Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

He heard a soft meow and turned to see Sunshine standing in a corner of his room. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Though no candle burned, the gold cat stood surrounded by a glory of light, a wondrous golden halo that cast shadows on the walls. And he grew in size, his coat changing to rich cream, and his face, legs and tail darkening to brick red. For a long moment, man and cat stared at each other, and Pytor could have sworn the cat smiled.

And then, so swiftly Pytor could not comprehend it, Sunshine turned away and was gone.

:Vkandis watches over those whose hearts are pure,: the voice said, fading off to a mere whisper. :Never doubt that the Sunlord loves those who love and care for others! For that is why he made us all.:

DEATH IN KEENSPUR HOUSE

by Richard Lee Byers

Richard Lee Byers is the author of twenty-five fantasy and horror novels, including

Dissolution, The Rage, The Rite, The Black Bouquet,

and

The Shattered Mask

. His short fiction has appeared in numerous magazines and anthologies. A resident of the Tampa Bay area, the setting for much of his contemporary fiction, he spends much of his leisure time fencing foil, epee, and saber.

THE living eyed me with emotions ranging from hope to dislike. Mouth agape, eyes wide, smallsword still sheathed at his hip, chest hacked to bloody ruin, the corpse stared up at the high ceiling with its painted scene of nymphs and deer. I stooped to see if his eyes still held the image of the man who’d cut him down. They didn’t. That trick has never worked for me, nor, so far as I know, for anyone.

Stout and balding, a man in his middle years like myself, Lord Baltes asked, “Are you learning anything, Master Selden?”

I straightened up. “It’s too early to say.”

Lanky and sharp-featured like so many members of the Keenspurs, Tregan snorted. “Surely it’s clear enough what happened. Venwell had the bad luck to blunder into the thief, who then had to kill him to make his escape.”

“Is that what your magic reveals?” I asked. A talent for wizardry ran in the Keenspur blood, and in addition to serving as his brother Baltes’ lieutenant, Tregan was house mage.

His mouth twisted. “No, actually. The signs are muddled. But it’s common sense, surely.”

“Maybe,” I said, inspecting a floral tapestry spoiled by eight long rust-brown streaks. The murderer had evidently used it to give his weapon a thorough wiping. “I’d like to see the room where the wedding gifts are on display.”

“What will that accomplish?” asked the sorcerer. “The killer took the ruby tiara. It isn’t there for you to examine anymore. We sent for you because Marissa claims you know your way around the stews and thieves’ dens down by Stranger’s Gate. You should be hurrying there—”

“You sent for him because he’s the one who caught the salamander and so kept the city from burning down, and the Greens and Blues from slaughtering one another,” Marissa said. Lithe and long-legged, she’d been the principal sword-teacher to the Green faction as I was for the Blues. “He has a knack for puzzling things out.”

“I hope so.” Baltes waved his hand. “The room is this way.” Tregan, Marissa, and I followed him, and an assortment of his kinsmen and servants traipsed along after us.

The remaining gifts—begemmed goblets, gold plates and trays, rings, bracelets, armor, glazed jars of spice and unguents, furs, and bolts of velvet and silk—glowed in the candlelight. Relatives, political allies, and trading partners had sent presents from as far away as Errold’s Grove.

I’d walked a warrior’s path my whole life long, first as a mercenary, then, primarily, as a master-of-arms, though I still occasionally rented out my blade if the job didn’t require actually riding off to war. So perhaps it was no surprise a splendidly crafted broadsword, with emeralds gleaming in the hilt and scabbard, caught my eye. I hankered to pick it up and try a cut or two, but that would have been gauche and inappropriate.

So I kept my mind on the task at hand, wandered about, inspected the heaps of gleaming treasure, and tried to think of something useful. “Are we certain,” I asked, “that only the tiara is missing?”

“Yes,” Baltes said.

“I need to confer with my colleague,” I said. “We’ll only be a moment.” Conscious once more of the animus with which so many of Baltes’ people regarded me, I led Marissa into the next room.

“What have you figured out?” she whispered, brushing back a strand of her short black hair.

“Nothing for certain.”

“Curse it, Selden, I’m the one who urged them to send for you. Don’t make me look a fool.”

“Believe me,” I said, “I want to unmask the killer and recover the bauble as much as you do, and not just because Baltes will reward me. To lay the feuds to rest for good.”