Another building—this one made of the same strange, craggy stone as the tower only windowless—cut off Dahl’s path as it stretched across the space between the tower and the wall.
The tower reached high enough to make a powerful caster a strong concern—you could see an army approaching from any direction up there. The wall around the courtyard would not hold against siege engines, though—too low, not fortified enough. And the forces . . . there were more guards on the wall, but the racket they made suggested there was a brawl on and they were clustered near the large building. Not watching. Curious.
Dahl eased up a watchtower’s stairs to the wall’s top. The shadar-kai guards were circled around two of their fellows, both bleeding and bruised. Two of the guards looked back at him, and Dahl caught his breath. He made a face and waved at them, as if telling them to continue, to keep to themselves. The shadar-kai sneered back, but it was a good enough imitation. They returned to their battle, muttering insults about fragile humans to each other. Dahl nearly vomited in relief.
He walked quickly along the wall, looking for a likely landing place, and surveyed the surrounding land as he did. On the other side of the wall, the castle was surrounded by smaller buildings. Barracks? he thought. A village? No way to tell in this light but to pull one of the inhabitants out and ask. Beyond the buildings, the sliver of a moon reflected off a lake, and traced the edge of a mountain peak. Starmounts? he thought. Sword Mountains? Something farther afield?
Dahl dropped down the other side of the wall and quickly slipped into the darkened spaces between the squat, square huts. Woodsmoke hung on the air—scores of cookfires leaking out the twig-thatched roofs—but there were no lights hanging in the dark alleyways. Only the moon keeping watch over her wicked sister’s Shadovar followers and whatever they were up to. Dahl kept moving toward the edge of the settlement.
Beyond the last of the buildings the land rose to a steep hill scattered with rocks and low brush. Mountain sedge, frills of mauve orclar edging the rocks, clumps of snowstars shining bright in the moonlight against dark leaves—he was well north of Waterdeep. Dahl climbed, keeping to cover. A crater, he thought.
Near the peak of the slope he nearly crossed the path of a shadar-kai patrol. He crouched beneath a scraggly yew as the two women passed, jangling with blades and chains and spikes and arguing with one another in the tongue of the Netherese.
Dahl frowned. He’d seen more attentive guards patrolling Waterdeep’s sewer. He glanced back the way he’d come and marked the edge of a crater that went nearly all the way around the fortress and its settlement. Beyond the land dropped away into dark forest, blurred by clouds or maybe the thin air. Long scramble down, he thought.
Long scramble back, he thought, to get Farideh. Old worries, old thoughts surged up in him. Oghma, let that have been the right choice. The farther he got from her, the less sure he was.
When the shadar-kai were out of sight and out of earshot, Dahl sprinted across the distance, toward the next patch of brush.
As he crossed the trail the guards used, his foot hit a rill in the dark, and he stumbled. Arms outstretched to cushion his fall, Dahl caught himself instead on the invisible barrier surrounding the strange village.
The crack of something hitting the wall jerked Havilar from her slumber. She sat up, tense and ready to attack whoever had made the noise. But the room was empty. The banging came again, and she considered the wall. Farideh’s room was on the other side. She pounded against the wall and smacked her knuckle crooked on the boards. Pain shot up her arm and forced a curse out of her mouth.
She sucked on the scrape, glad no one had seen that. All her anger and grief welled up—no. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to be awake. She reached for the wine bottle again, and spotted the note beneath it.
Havilar, she read.
There’s nothing I can say to fix what’s happened. But I hope you know I did what I thought I had to, what I thought I needed to do to protect us both. If anything happened to you I would never forgive myself, and the worst thing to bear is that now, I’ve made something happen that’s more terrible than I could have imagined.
You should know that our imprisonment wasn’t the price of Sairché’s protection. I owe her a favor, and she’s come to collect. I hope I come back, but if I don’t, I love you and tell Mehen I love him too. I am so sorry. I hope this makes things easier The necklace is yours. You were right. Rubies suit you better.
