Then Tarscenian was heading up again, higher and higher, until it seemed he could almost touch the lake. He remembered, as a child, leaping off a swing at the highest point of its curve, soaring through the air like the panther he'd been pretending to be. He remembered, too, the broken ankle that had kept him in bed for weeks after that escapade.
"Paladine," he prayed, "let this work."
He was coming back down again. The hobgoblin stood on the ground now, urging the others toward the sword-wielding human pendulum. Tarscenian hit one of the goblins, a reddish-orange creature with bright lemon-yellow eyes. The goblin staggered into another one. They both careened into the hobgoblin, who tossed them aside like rags.
Then up… and up. Tarscenian hastily stuffed his sword in its scabbard-no easy task while curled around a rope. His right hand, now free, unclasped the cloak, loosely holding the garment in place.
The hobgoblin swept the other guards aside, and waited alone in Tarscenian's path. The butt of its spear rested on the ground, the point glinting toward the human.
Tarscenian could see victory and consternation mingled in the creature's tiny red eyes. He could almost hear the beast's thoughts: Why did this daft human sheathe his sword?
Then, just as Tarscenian was about to collide with the hobgoblin, the man whipped off his cloak and snagged the spear. The force of Tarscenian's charge whipped the weapon into the neck of the monster that had held it. A bellow rocked the clearing behind the old man as he swung toward the lake.
And then he jumped free of the rope, soaring over two pines toward the water. Tarscenian curled himself into a ball. The landing would either save or kill him.
Water, deep blue and icy even in summer, closed around him. His sword dragged him down, but he dared not jettison it. He kicked his way to the surface, then he made himself relax, lie back, and breathe regularly. He kicked forcefully, away from shore.
The captain of the guard ordered the goblins and hobgoblins into the lake after their quarry. Tarscenian heard
the goblin's shrill refusals, and the hobgoblin's deep shout, "Water. Hobgoblin. No. Lake hobgoblin. Wait, see, masterguard."
Tarscenian's sword dragged him down. At this rate, he would tire and drown long before he reached the western shore. "Paladine, please," he prayed, gasping for air. "Ancilla still lives. Let me save… Let us save… We have to…" Then he halted in wonderment.
A spell, long-forgotten, floated into his mind. Tarscen-ian gulped air and raised his arms. With his fingers, he pounded a tattoo on the water surface until the muscles in his forearms threatened to cramp. All the while, he repeated the chant that played through his mind.
"Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit. Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit. Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit."
He paused to breathe and drew in a lungful of water. He coughed and sputtered, but chanted on.
"Fotatol aerifon hexicadi pfeatherlit."
He felt his wig disguise wash loose from his scalp. A cramp began to hurt his side. He speeded up his chanting.
Suddenly his muscles eased. He was borne up in the water as though the giant hand of a god had scooped him up. The heavy sword weighed nothing. His sodden garments ceased to hamper him. He glanced back toward Solace. There was no sign of his pursuers.
Suddenly, a craft floated before him.
"A canoe?" Tarscenian muttered. "I don't recall this part of the spell."
He paddled over to it. The canoe appeared to be birch-bark. It glided easily on the water. A plain plank seat spanned the widest section of the canoe. The other seat, at the stern, was marked with a red star.
Tarscenian treaded water while he unbuckled the belt that held his scabbard and sword, and slung the weapon and holder into the craft. Then he grasped the side of the canoe and hauled himself up.
Suddenly the canoe went askew. Tarscenian hurriedly released the craft, treading water again while it bobbed back into position. Clearly, this business of climbing into a canoe from the water was no simple task. He was a landsman, mystified by most things aquatic.
Tarscenian took a deep breath, let himself sink below the surface, and kicked as hard as he could. He shot up through the water and lunged enough above the surface to clutch the plank seat itself.
For an instant, the technique seemed to work. Then Tarscenian, cursing, felt himself sliding back toward the water as the canoe tipped slowly toward him. Once more he let himself slip back into the lake.
Once again he tried. This time he placed more and more of his weight upon the canoe until the waters of Crys-talmir Lake lapped into the boat. The boat sank in the water. When the craft was half-full, it floated low enough in the lake for Tarscenian to slip over the side.
