The Siege (6 page)

Galaeron cursed under his breath and raised a hand to cast another spell—only to have Vala slap it down.

“Are you mad?”

Hadrhune spoke a word, and a tiny sphere of shadow shot from the tip and struck the ground at Malik’s feet. He cried out and tried to leap away, but the dark circle expanded beneath him. When he came down, he fell in as though it was a hole. The shadow circle drew in on itself and vanished from sight.

Aris, who had been watching all this from far above, groaned and dropped to a knee, his big hand already reaching for Hadrhune. The seneschal raised his staff overhead and caught the middle of the giant’s hand on its tip.

“There is nothing to be angry about, Aris. Your friend will return shortly.”

“He better.” Aris removed some of his hand’s weight from the staff, but tried to sound threatening. “I owe him my life.”

“There is no need to pay today, my large friend,” Hadrhune said, lowering his staff. “I just wanted time to sort matters out.”

He went to stand in the place Malik had vanished from, then motioned Galaeron to bring Ruha over. “Since you all seem to know of each other, perhaps you would be so kind as to enlighten me?”

Ruha glared daggers at Galaeron, then, with her hands still bound by the brown cord of magic, said, “I have no business with the elf or his harlot—”

“Harlot?” Vala stormed. “I’ve never taken a copper!”

She reached for her darksword and started forward, but stopped at a warning dip of Hadrhune’s black staff.

“Let’s finish this without bloodshed, shall we?” He turned back to Ruha and asked, “What do you want with Malik?”

“To take him to Twilight Hall to answer for his crimes.”

“Which are?”

“More murders than I can count, but including that of Rinda and Gwydion, guardians of the evil Cyrinishad, and the theft of that same foul book,” Ruha said. “If the Shadovar truly wish to be the good allies to the nations of Faerűn that they claim, you will release me and turn over this miscreant.”

“I assure you, our desire is sincere,” Hadrhune said, “but I was not aware that the Harpers controlled so many nations.”

“We control none,” Ruha admitted, “and influence many.”

“A distinction we Shadovar understand as well,” Hadrhune said, smiling politely. Unlike the grins of the princes and most shadow lords, his did not reveal a mouthful of ceremonial fangs. “We also know there are two sides to every argument. Galaeron, what say you? How would you advise the Most High in this matter?”

Galaeron considered Hadrhune, recalling his distaste for the little man, then said, “I know what you’d like to hear.”

“Is that so?” Hadrhune cocked his brow. “Tell me.”

“Do you think I’m that far into my shadow?”

Vala grabbed his arm. “Galaeron …”

“I know what’s right,” he said, shaking her off. “I won’t betray a loyal companion for access to the palace.”

“Galaeron, Hadrhune’s not asking you to betray anyone,” Vala said.

“I am only asking for the truth,” Hadrhune said. “If you cannot see that, you are in the grasp of your shadow.” Leaving Galaeron to fume, Hadrhune turned and craned his neck up at Aris. “What would you tell the Most High, my friend?”

Kneeling beside the fountain, the giant still loomed over the Shadovar by half-again his height. “It’s true that Malik serves an evil god,” Aris said, “but I am lifedebted to him and honor bound to stand with him against any foe.”

Hadrhune looked to Vala. “And you?”

“I wouldn’t be here, were it not for him.”

Galaeron still found it difficult to believe that Hadrhune was truly interested in his opinion, but he had no choice except to trust Vala’s judgment over his own. He did not feel as though he was in the grasp of his shadow, but neither had he at the Splicing—and he had just cast a spell.

“Nor would I,” Galaeron agreed. “He’s saved us all.”

“For his own reasons,” Ruha interjected. “He’s been playing you for fools—just as the Shadovar are now.”

Hadrhune’s eyes flashed. “You will not help your case by trying to poison the opinions of our guests against us, Harper.”

“The truth is not poison.” Though Ruha spoke to Hadrhune, she was looking at Galaeron. “You’re from Evereska, are you not Galaeron?”

“What if he is?” Vala demanded.

Ruha’s eyes narrowed. “How long has it been since you have been outside this city’s murk?”

Galaeron frowned, wondering what the witch was trying to accomplish. “Not that it’s any business of yours, but more than a tenday.”

Even Ruha’s heavy veil could not hide her smirk.

“What?” Galaeron demanded.

