Spider and Stone
Page 29
“What about the king?” Icelin asked. She was having a hard time keeping her eyes open. Her mouth tasted like smoke.
“He’s alive,” Ruen said. “I don’t know any more than that.” He looked down at her. The lines at his eyes and mouth had deepened. He looked aged, and as weary as Icelin felt. Yet he refused to put her down. “Questions can wait. Sleep now.”
“But I have to tell you … Mystra … she …” But Icelin’s strength failed her. Her eyes drifted closed. She wanted so badly to tell him about the woman’s voice, the arms that had comforted her. Instead, she let go, and relaxed into the warmth of Ruen’s arms.
When she woke again, she was in Moradin’s temple. Lying on her back, she looked up at a carving of Moradin’s symbol on the far wall. Veins of mithral ran through the stone grooves, which created a soft, liquid glow in the dim light from bunches of lichen arranged low along the walls.
Slowly, Icelin sat up. The temple was full of wounded, and dozens of soldiers milled around, offering aid, but there was a noticeable hush in the air. Icelin looked for familiar faces and saw Sull and Ingara standing on the other side of the room, talking in low voices. Icelin made her way over to them. Her body felt emptied out, hollow inside from all the magic she’d used in the past days.
There would be a price for what she’d done. Icelin had accepted that going into the battle. She couldn’t bring herself to feel regret, but for Ruen’s sake, and for the sake of the life they had ahead of them, she wondered how much more of her longevity she’d given up, hoping the price hadn’t been too high.
Let go, she told herself, echoing the voice she’d heard whispering to her in the darkness. The future would take care of itself, and no matter what happened, she would not have to face it alone.
“You’re awake,” Sull said when Icelin reached them. “How are you feelin’? We were worried when you didn’t wake up right away.”
“How long have I been asleep?” Icelin asked anxiously. “What’s happened?” She touched Ingara’s arm. The woman hadn’t spoken or greeted her. A haunted expression lingered about her eyes. “Is it Arngam?” she asked.
Ingara managed a small smile. “He’s well,” she said. “A little bit of smoke won’t slow him down.”
Icelin swallowed and nodded, but her relief was tempered by a terrible knowledge that filled her as she looked around the temple and failed to see Joya’s familiar presence there. “Your sister,” she said. “She didn’t make it, did she?”
Ingara shook her head. Her eyes shone. “We found her near the bridge. Not a mark on her—she was just … gone. Father thinks—” she cleared her throat “—the grief was too much, that it was time. Moradin came for her. And it wasn’t in vain. At least a dozen dwarves are alive because of her.”
“I’m so sorry, Ingara.” Icelin closed her eyes and let the grief come.
They had lost Joya, and Icelin had let the sphere slip away from her. Yet Icelin had heard the artifact call out to her, the memory of Mystra. Was it in drow hands now? Or had it moved on, freeing itself? She hoped and prayed it was the latter.
“Where is Ruen?” she asked.
“He’s with the king in his hall along with Garn, Obrin, and the master armswoman, plus the regency council,” Sull said. “You were summoned too, but we didn’t want to wake you. The council’s decidin’ what’s to be done.”
“Done about what?” Icelin asked. “Is the king all right?”
Sull and Ingara exchanged a glance. “You’d better go,” Sull advised. He held out a hand to help her.
When they exited the temple, Icelin was able to take in the full extent of the damage to the city. Fully half of it had been destroyed, buried in piles of rock and debris from wrecked dwellings. Fresh grief seized Icelin at seeing the devastation.
“They got the nine doors closed,” Sull said, following her gaze. “Whatever drow didn’t get out in the retreat got trapped, and the soldiers took care of them. They weren’t expectin’ the explosion, and they were too slow reactin’ afterward.”
“It cost the dwarves, too,” Icelin said. “I wonder how many of them were also caught in the blast. But it was the only way, wasn’t it? The drow won’t risk attacking again.”
