The Justicar blinked, and the last of the blindness fell away. Seeing Escalla hanging bloody and disheveled at his side, he said, “We’re in the faerie lands!”
“Yep!”
“This is your old bedroom!”
“The Nightshade key is kept in Dad’s vault just down the hall.” Escalla looked at Jus’ dubious face. “Hey, man! I’m the heir! Of course the key’s hidden in the palace. Dad and I were always looking after it.”
Jus angrily wiped his eyes and asked, “Who knew the key was here?”
“Dad, me… maybe Mom and Sis.” The girl shoved the severed hand down the portable hole. “Now hurry! Get this mirror onto the lawn before Lolth comes through. There’s about a hundred million drow charging straight toward the gate!”
Escalla’s father appeared, looking stunned. He opened his hands and demanded an explanation.
Jus looked at the mirror—a vast heavy thing of silver, framed with gold, and fixed to the wall. He gripped the frame and heaved, plaster cracking and exploding as he tore the mirror from the wall. With a roar, the huge man dragged the mirror free and held it above his head.
“Where to?”
“Grove of the planes!” Escalla cleared the way, bellowing at faeries who had come swarming in droves toward the room. “Outta the way! Demon goddess comin’ through! Move-move-move!”
Jus leaped from the balcony, slamming to the grass a dozen feet below. With the huge mirror held above him, he charged through the hordes, who screamed in terror as one gargantuan spider leg began to probe slowly out of the mirror’s face. Jus jumped a fence and thundered into the plane tree grove at the heart of the gardens.
Escalla whirred madly back and forth trying to look at every tree. She scrunched her fingers inside her hair and tried to think. More and more spider leg began to shove through the mirror. “Crap! Which tree? Which tree?” One tree had pure white flowers. “This one!”
The mirror went clanging down to lean against a tree. Escalla hovered frantically beside the arch made by the branches of the pure white fruit tree.
“Jus, the sword! The tree is triggered only by something from the home plane!” Escalla recoiled from the mirror, screeching as Lolth poked her front legs through. “Just the tip! Hurry! Hurry!”
Drawing his sword, the Justicar took aim, then sliced the blade in a blinding arc. There merest hair’s breadth of the tip whisked beneath the archway, and instantly a glowing plane of force sparkled beneath the arch. With titanic spider legs shoving through the mirror, Jus picked the mirror up, roared like a giant, and hurled it toward the magic trees.
Lolth’s face emerged through the mirror, the demon screaming in anger as she finally caught sight of her prey. The scream turned to a wail of absolute despair and horror as the mirror shot through the archway and plunged straight into the plane of positive energy.
The mirror disappeared. Benelux gibbered, having lost a sixteenth of an inch from her tip. Jus and Escalla stared at the glowing magic archway and panted, watching blankly to make sure all was well.
“Well, that’s that!” Escalla seemed a tad dazed. “Guess that’s Lolth unable to manifest for about a hundred weeks!”
Jus blinked. “Is that good?”
“It’s so-so.”
The tree suddenly shuddered violently, then shuddered again. The force field changed to fiery red, then shook as the whole tree almost tore itself out of the ground.
Cinders stiffened his tail and whined, Run bye bye now!
Jus coughed. “Can things get out that gate?”
“Like if all that energy in Lolth exploded?” Escalla drifted away from the quaking tree. “Um, a strategic retreat is probably—”
Something blasted like a volcano deep inside the plane of elemental light. Jus turned and ran like hell, Escalla only slightly ahead of him. Behind them, the grove of plane trees exploded, trees blasting apart. Energy flashed, and suddenly there was nothing but a shiny-sided crater of molten glass fifty feet across where the grove had once stood. A cloud of flames rose into the sky, showering ashes across the staring faces of two thousand refugees and several hundred faeries.
Lurid red flames lit faerieland. Burning brands showered down over the palace and the gardens. Into the silence, Cinders’ voice carried to every single ear as the hell hound breathed out in awe.
Spider go bang! The black dog wagged his tail. Hoopy.
