"Let us bargain, then." Kestrel walked toward the door.
Just as she reached it, Ghleanna uttered a single word aloud. The darkness that had engulfed Preybelish's chamber immediately dissipated, revealing a large purplish-black snake with a humanlike face. Around his neck, supported by his inflatable hood, dangled necklaces, chokers, and other neckwear of varying lengths and ostentation. The naga's thick coils disappeared beneath a sea of coins and jewelry, but Kestrel guessed his body must extend at least ten feet. His eyes shuttered to thin slits in the sudden light
Preybelish hissed, baring his long fangs. "You'll regret that, you foolish half-breed!" His tail, barbed and sharp as a razor, emerged from the treasure hoard and flicked violently, showering gold around the room and sending Kestrel diving for cover behind the decapitated marble head—and neck—of what had once been an enormous statue. Preybelish's attention, however, was focused outside his chamber. On Ghleanna.
A moment later, a jet of flame shot forth from the naga's tail straight at the female mage. Ghleanna howled as the entire left side of her body caught fire. She dropped to the floor to extinguish her clothing, rolling out of Kestrel's sight.
Corran, who had been standing a little too close to the doorway when the attack shot past sucked in his breath as his armor—heated by the flames—seared his skin. Despite the obvious pain, he advanced on Preybelish, Durwyn close behind.
"I have to agree with the little bird," the dark naga said. His eyes were wide open now, sinister glowing yellow orbs. "I do so hate the company of paladins. So holier-than-thou."
Corran brought his sword down with enough force to cleave the snakelike creature in half. The attack, however, glanced off some invisible barrier, not even nicking a scale. "Vile serpent!" the paladin shouted in frustration.
Durwyn swung his axe. The blade found its mark, sinking into the naga's muscular body. Preybelish hissed and swung his tail, catching Durwyn in the chest and knocking him off his feet. Blood started seeping from a gash in the warrior's neck.
Kestrel looked through the doorway to see what Jarial was doing, but the wizard had disappeared from view. Was he attending Ghleanna? "Not now, Jarial," she muttered. "This can't be left up to me."
From her vantage point she had a clear shot at the creature's back—or whatever one called the part of a snake's coils opposite the underbelly. Preybelish seemed to be focusing his attention and his mind-reading abilities on Corran at the moment. She withdrew her daggers from her boots but paused before throwing them. Once she hurled the weapons, then what? She'd accomplish nothing but angering the creature and drawing his attention back to herself. While Loren's Blade would return to her hand, she did not trust its magic.
The holy knight attempted another attack. This swing managed to bite into the monster's flesh, though it visibly slowed before impact. Preybelish uttered a string of foul epithets and thrashed his tail at the paladin. It hit Corran with enough force to knock a lesser man to his knees, but Corran caught his balance, his armor apparently shielding him from the tail's sting.
Durwyn lay slumped on the floor, unconscious. Though the gash in his neck bled, the flow was not profuse enough for such a large man to have passed out already. Kestrel looked back at the wicked barbs on the end of Preybelish's tail. Two of them dripped black fluid.
Poison.
The creature muttered arcane words under its breath—another spell. Where in the Abyss was Jarial? She let the daggers fly before the naga could finish his incantation.
The evil serpent howled in rage as the weapons drove into his flesh less than a foot from his head. Thick brown blood welled from the wounds. He twisted around to glare at her, fangs bared, yellow eyes blazing with pain and fury. "Don't you know that snakes eat little birds?" he hissed.
"Not this one." Kestrel managed to sound more confident than she felt.
Preybelish uttered a string of incomprehensible syllables, weaving another spell. Corran swung his sword again, this time striking the creature with full force. The naga, however, would not allow his concentration to be broken. He stared unblinking at Kestrel as his voice rose in pitch.
Her heart hammered in her chest as she tensed in anticipation of the inevitable sorcery. Would flames consume her, as they had Ghleanna?
Suddenly, an arrow materialized behind Preybelish and raced through the air to embed itself in the back of the creature's head. The acrid odor of burning flesh filled the room as acid ate through the naga's skin. Just feet away, Jarial appeared.
