The Rite (23 page)

Darvin sneered. “With Sinylla lying on her bier, what are your pledges worth?”

“No one could honestly guarantee that your work would be devoid of risk,” Taegan said, “and I didn’t. I do promise that I’m close to identifying the traitor.”

“By what method?”

“Avariel wizardry,” Taegan said. “The secret magic of the sky.”

If anyone else had claimed such powers for his reclusive kind, living like barbarians in the depths of the wilderness, he would have laughed. Though, it occurred to him, it was his own people who’d taught him bladesong, and it at least was far from a primitive discipline. Humans certainly had nothing comparable.

In any case, the important thing was that, with luck; Darvin and his allies wouldn’t realize that his pretensions to mysterious and far-reaching occult abilities were merely a bluff.

Baerimel started silently crying, the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I just wanted to do something. I need to. Sinylla was my cousin. I was right there with her. I should have been able to save her. But . .”

“I understand” Taegan said. “I was there, too, and we will avenge her. But not by lashing out at random. Not by bringing Kara’s enterprise to ruin. That would mean our enemy had won.”

Baerimel gave a jerky little nod and whispered, “I know.” “So do I,” Jannatha said.

Wardancer grunted. “if Sinylla’s own kin say to pull back, then I‘11 honor their wishes.”

Taegan arched an eyebrow at Scattercloak and Darvin and asked, “What of the two of you?”

“I too relent,” said Scattercloak, “for now.”

“Hold on,” said Darvin to his cloaked and hooded colleague, “I still think—”

Scattercloak vanished.

Darvin’s pudgy face turned red at the other mage’s rudeness, and presumably, the frustration of having his intentions thwarted. He turned on his heel and stalked away.

Taegan didn’t relax until Baerimel, Jannatha, and Wardancer departed as well. Then he slumped with relief.

“For a while there, I thought we were all going to wind up brawling in the street.”

“I could have beaten them,” Jivex said.

“I admire your martial fervor,” Taegan said with a smile, “but that’s not the point. Win or lose, it would still have been a disaster. You’d think the others would comprehend that. Wizards are supposed to be wily.”

“Exactly,” said Rilitar, “too wily for anyone to fool or threaten us. Thus, when it happens, it’s alarming enough to stifle our reason and panic us. We have to unmask Sammaster’s agent soon, my friends. Otherwise, one way or another, our enquiry is doomed.”

“I know.” Taegan said

“Shall we go ahead and knock on the merchants’ door?” the magician asked.

Taegan shrugged and said, “I’m reasonably certain it’s pointless. Unless my instincts are in error, the abishais simply commandeered the Zhents’ towers and garden without their knowledge. But I suppose we’d better go through the motions.”

Will was closer to the onrushing greens than any of the ogres. If the wyrms didn’t gobble him up first, it would be because he was so much smaller. He threw himself to the ground to make himself less conspicuous still.

The giantkin, conversely, shouted and screamed. A few bolted. Others hurled spears and stones, or scrambled forward brandishing flint-headed axes and clubs.

As a result, the greens ignored Will to rip into the ogres. Even so, he was in danger. An enormous scaly foot plunged down and jolted the ground less than a yard from the spot where he lay curled in a ball Had it stepped on him, it would have squashed him to jelly.

Kara, the halfling thought, I deserve a bonus for this. If we ever see each other again, dig deep into that purse of gems you carry.

As soon as the wyrms raced by, he jumped up and ran, trying to swing around the reptiles. It wasn’t entirely possible. The dragons kept whirling and lunging unpredictably to attack ogres that were seemingly out of reach. Closing the distance in an instant, the greens snatched up the giantkin, bit them into pieces, or clawed them to tatters of bloody flesh and shards of shattered bone.

A wyrm spun around and glared directly at Will. Well, he thought, I still think this was a good idea, even if it isn’t working out. Hating the spastic clumsiness of his crippled arm, he fumbled a stone into his warsling for one final and. surely futile cast.

But before he could let the missile fly, an ogre hurled an axe that stuck in the dragon’s mask just below its eye. The green snarled and pivoted to pounce at its attacker. Will scurried on toward the largest temple.

Not all the ogres had forsaken their camp in front of the structure to chase Will up the hillside. Of those who’d remained, some were dashing to join the fight. Others had begun to retreat toward the shelter of the huge stone pile.