By evening, things were calmer. Illusion spells covered the worst of the damage to Clan Nightshade’s palace, and Lord Nightshade and Lord Faen had tended to the eighteen hundred and eleven surviving refugees. Wounds were tended, and a faerie feast had been prepared—a feast devoid of faerie wines, particularly vintage sixty-three.
Sitting at a huge campfire roasting a dozen giant frogs, the Justicar sat with Cinders at his side, watched in awe-stricken silence by countless nearby refugees. The pimple smothered boy and a half dozen survivors from Sour Patch all hovered in the shadows of the trees nearby, all looking for some way to do the big ranger a favor. Jus merely did what had to be done and tried to keep his temper as far too many hands tried to pass the salt.
Benelux lay bared across Cinders’ fur and had gone into a blubbering great sulk.
It’s a liberty! The female voice had kept its tirade going for at least half an hour. You could have killed me!
Jus spared the sword a hostile glare. “It was only the tip.”
That tip was shaped by a titan! Benelux wailed in loss. Where can we find a hand skilled enough to repair my damaged beauty?
Jus turned one of the frogs, which sizzled greasily above the campfire. “Faeries said they could fix it.”
Faeries? Benelux bridled. Are they properly qualified?
“I guess.”
Well, see to it that they are swordsmiths—not blacksmiths. The magic sword gave a sniff. I do not want myself pawed by just any faerie!
Jus sheathed the weapon and shut it up. For a few moments, peace reigned until Escalla came wearily traipsing down the hill.
She looked a little pale and worse for wear. She wore stockings, elbow-length gloves, and a bodice made of black silk with a skirt deliberately cut short from a faerie dress. Washed and scrubbed, she still looked like hell. The faerie kept one hand on her stomach as she walked into the light.
“Hey, boys.”
Hi! Cinders’ tail wagged a hello. Frog onna fire!
“Hoopy.” Escalla came over to sit upon the plush, soft hell hound fur. She leaned on her lich staff and looked plain tired. “Well, the trial’s set for an hour from now. All the right invitations are out.”
Looking levelly at the faerie, Jus smoothed her a place at his side. “Have they tried to arrest you?”
“Killing Lolth tends to make people a tad nervous about your powers.” The girl gave a sour smile. “Heh. I’m still kind of officially under house arrest. They’ve sent out couriers to bring in the hunting teams.” Escalla helped herself to campside tea. “My sister and my mother are back. Not a word said. Keeping to their rooms.”
“Of course.” The Justicar served Escalla food from the fire. “Is Clan Sable still here?”
“They will be. The faerie clans are coming here now. Apparently we’ve got King Oberon coming along as referee. Guess we’ve got an hour before show time.” Escalla looked down at her food then put a hand on her belly. “Ooooh, I feel awful.”
“Really?” Jus looked at her. “Is the slowglass safe?”
“Yep.” Escalla looked a tad green. “I, ah, passed it in as evidence.”
An embarrassed silence reigned. The faerie realm was filled with the babble voices, the smell of campfires, and the sound of shocked people trying to convince themselves they were still alive. Faerie warriors watched over their “guests”—surprisingly polite, all things considered. Gates flashed all over the palace as more and more faeries began to arrive, the sound of clarions becoming monotonous as the Seelie Court gathered for the trial.
Prodding at the leg of giant frog that roasted over
his campfire, Jus stared at the flames and asked, “How’s Polk?”
“He, ah, h-he—” Escalla’s bottom lip quivered. She swallowed and went on. “He didn’t make it. He died, Jus.”
The Justicar stood, actually mad—no, furious. Burning with utter rage, he slowly clenched his fists and paced round the fire. Escalla sat by the fire and gazed at the coals.
“There wasn’t anything we could do. That drow got him right through the heart.” The girl rubbed at her eyes. “The kid’s with him. He’s bruised all to hell and a bit cut up, but otherwise he’s fine. They made a good team, you know?”
Upset, angry that he was upset, and annoyed at being angry about being upset, Jus stopped pacing and swiped at his eyes.
“They did well. They really did.” Jus cleared his throat—a cold seemed to be making him sound a little hoarse. “Can your people fix it?”
Escalla sighed and gave a nod. “Probably. Dad put a priest on it. Said we’ll probably have him back from the dead by tomorrow morning… if all goes well.”
“Good.”
