Teza watched them go, her eyes full of tears. She felt a hand grasp the front of her clothes and haul her off the ground. The magic blast, whatever it was, had left her paralyzed, and she could do nothing as the wizard dragged her down the dock and dumped her unceremoniously into a boat. The boat was small but long and lean, double-ended for maneuverability and rigged with both sails and oars.
From her position on the floorboards, Teza heard the wizard snap a command. Silent oarsmen moved the boat away from the docks and into the expanse of Lake Ashane.
Teza lay still, feeling distinctly sick. Her stomach roiled with the motion of the boat and with an abject terror that went beyond fear of the Red Wizard. She was in a boat over water and over the black depths of the lake. Her mouth went dry; her body began to shudder uncontrollably. She could move her fingers now, perhaps a sign that the magic was wearing off. But it didn't fade fast enough.
The wizard, his lean face taut with impotent rage, loomed over her. "I would take you to Thay and make you suffer a hundred deaths for what you have done, but I must find Kanlara and bring her back."
"Why?" Teza managed to croak. "She doesn't love you. Let her go." It was a terrible effort to talk, yet anything was better than thinking of the water.
The wizard yanked her upright, his hands like iron on her shoulders. "You of all should understand. You keep an aughisky, a creature incapable of love. Yet you love it. You leapt in the way of my spell to protect it."
"A bad decision," Teza conceded.
"Almost as bad as freeing my betrothed." He wrenched the young woman to her feet where she stood, sick and dizzy, her eyes screwed shut.
"Lord," a voice called urgently from the bow.
The wizard ignored it while he studied Teza intently.
"Lord! Come see," the voice cried again. "We're being followed by a witch-ship."
A flash of hope opened Teza's eyes. The witch-ships that roamed the vast Lake of Tears were pilotless boats created by the powerful sisterhood of witches to protect Rashemen from predation from Thay. The witch-ships could unleash monstrous beasts, poisonous gases, or any number of defensive spells, and were extremely difficult to evade. The Red Wizard visibly blanched when he heard the warning.
For just a second, Teza thought he might forget her, and she could crawl out of sight while he dealt with their pursuer. Then her feeble hopes imploded into panic.
The wizard, his expression a mask of fury, picked her up bodily and threw her overboard.
Teza had time for one frenzied scream before she crashed into the dark water. Icy blackness closed over her. She scrabbled frantically to bring her head up, but her body was still partially paralyzed from the magic. She could only feebly thrash as her water-soaked clothes dragged her deeper.
She opened her eyes. Above, she could barely make out the lighter surface of the lake, where air and life lay only a few strokes away. Below lay death in the eternal dark at the fathomless bottom of the lake. Teza tried to struggle upward again, only to feel herself sinking farther toward that abyssal pit. Her lungs burned now; the air in her body was almost gone. Water pressed against her as if seeking a way into her nose, mouth, and lungs, seeking to drag her down faster. The blood roared in her head. She felt so weak.
"No!" she cried silently with every shred of her resistance. "Help me!"
Then, from somewhere out of the lightless depths, something moved toward her. She felt a large shape glide past her, and before she could understand what it was, a heavy, tight grip settled on her right shoulder.
Teza felt too far beyond her strength to struggle against this new terror. If some creature of Ashane was going to devour her, let it do so quickly and end her fear. But the thing did not rend her immediately. It hauled her upward, and just before Teza passed out, her head broke the surface. She drew in a great gasping breath of air, then struggled, thrashing wildly at the painful grip on her shoulder.
The thing let go of her. Teza started to sink again, and in her panic she grabbed at the large dark thing beside her. Wet hair met her fingers, the long, streaming mane of a horse, and she held on to it with all her might.
The head turned toward her. A green fire flickered in the eye that regarded her.
"You glorious creature," Teza sobbed into his neck.
The aughisky waited patiently in the cold water while the woman worked her way onto his back. Then he swam slowly toward the distant shore, his ears cocked back to listen to Teza's sobs.
