“Not here, girl. Not now,” he quietly warned. “Come tonight when the wagons’ ring is closed and we shall speak.”
“I cannot wait for—” Arrayan started to say, but Wingham put a finger over her lips to silence her.
“Not here. Not now.
“Now, dear lady and gentleman,” Wingham said with his showman’s flourish. “Do examine our exotic aromas, some created as far away as Calimshan, where the wind oft carries mountains of sand so thick that you cannot see your hand if you put it but an inch from your face!”
Several other Palishchukian half-orcs walked by as Wingham spoke, and Arrayan understood the diversion. She nodded at her uncle, though she was truly reluctant to leave, and pulled the confused Olgerkhan away. The couple browsed at the carnival for another hour or so then Arrayan took her leave and returned to her small house. She spent the entirety of the afternoon pacing and wringing her hands. Wingham had confirmed it: the book in question was Zhengyi’s.
Zhengyi the Witch-King’s own words!
Zhengyi, who had dominated dragons and spread his darkness across all the Bloodstone Lands. Zhengyi, who had mastered magic and death itself. Mighty beings such as the Witch-King did not pen tomes idly or carelessly. Arrayan knew that Wingham understood such things. The old barker was no stranger to items of magical power. The fact that Wingham wouldn’t even discuss the book publicly told Arrayan much; he knew that it was a special item. She had to wait, and the sunset couldn’t come fast enough for her.
When it arrived, when finally the bells began to signal the end of the day’s market activity, Arrayan grabbed a wrap and rushed out her door. She wasn’t surprised to find Olgerkhan waiting for her, and together they moved swiftly through the city, out the southern gate, and back to Wingham’s circled wagons.
The guards were ushering out the last of the shoppers, but they greeted Arrayan with a nod and allowed her passage into the ring.
She found Wingham sitting at the small table set in his personal wagon, and at that moment he seemed very different from the carnival barker. Somber and quiet, he barely looked up from the table to acknowledge the arrival of his niece, and when she circled him and regarded what lay on the table before him, Arrayan understood why.
There sat a large, ancient tome, its rich black cover made of leather but of a type smoother and thicker than anything Arrayan had ever seen. It invited touching for its edges dipped softly over the pages they protected. Arrayan didn’t dare, but she did lean in a bit closer, taking note of the various designs quietly and unobtrusively etched onto the spine and cover. She made out the forms of dragons, some curled in sleep, some rearing and others in graceful flight, and it occurred to her that the book’s soft covering might be dragon hide.
She licked her dry lips and found that she was suddenly unsure of her course. Slowly and deliberately, the shaken woman took the seat opposite her uncle and motioned for Olgerkhan to stay back by the door.
A long while passed, and Wingham showed no signs of breaking the silence.
“Zhengyi’s book?” Arrayan mustered the courage to ask, and she thought the question incredibly inane, given the weight of the tome.
Finally, Wingham looked up at her and gave a slight nod.
“A spellbook?”
“No.”
Arrayan waited as patiently as she could for her uncle to elaborate, but again, he just sat there. The uncustomary behavior from the normally extroverted half-orc had her on the edge of her seat.
“Then what—?” she started to ask.
She was cut short by a sharp, “I don’t know.”
After yet another interminable pause, Arrayan dared to reach out for the tome. Wingham caught her hand and held it firmly, just an inch from the black cover.
“You have equipped yourself with spells of divination this day?” he asked.
“Of course,” she answered.
“Then seek out the magical properties of the tome before you proceed.”
Arrayan sat back as far as she could go, eyeing her uncle curiously. She had never seen him like this, and though the sight made her even more excited about the potential of the tome, it was more than a little unsettling.
“And,” Wingham continued, holding fast her hand, “you have prepared spells of magical warding as well?”
“What is it, uncle?”
The old half-orc stared at her long and hard, his gray eyes flashing with intrigue and honest fear.
Finally he said, “A summoning.”
Arrayan had to consciously remember to breathe.
