark man in his forties, with rich brown eyes, sharp features, and full brown hair. He took her hand and bowed slightly.

“I vow that I will do all I can to help reunite you with your daughter,” he said in a deep, sensuous voice. Despite her initial disquiet, Myrmeen was thoroughly charmed.

“Is Cardoc your only name?” she asked.

“No,” he said softly. “I am called Lucius.”

“Humph,” Burke muttered. “I didn’t know that.”

Cardoc looked over to the man. “You never asked.”

Ord stared at his plate and mumbled, “So that’s where that damned piece of sweetbread with honeyed jam went.”

Burke hugged his wife and rose from the floor. The blond woman took his hand for support and sprang to her feet, too. “We should split off into teams if we want to make the most of our time here. We need to learn all we can about this Kracauer gentleman. Varina will come with me. Ord, you go with Reisz. Cardoc—Lucius—if you would accompany Myrmeen, I would appreciate it.”

“Perhaps you should still call me Cardoc,” the mage said to Burke, then he turned to Myrmeen. “You may call me whatever you like, gentle lady.”

Varina whispered, “I have never heard that many words come out of that man’s mouth at one time, ever.”

“Maybe he’s in love,” Burke said jokingly.

His wife observed the manner in which the usually solemn mage regarded Myrmeen and said, “Perhaps you’re right at that.”

Reisz, who was close enough to hear their hushed conversation, hissed, “Come on, boy. Let’s go!”

Ord glanced at Burke, then nodded and dutifully followed the swarthy-skinned man from the room.

An hour later, Myrmeen had learned little more about Lucius Cardoc than she had known before they had left her chamber. His silence did not bother her and she found his presence strangely appealing. She had never felt comforted, particularly, by the proximity of a man. The men she had been with normally had a single agenda that they were pursuing when they were in her company. Their attempts at bravery or merely jovial entertainment led back to their painfully obvious desire to land her in bed. Cardoc had not seemed the least bit interested in achieving any goal but the one he had promised to aid her with, and she found his old-fashioned gallantry enormously appealing.

They had set off to find what he had described as the “rat traps,” the establishments favored by the city’s criminals. Soon they discovered what they had been looking for in the darkened gambling rooms of a pub known as the Two-Headed Mare. Myrmeen had asked Cardoc about the tavern’s unusual name, and he had told her that it related to the time of Arrival, when magic and nature had produced many such oddities. The bar’s owner had been a simple man with very little to his credit but his mare, which had been transformed into a freak by the strange magic unleashed during the arrival of the gods. A rich man in Calimport learned of the creature and paid an exorbitant amount for the horse. The man who had sold it used his newfound fortune to open the tavern. His daughter had been quite fond of the mare, and to appease her, he named the tavern after the horse.

“What a wonderful story,” Myrmeen said, though she was taken more with Cardoc’s graceful delivery than with the story’s content. Myrmeen sighed. She liked Cardoc, but she had a more important agenda to keep her thoughts trained on. The time had come to start asking questions of the lowlifes who populated the establishment. “Lucius, I’m going to—”

She stopped suddenly. The mage had vanished, leaving her alone. Covering her mouth as if she were yawning, she said, “You are still here, aren’t you?”

There was no reply.

Myrmeen was taken back by his abrupt disappearance and decided that he was a powerful man who could certainly take care of himself. For that matter, she was capable of the same. Sauntering up to a group of men in the midst of an intense game of chance, Myrmeen set her hand on the back of a chair occupied by an enormous, red-haired man dressed in a single boot and a strapped-on codpiece. His body was perfectly sculpted, without a trace of fat. The pile of clothing that rested at the next table obviously belonged to him and to three others seated at the table. The man who was still dressed in full mails and leathers was the evening’s winner. Myrmeen had no interest in him.

“Dragon’s teeth!” the nearly naked man howled as he threw down the strangely marked cards in his hand. He shoved his chair back with little regard for Myrmeen, who darted out of the way. Unlacing his last boot, he threw it on the pile, then looked down at his final remaining item of clothing.

“I’m out,” he said sullenly.

Myrmeen cleared her throat. The attention of all six men was suddenly directed to the luminous, dark-haired woman who stood before them. The man who had been winning, a younger man with straggly blond hair and hazel eyes—which burned with sudden desire—reached to the next table and dragged a chair over.

“Would you like to join us?” he asked lasciviously. “The game is not difficult. The stakes, well,” he said as he examined her from top to bottom with an eager gaze, “I’d say you have much that interests us.”