The naga screamed in rage, swinging his tail wildly. The barbed point caught Jarial's legs, knocking him down. Kestrel swore under her breath. Not Jarial too? Now two of their party were poisoned and a third badly burned.
Preybelish turned on Corran. "Don't even think about it," the creature said before the paladin so much as lifted his arm for the intended strike. The naga swung his tail once again, knocking Corran's sword out of his grasp.
Kestrel's mind raced. If they could only control that tail
"Catch a naga by the tail?" Preybelish mocked, twisting around to fix her with his evil gaze. "What would you do once you got your hands on it?"
Behind the naga, to Kestrel's surprise, Jarial got back to his feet. The mage appeared winded but hardly scratched. She forced her thoughts away from the wizard, so as not to betray him to Preybelish's mind-reading powers.
"This!" Jarial said. He darted out his hand and touched creature's tail just below the barbed tip. The contact lasted only a split second, but it was long enough. Preybelish screeched inhumanly as the last quarter of his body went rigid and fell immobile to the ground.
The naga bared his fangs and spun his upper body to advance on Jarial, still possessing enough unparalyzed coils to reach the unarmored mage. Corran went for his warhammer but Kestrel was faster.
She leaped onto Preybelish's back, grabbed one of the many chains hanging from his neck, and twisted. When the chain closed around the creature's airway, she pulled hard. "Did you say you collect neckwear, Preybelish?"
Despite her effort, the naga managed to get enough air to begin hissing out the words of a final spell.
She braced her feet against the naga's spine and tugged with all her might "Chokers, right?" Preybelish thrashed about so wildly that she had trouble retaining her grip. Corran hurried over to lend his strength. With the paladin's added power, the evil creature's eyes grew wide, his words of incantation becoming desperate gurgles as he fought to breathe. Kestrel threw her whole body into one final tug.
"Choke on this."
CHAPTER FOUR
Fortunately, the naga's poison did not prove lethal. Durwyn awoke from his drugged sleep just as Preybelish entered his final one. Within a quarter hour the warrior seemed none the worse for the battle, save the easily bandaged wound on his neck.
Ghleanna, however, was another story. She lay unconscious and badly burned on one side of her body.
Kestrel paled just looking at the injured mage. "How many of those blueglow moss potions do we have left?"
"Let me tend to her first," Corran said. He knelt at her side, removing his helm and gauntlets. Gently, he touched his hands to Ghleanna's damaged skin, closed his eyes, and bowed his head in prayer. Ever so slowly, as the paladin murmured words of supplication to Tyr, the half-elf's charred tissue healed.
Kestrel turned away. When Corran had repelled the zombies, she'd felt that his showy theatrics were meant to draw attention. Now, watching him lay on hands, she grew uncomfortable. His features and manner softened—the arrogance, the bossiness, the presumption were all set aside as he ministered to their injured companion. The sight deeply unsettled her. It revealed a side of Corran D'Arcey she did not wish to acknowledge.
Jarial approached, carrying Ozama's cloak. "I thought Ghleanna could use this," he said.
"I'm sure she'll appreciate it." Kestrel glanced at the woman rendered so vulnerable by the same magic she herself wielded. Corran still had a lot of healing to do. She turne
d back to Jarial and gestured toward Preybelish's treasure. "Let's leave them in peace and find that Wizard's Torc."
He regarded the naga's hoard reluctantly. "It doesn't seem important anymore. Certainly not worth the lives it cost—and almost cost." His lips formed a rueful smile. "Sixteen years trapped in a boulder has a tendency to alter one's perspective."
Kestrel could scarcely believe her ears. After all he'd been through, how could he not want the prize? "You're right—your lady did sacrifice her life in pursuit of the torc. Don't you think you owe it to her to retrieve it now that you have the opportunity?" Besides, it sounded valuable—if he didn't take it, she would.
A spark of interest returned to his eyes. "I suppose we should at least see if it's here."