“Or a sending,” Wingham went on. “And no demon is involved, nor any other extra-planar creatures that I can discern.”
“You have studied it closely?”
“As closely as I dared. I am not nearly proficient enough in the Art to be attempting such a tome as this. But I know how to recognize a demon’s name, or a planar’s, and there is nothing like that in this tome.”
“A spell of divination told you as much?”
“Hundreds of such spells,” Wingham replied. He reached down and produced a thin black metal wand from his belt, holding it up before him. “I have burned this empty—thrice—and still my clues are few. I am certain that Zhengyi used his magic to conceal something … something magnificent. And certain I am, too, that this tome is a key to unlocking that concealed item, whatever it might be.”
Arrayan pulled her hand free of his grasp, started to reach for the book, but changed her mind and crossed both of her hands in her lap. She sat alternately staring at the tome and at her uncle.
“It will certainly be trapped,” Wingham said. “Though I have been able to find none—and not for lack of trying!”
“I was told that you only recently found it,” said Arrayan.
“Months ago,” replied Wingham. “I spoke of it to no one until I had exhausted all of my personal resources on it. Also, I did not want the word of it to spread too wide. You know that many would be interested in such a tome as this, including more than a few powerful wizards of less than sterling reputation.”
Arrayan let it all sink in for a moment, and she began to grin. Wingham had waited until he was nearing Palishchuk to let the word slip out of Zhengyi’s tome because he had planned all along to give it to Arrayan, his powerful magic-using niece. His gift to her would be her own private time with the fascinating and valuable book.
“King Gareth will send investigators,” Wingham explained, further confirming Arrayan’s suspicions. “Or a group, perhaps, whose sole purpose will be to confiscate the tome and return it to Bloodstone Village or Heliogabalus, where more powerful wizards ply their craft. Few know of its existence—those who have heard the whispers here in Palishchuk and Mariabronne the Rover.”
Arrayan perked up at the mention of Mariabronne, a tracker whose title was nearing legendary status in the wild land. Mariabronne had grown quite wealthy on the monster-ear bounty offered at the Vaasan Gate, so it was rumored. He knew almost everyone, and everyone knew him. Friendly and plain-spoken, cunning and clever, but disarmingly simple, the ranger had a way of putting people—even those well aware of his reputation—into a position of underestimating him. Arrayan had met him only twice, both times in Palishchuk, and had found herself laughing at his many tales, or sitting wide-eyed at his recounting of amazing adventures. He was a tracker by trade, a ranger in service to the ways of the wilderness, but by Arrayan’s estimation, he was possessed of a bard’s character. There was mischief behind his bright and curious eyes to be sure.
“Mariabronne will ferry word to Gareth’s commanders at the Vaasan Gate,” Wingham went on, and the sound of his voice broke Arrayan from her contemplations.
His smile as she looked up to regard him told the woman that she had betrayed quite a few of her feelings with her expressions, and she felt her cheeks grow warm.
“Why did you tell anyone?” she asked.
“This is too powerful a tome. Its powers are beyond me.”
“And yet you w
ill allow me to inspect it?”
“Your powers with such magic are beyond mine.”
Arrayan considered the daunting task before her in light of the deadline Wingham’s revelations to Mariabronne had no doubt put upon her.
“Fear not, dear niece, my words to Mariabronne were properly cryptic—more so even than the whispers I allowed to drift north to Palishchuk, where I knew they would find your ears. He likely remains in the region and nowhere near the Gate, and I fully expect to see him again before he goes to Gareth’s commanders. You will have all the time you need with the tome.”
He offered Arrayan a wink then motioned to the black-bound book.
The woman stared at it but did not move to turn over its cover. “You have not prepared any magical wards,” Wingham reasoned after a few long moments.
“I did not expect … it is too …”
Wingham held up his hand to stop her. Then he reached back behind his chair and pulled out a leather bag, handing it across to Arrayan.
