Promise of the Witch King ts-2

by Robert Anthony Salvatore

  Dannaway heaved another overly dramatic sigh, cast a plaintive look at Ellery, and said, "Assemble a company to ride with Mariabronne back to Palishchuk."

  "Soldiers alone?" the woman replied, not a hint of fear or doubt in her strong, steady voice.

  "As you wish," the general said.

  Ellery nodded and looked across at the ranger with undisguised curiosity. "Perhaps I will accompany you personally," she said, drawing a look of surprise from her uncle. "It has been far too long since I have looked upon Palishchuk, in any case, nor have I visited Wingham's troupe in more than a year."

  "I would welcome your company, Commander," Mariabronne replied, "but I would ask for more support."

  Dannaway cut in, "You do not believe I would allow the Commander of the Vaasan Gate Militia to travel to the shadows of the Great Glacier alone, do you?"

  Mariabronne fell back as if wounded, though of course it was all a game.

  "The Rover," Dannaway said slyly. "It is not a title easily earned, and you have earned it ten times over by all accounts."

  "Honorable General, Mariabronne's reputation…" Ellery started to intervene, apparently not catching on to the joke.

  Dannaway stopped her with an upraised hand. "The Rover," he said again. "It is the title of a rake, though an honorable one. But that is not my concern, my dear Ellery. I do not fear for you in Mariabronne's bed, nor in the bed of any man. You are a Paladin of Bloodstone, after all.

  "Nay, the Rover is also a remark on the nature of this adventurer," Dannaway went on, obviously missing Ellery's sour expression. "Mariabronne is the scout who walks into a dragon's lair to satisfy his curiosity. King Gareth would have used young Mariabronne to seek out Zhengyi, no doubt, except that the fool would have strolled right up to Zhengyi and asked him his name for confirmation. Fearless to the point of foolish, Mariabronne?"

  "Lack of confidence is not a trait I favor."

  Dannaway laughed raucously at that then turned to Ellery. "Bring a small but powerful contingent with you, I beg. There are many dragon lairs rumored in the Palishchuk region."

  Ellery looked at him long and hard for a time, as if trying to make sense of it all.

  "I have several in mind, soldiers and otherwise," she said, and Mariabronne nodded his satisfaction.

  With another grin and bow to Dannaway, he took his leave so that he could rest up for the ride back to the north. He settled in to the complimentary room that was always waiting for him off the hallway that housed the garrison's commanders. He fell asleep hoping that Dannaway's casual attitude toward the construct was well-warranted.

  He slept uneasily though, for in his heart, Mariabronne suspected that this time the remnant of Zhengyi might be something more.

  * * * * *

  You are a Paladin of Bloodstone, after all.

  Ellery couldn't prevent a wince from tightening her features at that remark, for it was not yet true—and might never be, she knew, though many others, like Dannaway, apparently did not. Many in her family and among the nobles awaited the day when she would demonstrate her first miracle, laying on hands to heal the wounded, perhaps. None of them doubted it would happen soon, for the woman held a sterling reputation and was descended from a long line of such holy warriors.

  Ellery's other friends, of course, knew better.

  Well away from the general, she moved from foot to foot, betraying her nervousness.

  "I can defeat him if need be," she told the thin man standing in the shadow of the wall's angular jag. "I have taken the measure of his skill and he is as formidable as you feared."

  "Yet you believe you can kill him?"

  "Have you not trained me in exactly that art?" the woman replied. "One strike, fatal? One move, unstoppable?"

  "He is superior," came the thin voice of the thin man, a scratching and wheezing sound, but strangely solid in its confident and deathly even tone.

  Ellery nodded and admitted, "Few would stand against him for long, true."

  "But Ellery is among those few?"

  "I do not make that claim," she replied, trying hard to not sound shaken. Then she added the reminder, as if to herself and not to the thin man, "My axe has served me well, served King Gareth well, and served you well."

  That brought a laugh, again wheezy and thin, but again full of confidence—well-earned confidence, Ellery knew.