At last, he clattered up the rocky bank to a patch of thick grass. Teza pried her fingers out of his mane and rolled off onto the blessed ground. For a while, she simply lay on her back and stared up at the aughisky. He was watching her, too, but the animosity she had always seen before was gone. Perhaps, she marveled, a creature who could not love could at least learn not to hate.
She finally worked herself upright and very slowly pulled on the aughisky's leg until she could stand. Although the wizard's magic had at last worn off, she had never felt so weak, dizzy, and deathly cold.
"There you are!" a woman's voice suddenly called.
Teza looked around. To her surprise, the night was fading to a pale watery dawn, and out of the lightening mist came a tall, beautiful, red-haired woman.
"Knowing Ashroth, I thought he might dump you once the witch-ship caught up with him."
Teza's mouth fell open. "You knew about the ship?"
"Of course." Kanlara smiled with the pleasure of a satisfied cat. "I may not be powerful enough to defeat a Red Wizard, but the Witches of Rashemen are. I warned one I still knew in Immilmar." She came forward with a dry cloak, peeled off Teza's wet one, and helped her into the thick warm folds. "I'm sorry," she said at last. "I didn't get a chance to say thank you for releasing me. That took a lot of courage."
Teza leaned against the water horse, too tired to reply.
The wizard woman crossed her arms and looked at her thoughtfully. "I hoped to reach you before Ashroth did anything rash, but the aughisky was faster, thank the gods."
Teza's hand ran lovingly down the horse's elegant neck. "He saved my life," she whispered. "He didn't have to. If I died, the bond of the hippomane would be broken." She grinned suddenly and said to the horse, "I wonder where Rafbit is. Stuffed under some sunken rock more than likely. You came so fast you, didn't have time to eat him, did you?"
He tossed his mane and snorted a reply.
Abruptly Teza reached up and unbuckled the throat latch of the bridle on his head. The aughisky stilled, his wild eyes fastened on Teza. Gently she pulled the straps over his head and drew the bit out of his mouth. "I release you freely," she announced. "The spell of the hippomane is nullified."
The water horse stared at her. Then he reared, his hooves flashing over her head. Quick as an eel, he turned and plunged into Lake Ashane. He neighed once before the dark waters closed over his head and he was gone.
Teza watched him go. With a sigh, she flopped to the grass and drew the cloak tightly about her. She shivered. "Now what?" she murmured.
Kanlara smiled and sat down beside her. "Well, I need a place to stay."
Teza glanced at the woman. Even after thirty years as a book, Kanlara seemed very close to her own age. Still the woman was wizard-trained and, by her speech and looks, nobly born. "I'm a horse-thief," she said.
"I know," Kanlara said simply, "and you saved my life. I could use a friend right now."
Teza looked out over the lake, now gray and pearl with dawn's coming light. She thought of Rafbit's treachery and the aughisky" s last act of loyalty. Her lips formed a smile. "I could use a friend, too." She rose unsteadily to her feet. "I don't suppose you'd be interested in helping me form a thieves' guild would you?"
Her companion stood, too, her red hair as long and thick as Teza's dark mane. They stood eye to eye for so long Teza grew certain Kanlara would refuse.
Then the wizard woman replied, "I have been a book stashed away in a moldy old library for so long, I think dust has settled in my brain. I wan
t to do things, I want to travel, I want to experience life again. I suppose Immil-mar is as good a place as any to start. Then who knows, maybe you'd go on a dajemma with me?"
Teza's eyes widened with delight. A dajemma was an expedition taken by Rashemen's young men, a journey through the world to manhood. Females did not usually go, and certainly not ones in their midtwenties. But why not? A dajemma, an adventure, a journey. Call it what you will, Teza thought, it would do.
"I know where to find some good horses." She grinned.
SIX OF SWORDS
William W. Connors
I
Moonlight on a silver blade was the last thing Jaybel ever saw.
Fifteen years ago, when he and his closest friends had been adventuring throughout the Western Heartlands, he might have expected such a demise. In those days, he had made his living as an expert picking locks, disarming traps, and unobtrusively eliminating enemies-tasks known for short-lived practitioners. Indeed, on more than one occasion, he'd been snatched from death's dark abyss only by the mystical healing power of the acolyte Gwynn.