By the time they emerged from the naga's lair with the magical necklace in hand, Ghleanna was up and around. Corran had done as much healing as was in his power, and one of the remaining blueglow moss potions had done the rest. Both she and the paladin appeared drained, however. The group elected to sleep a while in the relative safety of Preybelish's den, gnawing hungrily on dried provisions and taking turns keeping watch.
Their strength restored, they left the complex and returned to the maze of corridors. Eventually, they came upon a stairway leading up.
"Finally," Kestrel muttered. "I was beginning to think we'd never get out of this place."
"Don't start looking for the sun yet," Jarial said. "There are two dungeon levels built into the hill, so we have another stairway to locate after this one."
At least they were moving in the right direction. Kestrel nearly sprinted up the steps in her eagerness to make more progress exiting these tomblike corridors. She slowed, however, at the top of the stairs.
Light spilled out of a room about thirty yards down the passage. A grid of shadows on the floor revealed it was a prison cell with a door of wrought-iron bars. From within, a harsh male voice bellowed questions at someone whose replies Kestrel couldn't hear.
"Just give up the damn word, you cretin! We'll learn it eventually anyway!" The smack of someone being struck echoed off the stone walls. "Tell me what you know or I'll feed you to my master for supper."
The explorers exchanged glances. "Someone should sneak ahead and see what's going on," Corran said. Kestrel sighed. Given everyone else's skills at stealth, no doubt "someone" meant her.
She left the group hidden from sight in the stairwell and crept along the passage, keeping to the shadows as she neared the barred doorway. Though she moved silently, the interrogator spoke loudly enough that even Durwyn could have approached unheard.
Inside, a warrior sat on the floor. He was a sturdy young man, no older than twenty, dressed in brown leather armor. His wrists and ankles were bound to one wall with chains. Six skeletons, armed with short swords as those downstairs had been, stood at attention on one side of the cell. It was the room's other occupant who made Kestrel suck in her bream.
A masked figure circled the prisoner. Though a red leather hood covered the interrogator's head and shoulders, holes revealed his eyes, mouth, and jaw. The hard cast of these features matched his voice. What Kestrel could see of his face was so devoid of kindness or any other humane emotion that it might as well have been carved from stone. He wore little other clothing: a loincloth, boots, and one bracer—all made of red leather that matched the hood—a wide studded steel belt, and a circular medallion on a neckchain. His athletic body, particularly his upper legs, bore menacing green tattoos in a weblike design.
The figure's most striking feature of all was his right hand—or lack thereof. In place of a normal human hand, the man bore a five-fingered reptilian claw. As the mutant human continued to hurl questions at the bound warrior, he scratched and poked the prisoner with his claw to underscore his displeasure.
"Perhaps a little sorcery will loosen your tongue. Shall I turn you into a rodent?"
Kestrel felt the blood drain from her face. This malevolent being was a sorcerer?
He struck the prisoner in the back of the head with his claw. The skeleton nearest them mimicked the movement, hitting the captive with the flat of its blade. The mage grabbed the fighter's hair and jerked his head up to look him in the face. "Who sent you here? What were your orders?"
"No one sent us."
"Liar!" He slapped him with his open hand. "You saw what we did to your companions. I'll give you one more day to come to your senses. If you put any value on your pathetic little life, you better start singing." He hit him once more.
Kestrel slowly backed down the corridor. It sounded as if the sorcerer were about to leave, and she didn't care to encounter him in the passageway. After the fight with the naga, she could happily live out the rest of her life without battling another spellcaster, and she intended to try.
She returned to the others. "There's one prisoner, a warrior. He's in chains. Used to be part of a larger group— it sounds like he's the only one left."
Ghleanna gasped. "One of Athan's band?" The half-elf's face brightened
"Possibly. He refused to tell who he works for or what he's doing here. But the—"
"We've got to free him!" Ghleanna said. "Is it Athan? What does he look like?"
"Who cares what he looks like? You should see the interrogator! He's some sort of sorcerer, a big guy with lots of tattoos. One of his hands is a claw!"
