"You have ..." the wizard Dorigen stammered in disbelief.
Aballister stared long and hard at Barjin. He had meant to take command of the meeting and suggest just what the priest was getting at; again Barjin had thought one step ahead of him, had stolen his thunder.
"We are the representatives of Talona," Barjin coolly replied to Dorigen's outrage. His companions bobbed their heads stupidly.
Aballister's clenched fingers nearly tore a chunk out of his oaken chair.
"The goddess has spoken to us, has revealed her wishes," Barjin continued smugly. "Our conquests will soon begin!"
Ragnor beat a fist on the table in excited agreement; now the priest was speaking in terms the ogrillon warrior could understand. "Who are you planning for carrying the bottle?" Ragnor asked bluntly.
"I will carry it," Aballister quickly put in. He knew as soon as he heard his own words that his claim sounded desperate, a last attempt to salvage his own position of power.
Barjin shot him an incredulous look.
"It was I who met Talona's avatar," Aballister insisted, "and I who discovered the recipe for the Most Fatal Horror."
"For that, we thank you," remarked the priest in a condescending tone. Aballister started to protest, but sank back in his chair as a magical message was wispered into his ear. Do not fight with me over this, wizard, Barjin quietly warned.
Aballister knew that the critical moment was upon him. If he gave in now, he felt he might never recover his standing in Castle Trinity, but if he argued against Barjin, against the religious fury that the priest had inspired, he would surely split the order and might find himself badly outnumbered.
"The priests of Talona will carry the bottle, of course," Barjin answered Ragnor. "We are the true disciples."
"You are one leg of a ruling triumvirate," Aballister dared to remind him. "Do not claim the Most Fatal Horror solely as your own."
Ragnor did not see things quite the same way. "Leave it to the priests," the ogrillon demanded.
Aballister's surprise disappeared as soon as he realized that the brutish fighter, suspicious of magic, was simply relieved that he would not have to carry the bottle.
"Agreed," Barjin quickly put in. Aballister started to speak out, but Dorigen put a hand over his arm and gave him a look that begged him to let it go.
"You have something to say, good wizard?" Barjin asked.
Aballister shook his head and sank even deeper into his chair, and even deeper into despair.
"Then it is settled," said Barjin. "The Most Fatal Horror will descend upon our enemies, carried by my second―" he nodded to the priests on his right and on his left "―and my third."
"No!" Aballister blurted, seeing a way to salvage something of this disaster. All gazes descended upon him; he saw Ragnor put a hand to his sword hilt. "Your second?" the wizard asked, and now it was he who feigned an incredulous tone. "Your third?" Aballister rose from his chair and held his arms out stretched.
"Is this not the direct agent of our goddess?" he preached. "Is this not the beginning of our greatest ambitions? No, only Barjin is fit to carry such a precious artifact. Only Barjin can properly begin the reign of chaos." The gathering turned as one to Barjin and Aballister returned to his seat, thinking that he had at last outmaneuvered the clever priest. If he could get Barjin out of Castle Trinity for a time, he could reestablish his claim as the chief speaker for the brotherhood.
Unexpectedly, the priest didn't argue. "I will carry it," he said. He looked to the other, startled clerics and added, "And I will go alone."
"All the fun for you?" Ragnor complained. "Merely the first battle of the war," Barjin responded. "My warriors desire battle," Ragnor pressed. "They hunger for blood!"
"They will have all that they can drink and more!" Barjin snapped. "But I will go first and cripple our enemies. When I return, Ragnor can lead the second assault."
This seemed to satisfy the ogrillon, and now Aballister understood Barjin's salvaging ploy. By going alone, the priest would not only leave his clerical cohorts to keep an eye on things, but he would leave Ragnor and his soldiers. Always vying for power, the ogrillon, with the prodding of the remaining clerics, would not allow Aballister and the wizards to regain a firm foothold.
"Where will you loose it?" Aballister asked. "And when?"
"There are preparations to be made before I leave," Barjin answered, "things that only a priest, a true disciple, would understand. As to where, let it be of no concern to you."
