Entreri looked over at Jarlaxle and the pair exchanged knowing glances. The strange castle, as with the similar tower they’d previously encountered, likely needed no garrison from without. That tower had nearly killed them both, had destroyed perhaps his greatest artifact in the battle. Entreri wondered how much more formidable might the castle be, for it was many times the size of that single tower.
“Whatever your feeling, good dwarf, and whatever our fears, it is of course incumbent upon us to investigate more closely,” Canthan put in. “That is our course, is it not, Commander Ellery?”
Entreri caught something in the undertones of Canthan’s words. A familiarity?
“Indeed, our duty seems clear to that very course,” Ellery replied.
It seemed to Entreri that she was being a bit too formal with the thin wizard, a bit too standoffish.
“In the morning then,” Mariabronne said. “Wingham said he would meet us here this night and he is not one to break his word.”
“And so he has not,” came a voice from down the hill, and the troupe turned as one to regard the old half-orc trudging up the side of the hillock, arm-in-arm with a woman whose other arm was locked with that of another half-orc, a large and hulking specimen.
Normally, Entreri would have focused on the largest of the group, for he carried himself like a warrior and was large enough to suggest that he presented a potential threat. But the assassin was not looking at that one, not at all, his eyes riveted to the woman in the middle. She seemed to drift into the light of their campfire like some apparition from a dream. Though arm-in-arm with both men flanking her, she seemed apart from them, almost ethereal. There was something familiar about her wide, flat face, about the sparkle in her eyes and the tilt of her mouth as she smiled, just a bit nervously. There was something warm about her, Entreri sensed somewhere deep inside, as if the mere sight of her had elicited memories long forgotten and still not quite grasped of a better time and a better place.
She glanced his way and was locked by his gaze. For a long moment, there seemed a tangible aura growing in the air between them.
“As promised, Mariabronne, I have brought my niece Arrayan Faylin and her escort Olgerkhan,” Wingham said, breaking the momentary enchantment.
Arrayan blinked, cleared her throat, and pulled her gaze away.
“The book was lost to us for a time,” Mariabronne explained to the others. “It was Arrayan who discovered it and the growth about it north of the city. It was she who first recognized this dark power and alerted the rest of us.”
Entreri looked from the woman to Jarlaxle, trying hard to keep the panic out of his expression. Memories of the tower outside of Heliogabalus buried those of that distant and unreachable warmth, and the fact that the woman was somehow connected to that evil construct of the Witch-King’s stung Entreri’s sensibilities.
He paused and considered that sensation.
Why should he care?
The look Entreri gave to Arrayan when Wingham introduced her was not lost upon Jarlaxle.
Nor had it been lost on the large escort at Arrayan’s other side, the drow noted.
Jarlaxle, too, had been caught a bit off guard when first he glanced Wingham’s niece, for the attractive woman was hardly what he had expected of a half-orc. She clearly favored her human heritage far more than her orc parent or grandparent, and more than that, Jarlaxle saw a similarity in Arrayan to another woman he had known—not a human, but a halfling.
If Dwahvel Tiggerwillies had a human cousin, Jarlaxle mused, she would look much like Arrayan Faylin.
Perhaps that had helped to spark Entreri’s obvious interest.
Jarlaxle thought the whole twist perfectly entertaining. A bit dangerous, perhaps, given the size of Arrayan’s escort, but then again, Artemis Entreri could certainly take care of himself.
The drow moved to join his companion as the others settled in around the northern edge of the hilltop. Entreri was on the far side, keeping watch over the southern reaches, the short expanse of ground between the encampment and the city wall.
“A castle,” Entreri muttered as Jarlaxle moved to crouch beside him. “A damned castle. Ilnezhara told you of this.”
“Of course not,” the drow replied.
Entreri turned his head and glared at him. “We came north to Vaasa and just happened to stumble upon something so similar to that which we had just left in Damara? An amazing coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I told you that our benefactors believed there might be treasures to find,” the drow innocently replied. He moved closer and lowered his voice as he added, “The appearance of the tower in the south indicated that other treasures might soon be unearthed, yes, but I told you of this.”
