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.It's just that irksome 'secret' clause."Where are you going? signed Vox."I just wish to walk about the house, unseen.Perhaps I'll visit the wine cellars."You want a drink?"No, no, I assure you.It's just so cool and dark down there.I like the quiet." Maybe you want to sleep?"If I wanted a nap, I wouldn't be going for a walk."When you were little, and your nanny found you had left your bed, you were sleeping in the cellar.Remember?"No.How absurd!" said Tamlin.Despite his objection, he half remembered being lifted from his blanket on the cool stone floor."Why would I do such a thing?"Try as he might, he had no clear memory of such nocturnal visits to the wine cellar.Apart from the obvious appeal of its stores, he didn't know exactly why he found the dank chambers so soothing, yet he did.Casting hismind back to childhood, he could conjure only a vague recollection of dozing among the casks."Dreaming eye, eh?"Vox nodded.It may be."I think you're on to something, Vox, old boy.A stroll in the cellars is exactly what I need."--A visit to the wine cellars held many simple pleasures.One of them was an excuse to carry a real torch.There was no logical reason why Thamalon should forbid the continual flames lamps from the cellar, but Tamlin realized the Old Owl had done it to enhance the atmosphere.He had succeeded.A black path ran along the bare stone ceiling above the route most commonly used by Thamalon and his guests upon visiting the cellars.As Tamlin and Vox followed the trail, cobwebs fluttered in the corners—for the servants were under strict orders not to dust there.The narrow passages between casks the size of carriages gave the place a claustrophobic air.In winter, the wine cellar felt only slightly cooler than in summer.All it needed were a few well-placed skeletons set into the walls, and one might mistake it for a catacomb.For one who had enjoyed its stores so freely, Tamlin had seldom visited the wine cellars—at least not since he was a child.He remembered hiding among the casks while Escevar and Tazi searched for him in a game of hide-and-seek.He could also recall at least one occasion on which he'd precociously dared the pretty young daughter of one of the cooks to explore the place with him.He'd hoped to kiss her, but instead he ended up leading the hysterical lass back out of the darkness after she glimpsed a big yellow spider.The more he struggled to recall these childhood memories, the more strange it seemed that he'd avoided the place throughout his teens and twenties.WheneverThamalon had invited visitors on a tour, Tamlin had found a reason to beg off.On those rare occasions on which he wanted a specific vintage from the cellars, he'd never thought twice about sending Escevar or another servant to fetch it rather than entertain his guests with an excursion into the fabled depths of Thamalon's cellar.Whether it attracted or repulsed him, the cellar had spoken to Tamhn all his life, and he had never realized it."Feel anything?" asked Tamlin.Vox signaled a negative.His torch sizzled as the flame touched a patch of moisture on the low ceiling."Neither do I," said Tamhn.Disappointment hung heavy on his words, but he shrugged it off as he spied a familiar feature of the cellars.Opposite an iron rack devoted to bottles imported from the farthest reaches of Faerun was the wall of ancestors, or "the rogues gallery," as Tamlin liked to call it.From Phaldinor all the way down to Thamalon, the heads of House Uskevren and their immediate families were preserved in fresco.Thamalon's painting was a striking likeness, but Tamlin suspected the others were less accurate.Indeed, they were rendered in the classical style that loved grace more than realism.Most of their contemporary portraits had perished in the fire that consumed the original Stormweather Towers, but on occasion Tamhn had seen a surviving etching or cameo of one of these ancestors.All of them displayed the strong Uskevren brow and nose.Those who lived long enough for their hair to turn snowy reassured Tamlin that he would likely keep his full head of hair even in his dotage—should he live long enough to reach it."Remember this?" Tamlin ran his fingers across the face of Roel Uskevren, his great uncle.Despite diligent but careful scrubbing, the faint image of a mustachio curled up from his lip to his cheeks.Vox made the simple gesture for "ouch.""Poor Escevar," said Tamlin."I felt just awful about the beating he took for that one."He felt worse, signed Vox.He pointed to the motto at the top of each portrait's border: Too Bold To Hide.Vox had made it plain long ago that he found the tradition of a whipping boy both unfair and unmanly.In his opinion, he who made the offense must be brave enough to own up to it.Allowing another to take his place didn't speak well of the young man whose family motto praised courage and accountability.Thankfully, Escevar hadn't served in his original function for over a decade, and he seemed no worse for the punishment.In fact, his endurance had paid off far sooner than he could have imagined.He was chief among the Uskevren family servants.Tamlin ran his fingers along the carved letters.Something about them disturbed his thoughts.It was more than just a guilty conscience over daring Escevar to the vandalism and the hundred other offenses that had earned the servant a hiding.Nor was it his own lingering sense of uselessness since and even before his father's disappearance.He felt that he was on the verge of some revelation, but he couldn't put it into words.Vox touched his shoulder.What is it?Tm not sure," said Tamlin."Something about this place.about these portraits.Don't you feel a little strange down here?"Vox thought about the question before answering, do now."Sorry, old chum.I didn't mean to give you the ginchies, but you made me think of something.I've got it!"Tamlin snatched the vellum page and the Baerent letter from his sleeve.He opened the letter and ran his finger across the words."Yes!" He tapped the word "bold," then "hide" a few lines farther down.Together, they appeared a total of eight times in Gorkun's note
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