"But―" Aballister started, only to be interrupted sharply. "Talona alone will tell me," Barjin growled with finality. Aballister glared in outrage but did not respond. Barjin was a slippery opponent; every time Aballister had him cornered, he merely invoked the name of the goddess, as if that answered everything.
"It is decided," Barjin continued, seeing no response forthcoming. "This meeting is at an end."
* * * * *
"Oh, go away," Druzil slurred, both audibly and telepathically. Aballister was looking for him, trying to get into his thoughts. Druzil smiled at his superiority in keeping the wizard out and lazily rolled over.
Then the imp realized what Aballister's call might signify. He sat up with a start and looked into Aballister's mind just long enough to see that the wizard had returned to his own room. Druzil hadn't meant to sleep this long, had wanted to be far from this place before the meeting adjourned.
Druzil held very still when the door opened and Barjin entered the room.
If he had been more attentive, the priest might have sensed the invisible presence. Barjin had other things on his mind, though. He rushed for the bed and Druzil recoiled, thinking Barjin meant to attack him. But Barjin dropped to his knees and reached eagerly for his pack and his enchanted mace.
"You and I," Barjin said to the weapon, holding it out before him, "will spread the word of their goddess and reap the rewards of chaos. It has been too long since you feasted on the blood of humans, my pet, far too long." The mace couldn't audibly reply, of course, but Druzil thought he saw a smile widen on the pretty girl's sculpted face.
"And you," Barjin said into the backpack, to the ceramic, ash-filled flask as far as Druzil could tell. "Prince Khalif. Could it be the time for you to walk the earth again?" Barjin snapped the backpack shut and roared with such sincere and exuberant laughter that Druzil almost joined in.
The imp promptly reminded himself that he and Barjin were not, as yet, formally allied, and that Barjin would most definitely prove a dangerous enemy. Fortunately for the imp, Barjin, in his haste, had not closed the door behind him. Druzil crawled off the bed, using Barjin's laughter as cover, and slipped out the door, wisely uttering the password for the warding glyph as he crossed the threshold.
* * * * *
Barjin left Castle Trinity five days later, bearing the ever-smoking bottle. He traveled with a small entourage of Ragnor's fighters, but they would only serve as escorts as far as the human settlement of Carradoon, near Impresk Lake on the southeastern edge of the Snowflake Mountains. Barjin would go alone from there to his final destination, which he and his clerical conspirators would still not reveal to the other leaders of Castle Trinity.
Back at the fortress, Aballister and the wizards waited as patiently as possible, confident that their turn would come. Ragnor's force was not so patient, though. The ogrillon wanted battle, wanted to begin the offensive right away. Ragnor was not a stupid creature, though. He knew that his small force, only a few hundred strong unless he managed to entice the neighboring goblinoid tribes to join in, would not have an easy time of conquering the lake, the mountains, and the forest.
Still, and despite all his reasoning, Ragnor was hungry. Since his very first day at Castle Trinity, nearly five years before, the ogrillon had vowed revenge on Shilmista Forest, on the elves who had defeated his tribe and driven him and the other refugees far from the wood.
Every member of Castle Trinity, from lowly soldier to wizard to priest, had spoken often of the da
y they would rise from their disguised holes and blacken the region. All now held their breath, awaiting Barjin's return, awaiting confirmation that the conquest had begun.
The cloaked figure moved slowly toward Danica. Thinking it a monk of some obscure and eccentric sect―and such monks were usually hostile and dangerous, determined to prove their fighting prowess against any other monks they encountered―the woman gathered up the pile of parchments she had been studying and quickly moved to another table. The tall figure, cowl pulled low to hide its face, turned to pursue, its feet making unrecognizable scuffling noises on the stone floor.
Danica looked around. It was late; this study hall, on the second floor above the library, was nearly empty and Danica decided that it might be time for her to retire, too. She realized that she was exhausted, and she wondered if she might be imagining things.
The figure came on, slowly, menacingly, and Danica thought that perhaps it was not some other monk. What horrors might that low cowl be hiding? she wondered. She gathered the parchments again and started boldly for the main aisle, though that course meant passing right by the figure.