  "An unlikely continuum of service," he observed. She could see the man's smirk, stretching half out of the shadows. "You do not agree?" asked the thin man, and Ellery, too, smirked and found humor in the irony.

  Few would see the logic of her last statement, she realized, because few understood the nuance of politics and practicality in Damara and Vaasa.

  "Speak it plainly," the thin man bade her. "If the need arises, you are confident that you can defeat the drow elf, Jarlaxle?"

  The woman straightened at the recriminating tone. She didn't glance around nervously any longer, but stared hard at her counterpart.

  "He has a weakness," she said. "I have seen it. I can exploit it. Yes. He will not be able to defeat that which you have trained me to execute."

  The thin man replied, "Ever were you the fine student."

  Emboldened, Ellery bowed at the compliment.

  "Let us hope it will not come to that," the thin man went on. "But they are a hard pair to read, this drow and his human companion."

  "They travel together and fight side by side, yet the human seems to hold the black-skinned one in contempt," Ellery agreed. "But I see no weakness there that we might exploit," she quickly added, as her counterpart's countenance seemed to brighten with possibility. "A blow against one is a blow against both."

  The thin man paused and absorbed that reasoning for a short while, and she was far from certain he agreed.

  "The ranger is an excitable one," he said, shifting the subject. "Even after twenty years of hunting the Vaasan wilderness, Mariabronne is easily agitated."

  "This is a relic of Zhengyi he has discovered. Many would consider that reason to become agitated."

  "You believe that?"

  "Wingham believes that, so says Mariabronne, and not for the purposes of making a deal, obviously, or the half-orc opportunist would have quietly sold the artifact."

  That had the thin man leaning back more deeply into the shadows, the darkness swallowing almost all of his fragile form. He brought his hands up before him, slender fingertips tap-tapping together.

  "Wingham is no fool," the shadowy figure warned.

  "He knows magic, if nothing else," Ellery replied. "I would trust his judgment on this."

  "So Zhengyi left a book," muttered the thin man, "a book of power."

  "A book of creation, so says Mariabronne."

  "You will go to Palishchuk?"

  "I will."

  "With an appointed escort of your choosing?"

  "Of course. Mariabronne will lead a small group in the morning."

  "You know whom to choose?"

  Ellery didn't even try to hide her surprise when she said, "You wish a place on the caravan?"

  The thin man tapped his fingers together a few more times, and in the shadows, Ellery could see him nodding.

  * * * * *

  "Your exploits have not gone unnoticed," Ellery said to Jarlaxle that night, back in Muddy Boots and Bloody Blades.

  "If they had, I would be deeply wounded," the drow replied, tipping his glass and offering a lewd wink.

  Ellery blushed despite herself, and Jarlaxle thought her red hair only accentuated the sudden color in her cheeks.

  "I travel to Palishchuk tomorrow," she said, composing herself.

  "I have heard of this place, Palishchuk—half-orcs, correct?"

  "Indeed, but quite civilized."

  "We should celebrate your departure."

  "Our departure."

  That caught the drow off his guard, but of course, he didn't show it.

  "I am assembling a troupe to make the journey," she explained. "Your exploits have n
ot gone unnoticed."

  "Nor have they been accomplished alone."

  "Your friend is invited as well."

  As she spoke of Entreri, the pair of them turned together to regard the man who stood beside the bar, a mug of ale growing warm on the counter before him, and his typical background sneer hidden just behind his distanced expression. He wore his gray cloak back over one shoulder, showing the fine white shirt that Ilnezhara had given him before the journey to the Vaasan Gate and also revealing the jeweled hilt of his fabulous dagger, sheathed on his hip. It did not escape the attention of Jarlaxle and Ellery that those around Entreri were keeping a respectful step back, were affording him more personal space than anyone else in the bar.

  "He has that quality," Jarlaxle mused aloud.

  He continued to admire Entreri even as Ellery looked at him for an explanation. But the drow didn't bother to voice his observation. Entreri was far from the largest man in the tavern and had made no aggressive moves toward anyone, yet it was obvious that those around him could sense his strength, his competence. It had to be his eyes, Jarlaxle presumed, for the set of his stare spoke of supreme concentration—perhaps the best attribute of a true warrior.

