The Sorcerer rota-3

by Troy Denning

  "The Karsestone!" Malik gasped as though he had just realized what he was looking at, for it was important to his plan that Yder did not realize how much Malik understood about what he was seeing. That seems an odd altar for followers of the Nightsinger."

  "Shadow is born of light," Yder said.

  The phrase was repeated by a thousand whispering voices as Yder hoisted Malik onto the stone and laid him facedown.

  "All the same, so much bright light must be a great insult to your goddess… unless the Karsestone is the source of the Shadow Weave, of course." Malik swore a silent oath, for it been Mystra's curse that compelled him to add such a clumsy probe, then he hastened to add, "Or the one you worship here is not really Shar, but some other Hidden-"

  Malik's face smashed into stone as his tactic succeeded in angering the prince and distracting him from the gaff.

  "I told you never to call the Hidden One by name."

  "My apologies," Malik said. His voice sounded rather nasal, for his nose had been shattered and was pouring blood down over the Karsestone. "I only meant that this is certainly the last place the Most High would look for his stolen Karsestone."

  "What makes you think it is stolen?" Yder asked, not quite able to keep the smugness from his voice.

  Ever wary of the Seraph's ability to escape, the prince pinned Malik’s neck to the stone with one hand while he removed the chain from the manacles and attached it to a ring hanging from an iron post alongside the altar. Malik didn't know whether to be glad his plan had worked or ashamed it had taken so long for him to see the true nature of things.

  For the Shar worshipers to tolerate the Karsestone's brilliance in their temple-and, more importantly, for the goddess not to strike dead the ones who permitted it to be there-the boulder had to be of inestimable value to the Nightsinger. Malik no longer doubted that much-it was the source of the Shadow Weave, as Mystra's curse had caused him to blurt out, or something that she wished to keep hidden from the other gods.

  More terribly, if Shar considered Shade a safe place to hide such a thing-and if Telamont Tanthul truly had given the Karsestone to Yder for the Hidden One's temple-then she had to feel secure in her control of the city. For Shar to feel secure in her command of the Shadovar, she had to control the Shadow Weave itself.

  "The spiteful hag!" Malik cried. "She has commanded it all along!"

  "Curse her now all you wish, Malik."

  Yder spun him around then flipped him onto his back and fastened another chain to his second manacle.

  "Before this is done," the prince added, "you will sing her praises."

  "And you will lick the offal from my boots!" Malik shot back. "The Shadow Weave is Cyric's by right! Am I not the one who saved the life of that fool Galaeron so he could betray his word to Jhingleshod and steal this stone?"

  It was his own anger that compelled him to say this and not Mystra's curse, but he knew it was a mistake the moment the words spilled from his mouth. Yder's yellow eyes turned as bright as the sun. He bared his ceremonial fangs and bent so low that Malik feared the prince would bite his nose from his face.

  "Is that why you came here?" he demanded. "To steal the Hidden One's crown?"

  Malik said nothing and looked away.

  "Answer!" Yder commanded. "Answer, or I will feed you to your own shadow."

  The prince pulled his head aside so that Malik could see his shadow's hateful eyes glaring down at him. No longer did the monstrous thing seem dependent on Malik for its form. It looked as thick and as solid as any giant he had ever seen. Malik looked away on the pretext of meeting Yder's angry gaze.

  "Do you think I am afraid of my own shadow?" he demanded. "I am favored of the One. I have seen a thousand things that were a hundred times worse… though never any who know all the wretched things I have done in my life."

  "Look!" Yder grabbed Malik's aching jaw and forced him to stare up into his shadow's angry eyes. "You have seen the trouble Galaeron's shadow has brought on him. What do you think yours would do, were I to let it inside you?"

  "Why should I fear such a thing?" Malik squeaked. "If a shadow is all the things I am not, this one is undoubtedly as charitable as I am selfish, as trustworthy as I am corrupt, as brave as I am craven. My shadow would only make me all the things that women desire and men admire."

