Balcombe hesitated, staring at the enormous, nightmare gem for many minutes before reaching into the depths of his black robe. He loathed conversations with Hiddukel. Still, it was the only way to get what he desired.
The mage's fingertips met with the slight, almost un-detectable seam located just above his left breast. He tapped it four times—two quick taps followed by two slow ones. The secret pocket he had magically placed there opened, and he extracted from it a large golden coin, cold to the touch. For a time after he had received the conduit to the evil god Hiddukel from the swirling whirlpool of autumn leaves in Wayreth Forest, he had absently carried it with his other coins. Until the mind-boggling day he nearly—absently—traded it for a chicken at a local market. For the first time he began to think of the potential consequences of such carelessness. That very afternoon he had created a secret pocket in his robes; the coin never left his person again.
Balcombe reached for the lit candle standing nearby on the counter, then hesitated again. He examined the coin in his hand. Each of the two faces had a distinct personality, a fact that he had initially found both intriguing and useful. Often, a deal that could not be struck with one would appeal to the other. He frequently switched from one to the other several times during a single conversation. But more and more he found both aspects of Hiddukel odious and his demands intolerable.
At last, after selecting the more severe face, Balcombe held the coin by the edges between his thumb and forefinger. Slowly he passed it over the candle flame, feeling the metal grow hot in his grasp. As the temperature of the coin rose, Balcombe felt his fingers burn. Just as the heat became deliriously unbearable, the face on the coin suddenly sprang to life. The animated mouth gaped and the candle's flame leaped through it; the eyes popped open and scanned the room, locking onto Balcombe.
"You! I was in the midst of an extraordinary transaction," snarled the stout face. "It is too early in the moon's cycle for your usual delivery. Tell me instantly why you have summoned me, or I will flay the flesh from your frame and let the fiends suck the marrow from your bones!"
"No, you won't," Balcombe said, having learned long ago that Hiddukel valued bravado more highly than true conviction. "You still need me for the souls I provide you."
"I need no mortal!" bellowed the wrathful face.
Balcombe placed his thumbless hand to his chest in mock astonishment. "Has my knowledge been faulty all these years? I thought the true gods could enter Krynn only through avatars, such as this coin, and without their powers. If you can, in fact, enter this World and gather souls for yourself," he said, beginning the bluff, "I will happily declare our deal completed and deliver no more souls."
"Our score will be settled when I deem it so!" Both faces on the coin suddenly gave a hiccoughing laugh that was annoyingly out of synch. "Besides, you dare call souls those wretched things you have sent me of late? Rabid dogs and goblins would better satisfy my needs. You are dangerously close to forfeiture of contract, human."
Balcombe forced his voice to remain even. "Just how many worthwhile bodies and souls do you think can disappear unnoticed in a village the size of Tantallon? I take what I can get away with."
Hiddukel's eyes bulged. "Your petty problems are no concern of mine, mage! I made you what you are, and I expect little enough in return."
"Then you will be extraordinarily pleased to hear what I have for you this time." Crimson shafts flashed from the large ruby as it caught the light of a torch on the wall. Biting his lip in rapturous anticipation, Balcombe caressed the ruby's faceted surface before lifting it up to the level of the coin.
Hiddukel's expression was stormy. "I have seen gems before, mage. Why do you waste my time with games?"
"Look inside, my lord," Balcombe said smoothly. He swung the enchanted prison gem closer to the face on the coin.
The golden trinket flipped itself over in Balcombe's open palm. Hiddukel's wily face squinted into the depths of the gem. "I see the visage of a pretty young man. It is not unlike others you have sent me and tells me nothing of his soul," he said skeptically.
"Ah, but look into his eyes," Balcombe intoned. "His is not the face of an ordinary cobbler or street loiterer. He is Rostrevor, the sole offspring of Lord Curston. Raised by the Code and Measure of the Knights of Solamnia, his soul is as pure and steadfast as a mountain stream. I'll wager there are few less sullied on the whole of Krynn." He paused for effect. "This I give to you—"
Even Hiddukel's crafty side could scarcely disguise his lust at the prospect.
