Lucky, mistaking his frantic motion for play, barked and leaped in the warlock’s path. “Not now, boy!” Japheth said.
He pushed one last tome into the satchel, then popped the whole thing into his cloak. Several books rich with precious lore remained scattered among the printed dross in his suite, but he didn’t have time to weigh their merits against the ones already in his bag.
He returned to Anusha’s side. He gazed at her serene, pale face.
“Raidon’s on his way. He means to destroy the Dreamheart. By the Nine, I wish I had more time!” He brushed a stray strand of hair from Anusha’s forehead. “So we must travel again. To Darroch Castle. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you—”
The crack of splintering timber resounded through the vault. A flash of cerulean light glinted on the door frame. Something had breached his outer suite.
He whirled, his stomach clenching. He hadn’t finished his preparations.
“Japheth!” a hard voice called. “Give up the relic!”
The warlock lunged for the Dreamheart at the head of Anusha’s travel chest. In his haste, he fumbled the cage and knocked it to the floor.
Raidon Kane appeared in the vault entrance. The halfelf moved with a relaxed grace that conveyed unswerving menace. Angul was in his hands. It burned with blue fire, as did the tattoo on Raidon’s chest.
Lucky growled. Despite everything, concern troubled the warlock for the dog’s welfare.
“Lucky! Get away!” Japheth ordered. He loosed a crackling line of eldritch fire from a finger, missed the halfelf, then ducked below the top of the travel chest, which lay between him and the door. The relic lay some five feet from him. It was completely undefended, vulnerable to a single stroke of the monk’s sword—
Raidon came around the other side of the travel chest and saw the relic at his feet. The monk was impossibly fast! His sword swept high, preparing for a sundering stroke. Angul’s flame was bright as the sun, if the sun burned blue.
“No!” croaked Japheth. He tried to get off another spell, one that would knock the monk away from his target, but he was too slow—
The Dreamheart’s eye shuttered open and fixed the monk with its ageless glare.
Raidon hesitated.
Japheth finished his incantation. A golden glow snatched the half-elf and transferred him as far as Japheth could manage with so little time to prepare—out into the suite, perhaps even into the hallway beyond.
A cry of surprise from two throats issued from the next room, one a man’s, the other a woman’s. Thoster and … Seren? It didn’t matter. They would have to deal with a disoriented monk, perhaps murderously so, giving Japheth precious moments to flee.
He stooped and grabbed the Dreamheart. Its cage was broken. He shook the orb loose of its shattered fetters. The stone was clammy and cold, slightly slippery. He cringed from the touch, but its coolness faded almost instantly. Heat woke along its irregular sides, a warmth that tingled. It was … pleasant. And terrifying.
Just as when he’d fled Gethshemeth’s sea cave, he instinctively sucked energy from the stone and channeled it into his cloak. That time, he’d stepped first from the cavern to the seamount’s surface to gather Anusha, the chest, and Lucky. From there he’d stepped across the world, east over the Sea of Fallen Stars.
Now he needed to go even farther, and in a direction that didn’t exist in the world.
Normally he had to leave his cloak behind as a bridge if he wished to access the Lord of Bats’s home. He didn’t have that luxury at the moment—his enemies would simply follow him to his sanctuary.
The Dreamheart warmed further, becoming like a live thing shuddering in his grip. It gave him what he asked for, enough strength to use his cloak as a door to another plane.
Raidon cradled the relic in the crook of one elbow, then bent to gather up Anusha. Before he managed her weight, Raidon reappeared in the vault’s doorway, with Captain Thoster only a step behind.
It almost looked like the captain was reaching out, trying to restrain Raidon. But the monk leaped, too fast for the captain. He was a streak in the air whose leading point was a flying knee, rigid like a ship’s prow. The monk held Angul straight over his head so that the blade’s flame streaked the air with cerulean fire.
The half-elf’s brutal knee caught the warlock in the chest. Pain splintered Japheth’s awareness and tore Anusha from his grip.