“Treasures?” came the skeptical echo. “That is what you would call this castle?”
“Potentially …”
“You’ve already forgotten what we faced in that tower?”
“We won.”
“We barely escaped with our lives,” Entreri argued. He followed Jarlaxle’s concerned glance back to the north and realized that he had to keep his voice down. “And for what gain?”
“The skull.”
“For my gauntlet? Hardly a fair trade. And how do you propose we do battle with this construct now that the gauntlet is no more? Has Ilnezhara given you some item that I do not know about, or some insight?”
Jarlaxle fought very hard to keep his expression blank. The last thing he wanted to do at that moment, given the nature of Entreri’s glance at Arrayan, was explain to him the connection between Herminicle the wizard, Herminicle the lich, and the tower itself.
“A sense of adventure, my friend,” was all Jarlaxle said. “A grand Zhengyian artifact, a tome, perhaps, or perhaps some other clue, awaits us inside. How can we not explore that possibility?”
“A dragon’s lair often contains great treasures, artifacts even, and by all reasoning such a hunt would constitute the greatest of adventures,” Entreri countered with understated sarcasm. “When we are done here, perhaps our ‘benefactors’ will hand us maps to their distant kin. One adventurous road after another.”
“It is a thought.”
Entreri just shook his head slowly and turned to gaze back at the southland and the distant wall of Palishchuk.
Jarlaxle laughed and patted him on the shoulder then rose and started away.
“There are connections among our companions that we do not yet fully understand,” Entreri said, causing the dark elf to pause for just a moment.
Jarlaxle was glad that his companion remained as astute and alert as ever.
“What’s it about, ye skinny old lout?” Athrogate roared as he approached Canthan on the far western side of the hillock, where the wizard had set up his tent—an ordinary inverted V-shaped affair suitable for one, or perhaps for two, if they were as thin as the wizard.
“Be silent, you oaf,” Canthan whispered from inside the tent. “Come in here.”
Athrogate glanced around. The others seemed perfectly content and busy with their own affairs. Pratcus and Ellery worked at the fire, cooking something that smelled good, but in truth, there was no food that didn’t smell good to Athrogate. On the northern end of the flat-topped hill, Arrayan and Olgerkhan sat staring off into the darkness, while across the way to the south, that damned dark elf had gone to join his swarthy friend. Mariabronne was off somewhere in the night, Athrogate knew, along with the odd half-orc Wingham.
With a shrug, the black-bearded dwarf dropped to his knees and crawled into Canthan’s tent. There was no light in there, other than the distant glow of the campfire, but Athrogate needed no more than that to realize he was alone in the tent. But where had Canthan’s voice come from?
“What’re ye about?” Athrogate asked.
“Be silent, fool, and come up here.”
“Up?” As he moved toward the voice, Athrogate’s face brushed into a rope hanging down from the apex of the tent. “Up?”
“Climb t
he rope,” came a harsh whisper from above.
It seemed silly to the dwarf, for if he had stood up, his head would have lifted the tent from the ground. He had been around Canthan long enough to understand the wizard’s weird ways, however, and so, with another shrug, he grasped the rope and started to climb. As soon as his bent legs lifted off the ground, Athrogate felt as if he had left the confines of the tent. Grinning mischievously, the dwarf pumped his powerful arms more urgently, hand-walking up the rope. Where he should have bumped into the solid barrier of the tent roof, he found instead a strange foggy area, a magical rift between the dimensions. He charged through and ran out of rope—it simply ended in mid-air!
Athrogate threw himself into a forward roll, landing on a soft rug. He tumbled to a sitting position and found himself in a fairly large room, perhaps a dozen feet square, and well-furnished with many plush rugs, a couple of hardwood chairs, and a small pedestal atop which sat a crystal ball. Canthan peered into the orb.