In the years since, however, Jaybel had given up the rogue's life. Following the tragedy of his company's last quest, when they had been forced to leave the dwarf Shandt to the so-called mercy of a hobgoblin tribe, the glamour had gone out of that life. Indeed, so terrible had that ordeal been that every member of the Six of Swords had second thoughts about his career.
"I've made my fortune," Jaybel told his comrades. "Now I plan to relax and enjoy it." With his next breath, he asked Gwynn to marry him, and she hadn't even paused before accepting. The company parted, and he and Gwynn took up residence in the great city of Waterdeep.
With the treasures they had gathered from countless forgotten tunnels and valiant quests, Jaybel and Gwynn had built themselves a modestly elegant home. It included a chapel where she could teach her faith, and a locksmith's shop where he could keep his fingers nimble and his eyes sharp.
For nearly a decade and a half, he and Gwynn had been happy. They had put tragedy behind them and started a new life together. When Jaybel had looked back on those wild days, he always said, "It's a wonder I'm not dead."
Now he was.
II
The metallic ringing of steel on steel fell upon ears so long past ignoring it that they may as well have been deaf. With each impact, sparks filled the night air, streaking upward like startled fireflies, becoming brief ruddy stars, and then finishing their fleeting lives with meteoric falls to the stone floor. Thus it went as the sun set and night cloaked the city of Raven's Bluff. Time and time again, Orlando repeated the ritual of his craft. Hammer fell, sparks flew, and the wedge of a plow gradually took shape.
When the farmer's blade was finally completed, the noise ended and the smoldering coals of the forge were left to cool. The brawny, dark-skinned Orlando set about returning his tools to their places, taking no notice of the ebony shape that appeared in the open doorway of his shop.
For a fraction of a second, the shadow filled the doorway, blocking out the stars and crescent moon that hung beyond it. Then, with the grace of a hunting cat, it slipped through the portal and into the sweltering heat of the blacksmith's shop. In the absence of the ringing hammer, the shadow drifted in supernatural silence.
Without prelude, a sepulchral voice wafted from the darkness. Although a whisper, the intonation and clarity of the words made them as audible as any crier's shout. Jaybel and Gwynn are dead.
Orlando froze, his hand still clutching the great hammer, half-suspended from an iron hook. The voice sent a chill down his spine, raising goose bumps across his body just as it had when he had last heard it years ago. Orlando turned slowly, keeping the hammer in his hand and trying to spot the source of the voice. As had always been the case when she desired it, Lelanda was one with the darkness.
Relax, Orlando, said the night. / didn't do it.
"Then show yourself," said the blacksmith, knowing she wouldn't.
It had been years since Orlando had taken up a weapon aside from a tankard in a tavern brawl. Still, even the passing of the years didn't prevent the well-honed reflexes of his adventuring days from surging back to life. If the witch tried anything, his life wouldn't command a small price. Still, he knew who would walk away from the battle. He doubted Lelanda had given up magic. She was probably even more powerful now. So, Orlando's rusty reflexes would provide her only brief entertainment.
To Orlando's surprise, the darkness before him parted. Lelanda's face, crowned with hair the color of smoldering coals and set with emerald eyes that reminded him all too well of a cat's, appeared no more than a yard away from his own. As always, he was stunned by the shocking contrast between her external beauty and her malevolent soul within.
If he struck now, there was no way the witch could save herself. The muscles in his arm tensed, but he could not bring himself to strike first. He had to hear her out.
"Satisfied?" she asked. Her voice, no longer distorted by the magical shroud of shadows, seemed gentle and alluring. Orlando knew that, like her beauty, her voice was a deadly illusion. Black widows were beautiful as well. Even knowing the truth, his pulse quickened.
The retired warrior put aside the distraction and asked the only question that made sense. "What happened to them?"
