Olgerkhan came up to his elbows as she met his gaze.
"And so it ends," Jarlaxle remarked, he and Entreri moving to the dwarf and half-orc. "Help him up, then. I will levitate you up to join Arrayan on the ledge one at a time."
Athrogate moved to help Olgerkhan stand, but Entreri just moved away to the wall, where he quickly picked a route and began climbing. By the time Jarlaxle made his first trip up, easing Olgerkhan down beside Arrayan, Entreri was nearly there, moving steadily.
When he finally pulled his head above the ledge, he found Arrayan fallen over Olgerkhan, hugging him tightly and professing her love to him. Entreri hopped up beside them, offered a weak smile that neither of them even registered, and moved off to check the ascending hallway.
He sprinted up some distance but found no enemies and heard no sounds at all. When he came back, he found the other four waiting for him, Olgerkhan leaning on the dwarf with Arrayan supporting him under his other arm.
"The corridor is clear," he reported.
"The castle is dead," Arrayan replied, and her voice rang out more strongly than Entreri had previously heard.
"Ye can't be sure," Athrogate replied.
But Arrayan nodded, her confidence working against the doubts of the others. "I don't know how I know," she explained. "I just know. The castle is dead. No gargoyles or mummies will rise against us, nor daemons or other monsters. Even the traps, I believe, are now inert."
"I will ensure that, every step," Entreri assured her.
"Bah, but she can't be sure," Athrogate reiterated.
"I do believe she is," said Jarlaxle. "Sure and correct. The dracolich was the source of the castle's continuing life, was giving power to the book, and the book power to the gargoyles and other monsters. Without the dragon, they are dead stone and empty corpses, nothing more."
"And the dragon was giving the book the power to steal from me my life," Arrayan added. "The moment it fell, my burden was lifted. I do not understand it all, good dwarf, but I am certain that I am correct."
"Bah, and I was just starting to have some fun."
That brought a laugh, even from Olgerkhan, though he grimaced with the effort. Jarlaxle moved out before the trio to join Entreri.
"We will move up ahead and ensure that the way is clear," the dark elf said, and he and Entreri started off.
They trotted along swiftly, putting a lot of distance between themselves and the others.
"The castle is truly dead?" Entreri asked when they were well alone.
"Arrayan is a perceptive one, and since she was inextricably tied to the castle, I would trust her judgment in this."
"You seem to know more than she."
Jarlaxle shrugged.
"No gargoyles and no mummies," Entreri went on. "Their source of power is gone. But what of the undead? Will we find skeletons waiting for us when we get back to the keep?"
"What do you mean?"
"Their master, it would seem, walks beside me."
Jarlaxle gave a little laugh.
"When did you become a necromancer?" Entreri asked.
Jarlaxle took out the skull gem.
"It was you back there, of course," the assassin said. "All of it."
"Not completely true," Jarlaxle replied. "I brought in our three lost companions, true. You did indeed hear them following us down."
"And left the fourth hanging on a spike?"
Another laugh. "He is a dwarf—the gem grants me no power over dead dwarves, just humans. So if you fall in battle…."
Entreri was not amused. "You have the power to raise an army of skeletons?" he asked.
"I did not," the drow explained. "Not all of them. The dracolich animated them, or the castle did. But I heard them, every one, and they heard me, and heeded my commands. Perhaps they harbored old grievances against the dragon that had long ago slaughtered them."
They crossed the room where Entreri had battled Canthan and moved steadily along. No eggs fell from the ceiling carvings, releasing guardian daemons to terrorize them, and no sarcophagi creaked open. When they at last reached the main chamber of the keep, they found that the monsters had broken through the doors. But none remained to stand against them. Bones littered the floor, and a pair of gnoll mummies lay still on the stairs, but not a gargoyle was to be seen. Outside it was dark, for it was well into the night by then.
Jarlaxle paid it all little heed. His prize was in sight, and he was fast to the book, which still stood on its tendril platform. No mystical runes spun in the air above it, and the drow felt no tingles of magical power as he moved to stand before it. He looked over at Entreri then tore out a page.