Soon he was seated on the middle plank, shin-deep in cold water. He had nothing to bail with, and his pursuers would soon be after him. He decided to try paddling despite the heavy load of water, then reached toward the craft's floor-and swore. "No paddles, by the Old Gods?"
Tarscenian dug deep into his pouches. Everything in his pockets was sodden. Marjoram, thyme, pepper, and pine-he had them all still, despite his dunking. He spread the items on the other seat, the plank with the star insignia, then passed his hands over them, chanting. "Elvi nahana teta, i'a min bidyang. Bidyang d'a mina." He turned his hands over and raised them slowly. He'd not performed a levitation spell in a long time, but the boat began to lift off the water.
The boat rose, but only a few inches. The craft bulged at the center. For a moment Tarscenian feared that the heavy burden of man and water would cause the canoe to burst. He grabbed his sword from the bottom of the canoe and plunged the weapon into the craft's side.
The water gushed from the canoe back into the lake, and the craft rose higher until it reached a foot above the surface. "Good," he murmured. "Now if I can manage to put the craft in motion…"
Tarscenian gazed north toward Erolydon. The sun was almost down. He had a hunch how to get into the temple, but he'd need some light to find his way. Every moment was important. "Ebal gi entoknoken ty xorent." The boat did not move. "Ebal gi entoknoken ty wrent." Still the craft remained motionless.
"All right," he muttered to himself. "Fine." He clapped his hands. "Quantenol sinafit."
The sun touched the horizon. Rays of pink and red immediately shot into the sky. Tarscenian pondered. What could he be doing wrong? He gazed around. His stare fell on the starred plank. A quizzical look came over his face, then he shrugged. "It's worth a try," he said.
He moved to the other seat, the one marked with the star, and sat squarely upon the decoration. Tarscenian closed his eyes and concentrated. "Ebal gi entoknoken ty wrent. Ebal gi entoknoken ty wrent. Quantenol sinafit." Again he clapped. The boat raised itself slightly higher above the water.
Tarscenian imagined the craft speeding across the water, heading northward. He imagined the breeze across his bare head, felt the spray wash over him when the craft struck an upflung wave. He imagined Erolydon coming into view, and in his mind he saw the canoe, coming to a stop just outside the walls that extended into the sea. He saw the grounds of Erolydon devoid of people, the temple empty after the evening's revelations.
Tarscenian opened his eyes to find the white marble wall rising smoothly before him. All was as he'd imagined it. The sun was only a fraction lower in the sky, but he had arrived at Erolydon. "The magic worked," he whispered, smiling.
But where should he search? Tarscenian remembered the Praxis, and recalled how Hederick had taken particular passages to heart. "Moral purity is impossible without physical cleanliness," the Praxis taught.
There must be discharge tunnels, then, to guide waste from the temple. And what was the most logical place to deposit the filth? Tarscenian knew Hederick would want the refuse emptied as far away from his own quarters as possible.
Tarscenian considered the expanse of wall before him. He leaned over to lower himself into the water and take a look.
Suddenly something burst up out of the water beneath
the boat, which shattered, dumping Tarscenian in the water. As he swam to the surface, he saw his sheathed sword disappear into the muck far below him. His spell-casting components floated on the surface.
A shadow warned him that he was no longer alone, and he lurched backward. A lance, barbed like a harpoon, whisked past his face.
At first Tarscenian thought the hobgoblin from Solace had caught up with him, but this creature circling him now had gills. Webbed fingers held the barbed lance and a small shield. Tarscenian realized the creature's toes were webbed, too.
He searched his memory. Koalinth, that was it. An aquatic hobgoblin. Of course Hederick would have no compunctions about employing the entire goblin race.
The koalinth stabbed its lance efficiently through the water. Tarscenian had given his dagger to Mynx and now he had no sword, either. He would have to surface to breathe. Each gulp of air would leave him vulnerable to the gill-breather.
I didn't come this far to be stopped by an overgrown rish, Tarscenian thought.
Then the creature stopped circling and came at him.
Chapter 18
The rocking of the centaur's gait nearly lulled Mynx to sleep, especially curled up as she was inside the Diamond Dragon.