"It wasn't an accident," she said, her eyes lowering to the hammer still in Orlando's hand. He grinned halfheartedly and tossed it toward the nearby workbench. She returned his smile and went on. "Someone killed them."
"You're sure it wasn't you?" he asked.
"Fairly," she said. "I'm on my way to Waterdeep to find out who. We made a lot of enemies in those days."
"We made friends, too," the blacksmith said.
"We lost them as well," said the witch.
Orlando's memory was quick to pull up an image of Shandt, his enchanted battle-axe glowing as it swept back and forth through the ranks of hobgoblins that swallowed him up. It wasn't the way he would have wanted to remember the smiling dwarf.
"If we leave in the morning, we can be there in a few days," said Lelanda. "I know some… shortcuts."
"If we leave now, we can be there sooner," said Orlando. "Give me an hour to get ready."
III
Orlando moved through his darkened house without so much as a flickering candle to light his way. Outside, Lelanda sat unmoving on the back of a horse even blacker than the night sky. Orlando knew she was anxious to get under way, and so went from room to room as quickly as possible. The walls of his home were decorated with swords, shields, and other reminders of his adventuring life. Now, like a thief in his own house, he gathered up three of these heirlooms.
The first of these was Talon, the curved sword that he had recovered from a dark labyrinth beneath the sands men called the Battle of the Bones. This arcane blade proved almost unstoppable when turned against the living dead. Removed from its traditional place above the hearth, the enchanted blade was returned to the scabbard on Orlando's black leather belt.
The second item removed from his collection was a bronze breastplate. Countless attackers had learned that it had the uncanny ability to turn aside even the most deadly missiles. Arrows, quarrels, and even bullets had all proven impotent against the charms of the bronze armor. Orlando liberated it from the wooden mannequin that guarded an empty first floor hallway. As the yellow-orange armor once again embraced Orlando's muscular chest, he noticed that the passing of his youth made it more snug than he remembered.
With the sword and armor safely recovered, Orlando moved on to the last item he planned to bring with him: a good luck charm. Pausing beside the small shrine adjacent to his bedroom, Orlando slipped a small silver amulet from the hook on which it hung and looped it around his neck. Unconsciously, his fingers ran across its surface, tracing the outlines of the crossed battle-axes that were the icon of the dwarven god Clanggedin Silverbeard. There was no magic in this simple pendant, but it had been a present from Shandt. Since it had been given to him not five
hours before the noble dwarf had met his fate somewhere in the Underdark, Orlando could not look upon it now without remembering the broad, crooked smile and gleaming eyes that had made his best friend's countenance so pleasantly memorable. The memory brought Orlando both a smile and a tear.
Locking the door behind him, Orlando left the house and moved to join Lelanda by the stable. She had already saddled Zephyr, his dappled gray horse.
Without a word, the warrior placed his foot in the stirrup, swung himself onto his mount, and nudged the horse into a trot. Many miles passed before either of the old adventurers spoke a word to the other.
IV
Orlando drew back on Zephyr's reigns. The animal, well trained and eager to please its master, slowed quickly from its trot to a full stop. The enigmatic black equine that Lelanda rode did the same, although Orlando saw no sign of a command from rider to mount. The horse seemed always to know what the enchantress expected of it.
"Aren't we going a bit out of our way?"
"Only slightly," responded the witch. "I thought we might stop at Jolind's estate and tell her what happened. She won't be interested in joining us, of course, but she was one of the Six. She has a right to know."
Orlando was surprised to hear Lelanda speak like that. In their adventuring days, she'd had little use for the individual members of the Six of Swords^ To her, they were bodyguards, scouts, and healers, who enabled her to explore the mysteries of magic, recover rare spell components, and otherwise practice her arcane art. Perhaps time had softened her heart, or perhaps there was more to this detour than she was telling him.
With the aid of Lelanda's magic, the miles passed as fleeting images in the corner of the eye. Even at that rate, however, it was several hours before the lights of Jolind's tower were visible. When they reached the edge of the clearing in which it stood, both riders brought their mounts to a stop.
Realms of Magic a-3 Page 22