He paused and looked around, as if listening for the rumble of a wall crumbling.
"What?" Entreri asked.
"The castle will not crumble as did Herminicle's tower."
"Why?"
"Because, unlike that structure, this one is complete," Jarlaxle explained. "And because the life-force that completed this castle is still alive."
"Arrayan? But you said…"
Jarlaxle shook his head. "She was nothing more than the one who began the process, and the castle leeched her for convenience, not for survival. Her death would have meant nothing to the integrity of the structure, beyond perhaps slowing the growth of the gargoyles or some other minor thing."
"Well, if not Arrayan, then who?" Entreri asked. "The dracolich?"
Jarlaxle tore out another page, then another. "Dracoliches are interesting creatures," he explained. "They do not 'die' as we know it. Their spirits run and hide, awaiting another suitable body to animate and inhabit."
Entreri's eyes went wide and despite himself he glanced around as if expecting the beast to drop upon him. He started to ask Jarlaxle what he meant by that but paused when he heard the others shuffling into the chamber behind him.
"Well met," Jarlaxle said to them. "And just in time to witness the end of the threat."
He stepped back from the book as he finished and tapped the tips of his thumbs together. Fingers splayed before him, he called upon the power of one of his magic rings. Flames fanned out from his spread hands, washing over the magical book and igniting it. Laughing, Jarlaxle brought a dagger into his hand and began tearing at the tome, sending blackened, burning parchment flying.
In that show, the drow found his treasure, and he slipped it into his sleeve under the cover of his slashing movements. He was not surprised by the sight of the prize: a purple glowing gem shaped like a skull. Not a human skull, like the one Jarlaxle already possessed, but the skull of a dragon.
Immediately upon closing his fingers on the gem, the drow felt the life-force of the great black dragon contained within.
He felt the hate, the outrage.
But most of all, he felt the dragon's fear.
He enjoyed that.
* * * * *
The five remaining party members did not have to go far to find more allies. With the defeat of the dragon, the defeat of the Zhengyian artifact, had come the defeat of the gargoyles. Guessing that something positive and important must have happened out there, Wingham had quickly led a contingent of half-orc soldiers out of Palishchuk's northern gate.
How pleased they were to see the five exiting through the hole in the portcullis Athrogate had earlier made.
Pleased and concerned all at once, for four were missing, including a man who had been a friend to Palishchuk for decades.
Arrayan ran to Wingham and wrapped him in a great hug. Cheers went up all around the pair—for Arrayan and for Olgerkhan, with the occasional reminder thrown in to salute the other three.
Those cheers were fast tempered however, when Olgerkhan confirmed the deaths of Canthan and Ellery, of good Pratcus and of Mariabronne the Rover.
So it was a muted celebration, but a celebration nonetheless, for the threat had passed and Palishchuk had survived. After a short while of cheering and many prayers offered for the dead, Wingham demanded a complete recounting.
"There wi
ll be time for that when we return to Palishchuk," Jarlaxle responded, and the others, even ever-curious Wingham, quickly agreed. The castle might have been dead, but they were still deep in the Vaasan wilderness, after all.
"We almost lost her," Jarlaxle later said to Wingham, for he had made it a point to walk beside the old half-orc on their journey back. "Olgerkhan threw off his ring, and the sudden shock of bearing all the burden nearly overwhelmed the poor girl."
Wingham cast him a curious glance and nearly blurted out, "How do you know about that?" Jarlaxle figured, for he read it clearly on the old weapon dealer's face.
"When we could not find Olgerkhan's ring, we knew we had to move quickly. Fortunately, by that time, we were ready to do battle with the true king of the castle, a black dracolich of enormous size and power."
That widened Wingham's eyes. "You have a few stories to tell," he said.
"It has been a long day," Jarlaxle replied.