Havilar stared at the letter for several breaths, uncertain whether she wanted to cry out and run after her sister or crush the note into a ball and forget she ever saw it. She wanted to crush it, she realized. Even if she was scared and sad and aching in every corner of her heart, she still wanted to crumple up the foolscap and kick it under the bed.
The knock came again, and Havilar’s anger lit. As if she couldn’t hear Farideh gathering her things. As if a letter made the difference. As if Farideh running off into danger weren’t just another way she didn’t trust Havilar. If Farideh was going to go, then she ought to get on with it.
She stood woozily and caught herself on the table . . . and noticed the ruby necklace Sairché had given Farideh balled against the wall like a frightened viper. As she watched, it uncoiled, the largest stone falling over with a clink.
That necklace, Havilar thought. That stupid necklace. What was it but a great big sign that no matter what Farideh did, she’d be rewarded and Havilar would be left behind? The big ruby in the middle hung crooked, as if someone had bent it toward the door. She scooped it off the ground, and slammed the largest stone against the corner of the table.
She expected the gem to rattle her hand and make her feel stupid.
But the ruby shattered under her palm, and the necklace exploded.
Havilar was thrown backward into the door by the force of the cloud of ash, knocking the wind from her. Her eardrums ached, but there was little sound beyond the tinkle of glass, the rush of smoke, and the sound of Havilar coughing.
And someone else coughing. Havilar rolled to her feet and peered into the room as the smoke thinned. She drew the little knife from her belt as the shape of a person came clear.
Lorcan, slowly standing.
“Shit and ashes!” he all but howled. He loomed over Havilar, looking like nothing so much as the sort of devil that crept into her nightmares, fierce and murderous. Ready to tear her apart. His hands were curled into weapons, and all Havi had was her little knife. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he snarled.
Havilar might still have been drunk, might have been frightened out of her mind. But she was still wise enough to reach into her shirt and clutch the amulet of Selûne that had settled between her breasts.
“V-Vennela,” she said, the trigger word sliding up, unimpeded by her frozen thoughts. A flash of silver light and Lorcan hissed as the binding spell crackled over him.
“Is that how we’re doing things now, you ungrateful little—”
Something about the air seemed to snap and whip past Havilar. Lorcan broke off with a cry of pain that had nothing to do with the binding, and fell to the floor. Havilar blinked at the strange sensation, gone so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.
Except Lorcan was still lying on the floor, panting.
Lorcan’s wings snapped open, sending the last of the smoke swirling. “Does your new mistress know you have such a sweet trinket?” he said, still seething. “Or have you played her just as false?” He looked up at Havilar, and there was no mistaking the surprise in his expression.
Havilar narrowed her eyes at him. “Wrong sister.”
He eyed her a moment, a change as clear as when he wore a human skin coming over him as he turned calm, charming. “On the contrary. You’re just who I’m looking for.”
“Liar,” Havilar said, climbing to her feet. “She’s gone. Like you ought to be.”
Lorcan spread his hands wide, still looking as if he’d prefer to tear her limb from limb, but at le
ast looking like he was thinking better of that. “We’re on the same side here. If you think I’m happy . . . well, whatever you’ve endured, I did it in the comfort of that shitting necklace. So tell me where your sister is, I’ll find my sister, and I’ll get to making both of us a little happier.”
Havilar shifted and glowered at the broken bottle on the floor. At least he knew Farideh was wrong. “I have nothing to say to you,” she said, sliding the knife into her belt. She missed and it clattered to the floor.
Lorcan peered at her. “I see wine is no cure.”
“Oh thrik-ukris and karshoj arlorcanominak,” Havilar spat, the vilest curse she could think of. She scrambled for more. “You shitting bastard of a tiamashkosj . . .”
“Calm down,” Lorcan said edging toward her. “No one’s saying you don’t deserve that wine. Hells, I would gladly take what you’re not using. But to start with, Sairché won’t be through—”
I don’t have to listen to this, Havilar thought. “I’m going to find Mehen,” she announced and turned on her heel. “I’ll bet he has a lot to say to you.”