The witch looked at Hadrhune.

He glared amber flames at her, then turned to Galaeron and said, “The enclave is moving.”

“Moving?” Galaeron echoed. “It’s always moving.”

“Deeper into the desert,” Hadrhune clarified. “Away from Evereska. That’s why—”

“Traitors!” Galaeron lunged for the seneschal but went down heavily, Vala on his back. “You promised!”

“And we will keep our promise,” Hadrhune said. “The shadowshell has cut the phaerimm off from the Weave. Eventually, they will deplete the magic remaining to them—but it will take time, Galaeron, many months. You know better than anyone that we dare not attack until they have depleted their powers and begun to starve, until they grow too feeble to defend themselves.”

“So, you are only abandoning Evereska for a little while?” Ruha asked, her voice surprisingly cynical. “Oh yes, that makes a great deal of sense.”

Hadrhune kneeled in front of Galaeron, who was not struggling only because he knew how easily Vala could choke him unconscious with the arm already around his throat.

“We are not abandoning Evereska,” Hadrhune said, “but the situation is stable now, and we must think of our own needs as well.”

“When were you going to tell me?” Galaeron demanded.

Hadrhune hesitated and looked away.

“It’s a fair question,” Vala said.

Hadrhune let out a weary sigh. “As you wish,” he said. “The Most High thought—”

That was when Malik appeared behind the seneschal, clambering out of a circle of shadow like a

cat out of a well. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and dashed half a dozen steps across the courtyard before running into Aris’s palm and stopping to see where he was.

Turban half undone, Malik whirled on Hadrhune and said, “If you knew what I had for a heart, you would not think that funny—not at all.” Seeming to forget all about Ruha, Malik started toward the seneschal, wagging his finger. “It is a good thing for you that I did not die of fright in there, or the One would surely visit on you a hell a thousand times worse—or else laugh so hard at my miserable fate that he split his rotten sides.”

This last admission, forced by Mystra’s truth curse, seemed to take the fire out of him. Malik spent a moment taking in the scene in the courtyard, then slipped to Ruha’s helpless form and raked his foot down her shin.

“Hag! What did you do to my Kelda?”

Ruha’s eyes flared, but she showed no other sign of pain. “Why is it you care more for your horse than for your friends?”

“Because my horse is more loyal,” Malik answered. He reached under his robes and pulled out his curved dagger. “Now answer, or your death will be even more painful.”

“No!”

Vala and Galaeron were not the only ones to yell this, but it was Hadrhune’s staff that came down across the little man’s wrists and knocked the dagger from his hands.

“Not here,” the Shadovar said. “Murder is as forbidden in Shade Enclave as it is in Waterdeep or Shadowdale.” He cast a meaningful glance at Malik. “And our justice is swifter.”

“Then you have no choice,” Malik complained. “The witch will never leave here until I am dead!”

“Or my prisoner,” Ruha clarified.

“That, we will never permit,” Aris warned.

Hadrhune considered this for a moment, then shook his head wearily. “You place Shade Enclave in a difficult position, Harper. Either we harbor this miscreant against you or we allow you to violate our guest guard.”

“There is no reason to concern yourself with that,” Galaeron said, glaring up at Hadrhune. “We’ll be leaving within the hour.”

Hadrhune studied Galaeron for a moment, then nodded. “That is your privilege, of course, but as long as you or any of your friends remain in Shade Enclave, Malik is protected as our guest and may not be killed or taken captive.”

“You would truly harbor a murderer?” Ruha demanded.

“He has not murdered anyone here,” Hadrhune said. He touched his staff to her binding, and the magic cord dissolved. “Nor have you. The same law that guards him guards you—and if something unfortunate should befall either of you, we will know whom to execute.”

Again, Hadrhune cast a warning glance at Malik.

“I’m free to stay?” Ruha asked.

“In this very house.” Hadrhune seemed unable to avoid smirking. “Shade Enclave would never want it said that we made it difficult for a murderer to be brought to justice.”

“Justice?” Malik scoffed. “You have no idea what you’re condemning me to!”

“Not for long,” Galaeron said. He scowled up at Vala. “If you’ll get off of me, that is.”

Vala studied him doubtfully. “You’re not going to attack?”

“I’m going to leave,” Galaeron said. “I’m going to go back to Evereska.”

