Emerald Sceptre (31 page)

The necklace was not there.

No! Emriana thought, realizing she had lost it. She stopped for a moment, thinking to turn back and find it in the hallway where she had fought with the shapeshifter. Then her eyes narrowed. It took it, she realized, understanding. When it hit me, it must have snapped it free. It knew I could use it to warn her. Damn!

“Xaphira,” Emriana called out, desperate to find the woman before harm came to her. “Xaphira, it’s me! You’re in danger!”

There was no answer.

Near to panic, Emriana roamed the house, calling to her aunt. In the kitchen, she found a stairwell leading down. Remembering the earlier discussion with her aunt, the girl began to descend, listening. She thought she heard a conversation, low and indistinct. Conflicted between running blindly into danger and the need to reach her aunt and prove that she was the true Emriana, the girl galloped down the steps two at a time. At the bottom, she found a partially open door with light streaming from behind it. She threw herself at the door and went into a roll as she passed through the portal. She came up on one knee, her two throwing daggers in her hands, surveying the room.

Grozier Talricci stood with his back to a pantry shelf, his arm wrapped around Obiron, a knife in, his other hand. Bartimus stood next to his employer,’ looking as befuddled as ever, with that embarrassed smile he always seemed to be wearing. He held Quindy by her shoulders, though his grip was less constrictive than Grozier’s, and the wizard was not holding a blade. Xaphira had her back to the two men, no weapons in her hands, a dagger at her feet. Her arms were out to her sides, as if she were showing the pair that she was not a threat.

Behind Xaphira, out of the older woman’s field of vision, Emriana’s double was standing as though her aunt were protecting her. The thing held a

dagger, poised to strike at Xaphira’s back.

When Emriana burst through the door, everyone in the room turned in surprise to see her. Even as Xaphira’s eyes grew wide, the shapeshifter smiled and raised the dagger for a killing blow.

Emriana never hesitated, though time slowed to a crawl as she reacted. Cocking both arms back, she snapped her elbows and flicked her wrists just as Xaphira had taught her. Two blades sailed from her hands, tumbling as they crossed the room. The girl watched them both, praying to Tymora, to Waukeen, VI any god she thought would listen. Everyone else in the pantry stood rooted to the floor, watching the spinning blades.

And the two weapons reached their startled targets.

One struck Grozier Talricci in the face.

One struck the false Emriana in the face. Only then did Emriana let out a breath.

The changeling staggered back, shrieking and clawing at its eye where the dagger had embedded itself, destroying the orb. The creature fell to the floor, still looking like Emriana. It thrashed and screamed, making a horrible sound that echoed through the entire room.

Grozier died much more peacefully. He stood for a moment, his knife hand going limp at his side, and tried to focus his eyes on the hilt of the weapon that protruded from his forehead. Then he twitched, dropping the knife from his grasp, and sagged to his knees. Obiron, feeling the grip around his chest loosen, squirmed free. Grozier toppled over, sprawled on the hard stone floor.

Obiron, startled by Grozier’s fall, threw his arms around Xaphira’s waist. He clung for a few

moments, then his mouth opened and he began to sob vigorously. A glance down at the dead man who had recently held him captive brought terror to the frightened boy’s sobs.

Xaphira turned and stared at Emriana for a moment, then looked down at her false neice, watching it transform into a gray humanoid with a large, bulbous head as it stopped twitching and screaming and lay still. The room was silent except for Obiron’s sobbing.

Sympathetic to her twin, Quindy screamed, and Emriana regretted not having another dagger to throw at Bartimus. Lucky for him, the girl was unharmed. Quindy kicked backward with the heel of her boot, catching Bartimus on the shin.

The wizard yelped and released the young girl, crouching down and grabbing at his leg. Quindy scrambled free of the man, running to Emriana with tears running down her face.

Emriana hugged her niece even as she saw Bartimus straighten and begin to mutter. “Xaphira, he’s bolting!” she cried out. Her aunt bent down to pick up her own dagger, but Bartimus was too fast. He finished his arcane phrase, conjuring one of his blud doorways, and just as Xaphira cocked her arm for a throw, the wizard stepped through and was gone.