* * * * *
All of the city turned out that night, the old, the very young, and everyone in between, to hear the tales of the fall of the dracolich. Jarlaxle served as storyteller for the five, of course, for few in all the world could weave a tale better than the strange old dark elf. Athrogate got in a few rhymes and seemed to take particular delight in the groans of the onlookers.
Through it all, Entreri moved to the far side of the common room, trying to remain inconspicuous. He didn't really want to talk to anyone, didn't want any pats on the back, and had little desire to answer questions about the deaths of Ellery and Canthan in particular.
But he did see one face among the crowd, in the back and over by the door, which he could not ignore.
"Davis Eng?" he asked when he arrived by Calihye's side.
"Resting well," she curtly replied. "He nearly died when the gargoyles attacked the town, but I was there."
"Ever the hero."
Calihye turned a glare over him. "That would be your title, would it not?"
"We asked you to come along."
"To lie dead beside Ellery, no doubt."
Entreri merely smiled, bowed, and took his leave.
The cheering faded behind him as he walked out into the Palishchuk night. He was alone with his feelings, including a few that he hadn't even known he possessed. He pictured Arrayan's face then thought of Dwahvel Tiggerwillies. He considered his anger, his hurt, when Arrayan had professed her love to Olgerkhan.
Why had he felt that? Why so keenly?
He admitted to himself that he was indeed attracted to Arrayan, but he had been to Ellery and Calihye, as well, on that level. He didn't love the half-orc—how could he, when he didn't truly know her?
It all had him shaking his head, and as he considered it, with time to think and reflect, with no danger pressing and no distractions, he found his answer.
He drew out Idalia's flute and stared at it, then gave a helpless little laugh.
So, the dragon sisters—and his drow friend, no doubt—had conspired to manipulate him.
Strangely, at that moment of reflection, Artemis Entreri was not angry with them.
* * * * *
A wagon rolled out of Palishchuk three days later, carrying Entreri and Jarlaxle, Calihye, Athrogate, and Davis Eng. A handful of Palishchuk soldiers had agreed to serve as guards and drivers. Behind it came a second wagon, bearing the bodies of Pratcus and Commander Ellery. Of Mariabronne, they hadn't found enough to bury, and Canthan's lower torso, though supposedly retrieved by the Palishchuk guards who had returned to the castle, had not been placed in the cart. Whispered rumors said that it had been claimed and removed in quiet the day before, but even the ever-suspicious Jarlaxle and Entreri had put little credence in the confused reports.
"You would be wise to keep all curiosity seekers out of the castle," Jarlaxle told Wingham, who stood with Arrayan and Olgerkhan and a much older half-orc, who had been introduced as an old and renowned bard. "The book is destroyed, so the place should be dead, by all reasoning. But it was a Zhengyian artifact, after all, and we do not know what other surprises the Witch-King left in place."
"The soldiers who went in have told everyone of the fate of Pratcus," Wingham replied, "and that there was apparently no treasure to be found. The castle will remain as it is until King Gareth can send an appropriate force to investigate."
"Farewell then," the drow said with a low bow and a sweep of his great hat. "Expect my return here at Palishchuk, at a time when I might more fully peruse and enjoy the town."
"And you will be welcomed, Jarlaxle," Arrayan put in. "Though we'll not likely see you until the spring melt."
Jarlaxle smiled at her and held up the magical ring she had given him, on his request that he might study it further and perhaps replace its lost companion. Arrayan had no problem in handing it over after Wingham had agreed, for neither knew that Jarlaxle already had the sister ring in his possession. As soon as the others had left that room of battle, a quick spell had shown Jarlaxle its location, and the drow was never one to let such items go to waste.
"Winter is fast approaching," Wingham said. "But then, up here, winter is always fast-approaching, if it is not already here!"
"And you will be welcomed, as well, Artemis Entreri," Olgerkhan added.
Entreri locked stares with the half-orc then turned his gaze over Arrayan. Her smile was warm and friendly, and full of thanks.
Entreri reached into his cloak and pulled forth the flute of Idalia, then looked back to the pair. Feeling Jarlaxle's curious gaze upon him, he turned to the drow.