"—in exchange for one last service."
"Remember who is the master here."
"I have never forgotten."
Balcombe's gaze was locked with the image on the coin. Show no weakness, he reminded himself. "For ten years I have served you faithfully, exchanging souls for the life you restored to me. In the shadows of the towers, you vowed to help me exact revenge for my treatment in the Tower of High Sorcery during my test. Now I ask to see that promise fulfilled. Grant me LaDonna's position in the Conclave of Wizards."
Hiddukel was aghast. "That's impossible!"
"Nothing is impossible for a god."
Hiddukel recognized that he stood on the brink of a trap; the animated face on the coin fell still in reflection.
"You are a god of evil. LaDonna is the highest wizard of the black robes. Think of a way." Balcombe held the gem up to Hiddukel's eyes again, scarlet shafts of light dancing crazily on the walls.
"When?"
Balcombe swallowed an ecstatic smile. "I will summon you from the temple, as usual. We will make the exchange then."
The coin flipped back to the defiant side. 'Time is needed to prepare! LaDonna is no fool."
"Surely she is no match for a god." As the words slipped out, Balcombe gasped inwardly at his own effrontery. Had he pushed too hard, overestimated Hiddukel's conceit, when he was so close to getting what he wanted?
"Have a care, mortal," warned the coin in rigid tones. "I am not easily moved to true anger, but you have pushed me long and hard. I am not in your debt. You are in mine. As long as that condition persists, all I have granted to you can be withdrawn, including your life. Consider that well before next you question my power."
Balcombe had never truly tested Hiddukel's power on Krynn, but what he had seen in the past was impressive. It was entirely possible, he knew, that Hiddukel could enforce his threat, if not directly then through other followers. Few people openly worshiped the cunning god of bargaining, but Balcombe had good reason to suspect that many people, like himself, served Hiddukel secretly. More than once in the past, Hiddukel had demanded that Balcombe deliver a specific person's soul. While Hiddukel had never said it directly, Balcombe had no doubt that those victims were also followers of Hiddukel who had either betrayed or displeased the god. The thought that such assassins could be stalking in his own shadow chilled Balcombe, especially as it meant that his soul would be forfeit to Hiddukel's evil pleasures.
"I beg pardon, Hiddukel. The thought of my ultimate vengeance drawing so close made my words rash. You know I have served you faithfully for ten years. I ask only for what you have promised me.
"And consider what it would mean to you to have a loyal servant in such a high position as the Conclave of Wizards," he continued. "We can both profit by this." Balcombe knew that the best way to shield himself from Hiddukel's wrath was to turn the god's attention to something else. In this case, as usual, the best lure was what the god craved most after souls: profit and power.
"Indeed," mouthed the coin's jovial face, "I have given much thought to your case over the years. You are a very interesting prospect." But then the coin flipped over, revealing the stern face. Balcombe knew from experience that this meant the dealing would get harsh. The stern face drove much harder bargains than the jovial face, but it also bargained for significantly higher stakes.
"Do not deceive yourself, however," it snarled. "There are others who also crave LaDonna's post. Some may be more des
erving than you. Some are more faithful than you, others more deferential. Then there is LaDonna herself. Why should I favor you over any of them?"
As always when he spoke with Hiddukel, Balcombe's mind raced ahead, sharp and focused. "Others may crave the post, but I was promised revenge. Both of us know that once drawn, you must uphold your contracts. I have been patient, Hiddukel, but I have waited a long time. And now I'm bringing you a soul such as you've not seen for a long time."
The coin cut Balcombe off before he could continue. "What do you know of time, human? I have lived through ages you could not imagine. I have been banned from your world, denied the souls I crave, for such a time that years are not sufficient to measure it. What is your wait, compared to mine? These pathetic pleas do not impress me."