  "What of Cyric?" It was the shadow that asked this question-and that flashed a brutal purple smile as it did so. "How would he feel about a Seraph who was all those things?"

  The blood went cold in Malik's veins, and he swung his gaze to Yder.

  "What was your question again?"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  1 Eleasias, the Year of Wild Magic

  In the dim light of the cell, the link was easier for Vala to feel than to see, even with skin numbed by cold and calluses. She worked her foot up the chain until she felt pit-roughened metal, then pinched the loop between her toes and lifted it toward her mouth. Even flexible as she had grown over the past couple of months, she could not bring it all the way to her face. Once the chain went taut, she used her leg muscles to pull herself closer. She let her toes slide down one link then spit a mouthful of saliva onto the pitted surface.

  Vala had her doubts about whether she could actually spit her way to freedom, but with her hands manacled behind her back and no other tools to work with, it was the best she could do, and it gave her something to focus on when she was not being abused by Escanor or his retainers. She could not just sit there in the dark, waiting between sessions. She had to keep trying, to know she was at least attempting to escape.

  Besides, when she had started, there had been no pits in the link at all. Vala let the chain go slack, then wrapped her toes into it and began to jerk downward against the eye hook that secured it to the wall. A hundred times, then find the link and spit. If she just kept working at it, something would give. The hook would loosen in the wall, or the link would grow rusty and break, or a guard would think she had lost her mind and grow careless enough to let her kill him. Something would happen. It had to, if she was ever to see her son again.

  A voice whispered, "Vala?"

  Vala hit the end of the chain and was back on the floor before she realized she had jumped. She spun on her seat, her legs cocked for thrust kicks, and found no one there.

  Great, she thought. Something has happened. I've started to hear things.

  "We're not going to hurt you," the voice said.

  Vala squinted toward the voice and saw nothing but murk, then a tiny man in black robes hopped onto her foot. She wasn't just hearing things. The man-the delusion, she corrected herself-had an unruly black beard and dark eyes, but his face and arms were too light to be Shadovar.

  "No need to cower, my dear," he said. "We're friends of-"

  Vala flicked the figure off her foot and heard it hit a wall with a real-sounding thud. She was cowering, frightened of her tortured mind's own phantasms.

  "I won't let this happen," she said to herself. Vala straightened her shoulders and raised her chin-but she did not lower her leg. "Go away!"

  "Softly, child!" This time the voice was female, and it came from over near the door. "Mind the guard."

  Another voice, on her other side, began what sounded like a spell. The bearded figure returned, this time flanked by two female figures with flowing silver hair, and Vala realized that, phantasms or not, they were all around her. There could be hundreds of them out there in the dark, swarming over the floor. Thousands, maybe, an army of dark little shadow faeries come to feast now that her flesh was suitably battered and bruised. She screamed. She could not help herself, the sound just erupted as she let out her next breath.

  The shadow faeries cringed and looked toward the door, and in the next moment Vala was silent. Her mouth remained open and her throat continued to vibrate, but there was no more sound.

  The male faerie looked toward the door and asked, "The guard?"

  "Still thinking about it," the female voice whispered. "He's curious, bu
t not alarmed."

  Vala could see her, another silver-haired faerie down on the floor, peering around the corner of the archway.

  "Keep an eye on him," the male said.

  Followed by the two silver-haired females, he circled toward Vala's head. They were joined by a third female, which fluttered over from behind Vala and settled on the floor next to them. Vala tried to spin around to bring her feet toward them but one of the females made a motion with a sliver-sized wand, and she found herself unable to move.

  "I'm sorry we frightened you," the male said. "Clearly, your ordeal has taken more of a toll than we imagined."

  Had Vala been able to talk, she would have suggested that they change places and see what kind of toll being a Shadovar slave took on him.

  "Can you stop screaming?" asked one of the women. "We have some questions."

  Vala grew aware of her aching jaw and realized that her mouth continued to gape open, that her throat was raw from screaming. She clamped her mouth shut and glared at the black-clad faeries beside her. They certainly looked solid enough.