“Damn,” Xaphira said, watching the blue outline of the magical portal fade away. Then she looked at Obiron, who was again staring at Grozier’s body. “Don’t look,” she told the boy gently. He turned his face up to her with big, round eyes.

“He’s, he’s …”Obiron was trying to say, but he couldn’t make the words come out. His head turned toward the body again.

“I know,” Xaphira said, squatting next to the boy

to hug him more closely. “Look away from it, Obiron.” When the boy didn’t comply, Xaphira took his chin in her hands and forced him to look at her instead. “It’s all right,” she said in soothing tones. “He can’t hurt you.”

Obiron buried his face in her shoulder then, and Emriana saw him shudder.

When the two children had settled themselves, Xaphira stood. “Let’s get out of here,” she suggested. “I think someone would like to see her children.”

Emriana nodded, pausing just long enough to retrieve both of her throwing daggers. She also removed the opal pendant from around the doppelganger’s neck. As she stood, she regarded the creature for a moment, studying its pallid gray skin and its revolting head. She remembered the previous night, in Lobra’s bedroom.

She gave the body one severe kick, snapping several ribs, then turned around and followed her aunt up the stairs.

• • •

Vambran knew what he needed to do. It came to him unbidden, an innate understanding of arcane forces that he could control and manipulate. The sudden insight was no longer as jarring as it once was.

One moment, Vambran was trapped, standing next to Junce as the noxious gas from the broken beaker billowed ever closer. The next instant, he was conjuring a force, a wall of wind, setting it to push the vapors and drive them away. He didn’t understand how he knew what to do, but he was thankful for the gift.

The lieutenant looked at Junce, trying to decide if he should kill the man right there. The assassin was still watching the fumes from Rodolpho’s attack, not yet understanding that he was safe from them for the moment. Vambran wanted to strike. He truly did. All of the hatred, the sorrow for losing those who had died, could be directed at the man in black easily enough.

But other problems demanded to be dealt with.

The seven apprentices, their red pinprick eyes smoldering with unabashed malevolence, approached, clawed hands outstretched. They tried to push Vambran and Junce into a retreat, to drive them toward the noxious fumes.

Vambran decided that Junce could wait.

“The plague can’t reach us,” he said. “I blocked it. But the only way we’ll survive is if we fight them,” he said to the assassin. He left unspoken the word “together,” unable to stomach it, but he hoped that Junce understood.

Junce regarded Vambran for a moment, his eyes wide with concern. Vambran could tell the man didn’t trust him. “Rodolpho’s getting away,” Vambran said pointedly.

Junce grinned then, a slight smile, not overly warm or friendly, but a smile nonetheless. He turned and lunged at the first apprentice, driving his blade through its chest. The creature staggered back, swaying on its feet, but two others snarled and rushed in, trying to take down the assassin.

Vambran slashed at the closest of the undead, deflecting its first blow. The mercenary parried another strike, then kicked at the foe, sending it stumbling into a spike-lined post. One of the many spikes protruded from the creature’s abdomen,

sending a trickle of pus running down its robes, but it did not seem harmed by the wound and struggled to extract itself from its own impalement.

Three more of Rodolpho’s pets came at Vambran, their red eyes blazing in hatred. The trio lunged and feinted frequently, testing the lieutenant. They didn’t seem to want to strike him so much as keep him at bay, and Vambran realized their primary task was to prevent him from getting past them and going after Rodolpho.

“They want to keep us cornered,” Junce said, echoing Vambran’s own thoughts as he battled his own adversaries. “Makes it harder to fight.”

“But harder for them to surround us,” Vambran rebutted. “Which do you prefer?”

Junce didn’t answer.

Since the undead weren’t keen on taking the fight to him, Vambran decided to call on his faith. Grasping his holy coin with his free hand, he drew in divine energy, drawing himself up to his full imposing height. He held out the coin at the three apprentices fighting him. “I condemn you, abominations!” he shouted, focusing Waukeen’s glory at the corpses. “I defy and condemn you. Go now! Harry me no more!”

The closest one cringed and fell back, throwing an arm up across its face, but the others ignored Vambran’s command and closed ranks. The mercenary swore softly.

“That was cute,” Junce said. “Very effective.” “I’m not seeing you doing any better,” Vambran retorted.