"But your scale of time does not apply to me," responded Balcombe. "Unlike you, I grow old. My time in this world is limited. The longer you wait to grant my request, the less time I will have to serve you from a position of ultimate power. Consider the souls I could send you if I were seated on the conclave. The feast would be like nothing you've ever known, and could begin with LaDonna. We would both have what we want most."
Years of experience had taught Balcombe how to play on Hiddukel's greed most effectively. If this appeal failed, there would be others. Balcombe had not burned any bridges behind him, but he could not imagine an argument that might be more effective against the patron god of soul stealing.
The coin flipped back to its jovial side. Vainly Balcombe tried to catch it and force the stern face to remain up, but he was too slow. Now he knew the jovial face, unwilling to seal a pact of this magnitude, would cut off the negotiation.
"Bring the soul to the appointed place, where I can examine it more closely," the coin said with a smile. "We will consider this issue in more detail at that time." Then the mouth sealed itself shut and once again the item in Balcombe's hand was nothing but a grotesque coin.
Not sure whether he should be frustrated or elated, Balcombe snapped his fist shut over the coin. He had extracted no new promises from the god, nor had he received any assurances. At the same time, he had not been turned down, and that alone was some encouragement. As long as Hiddukel was willing to entertain a possibility, there was reason to be hopeful.
Standing and stretching his muscular, six-foot frame, Balcombe returned the coin to its secret pocket, then carefully replaced the soul gem in its elaborate hiding place.
The next step, he told himself, was to prepare the altar for the ceremony that would relinquish the squire's soul to Hiddukel. It must be carried out flawlessly, Balcombe knew, because another soul this attractive might never fall into his hands.
There was difficulty, however, because the altar was not at the castle. The risk of accidental discovery was too great for the altar to be anywhere near the town. If his horrid practices or even his devotion to Hiddukel ever became known publicly or revealed to Lord Curston, Balcombe's career, and probably his life, would be over. For that reason, the altar was well hidden, miles from town in a rugged area of the Eastwall Mountains.
Getting there on foot would take Balcombe at least a day, probably more, of hard traveling. But he could be there in little over an hour by using a spell of flying.
Still it was a difficult and dangerous trip. The higher regions of the mountains were inhabited by hostile creatures. The ceremony of transference itself was time-consuming, which meant that he needed a good excuse to avoid suspicion over his absence from the court. True to his Solamnic heritage, Curston was mistrustful of magic and its practitioners. He kept a court mage only because a person in his powerful position had an obvious need for one and because Balcombe had proven his usefulness many times. None of that meant Curston completely trusted his mage.
Balcombe turned around and studied the chart of lunar cycles on the wall. The three moons of Krynn— Lunitari, Solinari, and Nuitari—controlled the power of magic in the world with their phases. Being an evil god, Hiddukel was at the height of his power when Nuitari, the black moon, was in high sanction. The same applied to Hiddukel's followers. The only time Balcombe could transfer souls to Hiddukel was during the high sanction of Nuitari, a condition that existed for a stretch of seven days out of every twenty-eight.
Balcombe knew that tomorrow night was the first night of high sanction for Nuitari. The day after that, Nuitari and Lunitari would be aligned for one day. During that time, the power of all wizards on Ansalon would be increased, but particularly black and red-robed mages. Veins stood out on Balcombe's neck as he thought back to the failed Test that had kept him out of the Order of Red Robes and thrust him into Hiddukel's service. Because he served Hiddukel, he received the same benefits from Nuitari as any black-robed wizard.
Still thinking about his approaching appointment at the altar, Balcombe became vaguely aware of a small, furry rodent scurrying about on his work counter. The castle was full of mice and rats, and Balcombe had, in fact, befriended a number of them over the years, though he might just as easily use them in his experiments. They liked to nibble at fallen bits of spell components and drink the dregs of liquids in his mortar bowls.
Balcombe was certain he had never seen this particular mouse in his laboratory before; he would have remembered such a slight, bright-eyed little creature. He watched as it darted among the surgical tools and bowls, snuffling its delicate whiskers at crumbs.