Most of them never even made it to the broad flight of stairs leading up to the primary entrance. A winged shadow swept across the ground, a plume of acidic vapor washed over them from on high, and they reeled and fell, their warty hides charred and blistered. In the mad confusion of the slaughter on the hillside, Will hadn’t even realized that one of the greens had taken to the air. But it had, and employed its breath weapon to deadly effect. It plunged to earth to crush more victims beneath its hugeness, then struck and ripped at any prey that yet survived.

Will sprinted around to the south side of the temple and through one of the secondary entrances. The urge to keep moving, to get below ground where the dragons couldn’t follow, was like a goad jabbing at him. Still, he forced himself to hide behind a pillar and wait until the path was clear.

After a minute, Yagoth and three of his warriors pounded up from the vaults. Will had assumed some guard would run to inform the shaman and any of his followers who happened to be attending him of the battle outside, and plainly, that was what had happened.

Now go out, fight, and die, the halfling thought. And sure enough, Yagoth bellowed “Vaprak!” and led his minions charging out the door.

Will descended into the tunnels and groped his way through the dark until faintness and vertigo overwhelmed him. He struggled to cling to his senses, but passed out anyway.

When he woke, it took him several seconds to recall where he was, and why. Even afterward, he still felt so weak and sick that he feared it was addling him, that he no longer accurately recalled the layout of the crypts.

Though it went against all the instincts he’d acquired as a thief, he decided to call out. Why not? If any ogres remained underground, he was likely dead in any case.

“Pavel!” he cried. “Pavel!”

His voice emerged as a feeble croak, and it seemed clear that nobody, whether human or ogre, was likely to hear it.

But after a moment, an answer echoed out of the blackness: “Will!”

The halfling heaved a sigh of relief. He’d assumed Yagoth had kept Pavel alive, but that wasn’t the same thing as knowing, and until that moment, he hadn’t.

“Keep talking, charlatan,” Will replied. It will help me find your worthless arse.”

All right,” Pavel said. “Yagoth assured me you were dead, but I didn’t believe it. I knew I’m not that lucky.”

Will staggered toward the sound until light blossomed in the gloom, glinting on the contours of the twin idols flanking the entrance to the secret library. The halfling quickened his pace, tripping over the ogre corpses that still littered the floor. The enormous blades that had killed them clanked beneath his boots. The surviving giantkin had torn them from their mountings.

The source of the light turned out to be a torch in a sconce, enchanted to burn forever with a coot greenish flame. When it illuminated Pavel, Will winced. Seated on a chair beside a table heaped with stone tablets, the priest looked exhausted and half-starved. The gash and livid bruise on his brow were surely painful. But it was even more disturbing to observe his crooked leg. The filthy ogres had crippled him.

“You look like something somebody dumped out of a chamber pot,” said Will. “I mean, even more than usual.”

“I can honestly say the same of you. What kept you?”

“I couldn’t get past all the ogres until I worked out how to create a little distraction. Let me untie that tether, since you’re plainly too stupid to figure out the knot.”

All right, and while you do that—”

Out in the corridor, the broken blades rattled. One of the ogres was coming, and had likely heard Will and Pavel’s voices.

Will scurried to the rear of the chamber and hid in the shadows beneath a table. He placed a stone in his warsling.

Red eye glaring, the normal one squinched shut, Yagoth shambled through the doorway. Dragon breath had scalded his warty, branded hide, but the injury didn’t appear to be slowing him down any. He held his spear leveled in his hands, and had Pavel’s mace tucked in his kilt.

“Show yourself, little rat!” he bellowed. “I know you’re in here!”

“No one’s here but us,” Pavel said. Are you hearing voices? I keep telling you, you’re insane.”

Yagoth ignored the taunt and started prowling around the room. “I understand the trick you played, halfling. My people are dead because of you. But I’ll still achieve my destiny. After I kill you, and the sun priest finds me the weapon I need, I’ll make myself chief of another tribe, and build my kingdom from there. The banner of the blue dragon—”

Will lunged out into the open and hurled the rock.

It was supposed to put Yagoth’s scarlet eye out. Instead, it glanced off the ogre’s low, blemished forehead, leaving a bloody graze, but no more. Yagoth roared and charged.