“Shielded,” he assured her as she took it. “No one watching you, even with a magical eye, will understand the power of the item contained within this protected satchel.”
Arrayan could hardly believe the offer. Wingham meant to allow her to take the book with her! She could not hide her surprise as she continued to consider her uncle, as she replayed their long and intermittent history. Wingham didn’t know her all that well, and yet he would willingly hand over what might prove to be the most precious item he had ever uncovered in his long history of unearthing precious artifacts? How could she ever prove herself worthy of that kind of trust?
“Go on, niece,” Wingham bade her. “I am not so young and am in need of a good night’s sleep. I trust you will keep your ever-curious uncle informed of your progress?”
Hardly even thinking of the movement, Arrayan lifted out of her chair and leaned forward, wrapping Wingham with her slender arms and planting a huge kiss on his cheek.
CHAPTER 5
BODY COUNT
Entreri came leaping down the mountainside, springing from stone to stone, never keeping his path straight. He was hardly aware of his movements, yet every step was perfect and in complete balance, for the assassin had fallen into a state of pure battle clarity. His movements came with fluid ease, his body reacting just below his level of consciousness perfectly in tune with what he instinctively determined he needed to do. Entreri moved at a full sprint as easily on the broken, jagged trail down the steep slope of the northern Galena foothills, a place where even careful hikers might turn an ankle or trip into a crevice, as if he was running across a grassy meadow.
He skipped down along a muddy trail as another spear flew over his head. He started around a boulder in his path, but went quickly up its side instead, then sprang off to the left of the boulder to the top of another large stone. A quick glance back showed him that the goblins were closing on his flank, moving down easier ground in an attempt to cut him off before he reached the main trail.
A thin smile showed on Entreri’s face as he leaped from that second boulder back to the ground, rushing along and continuing to veer to the west, his left.
The crackle of a thunderbolt back the other way startled him for a moment, until he realized that Jarlaxle had engaged the monsters with a leading shot of magic.
Entreri brushed the thought away. Jarlaxle was far from him, leaving him on his own against his most immediate enemies.
On his own. Exactly the way Artemis Entreri liked it.
He came to a straight trail running north down the mountainside and picked up his pace into a full run, with goblins coming in from the side and hot on his heels. As he neared the bottom of the trail, he spun and swiped his magical sword in an arc behind him, releasing an opaque veil of dark ash from its enchanted, blood-red blade. As he came around to complete the spin, Entreri fell forward into a somersault, then turned his feet as he rolled back up, throwing his momentum to the side and cutting a sharp turn behind one boulder. He hooked his fingers as he skidded past and caught himself, then threw himself flat against the stone and held his breath.
A slight gasp told the assassin the exact position of his enemies. He drew his jeweled dagger, and as the first goblin flashed past, he struck, quick and hard, a jab that put the vicious blade through the monster’s ribs.
The goblin yelped and staggered, lurching and stumbling, and Entreri let it go without further thought. He came out around the rock in a rush and dived to his knees right before the swirl of ash.
Goblin shins connected on his side, and the monster went tumbling. A third came close behind, tangling with the previous as they crashed down hard.
Entreri scrambled forward and rolled over, coming to his feet with his back to the remaining ash. Without even looking, he flipped his powerful sword in his hand and jabbed it out behind him, taking the fourth goblin in line right in the chest.
The assassin turned and retracted his long blade, snapping it across to pick off a thrusting spear as the remaining goblin pair composed themselves for a coordinated attack.
“Getsun innk’s arr!” one goblin instructed the other, which Entreri understood as “Circle to his left!”
Entreri, dagger in his right hand, sword in his left, went down in a crouch, weapons out wide to defend against both.
“Beenurk!” the goblin cried. “Go more!”
The other goblin did as ordered and Entreri started to turn with it, trying to appear afraid. He wanted the bigger goblin to focus on his expression, and so it apparently did, for Entreri sneakily flipped the dagger over in his grip then snapped his hand up and out. He was still watching the circling goblin when he let fly at the other one, but he knew that he had hit the mark when the bigger goblin’s next command came out as nothing more than a blood-filled gurgle.