He tried to mouth a curse, but the blow emptied his lungs of air. The savage force tumbled Japheth and the Dreamheart into the waiting void of his gaping cloak. He fell headlong through a one-way portal to a place beyond the world.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The Year of the Secret (1396 DR)
Veltalar, Aglarond
Raidon cracked his knuckles, one after the other. Angul was plunged point first into the vault floor, simmering.
He stared at empty air where the warlock had escaped into a collapsing portal mouth formed of his own shadowed cape. Holding the Dreamheart. He stared as if wishing alone could bore that portal open anew.
“He’s slippery like a fish off the hook,” said Captain Thoster. The pirate stood looking down at the girl Anusha, one hand scratching his chin as he considered the sleeper. “Japheth’d give up his mind to the relic for this one, eh? She doesn’t look like anything special. He called her Anusha in the grotto.”
Seren, standing in the vault doorway, said, “He was hiding her aboard the ship all along. How macabre.”
A low growl sprang up. A dog, large and black, advanced on the captain from the vault’s corner.
“Blackie!” exclaimed Thoster, his eyes lighting with recognition. “What’re you doing here? I thought the crew threw you overboard!” The pirate approached the growling beast, his hands proffered for the dog to sniff.
“Your hound is a poor guard—it took up with the ghost girl here quick enough,” Seren said. “Dispatch the disloyal cur.”
The captain shook his head, laughing at the mercenary wizard’s suggestion. “I think I might have a treat, Blackie,” he crooned to the dog, one hand searching through his voluminous pockets.
Raidon watched without really seeing, as canine and man were reacquainted. His thoughts were elsewhere. Once again, the aberrant relic had avoided destruction through the warlock’s interference. The object had obviously corrupted the man as it had corrupted Nogah.
It was Raidon’s own fault. The Dreamheart had lain before him, fully vulnerable. The Blade Cerulean was poised, vibrating unswerving conviction through its hilt into Raidon’s soul. Why had he hesitated?
Because the Dreamheart looked at him. In that look a momentary connection formed, and Raidon saw through the eye. As the golem of Stardeep had warned him, he saw down into the mantle below the world and glimpsed awakening Xxiphu. Beslimed creatures, sluggish yet with eons of sleep heavy on their tentacles, swam through drowned crannies and crept along purple-lit tunnels leaving trails of mucus. Malevolent and vile, they converged on a cavity high in the city’s crown painted with glyphs in colors Raidon’s eye couldn’t resolve. The creatures … the aboleths, Cynosure called them, gathered in that arcane cavity. They were performing a ghastly ritual.
And over all, a great bulk frozen in stone was stirring.
The Dreamheart’s foul vision dazed Raidon long enough for the warlock to make good his treacherous escape.
“You don’t look well,” came Captain Thoster’s voice. “But not half as upset as Japheth looked when you knocked him into the dark, eh?”
Raidon opened his eyes and turned to regard Thoster, but he did not speak.
Seren scowled and said, “Is there anything you don’t find funny, Captain?”
The captain sighed. “Oh, come. Yes, our ship is holed and we’re taking water, I know. But we ain’t dead, are we? We got something from all this running around.” He pointed to Anusha. “If Japheth cares so much for this lass, then we got ourselves a fair bargaining chip. He kept hold of the Dreamheart for her. He’ll give it up if we threaten to roug
h her up.”
“Hmm,” Seren replied, nodding slowly.
“No,” Raidon murmured, tired at the mere thought of the captain’s banal suggestion. “Anyway, it’s too late.” He stood, avoiding using Angul’s hilt to pull himself upright. “Things have gone too far.”
“What’s that mean?” asked Thoster, who was feeding another dried piece of fish to the dog.
“Japheth, the great kraken Gethshemeth, and Nogah before them handled the Dreamheart too much. I told you it was but a piece of something terrifyingly larger. A … creature.”
Thoster shrugged. “So?”
“So this monstrosity, this … Eldest aboleth, is already partly roused. Its children, less potent but also less sleepy, are coming awake within the bowels of Xxiphu. Even now, those already awake perform foul rituals to fully animate their stony father. If the aboleths succeed, you can say farewell to Faerûn as you know it.”
The conviction in his voice shocked even Thoster to silence.
