Rivalen considered Brennus’s information from all angles and no matter how the light struck it, he saw it the same way. He did not have much time. The Shadowstorm was spreading. He had to stop it or there would be no Sembia to annex. And he had to stop it soon, or Mystra’s Chosen would take a hand.
He made up his mind, stepped through the shadows in the corner of his great room, and completed the stride by emerging in the foyer of Stormweather Towers, the Hulorn’s family estate. Afternoon light filtered in through high windows, cross-hatching the carpeted floor with alternating lines of light and shadow.
A gasp greeted Rivalen’s arrival. The major domo, Irwyl, stood two paces from Rivalen, his dull eyes wide, his hands on a medium sized wooden chest he bore.
“I have need to see the Hulorn,” Rivalen said.
The gangly, graying Irwyl stood frozen, rooted to the floor, a creaky oak in a well-tailored shirt rolled up to his elbows.
Rivalen strode toward him and Irwyl looked as if he might bolt. The contents in the chest, whatever they were, audibly shook.
Irwyl stared at a point somewhere around Rivalen’s chin. “I was clearing the study.” He held up the chest as evidence, or to interpose a barrier between himself and Rivalen. “The laborers have not yet arrived, but I thought I should remove the small valuables before they did.”
Irritation caused the shadows around Rivalen to swirl.
“Where is the Hulorn?”
Irwyl shook his head. “I believe he returned in the carriage to the Palace. He seemed not himself. He seemed …”
Rivalen rode the shadows in the hall across the city, to the foyer entry of the Hulorn’s Palace. The helmed, spear-wielding guards looked startled at his sudden appearance, but only for a moment. They had gotten used to his comings and goings and the Hulorn had authorized his free movement throughout any part of the city.
“Prince Rivalen,” the bearded sergeant said, and inclined his head.
Both the sergeant and the guards eyed with ill-concealed wonder the shadows that shrouded him. “Where is the Hulorn?” Rivalen said.
“Is the Hulorn expecting you?” said a voice from the far side of the foyer.
Thristiin emerged from wherever it was that he laired and smiled his tight smile at Rivalen. His thin gray hair was neatly parted on his age-spotted pate and his clothing, down to the tufted shirt cuffs, looked freshly cleaned and donned.
“He is not,” Rivalen answered, and walked across the tiled floor to stand before Thristiin. “Do you suppose that means he will not see me?”
Thristiin sought a refuge for his gaze that did not include Rivalen’s face.
“Of course not, Prince. He is in the map room. May I escort you so that I may announce your arrival?”
Thristiin led Rivalen through the wide, comfortably dark corridors of the palace. Thayan and Chessentan rugs dotted the floors. Tapestries bedecked the walls.
“Prince Rivalen of Shade Enclave,” Thristiin announced, as he opened the door to the map room.
Tamlin stood with arms crossed over a large, rectangular oak table on which lay an unrolled map of Sembia, the Dale-lands, and Cormyr. Chess pieces from the set that had been in the study in Stormweather Towers stood here and there on the parchment, denoting various locations. Rivalen smiled to see the white king positioned near Selgaunt. Tamlin still needed to think of himself as pure.
“Prince,” Tamlin said. “I did not expect to see you until our customary repast after sunset.”
“Forgive me, Hulorn, but I must speak with you on a matter of some import.”
Thristiin took Rivalen’s point. “If there is nothing else, Hulorn?”
“You may go,” Tamlin instructed the chamberlain.
Thristiin bowed to each of Tamlin and Rivalen then exited the room, closing the door behind him.
Tamlin wore a thin blade at his belt. His holy symbol of Shar hung from a silver chain around his neck, open for all to see.
Rivalen stepped to the table, eyed the map. A black bishop was toppled on Saerloon, while the other stood on Urmlaspyr. A toppled white knight lay on Saerb. Black rooks stood on Daerlun and Yhaunn. Black pawns were arranged in an arc across northeastern Sembia. Rivalen assumed they denoted the leading edge of the Shadowstorm. The remaining pieces from the set sat in a velvet-lined coffer to one side of the map.
Tamlin took position beside Rivalen, close enough that the shadows around Rivalen brushed him.
“I brought my father’s chess set from Stormweather Towers and you see