  "Will he go?" the drow heard Ellery ask, and from her tone, it was apparent to him that it was not the first time she had posed the question.

  "He is my friend," Jarlaxle replied, as if that description settled everything. "He would not let me walk into danger alone."

  "Then you agree?"

  Jarlaxle turned to her and grinned wickedly. "Only if you promise me that I will not be cold in the night wind."

  Ellery returned his smile then placed her drink down on the table beside them.

  "At dawn," she instructed, and she started away.

  Jarlaxle grabbed her arm and said, "But I am cold."

  "We are not yet on the road," she said.

  Ellery danced from his grasp and moved across the floor and out of the tavern.

  Jarlaxle continued to grin as he considered her curves from that most advantageous angle. The moment she was out of sight, he snapped his gaze back at Entreri and sighed, knowing the man would resist his persuasion, as always. It was going to be a long night.

  * * * * *

  Looking splendid in her shining armor, shield strapped across her back and axe set at her side, Ellery sat upon a large roan mare at the head of the two wagon caravan. Mariabronne rode beside her on a bay. A pair of mounted soldiers complimented them at the back of the line, two large and angry looking men. One of them was the bounty clerk, Davis Eng, the other an older man with gray hair.

  The two women driving the first wagon were not of the Army of Bloodstone, but fellow mercenaries from the local taverns. One Jarlaxle knew as Parissus of Impiltur, large-boned, round-faced, and with her light-colored hair cropped short. Often had he and Entreri heard the woman boasting of her exploits, and she did seem to take great pleasure in herself.

  The other was one that Jarlaxle couldn't help but know, for her name sat atop the board listing bounty payouts. She called herself Calihye and was a half-elf with long black hair and a beautiful, angular face—except for that angry-looking scar running from one cheek through the edge of her thin lips and to the middle of her chin. When she called out to Commander Ellery that she was ready to go, Jarlaxle and his human companion—surprised to find themselves assigned to driving the second wagon—heard a distinct lisp, undoubtedly caused by the scar across her lips.

  "Bah!" came a grumble from the side. "Hold them horses, ye dolts be durned. I'm huffin' and puffin' and me blood's bout to burn!"

  All watched as a dwarf rambled across the short expanse from the gate, his muscled arms bare and pumping in cadence with his determined strides, his black beard wound into two long braids. He had a pair of odd-looking morning stars strapped in an X across his back, their handles reaching up and wide beyond the back of his bushy head. Each ended in a spiked metal ball, the pair bouncing and rolling at the end of their respective chains in similar cadence to the pumping movements. While that was normal enough, the material of the weapons gleamed a dullish and almost translucent gray. Glassteel, they were, a magical construct of rare and powerful properties.

  "Ye ask me to go, and so I'm for going, but then ye're not for waiting, so what're ye knowin'? Bah!"

  "Your pardon, good Athrogate," said Commander Ellery. "I thought that perhaps you had changed your mind."

  "Bah!" Athrogate snorted back.

  He walked to the back of the open wagon, pulled a bag from his belt and tossed it inside—which made a second dwarf already in the wagon dodge aside—then grabbed on with both his hands and flipped himself up and over to take a seat beside a thin, fragile-looking man.

  Jarlaxle noted that with some curiosity, thinking that a dwarf would normally have chosen the seat beside the other dwarf, which remained open. There were only three in the back of the wagon, which could have held six rather easily.

  "They know each other," the drow remarked to Entreri, indicating the dwarf and the man.

  "You find that interesting?" came the sarcastic remark.

  Jarlaxle just gave a "Hmm," and turned his attention back to the reins and the horses.

  Entreri glanced at him curiously, then considered the obnoxious dwarf and the frail-looking man again. Earlier, Jarlaxle had reasoned that the man must be a sage, a scholar brought on to help decipher the mystery of whatever it was that they were going to see in this northern city of Palishchuk.