  The woman nodded, made a dismissive gesture, and a whimpering, rasping sound came to Vala's ears. It took a moment to identify the source as her own throat.

  "Good," the man said. He held his hand out and moved it in a placating motion that made Vala want to kick him. "We're friends of Galaer-"

  "Galaeron?" Vala finished for him.

  She brought her breath under control. Phantasms or not, she could not have these faeries telling Galaeron that she had whimpered when they came for her.

  "He sent you?" she asked.

  The women looked at each other. They looked uncomfortable.

  "What's wrong?" Vala demanded. "Is he hurt?"

  "We wouldn't know," the man, whose manner was gruff, said.

  One of the faerie women stepped in front of the male and said, "Galaeron is on a mission of the utmost importance to all of Faer?n."

  "As are we," said the second woman, also stepping in front of the male. "Perhaps it would help if we introduced ourselves. I am Storm Silverhand."

  "I'm Dove Falconhand," said the woman at the door.

  "I am Alustriel Silverhand," said the woman who had cast the spells. She motioned at the last woman, who was still standing beside the black-bearded man. "This is our sister Laeral."

  "And that would make me Khelben Arunsun." The faerie man pushed his way between the two women who had stepped in front of him. "Now that you're properly awed, maybe you'd care to answer a question or two and help us save the Heartlands."

  Vala scowled down at the male, quite certain that she had lost her mind.

  When she didn't say anything, Khelben rolled his eyes and turned to the one who had introduced herself as Alustriel.

  "How can she not know who we are?" he asked. "Is Vaasa so backward?"

  "We know of the Chosen even in Vaasa," Vala said. "We also know the difference between flesh and phantasm. Why would the five of you show up in my cell, the size of dolls, unless I were mad?"

  "Because we need your help," Alustriel said. She stepped over and placed a hand on Vala's jaw. Her touch felt real enough, solid and warm. "We must find the mythallar, and you're the only one who can help."

  "Trouble!" hissed the woman by the door. "The guard's coming."

  The faeries vanished as quickly as they had appeared, leaving Vala alone in her cell.

  "Wait!" She felt more isolated than ever-and more certain that she was losing her mind, more frightened. "Don't!"

  The guard appeared in the doorway, a hulking shadow lord with ruby eyes and filed teeth. Vala thought he was Feslath, one of Escanor's favorites.

  "Don't what?" Feslath demanded. "Who are you talking to?"

  Though his Shadovar eyes could see in the dark as easily as Vala could see in daylight, he did not even bother glancing around the cell. He knew as well as she did that there was no one in the room, that her mind had finally snapped.

  "I asked a question, slave."

  Vala glared at him and refused to answer. She was not worried about revealing the presence of her visitors-the delusions were hidden safely inside her mind-but she could not obey, not even in this. Once she started to surrender, it would grow easier and easier, until she finally belonged to them in spirit as well as body.

  "You defy me?"

  Feslath grinned and took the whip off its hook. He did not even need to look to find it.

  "As you like. Assume the position."

  Vala was supposed to turn her back and bow her head so her eyes would be protected.

  Instead, she glared straight into Feslath's eyes and said, "Go suckle a veserab."

  The whip caught Vala across the chest almost before she had finished the curse. Refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream, she clenched her jaw and took the next strike in silence as well, but the third caught her across the ribs and forced an involuntary gasp. Feslath, in particular, was a master of the technique and delighted in forcing her body to emit the sounds her mind held in check.

  The next lash caught her across the previous one, and Vala began to grow dizzy. The assault would not end until she fell unconscious. Praying that he would keep landing his strikes on top of each other, she glared into his eyes and watched his arm draw back.

  A dark-cloaked figure rose behind Feslath and caught his arm by the wrist. Feslath's eyes flared red, and he spun around to find the butt of a large black staff crashing into the side of his head. His knees buckled, and he melted to the floor like a suit of empty silks.

