The Night Parade Page 2

  The bloody sword was still in her gloved hand. Stralana did not look down at the weapon. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes,” she said softly. “I want you to arrange a meeting for me. I’ll give you a list of names. Some of them might be difficult to find, but do your best.”

  “Of course,” he said. She was about to leave when he stopped her and gestured toward her gore-drenched sword. “Would you like me to have that cleaned for you?”

  “No,” she said stiffly. “His blood is the one thing I would prefer to keep, as a reminder.”

  With that she left him atone in the bloody court.

  Three nights later, Myrmeen sat by herself in a private booth at the rear of the Hungry Man Inn. Myrmeen often appeared in public without benefit of her royal bodyguards; the people knew they were far better off with her in command of the trading city, and thoughts of assassination were a minor concern.

  “You’re not touching your food,” Zehla said.

  Myrmeen looked up from her plate and stared at the old woman’s heavily lined face. She had questioned Zehla extensively about her connection to Kelemvor Lyonsbane in the days when the gods walked the Realms, and the two women had surprisingly become friends.

  “I’m meeting someone,” she said, embarrassed. “A few people, actually.”

  “I know. That’s why you need your strength.”

  Myrmeen shook her head and pushed the plate away. “I can’t. I haven’t seen these people in a long time. My stomach is in knots as it is.”

  “Then you better untie it quickly. I’ve already seated the Harpers at my best table. They’re wondering when you’re going to join them.”

  Glancing over in shock, Myrmeen saw the party of five for whom she had been waiting seated at a table near the door. A bearded man with pale blue eyes and a red cape lifted a tankard to her.

  “Burke,” she said in a whisper. Suddenly her nervous feelings vanished, replaced with a girlish enthusiasm she had almost forgotten that she once had possessed.

  Zehla smiled and collected the untouched plate as Myrmeen rose and crossed the inn, stopping before the table where her old friends were seated. Her heart sank as she realized that she only recognized four members of the party. Sitting close to Burke was his wife, Varina, a lithe, blond-haired woman who wore black armor with red trim, the same as her husband. Across from the couple was a man in his early forties. He had tightly curled salt-and-pepper hair, dark eyes, and skin that was deeply scarred by a childhood disease he had survived. Despite his shortcomings, he was an attractive man, though not as dazzlingly handsome or thoroughly at ease with himself as Burke. His name was Reisz Roudabush, and he once had been in love with Myrmeen. Although she had cared for him deeply, she had not returned his affections. Reisz nodded and looked away, as if the mere sight of her was painful to him, even after a decade of separation. Sitting next to a chair that had been left open for Myrmeen was a tall, attractive woman who could have passed for her sister. Of all those who had come in answer to her summons, it was this woman, Elyn, who mattered the most to Myrmeen’s plans. In the corner was a thin, young brown-haired man whom Myrmeen had never seen before.

  “There were ten of us,” Myrmeen said as she sat in the vacant chair.

  “We are all that remains,” Elyn said. “I’m sure you know everyone but young Ord, here.”

  The dark-haired man nodded. He did not seem pleased to be at the inn.

  “What happened to the others?” Myrmeen asked.

  “Everyone but Morlan is alive and well, retired from the life, and prosperous,” Burke said in his jovial voice.

  Morlan had been a magic-user, a mage who had possessed a trove of available spells that had saved the group on many occasions. He also had possessed a collection of filthy jokes that Myrmeen continued to draw upon to this day.

  “How did he die?”

  “Fighting another wizard,” Varina said. “His death has been avenged.”

  “You should have contacted me,” Myrmeen said. “I should have been a part of it.”

  “We shouldn’t have needed to contact you,” Reisz said bitterly. “You should have been with us. If you had been—”

  “It would have made no difference,” Burke said strongly.

  Reisz returned his gaze to the drink he had yet to touch. “Probably not,” he agreed. “Of course, we’ll never know.”

  “Ignore him,” Elyn said, placing her hand on Myrmeen’s wrist. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he left the womb with his dour attitude.”

  Myrmeen became cold at the reference.

  “What’s wrong?” Elyn asked, instantly alarmed at the change in her friend.

  Myrmeen told them everything. In moments she was surrounded by a din of sympathy and outrage, oaths of vengeance and curses at fate itself. Reisz slammed his tankard on the table and the discussion abruptly ceased.

  “She didn’t come to us for our pity,” Reisz said. “She needs something from us. Hear her out.”

  Nodding slowly, Myrmeen said, “He’s right. I’ll need your help if I’m going to find my daughter after all these years.”

  “Tell us what you want us to do,” Elyn said softly.

  “I’m going to have to leave Arabel for a time, and that’s not as simple a task as it sounds. This place was ruled by anarchy before I took control. If I were to leave tomorrow, it wouldn’t be long before it returned to that state. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I do know that I don’t intend to allow what I’ve accomplished over the last eight years to be lost to me. I need someone to safeguard the city while I’m gone.” Myrmeen turned to the dark-haired woman beside her. “Elyn, I need you to pretend to be me for a time.”

  Elyn shuddered. “Myrmeen, I’m a warrior. I’m not meant to sit on a throne and pass judgments. Besides, no one would believe that I was you without—”

  “Magic,” Myrmeen said as she withdrew an amulet from her pouch and laid it on the table. “An old acquaintance of mine forged this trinket and cast a spell upon it that still works. Whoever wears this amulet will assume my image. We had needed some time alone and so one of my serving maids assisted me in the deception.”

  “Let me see that,” the young Harper said as he reached across the table, snatched the amulet, and pulled it tight around his neck. There was a tiny snap as he fixed the clasp behind his neck and suddenly there were two Myrmeen Lhals sitting at the table. Only their style of dress distinguished them from one another. The boy looked down at his hands, then clawed at the amulet until he was able to release the clasp, the illusion suddenly dispelled. Hands shaking, he dropped the amulet in front of Myrmeen as the others laughed.

  “Myrmeen, why me?” Elyn said.

  “Because I need someone who would rule as I would; someone who would appreciate the responsibility and maintain Arabel in the manner in which I will instruct them.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Burke said.

  “I need only Elyn. I don’t need anyone else.”

  “Of course you do,” Varina countered. “Why else would you have summoned all of us?”

  Myrmeen hesitated. She did not have an answer.

  “I’ll do it,” Elyn said, “on one condition: that the others go with you to Calimport. If the Night Parade is real, then it is the Harpers’ duty, as lord protectors of the Realms, to destroy it.”

  “I don’t know,” Myrmeen said.

  “You’d better decide soon,” Elyn said, smiling. “The offer is only good for a short time.”

  “She’s right,” Reisz said. “You are too valuable to Cormyr to risk in the foul pit of Calimport. You must let us accompany you.”

  Ord sat back, crossing his arms. “She doesn’t want our help. That much is clear. Why should we risk our lives—”

  “Because she’s one of us,” Elyn said sharply. “When you join the Harpers, you become one for life.”

  “But I never officially joined you,” Myrmeen said.

  “A technicality,” Burke said as he offered
his hand to Myrmeen. She took it and nodded in agreement.

  “An error that perhaps we will see righted before this business is done,” Reisz said as he finally raised his tankard and drained the contents.

  From somewhere close, Myrmeen thought she heard the low rumble of thunder. She dismissed the thought and settled back to spend the evening with her only true friends.

  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 no
ticed 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.