“All hope’s lost? Even if we get the Dreamheart now?” asked Seren.
“A threshold has been passed. What I saw in the eye when its gaze locked with mine …” Raidon shook his head. “The ritual has already begun. To disrupt it, we’d have to go straight to the source. In Xxiphu, if I plunge Angul into the heart of the entity to which the Dreamheart belongs, that might finally slay it.”
“Might?” asked Seren.
Raidon didn’t answer. Instead, he said, “So forget Japheth. His part in this is done. We need to figure out how to reach Xxiphu, and soon.”
Hazy layers of smoke squeezed tears from Raidon’s eyes. The clink of tallglasses, the shouts of patrons, and the clack of magically animate devices in the room across the hall were maddeningly loud. The sword sheathed on his back tugged this way and that, distracting the monk further.
But Thoster wouldn’t talk options until they retired to the Lorious’s frantic saloon. The captain’s eyes twinkled as he watched well-heeled Veltalarans indulge in ales, wines, pipes, and lit bundles of rolled leaves. Thoster’s hat perched high on his head. The man obviously enjoyed the attention of his ostentatious dress at least as much as he enjoyed keeping an eye on a few of the staff who flirted shamelessly with him. The captain seemed unfazed by the idea of seeking Xxiphu. Which was suspicious. Raidon just didn’t have the mental energy to decipher Thoster’s game right then.
Seren completed their triangle, but her head was buried in a tome she’d liberated from Japheth’s suite. Her dark hair hung down just above the yellowed pages, hiding her eyes and face. The wizard ignored the babble of the saloon well enough to read, or at least gave a credible semblance of doing so.
Raidon watched her, as if he might find his own focus in the studious lines of the woman’s shoulders and neck. She was enthralled with the miniature library Japheth had accumulated. She’d selected a few choice tomes and scrolls and tucked them away into her satchel.
To what end, though? Did Seren really care that the Dreamheart’s constant handling had finally done its damage? The wizard was just a breath away from abandoning Raidon, despite her grudging acceptance of the terms Raidon had offered her on the ship.
But did it matter? Perhaps the situation was beyond their ability to influence. If Cynosure were still functioning, Raidon might have transported himself directly into Xxiphu. But that was a wish that wasn’t going to be granted.
“You’ve had your ale, Captain,” the monk said, his voice raised to break through the babble of a dozen others. “Can we discuss the idea you mentioned back in Japheth’s suite about salvaging the situation?”
“I’ve had one cupful. That ain’t enough to quench my thirst!” Thoster grinned, tossed off the contents of a tankard still a quarter filled with tawny liquid, then burped. His eyes followed the progress of a dark-haired woman across the saloon.
“If the Eldest is fully roused, ale and wenching will be the least of your needs,” Raidon said.
The captain guffawed, then pointed. “Here comes your drink. Maybe that’ll soothe your sour disposition.”
A server, a halfling, stopped at the table. He deposited a tea service before Raidon. Though surprised to see the steaming pot, Raidon tapped his fingers in thanks.
“You ordered this for me?” he asked Thoster.
The captain nodded. “You were busy in Japheth’s suite.”
When the captain and the wizard had gone on ahead to secure a table, Raidon stayed behind to make certain the dog and the sleeping woman were in good health. He’d explained to Thoster they might yet have need of Anusha. Also, the sword had not wanted him to waste time caring for the woman and beast. Whenever Raidon recognized a “greater good” impulse from Angul coloring his attitude, he tried to take the opposite tack.
Raidon poured a steaming cup and sipped. Warmth filled his mouth and descended to his center. The sharp, green odor and tingling heat did indeed calm his agitated state. He inhaled deeply and caught the captain’s eye.
Thoster grinned but refrained from further comment.
The server also set upon the table another foaming mug for the captain and a crystal goblet filled with purple liquid for Seren. Thoster immediately grabbed up his tankard and downed a goodly portion.
Seren looked up from her tome and said, “Raidon, do you remember your promise? You will devote yourself to gathering a lord’s treasure when we’re done with all this?”
“You have my word,” agreed Raidon.
