Crypt of the Shadowking by Anthony Mark Page B

by the door, watching his mistress’s tantrum. “You’re being unreasonable, my Lord Ravendas,” he said in his low, almost droning voice.
    “I’m being unreasonable?” she thundered, turning upon Snake, her deep blue eyes flashing like lightning. “First two intruders raid my countinghouse and make off with a fortune in jewels, not to mention managing to kill a half-dozen of my guards. Then one of my best warships catches fire and burns to the water. Now I learn that—despite my orders against drinking—someone has been selling cheap casks of tainted wine to my guards and poisoning them sick in the bargain. More ships and caravans are passing through the city every day as the weather warms, and a quarter of my soldiers are flat on their backs puking their guts up.”
    Ravendas’s golden hair glimmered in the torchlight. Her beautiful face was as hard as marble. “Did you not tell me that a sorcerer had been sent to deal with the Harper in my city, my lord steward?” The honorific was twisted into a sneering insult. “Did you not tell me that Caldorien was run out of Iriaebor by some underworld filth he had made an enemy of? Tell me, Snake, am I imagining these reports?”
    “No, my lord, you are not,” Snake replied deferentially.
    This time it was a crystal vase that succumbed to Ravendas’s wrath. “Then who is to blame for these outrages against me?” Snake started to speak, but Ravendas lifted a hand, silencing him. “No, I will hear no more excuses. Inform my captains that I want the perpetrators of these offenses found. Otherwise, it will be my captains’ heads I will have. Is this perfectly clear, Snake?”
    “Of course, my lord,” Snake said, bowing deeply.
    Ravendas lowered herself onto a silk-draped lounge and lifted a glass of wine. She drank deeply, and gradually the livid rage melted away. “Come, Kellen,” she crooned to the boy, “Come play for your mother.”
    Without a word the boy slipped from the chair and sat at Ravendas’s feet. His small fingers plucked at the dulcimer, and a sweet, sorrowful music filled the air. Ravendas closed her eyes for a moment, drifting with the music.
    It would be a pity if Caldorien truly has fled Iriaebor, she thought. I would like to give him a taste of my power. He spurned me once. But no one, not the Harpers, not even those fools in Zhentil Keep, can stand against me now.
    Her eyes opened and she regarded Snake, still standing subserviently near the ornately carved door. “How fare the excavations?” she asked him, her voice languid now.
    “Very well, my lord. Soon you shall have what you desire. Every soul in Iriaebor will belong to you, and even those beyond.”
    “Excellent.” A small black kitten crawled into Ravendas’s lap, and she stroked its soft fur absently. Her cheeks were flushed with the wine, with thoughts of power. And of Caldorien.
    The boy’s music had stopped. The chamber was silent. Ravendas ran a hand over his dark, glossy hair—hair as dark as shadows, such a striking contrast to her own golden tresses. “Go with the lord steward, my son,” she said to him. “It is late.”
    The boy nodded silently and stood, kissing her once upon each cheek. Snake turned to leave, and the small boy padded after him. They left Ravendas alone in her chamber, petting the black kitten, a smile curled about the corners of her deep red lips.
    “Do you require anything, Kellen?” Snake asked when they reached the boy’s room. The boy shook his head, clutching his dulcimer tightly.
    “Do you think she will keep me when she is done with me?” Kellen asked then, with the utter seriousness of which only a child is capable. “Or will she break me when she is through?”
    Snake regarded the child for a long moment. The boy was just eight years old, but he always struck Snake as being older than his years. There was a wisdom about him that was odd in one so young. But then, with a mother such as Ravendas, there were many sights this child had