Myrmeen smiled and patted the shoulder of the red-haired, nearly nude man whose chair she stood beside. She leaned down and said, “I’ll buy back all you’ve lost if you’re willing to answer a few questions.”

The red-haired man raised an eyebrow. He was intrigued. “Depends on what kind of questions you have, now doesn’t it?”

“I’m trying to find a man,” she said.

An instant too late, she realized that her phrasing had been a bit too general. The other players rolled with laughter. Nearly every man at the table volunteered his services. Their comments became increasingly vulgar and surprisingly creative. The red-haired man was the only one who had simply laughed and not bragged about his qualifications for the job. Myrmeen reached down and placed her hand on his breast.

“A bit cold in here, wouldn’t you say?” she asked.

The man’s companions shifted the aim of their taunts and focused fully on his unfortunate condition.

“Come with me,” he growled and dragged her by the wrist to a table at the back room’s far end, where they could speak without being disturbed. “All right. Show me your gold. Prove to me that you can buy back my clothes.”

Myrmeen removed a single token. With it he would be able to purchase new leathers and boots at the marketplace and still have enough to cover his lodgings for a week.

“So tell me why I shouldn’t just take it from you, along with whatever else I want,” he said in a growling voice.

“To begin with, I’m not alone,” she said, wishing that Cardoc, if he were present, would do something to help her make her case. Nothing happened. “I’m here with friends. Besides that, I’m very good with a knife. If you tried to take any more than I was willing to offer, I’d hack off that piece of equipment you seemed so proud of just a few minutes ago. I hope my position is dear.”

“Indeed,” he said with a broad smile as he rubbed at his clean-shaven face. “You know, I even lost my beard in that game. They made me shave it off right there at the table!”

“I don’t have all night,” Myrmeen said as she slipped the token back into her pocket. “Will you help me?”

“All business, are you? Well, ask your questions,” he said, his smile fading.

“I’m looking for a man named Kracauer. He’s a—”

“I know him. I know where to find him. What else do you want to know?”

Myrmeen thought of the first words that she had heard from Dak after ten years of separation: The Night Parade is real. Every night after she had slain Dak, she had been unable to force away the nightmares from her childhood. When she closed her eyes she dreamt of monsters coming to take her soul. She knew it was unwise, but she also knew that if she did not ask about the nightmare people, she would regret it.

“What can you tell me about the Night Parade?” she asked. In response, the red-haired man slapped his hands on the table and rose so quickly that his chair skittered back across the floor.

“The Night Parade?” he shouted. “I thought you wanted to talk about serious business. The Night Parade is for children and the insane. What kind of fool do you think I am? Who put you up to this?”

The red-haired man’s booming voice had captured the attention of everyone in the back room. “Come with me!” he shouted as he grabbed her arm and yanked her back to the table where his friends were in the middle of another round. Before she could move to defend herself, the brawny, sweat-drenched, nearly naked man heaved her against the table. She fell on her back, the impact startling her but not causing any real pain.

“Here’s my new stake for the game!” he cried. “Whoever wins gets to have her first!” The edges of his mouth curled up in a vile expression. “After me, that is,” he said as he reached down for the release of his brass codpiece. He was surprised to see Myrmeen’s steel-tipped boot racing up to greet his hands, and he screamed like an infant as her foot connected with the metal. The warrior cried out in pain, turned, and sank to the floor. Four of the gamblers rose to their feet, while the man who was winning crossed his arms and sat back to watch the show. He grinned at the man beside him, who stood ready to defend him and was obviously his bodyguard. Two of the gamblers reached for Myrmeen’s arms. Myrmeen twisted out of their way, then bounded from the table, spun on her heels, and stood ready for their attack. The man she had kicked was on the floor five feet to her right. He was no threat.

The closest of the three who came for her was the wiry man. He foolishly hurled himself in her direction and received a punch in the throat for his efforts. She moved aside so that he would trip over her out-thrust leg. The wiry man fell clattering into a chair at the next table, which he broke on the way down.

The last two came at her as a team, circling around the table, one approaching from her left, the other, her right. The closer man, a gray-bearded fighter with blackened teeth, was to her left. She angled in his direction as he rushed in low, trying to gather up her legs, as his companion, a black-haired man with a paunch and a scar running the length of his face, tried to pin her arms from behind.