She nodded. “Good. These tomes and scrolls from Japheth’s suite—they’re not a bad down payment.”
The monk nodded, then said, “We need to descend to Xxiphu; it’s too late for half measures. Do you know how we can burrow down into the earth to reach the city?”
“Halruaa used to have flying ships,” interjected Captain Thoster. “But those are destroyed, save for a scant few.”
“What good would that do us?” snapped Seren. “We need to sail the solid veins of dirt and stone below the world. None of those Halruaan craft had that ability.”
“Did you ever fly one?”
“They were called flying ships, not burrowing ships, idiot,” Seren retorted.
Thoster paused, considering, and took another pull at his ale. He mumbled, “I was hoping you could whip us up some magic sails for Green Siren, or somesuch.”
Seren rolled her eyes, then paused. “Hmm. Well, I can’t do that. But perhaps … something.”
“What?” asked Raidon.
She glanced at the captain. “You remember those albino fish in the pool on Gethshemeth’s island? The ones swimming around in that cave where the black dragon ambushed us?”
Thoster nodded.
“When I arrived,” said Raidon, “that pool was drained and all the fish in it were dead. I met the dragon. He called himself Scathrys. I left him alone … but Anusha managed to hurt him somehow.”
“Really?” Seren asked, then shook her head. “Never mind. Do you remember the fish, Thoster?”
“Aye,” Thoster said. “Them and everything else in that accursed room. They were eyeless slivers darting around, each one aglow. At the lip of that pool, Nogah and my first mate died.”
“Before she died, Nogah said the fish were rune-scribed creatures,” Seren said. “In their presence, she said one could walk the depths of the sea floor as if strolling a green meadow.”
Thoster wiped foam from his face and said, “Hmm, perhaps my mind was elsewhere. I don’t remember all that. Mayhap because of the kuo-toa trying to kill us?”
“Typical. Well, I know those fish. I remembered an account of similar creatures described in the great library in Silverymoon.”
Raidon nodded, recalling his one visit to that gem of the north during the decade he spent hunting aberrations. “Does Silverymoon survive?” he wondered.
Seren shrugged. “How should I know? I fled the enclave and gave up the red robe …”
“Red robe?” Thoster prodded.
“Forget that. What’s important are the rune
fish. They school in the Elemental Chaos, swimming through boiling earth and fire like regular fish through water. They’re called gleamtail jacks.”
“Elemental Chaos, aye, I know that place,” said Thoster, though his tone indicated he was being sarcastic. “Odd Gethshemeth was keeping them.”
“Not at all. They are naturally adept at slipping between boundaries. The great kraken wants to do the same—maybe that’s why it was able to spend so much time breathing air instead of hiding beneath the waves.”
“How does this help us, Seren?” interrupted the monk.
She raised her hands as if in supplication. “Are you an idiot too? If we can secure for ourselves a school of gleamtail jacks, or perhaps just one or two larger specimens, we can use them in a ritual. A ritual that would send us on a trip beneath the Sea of Fallen Stars and even into the earth itself.” The wizard’s eyes glittered at whatever image played behind them.
“How likely are we to achieve that?” Raidon wondered. “Seems like a difficult ritual to perform. In my understanding, extraordinary rituals require extraordinary preparations. We’ve made no preparation.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Raidon.” So saying, Seren produced from her satchel a bone scroll case. She unscrewed the end and tipped out a dried, smelly shape about the size of Raidon’s thumb. It was limp and flaking with rot.
“Hey!” protested Thoster, pulling back his tankard.
“A rune fish,” Seren proclaimed, as if showing off a crown jewel.
“This is from Gethshemeth’s island?” Raidon asked, pointing at the dried thing lying on the table.
Seren nodded. “I had to have one.”
“You were grubbing for one of these here fish as we got ambushed by Gethshemeth’s pet kuo-toa?” demanded Thoster, real heat in his voice. “No wonder we got strung up on the yardarm. You weren’t doing the job I paid you for!”
Seren narrowed her eyes and replied coolly, “You’d be dead now without my help on that damn island. Anyhow, you’re no longer my employer. Raidon is.”
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