Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [51]
"Well, you can pick the next one if you think it's so easy, love," Jewel replied tartly.
Cormik opened his mouth for a scathing retort, but Morhion held up a hand. He had had enough for one night.
"Let's just go find the horses," he said wearily, and that was what they did.
Ten
K'shar had always loved the night. The golden moon of midnight hovered above the low stone buildings of Twilight Hall, its pale-wine illumination conjuring as many purple shadows as it banished. Somewhere in the distance, a nightingale sang in sweet mourning. And despite the lateness of the year, the wild perfume of nightflowers wafted on the wind Silent and wraithlike, K'shar moved from one pool of darkness to the next, piercing the gloom easily with eyes as brilliant and golden as the moon above. He was at home in the dark; but then, darkness was in his blood.
Twilight Hall, which stood on a green hill in the center of the city of Berdusk, was the western stronghold of the Harpers, It was not, as its name implied, merely a large meadhall or gathering place, but rather consisted of a number of stone buildings clustered around a central courtyard. Yet there was more to Twilight Hall than even this, for much of the compound lay beneath the ground-including the dusky meeting hall for which the Harper fortress was named. Though K'shar had joined the Harpers more than twenty years earlier, he had spent little of that time in Twilight Hall itself. Most of his days were spent traveling the Heartlands, hunting down such prey-be it Zhentarim, Red Wizards, or goblin lords-as the Harpers commanded. K'shar was the best Hunter the Harpers had. This was not a matter of pride, just fact.
Tonight, K'shar was to learn the details of his latest assignment. He could only hope that his new quarry would prove more interesting than the last several. It had been long since he felt challenged by one of his adversaries. The Red Wizards of Thay were always overconfident and thus easily tracked; the Zhentarim were simply stupid. Again and again, the fugitives were too easily caught, too easily slain. When they lay dead at his feet, his blood had only just begun to surge with the passion of the chase, and he was left feeling hollow and unfulfilled. Perhaps, he thought-and not for the first time-he should leave the Harpers. Perhaps he should seek out challenges more worthy of his talents.
K'shar pushed aside these foolish, discontented thoughts. He was bored, that was all. As soon as he began the chase again, he would feel better.
K'shar approached the compound's central building and stepped into the pool of torchlight by the main door. Two young Harpers stood guard at the portal, and by the surprise on their faces, he knew they had not heard his soft approach. He bared white teeth in a feral smile. Apprentices! he thought wryly.
The young Harpers did not recognize him-this was not surprising, given the rarity of his visits to Twilight Hall-but after examining his letter of summons from Belhuar Thantarth they let him enter, their eyes wide and respectful. K'shar wound his way down through a dim labyrinth of corridors and staircases until he reached a pair of gilded doors. Without hesitating, he pushed them open, striding into the Great Hall beyond.
Instantly, a dozen pairs of eyes riveted upon him. K'shar was striking to look at. He knew this, even as he dismissed it as meaningless. His skin was a deep, burnished color, like ancient bronze; his golden eyes were eerily at odds with his colorless, close-cropped hair. He was unusually tall and thin, a fact accentuated by the tight-fitting black leather he wore, but he showed none of the awkward gangliness that usually afflicted such individuals Rather, his leanly muscled limbs seemed like supple whips. His slightly pointed ears, tilted eyes, and uncanny grace betrayed the elven blood that mingled with the human in his veins.
The cavernous Great Hall was of ingenious construction. Hewn by dwarven stonesmiths out of the surrounding rock, it seemed not a cavern at