Corran looked at her as if she'd gone daft. "What do you mean, a claw? Is his hand shriveled?"
"No, I mean the end of his right forearm looks like it belongs on some other creature, like a bird—or a dragon."
Corran raised his brows. "Oh." He digested this bit of information, then inquired about other guards.
"Six skeletons. The sorcerer sounds like he's leaving soon. I figure if—"
"Once he leaves, I'll take care of the skeletons. Durwyn, you try to break the prisoner's chains." Corran looked to the mages. "Unless one of you can get them open?"
Kestrel clamped her mouth shut. She'd been about to suggest a plan of her own, but apparently Corran thought he was the only person capable of devising one.
"I'll have to look at how heavy they are, but I'm sure I can break them," Durwyn said.
"Good. Kestrel, you keep watch."
Keep watch? She ground her teeth, biting back a retort. The lowliest apprentice rogue could spring the locks on those irons. She'd mastered the skill as a child, when Quinn hadn't been quite fast enough to outrun some of the city patrols they'd encountered. Corran's arrogance made her want to spit. She hoped the high-handed paladin was the first to die when Durwyn's blows alerted the sorcerer to their activities.
The clang of iron signaled the sorcerer's departure. Kestrel watched as the threatening mage locked the door behind him and walked down the hall—thankful he went in the direction opposite from that where the party waited. Four skeletons stood sentinel outside the cell; the other two presumably remained inside with the captive.
When the sorcerer's light faded from view and they deemed him out of earshot, Corran led the group toward the cell. He held his holy symbol before him. "Leave us be!" he commanded the skeletons.
The creatures backed down the passageway about ten feet afraid of Corran but apparently unable to abandon their post The two inside the cell greeted the party at the door, thrusting their blades through the bars, until Corran repelled them, too. They retreated to the far corner of the cell.
"Who's there?" the captive called out
Ghleanna's face fell. Apparently, the prisoner's voice wasn't the one she'd hoped to hear. "Friends." Despite her obvious disappointment the half-elf injected a note of cheer into her tone.
Durwyn raised his axe to smash the padlock. Though Kestrel had planned to let him bang on it til doomsday, she changed her mind: Her own survival depended on the party's. She extended her hand to stay the warrior's arm. "There's a quieter way."
"But Corran said—"
"Yeah, I heard him." Though Durwyn looked to the paladin for guidance, Kestrel di
dn't waste a second glance on either man. She was the best person for this job and she didn't care what His Holiness had to say about it. She withdrew her lock picks from their beltpouch and went to work on the padlock, which opened easily in her expert hands. Then she defiantly went inside the cell with Corran and the mages. Let Durwyn keep watch.
The captive looked up expectantly as they entered, hope flitting across his broad face. "Are you here to free me?"
"Yes." Kestrel knelt beside him and examined his irons. The shackles, too small for his meaty wrists, chafed the skin but had not yet broken it "You're not magically bound, are you?"
"No—at least, I don't think so."
"Then I'll have you out of these in no time."
Ghleanna came forward and also knelt at the prisoner's side while Kestrel worked on the lock. "How long have you been held here?" The half-elf smoothed matted brown hair away from a nasty-looking cut on his forehead. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine. That sorcerer makes plenty of threats, but so far he's only smacked me around." Kestrel sprung open the wrist irons. He shook his arms to return the blood to his hands. "I believe I've been here two days or so. They knocked me out when they captured me, so I'm not certain."
"They?" Corran prompted from across the cell. He poked his head out the door to signal their success to Durwyn.
"The scarred mages. I'm not exactly sure who they are. Some sort of cult. You can't miss them—they all have one mutated hand. My companions and I never learned what they were all about but I think we got too close to finding out."
Kestrel shuddered involuntarily as she worked release the leg irons. There were more of the tattooed, clawed figures?
"Your companions—" Ghleanna began hesitantly. "Was a man named Athan among them?" Though the half-elf used a casual tone, Kestrel noted her grave expression.
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