The look on the woman's face broke Vambran's heart, for he realized that he had hurt her with his harsh words. But he dismissed his feelings, promising himself that he would make it up to her later. Right then, he had more important issues to attend to.
"All right," Elenthia said, rising. "Let me get properly dressed, and I will take you to see Father."
Before she was able to walk three paces, though, alarms began to sound outside in the streets. As Elenthia gasped, Vambran moved to the window to see what the commotion was about.
"That's the call to arms!" she cried, a tremor in her voice. "The city's under attack!"
"I'd really love to stay and watch all of this," Junce was saying from a distant corner of the room, "but I have to get back to Arrabar. There's some unfinished business I must take care of at the Generon involving your niece. That little Emriana's becoming quite the lovely lady, don't you think?" he said, smiling. "I believe she and I might find something suitable to talk about, a mutually enjoyable way to spend our time together "
Kovrim jerked against the bonds that held him strapped down to a table, wanting with all of his being to get his hands around the assassin's neck and throttle him. But he was completely immobilized and finally gave up, letting hopelessness begin to wash over him. The guards who had removed him from the alcove and restrained him there had disappeared, leaving him alone with Junce.
"A word of advice, though," the assassin said, crossing over to loom near Kovrim's head, a smug smile on his face. "Fight the transformation. It won't make a difference, but I can imagine the desperation you'll feel while it's happening will be truly agonizing. So resist it with everything you have, just for me."
Kovrim gave a throaty shout at the man standing over him, but Junce backed up a pace or two, spoke a phrase, and vanished. When he had gone, the old priest broke down, sobbing in his loneliness and fear. He wasn't afraid to die, but he was terrified of becoming an undead thing. Watching Hort rise up from the floor and stare with glassy, unrecognizing eyes straight ahead as he shuffled off to join the other zombies was the most difficult thing the old priest had ever had to witness.
And he knew he would be joining his longtime companion soon, transformed by the magical plague into another mindless, disease-spreading creature, part of Junce's new army. It sickened him, made him want to retch. He began to thrash again, fighting the restraints that held him on the table.
A door opened, and Kovrim twisted his head around, trying to peer in that direction to see who it was. A man strode into the chamber where he lay, but his face was hidden by a deep-cowled hood, part of a long robe he wore. There was a strange glow radiating all around the stranger, and Kovrim guessed that it was some sort of protection against infection from the plague.
"You see," the stranger said, his face turned away from Kovrim as he stood at a workbench, doing something Kovrim couldn't see, "my cousin doesn't want to have to battle the armies of Reth and the Emerald Enclave at full strength. In truth, he doesn't want to have to fight them at all. He would much rather let the ravages of disease take their toll, and Chondath can arrive with healing magic and save the day, allowing Reth to return to the fold, where it rightly belongs."
Kovrim listened to the man's cryptic words, not understanding them, but not really thinking about them, either. It was the stranger's voice that captivated him. It was vaguely familiar, someone he had known, many years ago. But he couldn't quite place it.
"Of course," the man continued, "my cousin must make certain that Chondath is not seen as having released the plague itself. That's everyone's worst fear, that Shining Arrabar will bring the Rotting Plague back. So he developed a plan. The plague would come from elsewhere, and he would be seen as a savior rather than a devil. And who better to release the plague upon a hated city than the druids of the Emerald Enclave? When they begin to track the zombies' origins and head down into the sewers, they will find the bodies of two promising young wood folk who both gave their lives so that the 'hated city folk' could be devoured in disease."
At last, the man turned to face Kovrim, holding a small alembic, which contained a thick, yellow substance. He approached where the old priest lay, holding the alembic well away from himself. "It was a long plan, a slow one, and one that I didn't have much say in," the man said. "But then, that's always the way my cousin operated, so I guess I should feel fortunate that I was included at all."
Kovrim wanted to scream, not because the man was about to pour the thick, sludgy substance onto his face-that in and of itself was too horrible to contemplate. No, the old priest's anxiety reached a fever pitch because he remembered the face, knew the man.
Slowly, as the man let a bit of the disease-ridden pus slide out of the alembic and dribble around Kovrim's mouth and nose, he lost his faculties, his mind seeking shelter by receding from consciousness.
Rodolpho Wianar finished the application of the disease to the priest and smiled.
CHAPTER 18
Emriana held her breath, trying to hold perfectly still. It was hard, hanging as she was with her knees drawn up and hooked over a timber and her torso folded in half, both hands clinging to that same beam along either side of her knees. She would have pulled herself up the rest of the way and found a more comfortable perch, but there hadn't been time. She felt very undignified with her rear end jutting downward like that.
Below the girl, a lone guard stood in the midst of the room, his head canted slightly to one side as though listening. One hand rested on the hilt of his short sword while the other gripped the scabbard. Emriana knew that any movement on her part would disturb the dust coating the top of the beam, causing it to sift downward-right on top of the man below her.
"Anyone there?" the guard called out, uncertain, craning his neck to peer into the shadows of the library. There was no answer, of course, because when Emriana and Pilos had entered the chamber to flee the guard and his companions, it had been perfectly dark.