One of the undead things was sidling down the wall to Vambran’s right, trying to get on his flank. With a growl, Vambran sliced at it, drawing a deep gash across its shoulder, cutting almost all the way

through the limb. The thing halted, staring at its arm, which hung limply by a few strands of desiccated tissue and fabric. But Vambran didn’t have a chance to finish it off, for the other two monsters were taking advantage of his momentary distraction and closing in.

The first went in low, trying to grab for his legs, while the second one raked at his face with its claws. Vambran parried the high attacks, lopping off a few fingers in the process, but the move allowed the other corpse to encircle his leg, dragging its claws down the flesh above his boot. The mercenary yelped in pain and stabbed downward, driving his blade through the creature’s back. The thing jerked, let out an unnatural keening wail, and released Vambran, jerking its arms back over its head, trying to reach the blade that pinned it to the floor.

Vambran used the opportunity to move, yanking his blade up only when he had stepped out of the apprentice’s reach. He was breathing hard and the wounds on his leg throbbed, but he could do nothing but ignore them—the fingerless adversary was coming at him again. He stabbed at it, but 4 anticipated the attack and shifted out of the way. It lunged toward the lieutenant’s unprotected side, its teeth bared, and Vambran had to retreat from the bite, causing him to bump against Junce.

“Watch it,” the assassin growled as he shifted his weight, knocking a clawed hand to the side. “You’re messing me up.”

“Happy to help,” Vambran retorted, but he discovered—almost to his chagrin—that he could move well with his counterpart, feel the assassin’s motions and react accordingly. They began fighting as a team, back to back, keeping the undead things

at bay. As they worked, they gradually moved toward the center of the room. Vambran could sense that Junce was guiding them both there, and he had to choose between going with the assassin’s intentions or breaking off the teamwork and dueling his undead foes on his own. He chose to stick with Junce.

He’s an excellent fighter, Vambran grudgingly admitted, working to keep up with the other man’s blazing quickness and sure footwork. Just makes killing him later more satisfying, the mercenary told himself.

The pair continued to battle, working their foes, watching both flanks. Vambran was growing tired and they still faced five of the seven undead, though all were missing limbs and stumbling with noticeable limps. Can’t do this much longer, the lieutenant thought. And they don’t seem to get tired. But he refused to give up. The people of Reth were counting on him, whether they understood that or not. Behind him, Junce battled just as fiercely, moving in unison with Vambran. Each man guarded the other as they fought, flicking a sword strike out from time to time to deflect a blow meant for the other. They moved well together, battling the undead beasts.

At long last, only two of the creatures remained standing, and Vambran saw his chance. He feinted a cut toward the one battling him, and when it reacted, he kicked out hard, shoving the undead brute away from himself. Before it had a chance to recover, Vambran took off, running for the door that Rodolpho had used to escape.

“Hey!” Junce called out from behind the lieutenant, but Vambran ignored the man. Flinging open the door, the mercenary raced through the portal and found a set of steps leading up. They were narrow

and spiraled tightly, but he never hesitated. He took them two at a time, using the wall for support. His arms and legs were weary, but he refused to stop. Rodolpho was up there.

Farther up, Vambran was forced to stop skipping over steps, but he fought through the burning pain in his thighs and kept going, up and up, his breath ragged. He knew he was climbing to the top of the tower, the highest feature of all of Reth. That made the task more daunting. To spur himself on, Vambran reminded himself of all the people who had died because of Rodolpho’s terrible creation. He reminded himself of Elenthia, not knowing what had become of her, and the responsibility he felt for her.

After what seemed like an ascent into the heavens themselves, Vambran reached another door. He threw it open and found himself on the top of the tower of the Palace of the Seven, an open platform surrounded by waist-high battlements. Rodolpho was there, staring down at the city below. As Vambran stood in the doorway, gasping, the man spun around to face him. The look on his face was one of dismay and horror.

“What did you do?” Rodolpho demanded, pointing down past the edge of the wall. “My plague! You’r6 destroying my plague!”

Vambran would have chuckled if he hadn’t been so weary. “So it goes,” he said, taking a step, closing the distance. “What will Wianar do about you now?” he asked.