When the centaur halted, however, the thief awoke and made herself sit up. The walls of the Diamond Dragon glowed violet around her. Beyond them, even though she knew the Diamond Dragon was made of something impermeable, she could make out the contents of Kiffle-wit's pocket-a few buttons, three coins, a stub of chalky stone, and an apple. Even the ruby the kender had stolen from Gaveley's den was there.
The artifact seemed to hum, and soon Mynx's head pounded from the beelike drone. Despite the small space she occupied, the air was cool.
She listened.
" Tis time to halt and gather our strength, little one. Slide down from my back. We shall share wine and fine cheese from my pack."
"Nothing for me, thank you. Oh, just some wine, please," Kifflewit's lilting voice rejoined. "And, oh, maybe a little cheese. Don't you have any bread, Phytos?"
The centaur must have had some, for Mynx heard a muffled, "Mmmm, thanks," that told her the kender had found something that suited his tastes. She could have used a chunk of bread herself, not to mention wine and cheese. If she remained in the dragon very long, would she starve?
"Hey!" she shouted. "Hey, out there! Kifflewit! Phytos! Help!"
She waited in vain; nobody heard her words.
"Wouldst thou like some more cheese, kender? 'Tis quite a good variety, Qualinesti, full of elven vigor. I traded a full bag of fine-quality grain for it."
"Mmmm… Thank you." Kifflewit coughed.
Mynx, annoyed, struck the flat of her hand against the Diamond Dragon. The blow aggravated the drone into a bell-like tolling that set Mynx's teeth on edge. "Hey, you two!" she shouted. "Help!"
She tried screaming as loud as she could. The artifact took her scream and returned it tenfold, until Mynx thought she would shout her lungs out from sheer frustration.
All right, so they couldn't hear her. Maybe Mynx could make her presence known some other way. The kender must realize she was here, but he couldn't be relied upon. Mynx pinned her hopes on the centaur.
She braced her hands on the sides of the dragon and rocked to one side. The artifact wobbled slightly. Encouraged, Mynx pushed even harder the other way, and the Diamond Dragon tipped so far in that direction that Mynx lost her balance on the slippery bottom and tumbled to her knees.
"Blast this thing to the Abyss!" she shrieked, then had to cover her ears again from the resulting reverberations.
Then a huge hand-did that monstrous palm, those fat fingers, those imposing nails really belong to a little kender? — crashed into the pocket, swept under the Diamond Dragon, and carried it and its occupant out of the pouch and into the light. Mynx leaped to her feet and rocked back and forth again, harder than before. The centaur had to notice something odd-the artifact was moving of its own volition.
"See what I have, Phytos?" the kender chirped. He wrapped his fingers around it securely. Mynx fumed, but kept up her strenuous efforts.
Phytos did not look up from arranging the items in his pack. " 'Tis time we continued, little one. We're not even out of the vallenwoods. We have many leagues… By the gods!" The centaur's head was up now, violet eyes staring. "What is that thou holds, kender? It glows like lightning! 'Tis magic! Is it evil?"
"It was Hederick's, Phytos. He gave it to me, back at the temple."
Phytos clucked. "Did he, kender? And could it be that the High Theocrat is unaware that he gave thee such a precious bauble?"
Kifflewit faltered. "I… I don't remember." He brightened. "Anyway, I'm keeping it for him. Until he needs it again."
"Let me see it."
The kender opened his hand. Mynx held her breath. New fingers, slender and strong, cradled the artifact. The centaur's angular face, with those piercing eyes, came into view. Mynx jumped and waved, rocked the Diamond Dragon, and shouted Phytos's name until she was hoarse. The slim fingers closed firmly around the quivering artifact.
"By the gods, kender, the bauble glows so that I am nearly blinded! It seems to tremble with magic. Put the thing back in thy pocket and keep it safe. If 'tis Hederick's, it may prove useful to us in the coming war."
"War?" Kifflewit's voice held new interest. He replaced the Diamond Dragon in his pocket. Mynx slumped to the artifact's bottom, disconsolate.
"Hederick's forces committed an atrocity against my race," Phytos told the kender. "His minions slew four of my companions. It is highly likely that my tribe will choose to retaliate, little one."