In better times, Will could have slung another stone before his foe took two strides, or dodged and tumbled with such agility that Yagoth would have found it difficult to score a hit on him. But in his current state of decrepitude, he could manage neither. He scrambled back beneath the cover afforded by the table.

Which vanished instantly, when Yagoth grabbed hold of the furniture and tossed it aside. Tablets crashed down everywhere, some shattering against the floor.

Snarling, Yagoth stabbed repeatedly with his spear, and Will gave ground. The halfling realized his opponent was pushing him into a corner, but lacked the speed to maneuver out of the box. In another moment, he’d have his back to the wall, and most likely, the lance in his vitals an instant after that.

“Flee!” shouted Pavel.

Brilliant idea, thought Will. I would, if I had anyplace to flee to.

But bellowing in anger and surprise at his own behavior, it was Yagoth who shambled backward. Will belatedly realized that Pavel had afflicted the ogre with a magical compulsion.

Most likely, it would only last a moment, out maybe that was time enough for another cast. Will dropped a stone into the sling and let it fly.

The missile hit the mark. Yagoth screamed and clutched at his ruined eye. As he reeled, his foot landed on a fallen tablet. He slipped and fell.

Will rushed him, and thumb-gouged Yagoth’s good eye. The ogre howled and flailed blindly. Will ducked, seized a tablet in a two-handed grip, and pounded Yagoth over the head with it. After two blows, the shaman slumped down motionless, but Will kept on hitting him until he hammered his skull out of shape.

Then he turned to Pavel and wheezed, “What was the point in waiting so long to cast a spell?”

“I had to decide who I disliked more, you or Yagoth. Well, actually, I only had one chance. Once the ogre realized I could work magic, he’d knock me out immediately if he could. Thus I needed to choose my moment carefully.”

“I take it,” said Will, “that he imagined you didn’t have any spells prepared.’

“He aroused me every morning at dawn, to keep me from praying, but he underestimated my ability to concentrate, and the strength of my bond with Lathander. I managed to acquire a few spells despite the harassment.”

“So why didn’t you use them to escape? Too lazy, or too gutless?”

“Too lamed. I couldn’t fix the injury by myself. For that, I’ll need your help. Once I’m untied, and I’ve mended your shoulder, I’ll lie down on the floor, and you’ll re-break my leg with my mace. Pulverize the bones if that’s what it takes, just as long as you can straighten the limb when you’re done. Then I’ll heal myself. Can you do it?”

Will supposed he had no choice, though the thought of inflicting such agony on his friend made him feel queasy.

He forced a grin and asked, “Are you serious? It’s exactly the kind of thing I’ve always wanted to do.”

9 & 10 Kythorn, the Year of Rogue Dragons

The crashing echoed along the tunnels, down the stairwells, through the archives, storerooms, and tombs. Dorn knew what the disturbance was, because Raryn had skulked up to the surface to scout it out. In undisputed possession of the mountaintop, the dragons were employing their strength, breath weapons, and wizardry to demolish portions of the stronghold.

Like Dorn, Cantonle was standing watch behind the makeshift ramparts where they planned to oppose the wyrms the next time the reptiles attacked. Looking as dirty and exhausted as everyone else, the skinny, sun-bronzed Grand Master of Flowers flinched at a particularly loud bang that might have been a whole tower collapsing.

“Why?” Cantoule asked. “Why are the dragons doing this?”

“Maybe,” said Dorn, “they’re just venting their anger that it’s taking so long to kill us. Or, they mean the noise to keep us from sleeping. Or, they hope the destruction of the castle will demoralize us.”

“It’s demoralizing me,” Cantoule said. “They’re defiling sacred ground I swore to protect.”

Dorn grunted. “We’ve talked through this already.”

“I know. It’s just that I keep thinking that if Kane were Grand Master of Flowers, it never would have come to this.”

“Kane?”

“King Dragonsbane’s comrade, who helped destroy the Witch-King. The wisest monk of our order, and the most accomplished fighter. By rights, he should have presided here. But he loved wandering too much to stay in one place, and so chose me for the position. Now evil is destroying everything he gave into my keeping.”

“That’s self-pity talking,” said Dorn, “and it isn’t helping you or anybody else.”

Cantoule blinked as if the half-golem had slapped him, then smiled wryly and said, “Perhaps you’re right. Ilmater teaches that virtue lies in fidelity, not in success. Still—”