Which is why I managed to bump into a shelf and knock over a whole stack of books, Emriana recalled. Oh yes, Emriana Matrell, you are a first-class sneak, she silently taunted herself.
She wanted to throw up from fear.
From the shadows beyond the guard's torch, there was a slight scuffling sound.
"Who's there!" the guard demanded, more forcefully.
A cat appeared, its eyes reflecting the torchlight, a mouse caught in its teeth. It let out a low growl as if to warn the human away from its meal, then slunk back into the shadows.
The guard snorted and his shoulders sagged, obviously relieved. "Stupid cat," he mumbled, turning to go. "Scared the demons out of me." He stomped out of the library, pulling the door shut behind him, leaving Emriana in blessed darkness. She heard the click of a lock turning, and all was quiet.
The girl sighed in relief and thanked Tymora for the luck of a cat. She then eased herself back down from the timbers in the ceiling, dropping to the floor. She began smoothing her dress in the darkness, knocking the dust from it, just as Pilos reappeared, dispatching himself from the nearby wall. His pendant still shone with a soft, pearlescent light. The glow had vanished when the guard had first interrupted them and the young priest had magically melted into the wall. The way in which he had done that fascinated Emriana.
"I need to cast spells like that," she muttered as the young man moved beside her. "I bet you were a lot more comfortable in there than I was hanging half upside down."
Pilos grinned. "You looked like you were having fun," he said wryly. "I thought for a moment that his torch was going to scorch your backside."
Emriana groaned at the possibility. "I guess it's a good thing the ceiling's so high," she remarked.
"Or that he was so short," the young man came back.
Emriana chuckled then took a deep breath. Her heart was still pounding. "Where are we?" When she saw the glint in her counterpart's eye, she added, "And don't say a library. You know what I mean-how close are we?"
Pilos paused with his mout
h open then nodded as he let his grin fade. "Close," he said. "We're at the right depth, at any rate."
"Why would there be a library down here, so far below the surface?" Emriana wondered aloud.
"Maybe the guards in the prison get bored and need something to read," Pilos quipped. Emriana shot him a glare. "I'm sorry," he said, straightening his features once more. "I'm very nervous. I tend to joke when I feel that way."
"It's all right," the girl said, understanding all too well how he felt. "But it won't be very funny if we get caught."
"I know" he said, and she could sense that his seriousness had returned. "Truthfully, if Lord Wianar is as powerful a wizard as the rest of Chondath fears, the Generon is probably loaded with libraries, all filled with spellbooks."
Emriana had been about to reach for one of the musty tomes on the closest shelf, but upon hearing the priest's comment, she jerked her hand away.
No telling what magical traps are laid on these books, she thought.
Turning back toward the man accompanying her, Emriana said, "We're running out of time. Let's see about getting that door opened."
Together, they moved toward the portal that led back out into the hallway from which they had arrived. While Pilos held his pendant close, Emriana examined the latch. She slipped one of her enchanted throwing daggers free of the place where she had secreted it in the small of her back and went to work. With a few subtle twists of her wrist, the blade of the dagger manipulated the latch perfectly, and there was a faint click as the catch released.
Emriana motioned for stillness; then she pulled the door open just a crack and listened. All was silent and nearly dark in the hallway beyond. She put her eye to the crack and peered about, but there seemed to be no one there. Carefully, she pulled the door open a little more and stuck her head out. The passage was indeed empty, dimly lit by flickering torches spaced at distant intervals.
"Let's go," she whispered to Pilos, and as one, they slipped out of the library. Emriana pulled the door shut behind them.
As Emriana followed the route Pilos had divined was the correct one, she studied the walls. The architecture was familiar, and she realized that she had seen its like when she had used the scrying crystal to locate Xaphira's possessions. That revelation both soothed and frightened her.
On the one hand, it means we're getting close to the prison, she thought, listening for sounds of others. On the other hand, it means we're getting close to the prison guards.
The pair of interlopers reached an intersection, and Emriana turned to Pilos expectantly. The young priest scratched his head, frowning, and he shrugged.
Emriana groaned. Pilos's spells had proven quite useful to that point, but without another divination of some sort, they could become lost, wandering aimlessly through the bowels of the Generon. But standing in the open while he cast another augury was risky. She was just about to whisper a suggestion that they retreat to the library and perform the divination there when sudden motion caught her eye.
Emriana's heart nearly skipped a beat.
Junce Roundface stood in the middle of the intersection, having simply appeared there. Blessedly, he faced away from the two intruders, and the moment he showed up, he began walking, his boots clicking loudly on the paving stones of the hallway.
He had not seen them.
The girl held her breath as the assassin strode away from her, down the hall and out of sight around a corner. It was only after she let herself exhale again that she realized she had one of the throwing daggers in her hands. She decided to keep it out.
"Come on," she hissed to Pilos, who looked as pale and shocked as she felt. "That's Junce. We have to follow him!"
The Abreeant nodded, and silently the pair darted forward, cutting through the intersection with a cursory glance in either direction. Emriana tried to remain as quiet as she could, but behind her, Pilos's every footfall brought a scuff or click that was driving the girl crazy.
He's even breathing too loud, she thought.