  Khelben Arunsun, standing fully six feet tall, kicked the shadow lord in the ribs-hard-to make certain he was unconscious, then came to kneel beside Vala.

  "You could have answered him," he said.

  Vala shook her head, and vaguely aware of her gaping jaw, gasped, "You are real."

  Khelben nodded, but made no move to undo her manacles.

  "Does that mean you'll help us?" he asked.

  Vala shook the chain by which she was attached to the wall.

  "Does that mean you'll get me out of here?" she asked in return.

  Khelben's face grew impatient.

  "We'll come back for you, but our mission depends on secrecy and surprise. We can't take you along now without the risk of drawing attention to ourselves."

  Vala considered this a moment then pointed her chin at Feslath's fallen figure.

  "You're already running that risk," she said. "And no offense, but if you're going after the mythallar, I don't like your chances of getting back here to rescue me before this rock hits the ground."

  "The fate of Faer?n itself hangs in the balance!" Khelben's voice was deep and righteous. "You would bargain for your own life?"

  "I have a son who needs a mother." Vala didn't flinch at Khelben's angry scowl, but added, "I am not the one who is bargaining."

  "She has a point, Khelben."

  Dove and the other three Chosen appeared on the floor between them, still no more than a hand high.

  Dove continued, "We promised Arts-'

  "We will keep our promise," Khelben insisted, "without risking our mission."

  "You're sure our mind wiping magic will work on a Shadovar?" Alustriel asked. "They are not beings of the Weave."

  "Even if it does, there will still be the lump on the guard's head to explain," Storm said. "Hell wonder how he got it, and that in itself might give us away."

  "I know a way it won't matter," Vala said, seeing her chance.

  Khelben looked to her and raised his brow.

  Vala explained her plan, and when she finished, Khelben continued to study her with narrowed eyes.

  "This will work," Vala said. "It stands a better chance than your memory-stealing magic."

  "Alustriel's memory-stealing magic," Khelben corrected. "That's not what worries me."

  "Then what does?" Laeral asked.

  "Vala," he said plainly. "It's not as though she's helping us out of the goodness of her heart. If Galaeron couldn't tell us where
to find the mythallar, how do we know Vala can? She might be lying so we help her escape."

  "Galaeron returned to the Palace Most High via Telamont’s magic," Vala said. "I walked home."

  Khelben continued to look doubtful.

  "What if I were lying?" Vala asked. "Would you leave me here to fall with the city?"

  "Of course not," Alustriel said. "We promised Aris we wouldn't."

  "Then why should I lie?"

  Finally, Khelben smiled and said, "I suppose you're right at that, aren't you?"

  Khelben dragged the unconscious guard over to Vala and laid him at her feet. While she used the heel of her foot to make it look as though she had knocked him unconscious, Khelben removed the keys from his belt and undid her manacles. Once she was free, Vala wrapped the chain around his throat and began to choke him. None of the Chosen watched this part. They clearly wished there had been another way.

  Not Vala. She had only to think of the beatings she had suffered at Feslath's hands for this small vengeance to seem not nearly enough. The thought sent a chill down her spine, and she found herself wondering if it was only magic-users who could let their shadows inside.

  Once the guard was dead, Vala took his equipment and dressed herself in his clothes, and Khelben shrank himself back to the size of the others. She stuffed all five of the Chosen into her pockets, and aided by spells of invisibility and silence, crept down the stairs to the base of the confinement tower. Here, she had to kill two more guards, the first when he turned toward the opening door, the second while he was struggling with the dying body she had shoved into his arms. Leaving the bodies inside the stairwell behind the locked iron door, she used the second one's cloak to wipe the blood off the floor, then tossed it into a garderobe and left the area.

  From there, it would have been a simple matter to descend the back stairs and vanish into the city. Instead, Vala entered a servant's passage and traversed the back of the great palace. Though she passed a constant stream of maids, pages, and butlers, she remained concealed from both eye and ear, for the magic of the Chosen was powerful enough to remain effective even after combat had been joined.