Free Shadowmasque by Michael Cobley

face and a 50-regal reward had been put up in the markets and squares ‘by order of the Iron Guard’.
    Ondene’s response was to become cold and withdrawn, and he was now sitting alone in the window seat across the common room, alternately reading a book on Roharkan history and staring morosely out at the pouring rain. Tashil had decided that was tolerable enough for her to leave him be and devote herself to her fellow Watchers who had arrived following a mindspeak message from Calabos asking them to gather in advance of his arrival.
    The senior Watchers were a disparate group, their manner of attire as varied as their origins. Like Sounek, for example, a tall, well-kempt man who affected the air of Khatrisian aristocrat when in truth he came from a humble Tymoran family. At the other extreme was Dardan, a wiry, craggy-featured man in his middle years whom Tashil knew to be the estranged scion of an old Cabringan noble house, yet his garments sometimes resembled those of a gamekeeper or a travelling artisan.
    As Tashil’s gaze came to rest on Dardan she was surprised to find him watching her in turn. He gave a wry grin and came over to where he stood at the end of the mantelpiece, out of the fire’s hot glow. Tashil felt a sting of embarassment, wondering if he was going to remonstrate her. Dardan was highly-respected within the Order of Watchers and was effectively Calabos’ second-in-command.
    “So — which of us do you find the most intriguing?” Dardan said a quiet, amused voice.
    “I couldn’t possibly single out any one person from this honourable gathering, ser,” Tashil replied. “Think of the consequences…”
    “Quite right,” saidd a stalwart, red-faced mage called Chellour who sat before the fire with a heap of parchments in his lap. “I would find it most upsetting were I to be ranked lower than, say, Dybel….”
    Dybel, a tall, lantern-jawed man sitting on a stool on the other side of the fire from Tashil, smiled and shook his head. “Be careful what you wish for, my friend…”
    Hearing this, Dardan shrugged. “Then perhaps we need another focus for our curiosity, like yonder brooding student of the rain,” he said, tilting his head in Ondene’s direction.
    Tashil had prepared for this. “Oh, that’s Stom — he’s just a guest of Calabos who’s been retoring some old statuettes.”
    Dardan’s smile was accompanied by a dry chuckle.
    “No need to play parlour games, lass. I recognised the notorious Captain Ondene the moment I entered the room.”
    “Is that really him?” said Inryk, an edgy, untidy-looking man who turned in his armchair to peer across the room. “He doesn’t seem very dangerous—”
    There was a muffled thud as Ondene suddenly closed his book and glared round at him.
    “I have been considered sufficiently dangerous to have been hired by a number of southern lordlings and castle princes in recent years, ser,” he said darkly. “If it’s any of your business.”
    Oblivious, Inryk shook his head. “But I don’t see how that’s relevant to why the city knotmen have been putting up posters about him…”
    “You should pay more attention to the gossip about the nobility, Inryk,” said the sixth mage, Countess Ayoni, an elegant, mature, dark-haired woman. “You see, the former Ondene estates were gifted to House dor-Galyn, and they have a son with a captaincy in the Iron Guard.” She regarded Corlek dispassionately. “Who knows that Baron Ondene’s last surviving son is in Sejeend, thus…”
    Corlek Ondene’s only response was a brief nod, as if to confirm her summary, but Inryk was not satisfied.
    “That’s all very well, but how does he come to be here?”
    Eyes turned towards Tashil but before she could even begin to frame an account of last night’s events, there was the sound of a door opening and closing in the antechamber beyond the arched entryway, and footsteps crossing the wooden floor.
    “Ah, Calabos at last,” said Sounek. “Now