Myrmeen’s only surprise was that their effort nearly succeeded. She knew the proper way to block them, but her body was not in the same condition it had been ten years earlier, when she would have disposed of louts such as these without any perceivable effort. She allowed the black-haired man to her right to grab her arms from behind. Using the leverage he unwittingly afforded her, she kicked off from the floor and brought her boots to either side of the left man’s head, kicking him with satisfying force. He fell to his knees. Then she spread her legs wide, hooked her heels behind and beneath his arms, and drove him toward the man who was holding her from behind. There was an ugly crush of bone as the full weight of the gray-bearded fighter collided with the other man’s knees. The man behind her yelped in pain and released Myrmeen’s arms. With the grace of an acrobat, she planted both feet on the back of the man who had fallen beneath her and leap-frogged onto the top of a second table.

“Damn it, Cardoc, if you’re here, do something,” she said as she saw the red-haired fighter rise before her. He had recovered more quickly than she had expected. The others were still down, and the pair of gamblers across the table did not move. The redhead’s face was a bright pink, his eyes dark and smoldering with anger. The fighter grabbed her by the waist and lifted her from her feet. She toppled forward, reaching down to grab at his hair, then yanked brutally as she allowed her weight to carry her back to the top of the first table, where she again landed on her back. The gambler who had been winning merely sat and watched with amusement. A group of men stood behind him, watching the fight. Several nudged each other and pointed at her with smiles.

The red-haired fighter howled as he saw the great gobs of hair in Myrmeen’s hands. Enraged, he launched herself at her in an awkward, brutish lunge, seeking to pin her to the table with his weight. With blinding speed she rolled to one side of the table, snatched a large flagon that had been overturned in their fight, then brought it down on his head as he crashed onto the table, belly first. The flagon shattered on impact, stunning the brutish fighter but not rendering him unconscious. Myrmeen surveyed the back room to ensure that there were no other enemies approaching and that the men she had put down were not preparing to rise again. Then she spun on the table and straddled the man’s back, grabbing him by the hair a second time as she unsheathed her blade and laid it against his throat.

“I asked you a simple question,” she said. “All you had to do was answer me. But, no, you had to be a complete ass about this. Now, all I want to know is whether or not the Night Parade is—”

Totally unmindful of the knife at his throat, the fighter reared up and stumbled back until he was able to slam Myrmeen into the wall. The impact caused her to drop her blade and lose her hold on the man. She fell to a crouch, and the few seconds it took for the red-haired fighter to turn and face her was all the time she needed to rise up on a single leg and raise her free foot into the air. Before he even guessed what she was about to do, Myrmeen brought her boot down upon the man’s instep, crushing several bones in the process. The man squealed in pain and dropped to his knees before her. With an open fisted blow to his exposed ear, Myrmeen struck the man a second time. He jerked to the side as his head collided with the table’s edge. Then he sank to the ground.

This time he did not get up again.

Myrmeen was breathing hard as she fell back against the wall and tried to catch her breath. She was covered in sweat and her tangled hair was matted to one side of her face. Suddenly, she was greeted with a shattering round of applause. Most of the men gathered behind the blond gambler howled with laughter and cheered her victory. The gambler shrugged philosophically and parted with nearly all the gold he had accumulated.

“You were taking bets on me?” she asked, stunned.

“Actually, I was betting against you,” the man said as he paid the last who had wagered and won. Myrmeen approached him and sat down hard in one of the few remaining chairs that had not been overturned in the fight. “That did not turn out to be prudent.”

Myrmeen grinned and removed the coin she had offered the red-haired fighter. “Would you like to make some easy money?”

He nodded and Myrmeen asked him about Kracauer. He was about to respond when a cold hand appeared and closed over hers, covering the coin. She looked up sharply to see the dark-haired mage standing beside her.

“That will not be necessary,” Cardoc said.

Angrily rising from the table, Myrmeen stared into the tall man’s dark eyes. “Where were you?”

“Here,” he said.

Her mind reeled. “You were right here the entire time and you did nothing? I thought you were supposed to help me if I was in danger!”

The mage cocked his head slightly. “But you were never in any real danger. You acquitted yourself very well.”

Myrmeen fumed.

“I could tell that you were doubting yourself at first,” he said, “and I would have stepped in if I thought you were going to be hurt. Time has not dulled your edge, Myrmeen. If anything, it has made it sharper.”

“How would you know what I was like ten years ago?” She was not about to forgive him this easily.

“I saw you fight once, in the battle for Evermeet. You were magnificent. I would not have thought to insult you then by offering assistance when you clearly did not need it. I would not do so now.”