A hand shot out and caught her shoulder. Danica stifled a startled cry and spun about to face the shadowy cowl, losing many of her scrolls in the action. As she collected her wits, though, Danica realized that it was no skeletal apparition holding her in an icy, undead grip. It was a human hand, warm and gentle, and showing signs of ink near the fingernails. The hand of a scribe. "Fear not!" the specter rasped.
Danica knew that voice too well to be deceived by the breathless mask. She scowled and crossed her arms over her chest.
Understanding that the joke was ended, Cadderly removed his hand from Danica's shoulder and quickly pulled back the cowl. "Greetings!" he said, smiling widely into Danica's frown as though he hoped his mirth to be a contagious thing. "I thought I might find you here." Danica's silence did not promise reciprocal warmth. "Do you like my disguise?" Cadderly went on. "It had to be convincing for me to get past Avery's spies. They are everywhere, and Rufo watches my every move even more closely now, though he shared equal punishment."
"You both deserved it!" Danica snapped back. "After your behavior in the great hall."
"So now we clean," Cadderly agreed with a resigned shrug. "Everywhere, every day. It has been a long two weeks, with a longer two still to come."
"More than that if Headmaster Avery catches you here," Danica warned.
Cadderly shook his head and threw up his hands. "I was cleaning the kitchen," he explained. "Ivan and Pikel threw me out. 'It's me kitchen, boy!' " Cadderly said in his best dwarven voice, slamming his fists on his hips and puffing out his chest. " 'If there's any cleanin' to be done, it'll be done by meself! I'm not needing a ..." Danica reminded him where he was to quiet him and pulled him to the side, behind the cover of some book racks.
"That was Ivan," Cadderly said. "Pikel did not say much. So the kitchen will be cleaned by the dwarves if it is to be cleaned at all, and a good thing, I say. An hour in there could put an end to my appetite for some time to come!"
"That does not excuse you from your work," Danica protested.
"I am working," Cadderly retorted. He pulled aside the front of his heavy woolen cloak and lifted a foot, revealing a sandal that was half shoe and half scrubbing brush. "Every step I take cleans the library a little bit more."
Danica couldn't argue with Cadderly's unending stream of personalized logic. In truth, she was glad that Cadderly had come to visit her. She hadn't seen much of him in the last two weeks and found that she missed him dearly. Also, on a more practical level, Danica was having trouble deciphering some important parchments and Cadderly was just the person to help her.
"Could you look at these?" she asked, retrieving the fallen scrolls.
"Master Penpahg D'Ahn?" Cadderly replied, hardly surprised. He knew that Danica had come to the Edificant Library more than a year before to study the collected notes of Penpahg D'Ahn of Ashanath, the grandmaster monk who had died five hundred years before. Danica's order was small and secretive, and few in this part of the Realms had ever heard of Penpahg D'Ahn, but those who studied the grandmaster's fighting and concentration techniques gave their lives over to his philosophies wholeheartedly. Cadderly had only seen a fraction of Danica's notes, but those had intrigued him, and he certainly could not dispute Danica's fighting prowess. More than half of the proud Oghman clerics had been walking around rubbing numerous bruises since the fiery young woman had come to the library.
"I am not quite certain of this interpretation," Danica explained, spreading a parchment over a table.
Cadderly moved to her side and examined the scroll. It began with a picture of crossed fists, which indicated that it was a battle technique, but then showed the single open eye indicating a concentration technique. Cadderly read on. "Gigel Nugel," he said aloud, then he thought that over for a moment. "Iron Skull. The maneuver is called Iron Skull."
Danica banged a fist onto the table. "As I believed!" she said.
Cadderly was almost afraid to ask. "What is it?" Danica held the parchment up over the table's lamp, emphasizing a small, nearly lost sketch in the lower corner. Cadderly eyed it closely. It appeared to be a large rock sitting atop a man's head. "Is that supposed to be a representation of Penpahg D'Ahn?" he asked. Danica nodded.