“Well,” said Athrogate, “if ye was to bring such goodies as these, then why’d ye make a tent fit for a dwarf on his knees?”
Canthan waved at him with impatience, and the dwarf sighed at the dismissal of his hard-earned cleverness. He shrugged it away, stood, and walked across the soft carpet to take a seat opposite the skinny wizard.
“Naked halflings?” he asked with a lewd wink.
“Our answers, from Knellict, no less,” Canthan said, once again invoking the name of the imposing wizard to steal the grin from Athrogate’s smug expression.
The dwarf moved his face up to the crystal ball, staring in. His wildly distorted face filled the globe and brought a yelp from Canthan, who fell back and glowered at him.
“Ain’t seein’ nothing, except yerself,” said Athrogate. “And ye’re skinnier than e’er!”
“A wizard might look into the ball. A dwarf can only look through it.”
“Then why’d ye call me up here?” Athrogate asked, settling back in the chair. He glanced around the room again, and noted a blazing hearth across the way with a pot set in it. “Got anything good for eating?”
“The citadel’s spies have searched far and wide for answers,” Canthan explained. “All the way to Calimport.”
“Never heard of it. That a place?”
“On Faerûn’s far southwestern shores.” Canthan said, though Athrogate was not at all impressed. “That is where our friends—and they haven’t even changed their names—originated from. Well, the drow came from Menzoberranzan.”
“Never heard of it, either.”
“It does not matter,” the wizard replied. “The two of them were in Calimport not so long ago, accompanied by many other dark elves from the Underdark.”
“Heard o’ that, and yep, that’d be where them dark elves come from.”
“Shut up.”
The dwarf sighed and shrugged.
“They tried to conquer the back streets of the city,” Canthan said.
“Streets wouldn’t give up, would they?”
Again, the wizard narrowed his eyes and glared at the dwarf. “They went against the thieves’ guilds, which are much like our own citadel. This Jarlaxle person sought to control the cutpurses and killers of Calimport.”
Athrogate considered that for a few moments, then took on a more serious expression. “Ye think they come here wanting the same thing?”
“There is no indication that they brought any allies with them, from all we’ve seen,” explained the wizard. “Perhaps they have been humbled and understand their place among us. Perhaps not, and if not.…”
“Yeah, I know, we kill ’em to death in battle,” the dwarf said, seeming almost bored.
“Ellery is ready to deal with the drow.”
“Bah, I can swat ’em both and be done with it.”
Canthan came forward in a rush, his eyes wide, his expression wild. “Do not underestimate them!” he warned. “This is no ordinary duo. They have traveled the breadth of Toril, and for a drow to do so openly is no small matter.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Athrogate agreed, patting his gnarled hand in the air to calm the volatile wizard. “Take care and caution and all that. Always that.”
“Unlike your typical methods.”
“Ones that got me where I am.” He paused and hopped up, then did a quick inspection of himself, even seeming to count his fingers. “With all me pieces intact, and what do ye know about that?”
“Shut up.”
“Keep saying it.”
“You forget why we came out here? Knellict sent us with a purpose.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“You just be ready,” said Canthan. “If it comes to blows, then we can hope that Ellery will finish the drow. The other one is your task.”
Athrogate snapped his fingers in the air.
Even with Athrogate still sitting there, Canthan started to go on, to work through a secondary plan, just in case. But he stopped short, realizing from the dwarf’s smug expression that powerful Athrogate really didn’t think it necessary.
In truth, and in considering the many enemies he had watched Athrogate easily dispatch, neither did Canthan.
Commander Ellery ran to the eastern edge of the hillock. To her left loomed the growing replica of Castle Perilous, Palishchuk to her right seeming diminished by the sheer grandiosity of the new construction. Before her rose the northeastern peaks of the Galenas, running north to collide with the gigantic floe of the Great Glacier. Ellery squinted and ducked lower, trying to alter the angle of the black horizon, for she caught a movement down there in the near pitch blackness.
“What was it, then?” asked Pratcus the dwarf, hustling up beside her.