The alarm that blared through the safe house’s hallways stopped her in her tracks. Suddenly there were people—so many people—pouring out of rooms, and the tide of bodies dragged her through the hall and down into the taproom. She couldn’t see if Lorcan had followed her—no one screamed about devils, but he might have changed. Every other soul in the Harper safe house was there, and the doors were barred. Several wizards with wands out seemed to be separating the ordinary patrons—now dazed and glassyeyed—from the Harpers, who were clearly being counted up.
Mehen found her then, his scaly arms catching her in a close embrace. “Here you are,” he said. He waved away the wizard who approached with raised brows. “Where’s your sister?”
Havilar scowled. “Ask Lorcan.”
“Lorcan?” Mehen looked up and over her shoulder, scanning the crowd. “What are you talking about?” He fixed a yellow eye on his daughter. “Where is your sister?”
Havilar turned and searched the milling crowd of people, but there was no sign of the disguised cambion. She made a face. “He’s here. I didn’t imagine it.”
“Where is your sister?” Mehen said again.
“Gone,” Havilar said. “She ran away. Didn’t even say where she was going.” She shoved the crumpled note at Mehen. “There.”
Mehen took it from her gingerly, as if he were afraid of the note—which was silly, Havilar thought, watching him. Mehen wasn’t afraid. But then he tapped the roof of his mouth nervously, and she wondered. He read Farideh’s message, and when he looked up again at Havilar, there was so much fear and horror in his face that she wished he would just be nervous again.
“Did she go with Lorcan?”
Havilar looked away, out into the crowd. “No. He was looking for her too. Everyone’s looking for her.”
“Now is not the time, Havi. Where did she go?”
The crowd around them parted for Tam. “You two,” he said, to Havilar and Mehen, “come with me.”
Tam’s study was at the top of too many stairs, but Havilar kept her complaints to herself. The room already held plenty of people—the handsome half-elf fellow she’d chased off when he’d watched her too long, the lady Harper who’d been with Dahl when they arrived, Brin. Havilar found herself a corner and tried to disappear into it.
But Tam wouldn’t let her. “Your sister vanished from my office with Dahl.”
Worse and worse—she’d run off, run off to save the day, without Havilar and with some good-looking fellow. Because Farideh got everything. She clung to that angry, spiteful thought because under it, powerful as a tide, came the panic. They couldn’t stop Farideh if she’d vanished. They couldn’t make her come back if she’d disappeared.
“And?” she said, surlier than she meant to.
“And I want to know who took them,” he said. “Where they went. Whether I need to clear this safe house. This sort of thing doesn’t happen.”
“This sort of thing happens to her all the time,” Havilar said, feeling bold. “I don’t know why you’re so worried.”
“Havi!” Mehen gave her an awful, shocked look. Even the strange Harpers looked appalled, and Havilar wished she could vanish too. She didn’t dare look at Brin. The panic squeezed her chest.
“I don’t know where she went,” Havilar said. “You’ll just have to find her.”
“They left no sign?” the half-elf man asked. “No trace of where they might have gone?”
“Nothing,” Tam said. “They were there, I turned my back, they were gone. No trace of a spell, no marks of a portal.” He waved his hand. “This room is warded against that sort of entry—so is it some new spell we weren’t ready for?”
“Have you tried locating him?” the woman asked.
“Briefly,” Tam said. “The spell didn’t find him, but such things . . .” He spread his hands. “We’ll try again. In the meantime—”
“You have to find her,” Havilar said again.
She was in the library,” Brin offered. “Looking for something.”
“I’ll search it,” the Tuigan woman offered.
Tam turned to Havilar. “Why has she been acting so strange?”
“How should she act?” Mehen said hotly. “World turned her upside down.”
Havilar thought of the note, still crushed in Mehen’s hand. A devil. That Sairché. That’s who took her, she thought. Maybe who took Dahl. But Tam wouldn’t want to hear that—what would he say? That it was Farideh being wicked. She wasn’t wicked—she was just stupid.