From the palace, horns blew an insistent little fanfare, summoning the court of faerie law. Jus signaled some nearby refugees that they were welcome to the campfire and the food, then gathered up his gear.
Jus’ calm eyes turned to look long and thoughtfully at Escalla.
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Escalla took charge of her staff, scroll tube, and the portable hole as Jus swept Cinders into place around his shoulders. The girl let Jus lift her up and set her on his shoulder. He rested his face against her flank for a moment, and the girl gave his big, stubble covered head a hug.
“All right, J-man. Let’s do it!”
The central ballroom of Clan Nightshades palace had again filled with faerie aristocracy. Chairs were arranged into a vast ring about the floor, and chandeliers blazed brightly above. Banners from ancient conflicts hung in splendor beside paintings so perfect that they had lives all their own. As hundreds of gorgeously costumed faeries flew in through the doors to take their seats, Jus and Escalla walked slowly inside with Henry trailing awe-struck in their wake.
All speech stopped. All eyes instantly turned to stare at the rebel Escalla and the huge figure of the Justicar.
At one end of the ballroom, a throne had been arranged. A wing of crimson-armored guards knelt beside a lean, cool figure who sat upon the throne. The Justicar walked across the open ballroom and delivered a long, grave bow to the Erlking, Oberon. Escalla joined him, giving a cool nod. Henry bobbed like a child’s toy, bowing again and again until Escalla dragged him away to the sidelines where the boy could do no harm.
Hundreds of faeries—both exiles and the Seelie Court—had gathered. Into the hush, Lord Faen strode forward, his two-foot height proud and haughty as he thudded his staff of office against the floor.
“All hear! This court extraordinary is now in session!” The old faerie signed to warriors beside the windows and doors. “Seal!”
Red-armored royal guards slammed the windows and the doors, then rolled magic seals across them. Power flashed, and the rooms were shut tight against intrusion or escape.
Lord Faen turned, ignoring the operation. Before him in the front rows of the audience sat Lord Ushan of Sable, his flame red robes now black in mourning. The Lady Nightshade, pale, beautiful, and severe, sat beside Lord Nightshade and their youngest daughter Tielle. Young duelists, clan heads and courtiers, all made a solid wall of faerie might that awaited the evening drama. Lord Faen finished his circle of the floor then walked back toward the throne.
“It pleases his Highness the Consort-Royal to declare this court in session. Let no spell be cast without permission, on pain of retribution. Let no blows be struck. Let all who have business before this court state their cases and be satisfied.” The faerie lord made a single bow toward the Erlking. “My Lord Oberon, Clan Nightshade embraces the spirit of the Seelie Court and petitions your judgment.”
Lord Ushan gave an angry start, only to be held in place by a hand idly raised by Oberon himself. Thin and attenuated like an exotic mantis, the Erlking was clearly different from the faeries around him. Oberon looked coolly at Lord Faen and then Lord Nightshade. When he spoke, the Erlking’s voice was surprisingly cool and soft.
“What does Nightshade desire of us?”
Charn, Lord Nightshade stood and said, “Your Highness, Nightshade asks that this court determine the guilt and identity of the murderer of the Cavalier Tarquil Sable.”
With a roar, Lord Ushan sprang to his feet.
“No! Improperly worded!” The Lord’s robes changed color—back to their usual sea of flames. “We have a culprit already in custody. This court should be sitting to determine punishment for the girl Escalla Brightflower Nightshade.”
Lord Faen turned a glacial gaze upon Lord Ushan and replied, “The wording was exactly correct. You are out of order. This court sits to determine the murderer of the Cavalier Tarquil Sable—and also to assess sundry other crimes.” Lord Faen turned to Oberon. “Highness?”
The Erlking raised one fingertip and said, “Begin.”
With his wings stiff and his antennae erect, Lord Faen began a slow path past Lord Ushan, Lady Nightshade, and the glaring, sneering Tielle.
“My lords and ladies, upon the death of Cavalier Tarquil, evidence showed that a faerie was the most obvious candidate for murderer. An outside specialist was therefore commissioned by the crown to pursue evidence and collect facts. This commission has been duly carried out.” Faen pointed with the butt of his staff. “The Justicar will present the facts that he has gathered. Attend him.”