Hadrhune motioned Vala off, then offered a hand. “If that is what you wish, but the Most High will be very disappointed tomorrow.”

Galaeron ignored the hand and stood on his own.

“He will,” Hadrhune insisted. “He wanted to explain himself why the city was moving. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

“Sure it is.” Despite his words, Galaeron took no steps toward the gate. “Tomorrow?”

Hadrhune nodded. “He would like to break fast with you. All will be explained.”

Galaeron turned to Vala.

“One more day?” She looked around the villa and shrugged. “What could it hurt?”

The humans were at it again, clambering around on Malygris’s mountain, kneeling and standing and kneeling again outside his cave, chanting, singing, groveling, begging his favor. That was a snort. He had told Namirrha he didn’t want the cult members dallying about outside his lair, but did the mammal listen? What Malygris ought to do was clatter up there and bolt the whole lot, but then he would have to go out and devour something, and he just didn’t feel like eating. Dracoliches needed food only to recharge their breath weapons, and Malygris hadn’t discharged his (hadn’t even left his lair) in over a year—or so Namirrha had told him the last time the necromancer deigned to visit.

Something alive—something human—appeared in the shadows over by his number three platinum heap. A bitter sense of outrage rising to fill his empty ribcage, Malygris swung his big horned skull toward the intrusion. Could the warmbloods leave him not even his

seclusion? A pair of dark silhouettes rose out of the darkness, not emerging from the darkness so much as peeling themselves out of it, and turned in his direction.

How the mammals had bypassed his teleport traps, Malygris did not know, or how they had avoided activating his alarm magic. What he did know was that he could bear only so much and that this entering of his lair was the final insult. He opened his jaws and loosed a mouthful of lightning. In the crackling flash that filled the cavern, he glimpsed a pair of swarthy humans in dark robes cartwheeling across his hoard and smashing headlong into his wall. They collapsed among his diamonds and lay there scorched, smoking, and—amazingly— more or less alive.

Malygris continued to look in their direction. When Namirrha had made him a dracolich, he had grown acutely aware of everything alive within a wingspread of himself, and he knew the two humans were badly injured. Mammals were fragile, so they seemed likely to die within a few hours anyway, and he was not about to waste another breath attack on them. If he conserved, he still had two good lightning blasts left before he would have to leave his lair and eat.

But the pair did not expire. Instead, over the next hour, they grew steadily stronger, first crawling behind a pile of gold coins fused into a solid lump by the heat of his lightning, then hiding there and recovering by the minute, speaking to each other in some ancient human tongue even Malygris had never before heard. It was the ultimate warmblood insult—not being frightened enough to flee or at least to cower in silence. Malygris would have torn them limb from limb, save that over the last year, his hideless skeleton had sunken to his spine in his nest of sapphires, and he simply did not want to abandon such a comfortable bed.

A voice, deep and booming, at least by human standards, called out in Common, “Most Mighty Malygris, there is no need to attack. We come in peace.”

Malygris considered this, then said, “If you come in peace, why do you cower behind my hoard piles like dragon hunters and treasure thieves?”

A soft clinking echoed of the walls as the pair rose from their hiding places. They stepped into view, revealing themselves to be a warrior and a priest, both dressed in the melted remains of some glassy, gleaming black armor.

Malygris blasted them again.

This time, his electric fury pinned them to the wall and held them there, stiff-limbed and smoking, the warrior’s steel-colored eyes and the priest’s bronze-colored glowing like mage-light. Their glossy armor ran off their bodies in runnels and gathered at their feet in black puddles. Their swarthy flesh melted and burned away from their chests, revealing the black organs and dusky bones beneath. Their heels and fists hammered themselves into pulp against the stone wall.

Still they were alive when Malygris ran out of breath—limp as scarecrows and reeking of charred flesh and in places naked to the bone, but alive. They dropped to the floor and lay there groaning for half an hour, then finally grew strong enough to pull themselves behind treasure piles as they had before.

Interesting.

It was the first thing that had interested Malygris since Namirrha had gotten his mate, Verianthraxa, killed in the senseless attack upon the keepists—an assault forced upon them by Namirrha’s profane magic. Malygris searched out his legs beneath his nest of sapphires and bade them serve. He lifted himself out of the gems and clacked his fleshless bones across the cavern to where the two humans lay cowering.