Tam was still staring at Havilar. “What was she looking for in the library?”
“I don’t know,” Havilar said.
“She’s not in trouble. Not yet. But you have to help me here, Havi. Where might she have gone?”
“I don’t know,” Havilar insisted. “She wouldn’t have left. She knew better. Someone else must have . . . Someone could have taken her.”
Mehen sighed. “She left a note,” he admitted. He handed it over to Tam. “Doesn’t say where she’s going.”
Tam cursed. “Who’s Sairché?” Havilar covered her face. This was everything she didn’t want. “Havi,” Tam said sharply. “Who?”
“The devil,” Havilar said, her voice squeezing tight. “The one who—”
Havilar’s reply was overtaken by a voice coming out of the air—Dahl’s voice, whispered and quick.
“Netherese stronghold. Soldiers, shadar-kai, heavily armed. Somewhere cold. High up.” Dahl’s voice hung for so long Havilar was sure he’d finished, but then he added, “Farideh came intentionally. I’ve lost her, both wounded. Have one reserve sending, sword and dagger.”
Tam hissed as if he were trying not to curse. He scowled at the desk a moment more before saying to the air. “Lie low. Get me better idea of your location, quickly so rescuers can find a portal. Find Farideh. Determine where she stands.” He blew out a breath and shook his head again, as if there were no end to the curses he wanted to say. “Stay safe,” he finished instead.
“ ‘Rescuers’?” Brin said. “Is that necessary?”
“We’re in the midst of a war and someone in a Netherese fortress just pulled a high-level handler out of the heart of our operations,” Tam retorted. “We’re not taking chances.”
“And the tiefling?” the half-elf man said. Tam was silent.
Mehen bared his teeth. “She stands exactly where she did before.”
“With a devil?” the half-elf said skeptically.
“You can’t think she’s a traitor,” Havilar said. “You can’t.” There were a lot of bad things she could say about Farideh, after everything, but not traitor. Never traitor.
The woman threw open the door, out of breath and clutching another scrap of paper. “Netherese,” she panted. “Was in one of the books she had out.”
Tam took the paper—and Havilar marked the writing, the same sort of writing she’d seen all over the place, when
they’d sought out that creepy Netherese arcanist before. Tam considered the paper, his expression becoming harder and harder.
“Havilar,” Tam said gravely. “If you know anything about this, you need to speak up.”
The wine was turning sour in her stomach. Farideh might be stupid enough to listen to Lorcan’s sister, but she wasn’t on the devils’ side. She wasn’t a traitor. And if Havilar said the wrong thing—if all her anger tricked her clumsy, tipsy tongue . . .
“I don’t know anything,” she said quietly. “Can I go to my room?”
Tam studied her, as if he might search out what she wasn’t saying written on her face. But after a moment he nodded, waved her toward the door. “Don’t leave,” he said tersely.
Mehen followed her out of Tam’s offices.
“They’ll find her,” he said. “They’ll know she’s not a traitor. And I will make sure of that. Everything will be fine.” When she didn’t stop, he grabbed her arm. “Havi, wait.”
She squeezed her eyes shut. “I drank too much, all right? I’m no good to them, not now. I’m just going to sleep.”
Mehen didn’t look as if he believed her either. “We could sit. Talk about this?”
Havilar shook her head. “Tomorrow,” she promised. She hugged him tight and kissed his scaly cheek. He held her so long she felt guilty for turning him down. But she slipped away anyhow, went back to her room, to her half-empty bottle of wine, to her sadness and her quiet. She pulled the blanket up over her head and resolutely did not think about anything at all.
The door opened. She didn’t look out.
“So the Harpers think Farideh is a traitor,” Lorcan said. “And they don’t know where she is. Anything else?”
Havilar curled up tighter. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough,” Lorcan said. “It sounds like you’ve gotten everything you wanted.”
The Adversary Page 13