Suddenly its vision fastened onto something at the end of the counter. The furry brown rodent lunged forward, struggling to stretch its jaws enough to snatch up the bracelet in its sharp little teeth.
"Why, you little—" Balcombe began, angry and puzzled at the same time. He reached out to seize the audacious mouse as it struggled to drag the heavy bracelet to the counter's edge.
Just then, another mouse, smaller but wiry, leaped out from behind the blue bowl and fastened its razor teeth onto Balcombe's hand. Crying out in pain and fury, the mage flung the mouse from his finger and dashed it to the floor, where it staggered around, dazed.
Meanwhile, the mouse on the counter was still trying to drag the bracelet to the edge, but getting nowhere. Looking up at Balcombe's enraged visage as his hand reached toward it, the rodent gave one last desperate look at the bracelet and threw itself off the counter.
But the mouse never landed. In mid-flight, it changed before Balcombe's startled eyes into a hummingbird and flittered away through the narrow loophole and out of the castle. Balcombe felt his stomach lurch.
These were not mice.
Frantic, the mage looked around on the floor for the other mouse. "Who are you really? What do you want?"
He finally spotted the mouse as it skittered under the doorway to Balcombe's chamber and the castle beyond, disappearing from the mage's sight. He had no hope of catching the frightened mouse.
Unless the dwarf and half-elf had somehow escaped and taken the form of mice, two others now knew he had the bracelet. But there were two others: the woman and the kender who had escaped his web! The dwarf and half-elf were safely locked away in the castle jail. Balcombe had assumed his shadow monster had done its work on the other two. Could they be powerful enough or lucky enough to have escaped it?
Worse still, they undoubtedly heard his conversation with Hiddukel. Though they could have no clear idea where the altar was, beings with the power to poly-morph could undoubtedly discover its location. To be safe, he must get to the altar, make the transfer, and take LaDonna's place on the conclave immediately, thereby raising himself above the influence of any provincial mage in Tantallon or beyond.
Balcombe prepared for his departure as hastily as possible, but two questions burned in his thoughts like a flame that could not be extinguished.
Who were the woman and the kender, and how much did they know?
PART III
Chapter 14
The Chase
After turning into a sparrow once again, Selana hovered out of sight and observed Balcombe as he leaped from a parapet outside his window
, the bracelet plainly visible on his wrist. Obviously employing a spell of flying, he soared just above the treetops north of the village, mingling among the gray clouds that had descended since morning. He seemed headed deeper into the mountains, following the banks of the large mountain stream that cut between the castle and the pristine town of Tantallon.
Selana counted the passage of two minutes, then flew after him, maintaining a distance she hoped was beyond the range of any detection spells he might have cast.
So close! She'd held the bracelet in her teeth! Her heart ached at the memory.
The sea elf felt a momentary twinge of guilt over leaving Flint and Tanis behind in the jail. The dwarf, a fatherly sort, seemed as kind as anyone she'd met since coming to the surface, in spite of his occasional grumpiness. She suspected much of it was bluff and bluster, since he seemed sincerely anxious to make amends and retrieve the bracelet. She was sorry to cast him to the fates.
The half-elf was a different sort. . . . She had never met anyone like him before. Fire and ice. Infuriating. Impatient. Intriguing. ... A great flame, stoked from the soul, burned in his elongated eyes. He was a young man driven by extremes, by the best and worst passions. For some reason she could not fathom, she seemed to bring out the worst in him, which saddened her.
She knew that her real responsibility was to her brother and her kingdom, and if she did not follow Balcombe immediately, before the potion wore off and the evil mage got away, the cause for which they all had struggled would be lost.
With any luck, the kender would manage to rescue his friends. Under any circumstance, he seemed the type to always land on his feet, no matter how dire the situation. The kender was resourceful and undaunted, though this was tempered by a streak of . . . irresponsibility wasn't quite the right word, she thought. He was easily distracted. Still, she had a flicker of hope that he could help his friends, and she felt there was little more she could do on that score than hope.
[Meetings 02] - Wanderlust Page 20