She exhaled deeply. No matter how hard she tried, she could not remain angry with him. “Next time, Lucius, just jump right in, all right? I won’t feel insulted.”

“Excuse me,” the gambler said. “I wanted to give you this address and get paid. You remember that, don’t you?”

“Like he said, that won’t be needed,” a man called as he broke from the crowd gathered at the door to the tap room.

“Burke,” Myrmeen said. He wasn’t alone. Varina, Ord, and Reisz were with him. “How much of this did you see?”

“Enough to know that you can still handle yourself in a fight,” Burke said brightly, “and enough to know that you still have a rare talent for causing a brawl when a few friendly words with the barkeep can get you all the answers you need.” He looked down at the bodies scattered on the floor. Several of the men were still moaning.

“At least no one appears to be dead,” Reisz said as he moved forward and examined the red-haired fighter, “this time.”

“Wait a minute, we had a deal,” the gambler said.

Burke clamped his heavy hand on the man’s shoulder and leaned in close. “Shut up if you want to keep breathing.”

The man fell silent.

Varina bent down and retrieved Myrmeen’s knife. “You really must try the bar across the street. They gave us a tankard of ale and Kracauer’s address for a gold piece.”

Myrmeen smiled in defeat. “Well, perhaps we should—”

The mage looked around in distress.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Burke asked.

Cardoc’s brow furrowed and he shook his head. “It was nothing. For a moment I thought I sensed something that could not be. I’m sorry. Perhaps we should leave.”

“It’s about bloody time one of you thought of that,” Ord said. “We’ve attracted a crowd.”

At the other end of the tavern, beside a table in the room’s darkest corner, a young serving maid named Hilya approached one of her husband’s indentured servants. The boy was no more than eleven, and he was standing alone, staring at an empty table.

“What’s the matter with you?” she said, anxiously watching the crowd that had bottlenecked near the gambling room. She would have to keep a close watch to make sure no one tried to get away without paying his bill.

“He went,” the boy said.

“What are talking about? Who went?”

“It was a man,” the lean, blond child said. “I think it was a man. He was very dark. I could never see his face. It’s like he was always in shadow, even when he was standing by the fire.”

“Well, what about him? There’s work to be done.”

“He got up from the table and went to watch the fight with everyone else. Then he came back to his table, drank his mead, and went.”

“You mean he didn’t pay?” she said, her anger swelling. “Why did you let him go? Why didn’t you call someone?”

“There wasn’t no time,” he said. “One second he was there, then he just went.”

“Went where?”

“I don’t know,” the boy said. “It was like he just stepped into the shadows and disappeared. Like he walked right into the wall.”

The woman pressed her lips together and slapped the boy on the top of the head. He hollered and she grabbed his arm. “That was for lying.” She reached back and slammed his bottom. “That was for letting a customer go without paying his bill, if that’s what happened. Now come with me.”

“What?” he cried. “I didn’t do anything.”

“I’m going to take you back and let Andros give you the once over. You probably took the man’s money and pocketed it for yourself.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t,” the boy said frantically. Andros was the serving maid’s husband and the Two-Headed Mare’s owner. He also possessed a temper that was easily ignited and a strap the boy had seen one time too often. “Wait, Hilya, look there!”

She glanced back at the table, where the boy was pointing, and squinted. Then she released his arm, picked up a candle from a nearby table and walked close to the wall. There, against the hard oak, was a shadow that was deeper than all the others, a night-black silhouette in the form of a man. As she brought the candle closer, the shadow did not disappear. It seemed to absorb the flame’s light.

With a trembling hand, Hilya reached out and touched the shadow on the wall, then yelped in surprise and drew back her fingers, which were burned and bleeding. She gasped as she saw a tiny red trace of her blood vanish into the deepening shadow. Without warning, the entire silhouette disappeared as if it had never been there at all.

Hilya felt faint. She looked at her hand once again and saw that the darkness that had been on the wall was spreading from the tips of her fingers to engulf her entire hand. For an instant she felt as if a river of ice had traveled through the blood in her veins and had taken hold of her heart. Her mouth cracked open and she felt a staggering pain. The boy watched as a tiny cloud of black smoke escaped with her breath, then he leapt back as she fell to the floor, her eyes already glazed over in death.

Tears welled up in his eyes as he saw the smokelike shadow trail across her flesh one last time before it vanished.

Finally, he began to scream.