Ellery shook her head and slowly pulled the axe from her the harness on her back.
Across the way, Entreri and Jarlaxle took note, too, as did Olgerkhan and Arrayan.
A form blacker than the shadows soared up at the commander, flying fast on batlike wings.
Ellery fell back with a yelp, as did Pratcus, but then, acting purely on instinct, the woman retracted her axe arm, took up the handle in both hands, and flung the weapon end-over-end at her approaching assailant.
The axe hit with a dull thud and crackle, and the winged creature lurched higher into the air. Ellery ducked low as it came over her.
“Demons!” Pratcus howled when he saw the beast in the glow of their campfire, light glistening off its clawed hands and feet, and its horned, hideous head. It was humanoid with wide wings. Taller than Pratcus, but shorter than Ellery, the creature was both solid and sinewy.
“Gargoyles,” Jarlaxle corrected from across the way.
The obsidian beast clawed at Ellery’s axe, which she had embedded deep into its chest, dark blood flowing from either side of the sharp gash. It remained outstretched horizontally for a bit longer, but then tumbled head down and crashed and rolled across the hilltop.
Ellery was on it in a flash.
“More coming!” she yelled.
She skidded down to her knees beside the fallen gargoyle, grasped her axe in both hands, and tore it free.
Behind her, Pratcus was already spellcasting, calling on the magic of Dumathoin, the dwarf god, the Keeper of Secrets under the mountain. He finished with a great flourish, lifting his arms high and wide, and as he spoke the last syllable of the spell, a burst of brilliant light filled the air around him, as if the sun itself had risen.
And in that light, the dwarf and the others saw that Ellery’s words were on the mark, for dark shapes fluttered this way and that at the edges of the glowing magic.
“So the fun begins,” Entreri said to Jarlaxle.
He drew his sword and dagger and charged forward into the fray, veering as he went, though he was hardly aware of it, to move closer to the woman Arrayan.
“Form defenses!” Ellery yelled. A call from Mariabronne somewhere down the hill turned her and the others. “Tight formations!” she cried as she sprinted off to the lip of the rise, then disapp
eared into the night.
Entreri dipped forward into a roll as a gargoyle dived for him, the creature’s hind claws slashing at the air above the assassin. He came up with a slash and clipped the gargoyle’s foot before it rushed out of range.
Entreri couldn’t follow, for a second was upon him, arms slapping wildly. The creature tried to come forward to bite or gore with its horn, but Entreri’s sword came up and around, forcing it back and bringing both of its arms over to the assassin’s left.
Entreri stepped forward and right, feinting with his dagger as he went by. The gargoyle turned to roll behind him, but the assassin switched weapons, sword to his left, dagger to his right and with a reverse grip. He stepped forward with his left foot, but dug it in and stopped short, reversing his momentum, turning back into the closing gargoyle.
A claw raked his shoulder, but it was not a serious wound. The assassin willingly traded that blow with his own, burying his dagger on a powerful backhand deep into the center of the gargoyle’s chest.
For good measure, Entreri drew some of the gargoyle’s life-force through his vampiric blade, and he felt the soothing warmth as his wound fast mended.
As he withdrew and turned again, Entreri let fly a backhand with his sword as well, creasing the creature’s face and sending it crashing to the ground. He completed the spin, bringing his hands together, and when he righted himself, he had his weapons back in their more comfortable positions, Charon’s Claw in his right, jeweled dagger in his left.
Entreri glanced right to see Arrayan, Olgerkhan, and the dwarf Pratcus formed into a solid defensive triangle, then back to the left where Jarlaxle crouched and pumped his arm, sending a stream of daggers at a gargoyle as it flew past. The creature pulled up, wings wide to catch the air. It hovered for a second, accepting another stinging hit, then pivoted in mid-air and dived hard at the drow.
Jarlaxle met Entreri’s glance for just a second, offered an exaggerated wink, then created a globe of darkness, completely obscuring his form and the area around him.
Promise of the Witch-King Page 20