He's doing the best he can, Hetta chided, nearly making Emriana jump. Her grandmother had been strangely silent for so long, the girl had almost forgotten she was with them. Without his spells, you would never have made it this far.
Chagrined, Emriana answered, I know. I'm just scared.
She turned, halted Pilos, put her mouth to his ear, and whispered, "Try to roll your feet with each step, heel to toe, heel to toe." She felt the young man nod, and she continued on her way. After her advice, the priest's steps were quieter.
When they reached the turn Junce had taken, Emriana pulled up again. She peeked around it cautiously, afraid to expose too much of herself to anyone watching. The new passage ended only a short distance away, as an open doorway. Beyond the wide doorframe, Emriana could see the bars of several prison cells. The whole place was lit with flickering torches.
It was the same chamber from her vision.
Emriana drew her head back and looked at her companion. "That's it," she mouthed to Pilos, motioning around the corner.
The young priest nodded and peeked around; then he drew back. Holding up one finger as a sign for Emriana to wait a moment, he reached inside his doublet and removed a scroll. He glanced at it then nodded in seeming satisfaction. He leaned close, putting his mouth to Emriana's ear and said, "A spell to handle pesky guards. Very quick."
The girl smiled appreciatively at Pilos and turned back. Taking another deep, calming breath, she peered around the turn once more then stepped out. She padded step by step closer to the doorway, her arm cocked back, dagger at the ready.
Don't miss.
At the doorway, Emriana pressed herself to one side, peering in all directions. The room was square, but the central corridor that ran among the cells was laid out in a T shape. The entrance where she stood would have been at the base of the T. There was no sign of Junce, a fact that almost filled her with dread more than relief. She tried to scan every corner, every cranny in the prison, but the whole place seemed empty. Even the cells appeared to be unoccupied, though she couldn't be sure, for they were cloaked in deeper shadows.
Frowning, Emriana stepped into the room.
In one corner, she spotted the table from her scrying. Xaphira's clothing and equipment were still haphazardly scattered across its surface. The girl's heart raced, filled with hope.
She pointed to it, and Pilos nodded. He still held his scroll in his hands, unfurled, ready to be used in an instant.
Summoning all of her courage, Emriana took another step into the room, then another. She made her way to the table, her dagger still held high, drawn back for throwing. When she reached the wooden slab, she tentatively reached out, feeling the items, wanting to make sure they were real.
A groan, soft and muffled, issued from a cell to the girl's right.
Emriana spun, staring in that direction. "Aunt Xaphira?" she called out before she could stop herself. She froze, listening. Beside her, Pilos craned his neck forward, trying to see into the corner cell.
"You might as well come in and join us, Em," Junce said, his voice carrying from the shadows in the deepest part of the cell. "That's what your aunt calls you, isn't it?"
Emriana froze, her heart sinking. She half turned to flee again then stopped, rage filling her.
No.
"Show yourself, you worm," she said aloud. She stormed forward, trying to spot the assassin where he hid. "Or are you really scared of one helpless girl?" Do something, Pilos, she thought desperately as she moved toward the cell, before he thinks to pay any attention to you.
Junce laughed, and she saw him, reclining against the corner, inside the cell. Another form lay at his feet, pale and naked in the dim light of the torches.
Aunt Xaphira.
The dagger was sailing forward, passing between the bars of the cell, before Emriana even realized what she had done. Her aim was true. The blade was spinning directly toward Junce's chest.
He reached up and snagged the blade out of the air.
"Actually, you have proven to be the most resourceful in your family, Em," Junce said, his voice filled with mirth. "I've had more trouble dealing with you than the rest of them combined."
Using the very dagger that Em had unwittingly provided him, Junce reached up and sliced through a thin cord that ran through the cell. As it snapped, the girl saw motion out of the corner of her eye. A black cloth was rising, itself being pulled by a cord attached to counterweights. Behind the cloth, she caught a flash of light, though it was not magical.
A reflection.
In the heartbeat of time it took Emriana to realize she was looking into a mirror, she found herself in the grip of its magic. There was the briefest of tugs, and suddenly she was in a small, lightless space. Four walls, a floor, and a ceiling, all surrounded her, all within arm's reach. She was trapped in a box.
She huddled, naked, alone, imprisoned.
Everything-the Generon, Pilos, her clothing, the ruby ring with Grandmother Hetta inside-was gone.
There was the faint sound of Emriana's name being called then a window appeared, at first very far away, overhead. It seemed to enlarge, to zoom close to her, becoming one wall of her tiny prison. She could see Junce through that clear, solid barrier, still standing in the cell of the jail room in the Generon, looking at her.
Emriana tried to push against the window, but it was still as solid a barrier as the darkness before it had been.
Junce laughed. "It's quite a mirror, isn't it? I hope you like it, because you're going to spend a long, long time in there."
And the window was receding, growing ever so tiny, until it winked out completely, leaving Emriana alone in the darkness once more.
The sound of her scream echoed in her own ears.
Vambran and Arbeenok dashed out into the street to find people running in panic. As one man went sprinting by, a look of horror on his face, Vambran grabbed him by the arm and spun him around.
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