Kifflewit's voice went even more shrill with excitement. "Centaurs, go to war with humans? Wow! Has that ever happened before, Phytos? Is that…"
"I neither know nor care, little one." The curt reply was followed by a soft, "Come, Kifflewit Burrthistle. Tis time we left. My glade lies outside the vallenwoods, and we've a way to go."
Inside the Diamond Dragon, which remained inside the kender's pocket, Mynx beat her fists against her knees and howled.
"The revelations went well tonight, Your Worship," Dahos said.
Hederick grunted noncommittally as he arranged his scrolls in the room of his quarters. He had summoned the high priest, then refused to speak to him or dismiss him. He'd learned an important lesson from Venessi, his mother-that silence is the worst prison imaginable.
Hederick half-smiled. Let the priest suffer for fear of losing his neck, he thought. The Plainsman had erred twice in the preceding day. First with the centaurs. Then he'd allowed Tarscenian to escape once more. Did Hederick have to oversee everything to make sure things were always done correctly?
The High Theocrat had no doubt that if he, Hederick, had been leading the guards against Tarscenian this afternoon, the old fool would have been executed and out of the way by now.
Still, the half-elf Gaveley had had some valuable information for the High Theocrat. Tarscenian was planning vengeance against Hederick, Gaveley informed him, although exactly what form that vengeance would take the half-elf had professed not to know. Hederick had paid him well for the warning.
"As if there were any doubt that Tarscenian continues to stalk me," Hederick muttered. "Tarscenian won't rest until he sees me dead. He's supremely jealous of me."
"Your Worship?" Dahos's voice held a spark of hope.
Hederick said nothing in reply. After a suspenseful wait, the high priest sagged.
The High Theocrat stifled a chuckle. Suddenly he felt a twinge in his upper torso. He clasped a hand against his breastbone, moved his beloved leather-swaddled pendant aside, and gingerly probed a tender spot. He'd felt odd intermittently since this afternoon, when he'd ordered the black-robed mage executed.
The mage had injured him, but the god Sauvay had healed him before hundreds of people. Hederick wished he could remember exactly what happened, but his memory seemed impaired. Still, he had seen and noted witnesses of his mi
raculous revival. There could be no greater sign of Hederick's favor in the eyes of the Seeker gods.
For a moment the High Theocrat considered unwrapping the leather covering and admiring the Diamond Dragon. But, no, he'd nearly lost it once-then a second time this afternoon, his aides told him. No telling when Tarscenian would attempt his evil-doing. Hederick would keep the treasure under cover, close to him.
"Sauvay smiled upon me today," Hederick said
suddenly, momentarily abandoning his oath to shun the high priest.
"Yes, Your Worship," Dahos returned quickly. "It is truly…"
"How are your plans coming for the reconsecration ceremony, Dahos?" Hederick cut in.
"They are… going well," Dahos replied carefully. "We should be able to conduct the ceremony in three or four days. I have sent word to the Highseekers Council that…"
"Hang the damned Highseekers Council, you dolt!" Hederick snapped. "This is my temple. I don't need that batch of old women and sinners snooping around Eroly-don. I can conduct my own ceremony, myself."
"But the Praxis says…"
Hederick's voice took on a new edge. "I am the judge here of what the Praxis says, Dahos. Don't overstep yourself. It could be a fatal mistake."
"I… "
"Yes, High Priest?"
Dahos swallowed and stood taller. "Nothing, Your Worship."
Snoop cursed his luck as he crept along the shoreline, spyglass in his left hand, dirk in his right. It was growing dark, and he knew pitifully little about the area where the land met Crystalmir Lake.
Snoop hated the outdoors-all bugs and poison ivy and fanged creatures with no sense of civilization. The bucolic folks who frequented the area outside Solace actually enjoyed stalking animals and birds and killing them-and for food, not even for a meaningful bounty! And as for fishing, well, the day that Snoop would be found trying to lure a slimy fish onto a hook so that he could skin it and cut out its entrails and cook and eat it would be the day he'd… well, the day he'd eat dirt.
No, give Snoop city life any day. True, Solace was a bit small for Snoop's liking, but Gaveley had made it worth his while-for these last few years, at least. Snoop had chafed lately.
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