Again Ushan gave a cry of dismay. “This under-creature is a companion to Nightshade’s daughter!”
“He has served us with extraordinary courage and diligence—up to and including confronting the demon queen Lolth on our behalf.” Lord Faen turned his back upon Ushan. “Unlike faerie lords, the Justicar holds truth above all honor. He has no objection to submitting to truth spells. Cast one now and be satisfied.”
With a snap of his robes, Lord Ushan did exactly that. With a truth spell in place, he sourly sat down.
The Justicar walked slowly forward—three times taller then the faeries, his heavy boots and hell hound skin seeming stark and pitiless. The human rested one hand on his sword and addressed the throne.
“The body of the Cavalier Tarquil was found with a poisoned goblet at his side. Apparent cause of death was from imbibing poison.” The Justicar turned to pace slowly across the room. “My own subsequent examination of the corpse revealed anomalies. An injected poison had been administered within the victim’s hairline. The puncture wound had been missed by previous investigation. However, the wound had not bled at all.”
A thin faerie lady with delicate turquoise skin raised a fan quietly to the Justicar and asked, “Justicar, this is significant? Why would a wound not bleed?”
“Blood had already pooled at the victim’s front, my lady, where the Cavalier had been lying face down.” The Justicar bowed calmly over the little woman. “This is a sign that the body had been at least three hours dead by the time the puncture wound was made.”
“Ah.” The blue lady twirled her fan in puzzlement. “Double poison? Someone making sure of their mark?”
“Perhaps, my lady.” The Justicar kept his voice deep and civil. “In any case, the Lady Escalla entered the room at one point during the evening while the body was present. She wore a slowglass necklace-immune to illusion. We have retrieved this slowglass and can now show this court the events of that night.”
Carried carefully by royal guards, the slowglass gem—newly cleaned and polished—was borne into the room. Lord Faen bowed toward the throne.
“Lenses can project images from the slowglass onto the wall, my king. Light caught in the slowglass will leak outward only once. A time spell allows us to accelerate or stop time for the slowglass, but please pay close attention to the images. We cannot replay an event onc
e the light has fled.”
A harsh laugh came from the audience where Tielle, Escalla’s sister, lounged scornfully back in her seat. “Your slowglass could show nothing but actors in a play! There is no guarantee that what we see is what happened that night!”
The old faerie lord flicked his level gaze at Tielle. “This slowglass has been retrieved at enormous risk. There are certain aspects of the scene about to be played that are unlikely to be faked.” Lord Faen motioned to his assistants. “We shall be able to judge for ourselves.”
The Justicar knelt so that his bulk would not inconvenience the audience. When the Erlking gave permission, spells were thrown. Time accelerated for the slowglass gem, the images trapped within shining outward through a magic lens to shimmer in midair. Lord Faen stood leaning on his staff, watching days speed past in seconds, finally holding up his hand as the images began to show familiar events.
The faerie lord watched carefully as recoded events began to unfold.
“This is about three weeks ago,” said Faen. “The slowglass gem lies in a jeweler’s strongbox. Ah! Here we have the gem being traded to Lady Nightshade. Tielle inspects it. Here it is mounted on a necklace. Money is paid, and the gem comes here to the palace. Ah, Cavalier Tarquil!” The now dead cavalier’s image froze as the sorcerer froze the time spell. Tarquil peered straight toward the gem, dangling it at arm’s length as he inspected it with a sly smile.
“Continue!”
The images moved once more. Lord Faen stroked his goatee as he watched Clan Nightshade’s plots and plans. “Now they enter the Dreadwood Forest and the camp of Escalla and her companions. Here the necklace is placed in Lady Escalla’s baggage. What joy as she discovers it the next day!” Events played themselves fast and sure, the court craning forward to make sure no details escaped their eye. “Here we have the gem held up before Escalla—well dressed for once. She makes a welcoming gesture—interesting!” Faen nodded, then held up his hand. “Ha! Nighttime at the palace! Escalla looks into the gem, then slings it about her neck. Stop! Let the gem play events at their real speed.”
Descent into the Depths of the Earth Page 30