One less secret, he thought.
She withdrew her hand from his and brushed a stray hair from her face.
"Vasen," she repeated. "I like that. Well, Vasen, will we see each other again?"
He answered her honestly, "I don't know."
She seemed to accept that, though her smile faltered.
"I think we will" she said, "But until then relain il nes baergis."
Cale had never before heard the language.
"What does that mean?" he asked.
She winked at him and said, "I'll tell you when I see you next."
Without another word, she turned and walked into the flophouse.
Cale could do nothing but watch her go, thinking how important the briefest of encounters sometimes felt, and how he had a new reason to stop the Sojourner and his slaadi.
* * * * *
At first, Azriim did not believe his eyes-his own eyes, which he retained despite being in the form of Thyld. He peered through the darkness at the two humans. Was it possible? Awkward in Thyld's pathetic skin, he picked his way through the slaves and other street traffic to draw closer to the pair of humans. He eyed the male.
The height, the bald head ... it could only be him.
Azriim drew in a sharp breath, and flexed his hands as though they were his natural claws.
Though Azriim could not imagine how, not more than a block away stood what looked like the priest of Mask, Erevis Cale. The same Erevis Cale who had followed Azriim and his broodmates all the way to the Fane of Shadows, who had wounded Azriim, killed Elura, and whom Azriim had thought drowned at the bottom of the Lightless Lake.
Azriim stared at Cale, afraid to move, thinking that if he did the image of the priest must reveal itself as an apparition conjured by his imagination and boredom.
For the first time, he noticed that the dusky skin was not a play of the dim light. He saw too the shadows that flared at intervals from Cale's skin like black fire. That took him aback at first, causing him to doubt what he saw, but then he took its meaning. He was indeed looking upon Cale, and Cale was a shade. The priest had undergone the transformation that Vraggen had sought for himself. That transformation had somehow allowed Cale to survive the dissolution of the Fane. And there he was. Azriim wondered if any of Cale's comrades had also survived. Certainly Serrin would be interested in re-acquainting himself with the one-eyed assassin.
Azriim smiled and almost laughed aloud. The boredom that had until then afflicted him vanished. Cale had tracked him to Skullport. A hundred questions ran through his mind-most importantly, how?-but he pushed them all aside. It was enough that he had a challenge.
As though feeling Azriim's stare, Cale looked away from the human female who stood near him and made eye contact with Azriim. Azriim looked away quickly, though he could not contain his grin.
When Cale looked away, Azriim withdrew into the darkness and softly whispered an arcane word. His body wavered for an instant and he knew that he had become invisible to onlookers.
Azriim reached out his consciousness and established contact.
I have news, he projected.
He sensed curiosity from Dolgan and Serrin. Both were preparing the final stages of Azriim's plan.
Erevis Cale, the priest of Mask, is here, he said.
Silence. It was as though Serrin and Dolgan had broken the connection.
Serrin recovered himself first.
Are you certain? he asked. What of his companion, the one-eyed assassin ?
Azriim fought down his irritation with the question and answered, Of course, I'm certain. I'm looking upon him even now. I do not know of his companions.
We should kill him, Serrin offered.
Obviously, Azriim answered again, though he had begun to conceptualize a way in which he could first use Cale to further his plan. But with some style, of course.
Dolgan seemed at least to have gathered his wits.
How can he be here? asked the big slaad. How could he have known?
To that, Azriim had no certain answer though he suspected scrying.
Impossible to say, Dolgan, he replied, though he remembered that Dolgan had named Cale as relentless. Azriim realized that his broodmate could not have been more correct. As a precaution, immediately take a new form and from this point onward, maintain a ward against scrying on your person.
They projected acquiescence.
What will you do? Serrin asked.
Follow him, Azriim replied. In the meantime, proceed with the preparations.
He cut off the link with his broodmates and grudgingly reached out across Faerun for the Sojourner. When he located him, he indicated his mental presence and waited for his father to allow him contact.
Azriim? the Sojourner asked. You are agitated.
Azriim did not waste words: The priest of Mask followed us here.
For a moment, the Sojourner did not respond, then: His companions?
Unknown.
If I attempt to scry him to determine whether his comrades live, he may sense it. Has he seen you?
Of course not, Azriim snapped. We have taken precautions.
He will attempt to scry you, said the Sojourner. He has no other course. Keep defensive wards in place henceforth, and avoid contact.
Azriim ground his teeth, finding the activity unsatisfying without fangs, and asked, Avoid contact? We should be allowed to kill him.
Azriim felt the Sojourner's mental presence lightly scouring his brain, causing him an itch behind his eyes.
You wish to kill him because his presence offends your pride, the Sojourner said. You consider him a challenge worthy enough that you will take satisfaction in his death.