There was apprehension there, and Entreri got the sense that his friend was about to be quite disappointed.
He held up the flute but didn't toss it to Olgerkhan, as he had intended.
"Perhaps I will learn to play it well enough to entertain you upon my return," he said, and he saw the smile widen on Jarlaxle's dark face.
Entreri wasn't sure how he felt about that.
"I would like that," said Arrayan.
The wagons rolled away. Artemis Entreri spent a long time staring back at the half-orcs, and a long time letting his hands feel the craftsmanship of Idalia's work.
The rest of the day proved uneventful. Even Jarlaxle was quiet and left Entreri pretty much alone. They set their camp for the night, and Entreri chose one of the wagon benches as his bed, mostly because then no one was likely to sleep too close to him. He wanted very much to be alone again and only wished that he had been far enough away from all the others that he might take up the flute and try to learn more of its magic.
He found himself wishing he could be even farther away when, a short while into the quiet night, Calihye climbed up to stand beside him.
At first, he feared she might make a move against him. His dagger in hand, he knew he could easily defeat and kill her, but he did not wish to do that.
"The road will not be clear tomorrow," the half-elf said to him.
Entreri put on a puzzled look and swung around to sit up.
"Before mid-day, perhaps sooner, we will find pursuit, a band of riders coming with questions and accusations," she explained.
"What do you know?"
"The Citadel of Assassins wishes to know about Canthan," Calihye explained. "He was no minor player in that dark association, and now he is dead. Rumors say by your hands."
"Rumors say many things."
"Olgerkhan told of his near-death experience in the castle. He told of a dagger and of the fall of Canthan. Many ears beyond the small group of friends sitting beside the half-orc heard that tale."
Entreri stared at her hard.
"Archmage Knellict is not Canthan," Calihye went on. "Whatever success you found against that wretch will not easily be replicated where Knellict is concerned. Nor will he come alone, and the men beside him will not be novices to the art of murder."
"Why are you telling me this?"
The woman stared at him for a long while. "I will not live indebted to Artemis Entreri," she said and turned away.
Not for the first time, Entreri was glad that he had not killed her.
* * * * *
Dawn was still long away when Entreri and Jarlaxle moved out from the wagons.
"The word is 'Blackfire, " Jarlaxle explained as he handed the obsidian figurine over to his companion.
"Black—" Entreri started to ask, but the drow interrupted him with an upraised hand and a word of warning.
"Do not speak the summons until you are ready to ride," Jarlaxle explained. "And place the figurine on the ground before you do, for it will summon an equine beast from the lower planes to serve you. I found it on the body of Mariabronne—a curious item for a goodly ranger of the Army of Bloodstone to carry."
Entreri started at him, then at the figurine.
"So if you are ready, we should go," Jarlaxle said.
"You will ride behind me?"
"Beside you," said the drow, and from yet another of his many pouches, he produced an identical item.
Entreri couldn't find the heart to even shake his head.
The cries of the nightmares split the night, awakened the others at the wagons, and reminded those who were supposed to be guarding the troupe that they were supposed to be guarding the troupe. By the time any of them got to the south side of the encampment, though, Entreri and Jarlaxle were long gone.
The wind whipped Entreri's hair and buffeted his cloak as the nightmare charged on, fiery hooves tearing at the soft tundra.
When dawn broke, the companions were still running, their steeds showing no sign of tiring though they had put many, many miles between themselves and the wagons.
Even with that, however, they found that they were not alone.
"The woman spoke truthfully," Jarlaxle remarked when a line of horsemen appeared behind them and to the side, riding hard and with purpose. "Let us hope that the Bloodstone Lands are filled with places to hide!"
The horses would not catch them, however hard their riders drove them. The hellish steeds were too powerful and did not tire. Soon the pair were running free again, and they knew they were much closer to the Vaasan Gate.
"We could seek the protection of King Gareth," Jarlaxle remarked.
Promise of the Witch King ts-2 Page 34
