Crimson Shadow, The - R. A. Salvatore Page 0,270

wizards. As a child, she had learned of Brind’Amour, who was now her enemy, though he was thought long-buried, and of Greensparrow, and how thrilled the young girl had been when that same Greensparrow, her father’s court mystic, had come to her on a night such as this and offered to tutor her privately in the art of magic. What a wonderful moment that had been for young Deanna! What a thrill, that the lone surviving member of the ancient brotherhood would choose her as his protégée!

How then had Deanna Wellworth, once in line for the throne of Avon, wound up in the Iron Cross, serving as counsel to a rogue band of bloodthirsty cyclopians? And what of the folk of the Eriadoran villages they had routed, and of the dwarfs, massacred for reasons purely political?

Deanna closed her eyes, but couldn’t block out the terrible images of slaughter; she covered her ears, but couldn’t stop the echoing screams. And she couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.

“Are you all right, my Lady?” came the stark question, shattering Deanna’s visions. Her eyes popped open wide to see Selna standing over her churning tub, the woman’s expression concerned, but in a way that seemed strange and unsettling to Deanna.

“Are you spying on me?” the duchess demanded, more sharply than she had intended. She realized her error as soon as she snapped out the words, for she knew that her tone made her appear guilty.

“Never that, my Lady,” Selna replied unconvincingly. “I only returned with your blanket, and saw the glisten of tears in the moonlight.”

Deanna rubbed her hand across her face. “A splash from the tub, and nothing more,” she insisted.

“Do you long for Mannington?” Selna asked.

Deanna stared incredulously at the woman, then looked all around, as though the answer should be obvious.

“As do I,” Selna admitted. “I am glad that is all that is troubling you. I had feared—”

“What?” Deanna insisted, her tone razor sharp, her soft eyes flashing dangerously.

Selna gave a great sigh. Deanna had never seen her act this cryptic before, and didn’t like it at all. “I only feared,” the handmaid began again, but stopped short, as if searching for the words.

Deanna sat forward in the tub. “What?” she demanded again.

Selna shrugged.

“Say it!”

“Sympathy for Eriador,” the handmaid admitted.

Deanna slumped back in the hot water, staring blankly at Selna.

“Have you sympathy for Eriador?” Selna dared to ask. “Or, the God above forbid, for the dwarfs?”

Deanna paused for a long while, trying to gauge this surprising woman she had thought she knew so well. “Would that be so bad?” she asked plainly.

“They are our enemies,” Selna insisted. “Sympathy for Eriador . . .”

“Decency for fellow humans,” Deanna corrected.

“Some might see it as weakness, however you describe it,” the handmaid answered without hesitation.

Again Deanna was at a loss for a reply. What was Selna implying here? The older woman had often served as Deanna’s confidante, but this time Selna seemed removed from the conversation, as though she knew something Deanna did not. Suddenly, Deanna found that she didn’t trust the woman, and feared that she had already revealed too much.

The water was cooling by this time, so Deanna rose up and allowed Selna to wrap her in the thick blanket. She dressed under cover of the pine grove and went to her tent, Selna following close behind.

The duchess’s sleep was fitful, full of images that she could not block out or explain away. She felt a coldness creeping over her, a darkness deeper than the night.

She awoke in a cold sweat, to see a pair of red-glowing eyes staring down at her.

“Mistress,” came a rasping, familiar voice, the voice of Taknapotin, Deanna’s familiar demon.

The groggy duchess relaxed at once, but her relief lasted only as long as the second it took her to realize that she had not summoned the demon. Apparently, the beast had come from the fires of Hell of its own accord!

She saw Taknapotin’s considerable array of gleaming teeth as the demon, apparently recognizing her concern, smiled widely.

No, not of its own accord, Deanna realized, for that simply could not be. Demons were creatures brought to the world by human desires, but who, other than Deanna Wellworth, could so summon Taknapotin? For a moment, Deanna wondered if she had somehow called to the fiend in her sleep, but she quickly dismissed that possibility. Bringing a demon to the material world was never that easy.

There could be only one answer then, and it was confirmed when next Taknapotin spoke.

“You are