"So now we know how he died," Cadderly snickered. Danica snapped the parchment away, not appreciating the humor. Sometimes Cadderly's irreverence crossed the boundaries of her considerable tolerance.
"I am sorry," Cadderly apologized with a low bow. "Truly Penpahg D'Ahn was an amazing person, but are you saying he could break stone with his head?"
"It is a test of discipline," Danica replied, her voice edged with mounting excitement. "As are all of Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn's teachings. The grandmaster was in control of his body, of his very being."
"I am quite certain that you would forget my very name if Master Penpahg D'Ahn returned from the grave," Cadderly said mournfully.
"Forget who's name?" Danica replied calmly, not playing into his game.
Cadderly cast a hard glare at her but smiled as she smiled, unable to resist her charms. The young scholar grew suddenly serious, though, and looked back to the parchment. "Promise me that you are not intending to smash your face into a stone," he said.
Danica crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head in an obstinate way, silently telling Cadderly to mind his own business.
"Danica," Cadderly said firmly.
In reply, Danica extended one finger and placed it down on the table. Her thoughts turned inward; her concentration had to be complete. She lifted herself by that single extended digit, bending at the waist and bringing her legs up even with the table top. She held the pose for some time, glad for Cadderly's amazed gape.
"The powers of the body are beyond our comprehension and expectations," Danica remarked, shifting to a sitting position on the table and wiggling her finger to show Cadderly that it had suffered no damage. "Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn understood them and learned to channel them to fit his needs. I will not go out this night, nor any night soon, and attempt the Iron Skull, that much I can promise you. You must understand that Iron Skull is but a minor test compared to what I came here to achieve."
"Physical suspension," Cadderly muttered with obvious distaste.
Danica's face brightened. "Think of it!" she said. "The grandmaster was able to stop his heart, to suspend his very breathing."
"There are priests who can do the very same thing," Cadderly reminded her, "and wizards, too. I saw the spell in the book I inscribed ..."
"This is not a spell," Danica retorted. "Wizards and priests call upon powers beyond their own minds and bodies. Think, though, of the control necessary to do as Grandmaster Penpahg D'Ahn did. He could stop his heart from beating at any time, using only his own understanding of his physical being. You above all should appreciate that."
"I do," Cadderly replied sincerely. His visage sof
tened and he ran the back of his hand gently across Danica's soft cheek. "But you scare me, Danica. You are relying on tomes a half millennium old for techniques that could be tragic. I do not remember with fondness how my life was before I met you, and I do not want to think of what it would be without you."
"I cannot change who I am," Danica replied quietly, but without compromise, "nor will I surrender the goals I have chosen for my life."
Cadderly considered her words for a few moments, weighing them against his own feelings. He respected everything about Danica, and above all else it was her fire, her willingness to accept and defeat all challenges, that he most loved. To tame her, to put out that fire, Cadderly knew, would be to kill this Danica, his Danica, more surely than any of Penpahg D'Ahn's seemingly impossible tests ever could.
"I cannot change," Danica said again.
Cadderly's reply came straight from his heart. "I would not want you to."
* * * * *
Barjin knew that he could not enter the ivy-streaked building through any of its windows or doors. While the Edificant Library was always open to scholars of all nonevil sects, warding glyphs had been placed over every known entrance to protect against those not invited-persons, such as Barjin, dedicated to the spread of chaos and misery.
The Edificant Library was an ancient building, and Barjin knew that ancient buildings usually held secrets, even from their present inhabitants.
The priest held the red-glowing bottle aloft before his eyes. "We have come to our destination," he said, speaking as if the bottle could hear him, "to where I will secure my position of rulership over Castle Trinity, and over all the region once our conquest is completed." Barjin wanted to rush in, find his catalyst, and set the events in motion. He really didn't believe the elixir was an agent of Talona, but then, Barjin didn't consider himself an agent of Talona, though he had joined her clerical order. He had adopted the goddess for convenience, for mutual benefit, and knew that as long as his actions furthered the Lady of Poison's evil designs, she would be content.
[The Cleric Quintet 01] - Canticle Page 7