The assassin slashed his sword across, creating another ash field, then leaped back as if meaning to retrieve his dagger. He stopped in mid-stride, though, and reversed momentum to charge back at the pursuing goblin. He rolled right over the goblin’s thrusting sword, going out to the humanoid’s right, a complete somersault that landed Entreri firmly back on his feet in a low crouch. As he went, he flipped Charon’s Claw from his left hand to his right. He angled the blade perfectly so that when he stood, the blade came up right under the goblin’s ribs.
His momentum driving him forward, Entreri lifted the goblin right from the ground at the tip of his fine sword, the creature thrashing as it slid down the blade.
Entreri snapped a retraction, then spun fast, bringing the blade across evenly at shoulder level, and when he came around, the fine sword crossed through the squealing goblin’s neck so cleanly that its head remained attached only until the creature fell over sideways and hit the ground with a jolt.
The assassin leaped away, grabbing at the dagger hilt protruding from the throat of the kneeling, trembling goblin. He gave a sudden twist and turn as he yanked the weapon free, ensuring that he had taken the creature’s throat out completely. By then, the two he had tripped were back up and coming in—though tentatively.
Entreri watched their eyes and noted that they were glancing more often to the side than at him. They wanted to run, he knew, or they were hoping for reinforcements.
And the latter was not a fleeting hope, for Entreri could hear goblins all across the mountainside. Jarlaxle’s impetuousness had dropped them right into the middle of a tribe of the creatures. They had only seen three at the campfire, milling around a boiling kettle of wretched smelling stew. But behind that campfire was a concealed cave opening.
Jarlaxle hadn’t heard Entreri’s warning, or he hadn’t cared, and their sudden assault had brought forth a stream of howling monsters.
He was outnumbered two to one, but Entreri had the higher ground, and he used it to facilitate a sudden, overpowering attack. He came forward stabbing with his sword then throwing it out across to the left, and back to the right. He heard the ring of metal on metal as the goblin off to his right parried
the backhand with its own sword, but that hardly interrupted Entreri’s flow.
He strode forward, sending Charon’s Claw in a motion down behind him, then up over his shoulder. He came forward in a long-reaching downward swipe, one designed to cleave his enemy should the goblin leap back.
To its credit, it came forward again.
But that was exactly what Entreri had anticipated.
The goblin’s sword stabbed out—and a jeweled dagger went against the weapon’s side and turned it out, altering the angle just enough to cause a miss. His hand working in a sudden blur, Entreri sent his dagger up and over the blade, then down and around, twisting as he went to turn the sword out even more. He slashed Charon’s Claw across to his right as he did, forcing the other goblin to stay back, and continued his forward rush, again rolling his dagger, turning the sword even farther. And yet again, he rolled his blade, walking it right up the goblin’s sword. He finally disengaged with a flourish, pulling his dagger in close, then striking out three times in rapid succession, drawing a grunt with each successive hit.
Bright blood widening around the three punctures, the goblin staggered back.
Confident that it was defeated, Entreri had already turned by that point, his sword working furiously to fend the suddenly ferocious attacks by the other goblin. He parried a low thrust, a second heading for his chest, and picked off a third coming in at the same angle.
The goblin screamed and pressed a fourth thrust.
Entreri flung his dagger.
The goblin moaned once then went silent. Its sword tip drifted toward the ground as its gaze, too, went down to consider the dagger hilt protruding from its chest.
It looked back at Entreri. Its sword fell to the ground.
“My guess is that it hurts,” said the assassin.
The goblin fell over dead.
Entreri kicked the dead creature over onto its back then tugged his dagger free. He glanced up the mountainside to the continuing tumult, though he saw no new enemies there. Back down the mountain, he noted that the first goblin that had passed him, the one he had stung in the side, had moved off.
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