Read Online Shadow's Witness by Paul Kemp - Free Book Online

years, a man claiming to be Perivel Uskevren showed up at Stonnweather’s doors and asserted the rights to primogeniture. Invariably, Thamalon and Cale exposed such claimants as imposters sponsored by rival families and turned them away. Still, the problem never seemed to go away entirely.
    Nevertheless, despite the problems that it created by reawakening rumors of Perivel’s return, Thamalon kept his brother’s memory alive with an annual celebration, a feast and ball that had become a fixture in Selgaunt’s social calendar. That the invitees did business in the process seemed only natural. For such is Selgaunt, Cale thought with a smile.
    Though held in Perivel’s name, the birthday ball
    had long ago become as much about making deals as it was about honoring the elder Uskevren. Thamalon used the fine wine, excellent food, and general good feeling as a platform to discuss trade alliances and business deals with the rest of the Old Chauncel patriarchs. Cale felt certain that Perivel would approve.
    Making his rounds with a bottle of Storm Ruby, he spotted his lord seated in a sequestered corner of the feasthall engaged in earnest conversation with Nuldrevyn Talendar. Cale could guess the topic of their discussion: a contract to arrange shipment of Uskevren wine to the southern lands of Faerun. House Talendar dealt in fine furniture and frequently shipped to the kingdoms of the far South—Amn, Calimshan, and Tethyr, where the demand for Archendale walnut and Sembian mahogany seemed infinite. Thamalon thought the Uskevren house wines would also sell briskly in the south—particularly the full-bodied Storm Ruby—and had long sought an economical way to move bottles. Renting space on a Talendar caravan would be ideal.
    Seeing the opportunity Thamalon had instructed him to watch for, Cale maneuvered through the crowd and walked toward the two men. Like the other noblemen in attendance, both wore finely tailored attire —Thamalon’s fit frame covered in a twelve button doublet of crimson with black under-sleeves; Lord Talendar’s ample belly draped in a doublet of purple with silver under-sleeves and a lace collar. As well, both wore fitted hose and polished Sembian high boots. Neither wore visible steel. As was his custom, Thamalon had forbidden weapons at Perivel’s ball—even dress blades. The agenda was business, not blood, though the two frequently crossed paths in Selgaunt.
    As he approached, Cale plucked uncomfortably at
    his own black butler’s doublet and pants. Despite bis best efforts, he had never been able to retain a tailor competent to fit his towering frame. If his clothing was too short, it exposed his ankles and made him look an imbecile. If it was too large, he looked like a pale scarecrow swimming in a sea of black cloth. With only those two options, he had finally surrendered to the god of the ill-fit and decided on too large rather than too small, and resigned himself to the mediocrity of his tailor.
    He had not worn his leather and steel for over a month—since his would-be ambush of a Night Knives’ kidnapping team had turned instead into a Zhentarim ambush of he and his friend Jak—and Gale had never longed for them more than now. He felt more than just uncomfortable in his ill-fitting attire; he felt false, as if he wore a lie for all to see. That night in Drover’s Square a month ago had resurrected the old Gale, and Erevis the butler had not been able to put him fully back in the grave. The feigned civility of Selgaunt’s nobility only reminded him of his own facade.
    They wear a mask and hide behind a veneer, he thought, and so do I. When not serving drinks, he killed people. When not laughing at .one another’s jokes and complimenting the wine, they stabbed each other in the back like common street thieves. Except for Thamalon, of course.
    Gale knew his lord to be honest, at least by Selgaunt’s standards, and fair by anybody’s standards. An uncommon man in this city, he thought.