  But that dwarf was no scholarly type, nor did he seem overly curious about matters cerebral. If he and the man knew each other, as Jarlaxle had reasoned, then might there be more to the man than they had presumed?

  "He is a wizard," Entreri said quietly.

  Jarlaxle looked over at the assassin, who seemed unaware of the movement as he clenched and unclenched his right hand, upon which he had not long ago worn the enchanted gauntlet that accompanied his sword. The magic-defeating gauntlet was lost to him, and it likely occurred to Entreri, in considering the wizard, that he might wish he was wearing it before their journey was over. Though the man had done nothing to indicate any threat toward Entreri, the assassin had never been, and never would be, comfortable around wizards.

  He didn't understand them.

  He didn't want to understand them.

  Usually, he just wanted to kill them.

  Ellery motioned to them all and she and Mariabronne began walking their horses out to the north, the wagons rolling right behind, the other two soldiers falling in to flank Entreri and Jarlaxle's supply wagon.

  Jarlaxle began to talk, of course, noting the landscape and telling tales of similar places he had visited now and again. And Entreri tuned him out, of course, preferring to keep his focus on the other nine journeying beside him and the drow.

  For most of his life, Artemis Entreri had been a solitary adventurer, a paid killer who relied only upon himself and his own instincts. He felt a distinct discomfort with the company, and surely wondered how the drow had ever convinced him to go along.

  Perhaps he wondered why Jarlaxle had wanted to go in the first place.

  PART TWO

  JARLAXLE'S ROAD

  Jarlaxle left Ilnezhara and Tazmikella excitedly discussing the possibilities of Zhengyi's library a short while after the fall of the lich's tower. As soon as he had exited the dragon's abode, the drow veered from the main road that would take him back to Heliogabalus proper. He wandered far into the wilderness, to a grove of dark oaks, and did a quick scan of the area to ensure that no one was about. He leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes, and replayed in his thoughts the conversation, seeing again the sisters' expressions as they rambled on about Zhengyi.

  They were excited, of course, and who could blame them? But there was something else in the look of Ilnezhara when first she had spoken to him about the crumbled tower. A bit of fear, he thought again.

  Jarlaxle smiled. The sisters knew more about Zhengyi's potential treasures than the
y were letting on, and they feared the resurfacing artifacts.

  Why would a dragon fear anything?

  The wince on Ilnezhara's face when he told her that the book had been destroyed flashed in his thoughts, and he realized that he'd do well to keep his treasure—the tiny skull gem—safely hidden for a long, long time. Ilnezhara hadn't completely believed him, he suspected, and that was never a good thing when dealing with a dragon. He knew without doubt that the dragon sisters would try to confirm that he was speaking the truth. Of course, as was their hoarding nature, the dragons would desire such a tome as the one that had constructed the tower, but that expression on Ilnezhara's face spoke to something beyond so simple and obvious a desire.

  Despite his better instincts the drow produced the tiny glowing skull, just for a moment. He clutched it tightly in his hand and let his thoughts flow into the magic, accepting whatever road the skull laid out before him. Kimmuriel, the psionicist dark elf Jarlaxle had left to command his mercenary band, Bregan D'aerthe, had long ago taught him a way of getting some sense of the purpose of a magical item. Of course Jarlaxle already knew a portion of the skull's properties, for it had no doubt been a large part of creating the tower. He understood logically that the skull had been the conduit between the life-force of that fool Herminicle and the creation power of the tome itself.

  All hints of color faded from Jarlaxle's vision. Even in the dark of night he recognized that he was moving into a sort of alternate visual realm. He recoiled at first, fearing that the skull was taking his life-force, was draining him of living energy and moving him closer to death.

  He fast realized that such was not the case, however. Rather, the power of the skull was allowing his sensibilities to enter the nether realm.

  He sensed the bones of a dead squirrel right below his feet, and those of many other creatures who had died in that place. He felt no pull to them, however, just a recognition, an understanding that they were there.

  But he did feel a pull, clearly so, and he turned and walked out of the grove, letting the skull guide him.