live?”
“Unfortunately not. I would have liked to have kept this form, but now I can only make it last a few days.”
“Do not worry, Cwena. As you gain more experience you shall find that you will be able to retain the shapes of those you feed on for longer periods of time. Eventually, you will be able to recall any of them.”
Cwena smiled again. It was a cold, feral smile, a parody of the smiles that had graced Madam Luvena’s lips.
“Were you able to learn more from the witch as you fed?” Luthekar continued.
“Yes, my Lord, but only one, small thing, I am afraid. The corryn thief was working alone.”
“Are you certain? He was not working on behalf of the Northmarch?”
“Yes, I am certain. He was working alone. It was something the witch determined after Lord Aldwin left her. Aldwin had been fearful that the Northmarch was behind it, or so Madam Luvena believed, so she recast the spell, looking for that particular thing.”
Luthekar leaned back and laughed a cold laugh.
“Good news, is it not?” the High Priest asked.
“Yes, very good news. So, if Madam Luvena was correct, our thief must be using his position in the Northmarch to conceal his criminal activities—perhaps even to further them.
“Indeed, if the witch was correct,” the High Priest agreed.
“And our man in the Northmarch?”
“Unfortunately, he is out on patrol. He should be returning from Dynolva even now, should arrive back in Watchaven in three days. As soon as he gets in, I shall set him to discover the name of the thief.”
“Excellent. We have worked far too hard to reach this stage. It has taken too long to convince the nobility to fight against the yoke that the Faith has placed upon them. I shall not tolerate even a small blemish on this campaign.”
“However,” the High Priest said, “this still leaves us the problem of Lord Aldwin. Should we deal with him now?”
Luthekar waved a hand. “Let it wait. The man has been barely competent through this whole affair. It will be a pleasure to see him die, but it can easily wait. Before long, the Trade Council will cease to be important—Watchaven and Dynolva will be at war.”
* * *
Morticai tried to hail the serving girl. She moved back to the bar, oblivious to his signaling. Morticai sighed and squinted across the table at the knight. “Dualas, this is ridiculous! How do you ever get served here?”
Dualas raised his eyebrows. “I have never had any difficulty. But, of course, I do not normally come at this time of day.”
Coryden tapped his glass impatiently. “Morticai, I don’t understand why you had to wait until now to eat. You should have eaten in the mess hall, long before we came here.”
“Are you kidding? When I walked in there this morning for breakfast, you’d have thought I was Glawres himself! Everyone stopped eating so they could stare. At least here I’m not being treated as though I’m a condemned man.”
“No,” Coryden observed, “here you’re just being ignored.”
Dualas raised his hand. Immediately, the serving girl rushed over to their table, smiling sweetly.
“Can I get somethin’ for you, Sir Dualas?” she asked.
Morticai rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hand.
“My friend here,” Dualas said, indicating Morticai, “would like some of that delicious chowder your sister makes.”
Morticai straightened up and opened his mouth to object, but the girl rushed off. “What do you mean, chowder?” he asked. “I hate chowder, Dualas!”
“But that’s what the Foaming Tankard is famous for, Morticai. Besides, how can you live in Watchaven if you don’t like fish?”
Morticai sighed again.
“So,” Coryden asked, “what is it we’re supposed to do?”
“Huh?” Morticai asked. “When?”
“At Fenton’s! Why do you want us to go with you?”
“Oh. Uh, well, Fenton, as I said, is a merchant—a, uh, low-class merchant—and he doesn’t have the best sort of customers.” Coryden and Dualas
“Unfortunately not. I would have liked to have kept this form, but now I can only make it last a few days.”
“Do not worry, Cwena. As you gain more experience you shall find that you will be able to retain the shapes of those you feed on for longer periods of time. Eventually, you will be able to recall any of them.”
Cwena smiled again. It was a cold, feral smile, a parody of the smiles that had graced Madam Luvena’s lips.
“Were you able to learn more from the witch as you fed?” Luthekar continued.
“Yes, my Lord, but only one, small thing, I am afraid. The corryn thief was working alone.”
“Are you certain? He was not working on behalf of the Northmarch?”
“Yes, I am certain. He was working alone. It was something the witch determined after Lord Aldwin left her. Aldwin had been fearful that the Northmarch was behind it, or so Madam Luvena believed, so she recast the spell, looking for that particular thing.”
Luthekar leaned back and laughed a cold laugh.
“Good news, is it not?” the High Priest asked.
“Yes, very good news. So, if Madam Luvena was correct, our thief must be using his position in the Northmarch to conceal his criminal activities—perhaps even to further them.
“Indeed, if the witch was correct,” the High Priest agreed.
“And our man in the Northmarch?”
“Unfortunately, he is out on patrol. He should be returning from Dynolva even now, should arrive back in Watchaven in three days. As soon as he gets in, I shall set him to discover the name of the thief.”
“Excellent. We have worked far too hard to reach this stage. It has taken too long to convince the nobility to fight against the yoke that the Faith has placed upon them. I shall not tolerate even a small blemish on this campaign.”
“However,” the High Priest said, “this still leaves us the problem of Lord Aldwin. Should we deal with him now?”
Luthekar waved a hand. “Let it wait. The man has been barely competent through this whole affair. It will be a pleasure to see him die, but it can easily wait. Before long, the Trade Council will cease to be important—Watchaven and Dynolva will be at war.”
* * *
Morticai tried to hail the serving girl. She moved back to the bar, oblivious to his signaling. Morticai sighed and squinted across the table at the knight. “Dualas, this is ridiculous! How do you ever get served here?”
Dualas raised his eyebrows. “I have never had any difficulty. But, of course, I do not normally come at this time of day.”
Coryden tapped his glass impatiently. “Morticai, I don’t understand why you had to wait until now to eat. You should have eaten in the mess hall, long before we came here.”
“Are you kidding? When I walked in there this morning for breakfast, you’d have thought I was Glawres himself! Everyone stopped eating so they could stare. At least here I’m not being treated as though I’m a condemned man.”
“No,” Coryden observed, “here you’re just being ignored.”
Dualas raised his hand. Immediately, the serving girl rushed over to their table, smiling sweetly.
“Can I get somethin’ for you, Sir Dualas?” she asked.
Morticai rolled his eyes and rested his chin in his hand.
“My friend here,” Dualas said, indicating Morticai, “would like some of that delicious chowder your sister makes.”
Morticai straightened up and opened his mouth to object, but the girl rushed off. “What do you mean, chowder?” he asked. “I hate chowder, Dualas!”
“But that’s what the Foaming Tankard is famous for, Morticai. Besides, how can you live in Watchaven if you don’t like fish?”
Morticai sighed again.
“So,” Coryden asked, “what is it we’re supposed to do?”
“Huh?” Morticai asked. “When?”
“At Fenton’s! Why do you want us to go with you?”
“Oh. Uh, well, Fenton, as I said, is a merchant—a, uh, low-class merchant—and he doesn’t have the best sort of customers.” Coryden and Dualas
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