“Don’t see how they could,” Sull said. “They lost half their force and their mistress.”
“What happened to Zollgarza?”
Sull shrugged. “The king was going to let her go free, but she disappeared during the battle—probably killed in the explosion too.”
They entered the hall, and a pair of guards escorted them to the king. Mith Barak sat on his throne, his hands resting heavily on the stone arms. A shell of what he had been, pale, his once silvery beard flat gray, the king nevertheless stood when Icelin entered the hall.
“Thought you were going to sleep the winter away,” he said gruffly. “Are you all right, then?”
“I’m fine,” Icelin said, “just a little bruised.” Ruen, Garn, and Obrin stood off to the side, behind the council members. She nodded to father and son. They acknowledged her by lifting their weapons. No words needed.
“My thanks to you all,” Mith Barak said, directing the words to the council. “You know what to do, and I trust you to do it.”
“My king,” the council murmured. One by one, they bowed low and left the hall. When the doors closed behind them, Mith Barak said to Garn, “Well, old friend, I’m leaving you a fine mess; that’s certain.” The king held out a gaunt hand to the runepriest. “I wish it could be otherwise. I truly do.”
“We’ll be all right, my king,” Garn said roughly, clasping the king’s forearm. “When you reawaken, the city will be built anew.”
“You’re going back to the stone,” Icelin said. Of course. Magic had exacted its own price from the dragon. Mighty Mith Barak would have to sleep a very long time to recover from the battle. Longer than her life, and Ruen’s, maybe longer than Garn’s. Judging by the look on the runepriest’s face, he knew it too.
Mith Barak turned when Icelin spoke. “The sphere is gone,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
Icelin nodded. “I’m sorry.”
The king waved her off. “It’s for the best,” he said. “It’ll find its way into better hands than the children of Lolth.” Mith Barak beckoned Icelin closer and leaned in to speak. “Will you think less of me, girl, if I admit to being afraid?”
The statement surprised her, but Icelin immediately said, “Not at all. I understand.”
“Do you? I’m afraid for my people, but it’s more than that. I haven’t felt safe in so long, and I see an uncertain future before me.” Mith Barak smiled ruefully. “You’d think, at my great age, the fear would go away.” His voice dropped. “But it never does. It shames me to say it, but it never does.”
Icelin hesitated. What could she possibly say to him? She reached out to touch the king’s shoulder. If he was surprised by the gesture, Mith Barak didn’t show it. Icelin remembered her dream, the voice in the dark. “You have to let go,” she said. “No one can be certain of the future. Trust in your people. They will watch over you and think of you every day of their lives.”
Mith Barak looked at her for a long time in silence. Slowly he nodded. “I’d forgotten what it’s like to be so young, to have so much faith,” he said. “My thanks.”
He turned to ascend to his throne, and Icelin could bear it no longer. She looked at Ruen pleadingly, and he nodded. Together, they and Sull left the chamber to give Garn and Obrin one last moment of privacy with their king.
Outside the hall, the three of them stood silently in the middle of the ruined plaza. Icelin felt as though she’d just attended the first of many funerals for the days ahead. She wiped her eyes and tried to smile, but she couldn’t manage it. She found herself thinking of the library suddenly. What would happen to the seneschal while Mith Barak was gone to the stone? Would she carry on, alone, guarding the tomes of dwarf lore? How many of them had been lost, damaged beyond repair in the explosion?
“
They’ve lost so much,” Sull commented, echoing Icelin’s thoughts. “Is it worth rebuildin’?”
“It’s worth it,” Ruen said.
This time Icelin did manage to smile. “Don’t tell me you’re becoming an optimist. I’ve had one too many shocks today. I might expire from this one.”
She’d intended it as a pure jest, but she hadn’t thought about how the words might affect Ruen. Glancing uneasily at his face, she saw humor alight there. He tipped his hat to her. “Being in your company as long as I have, I suppose it was only a matter of time,” he said.
He smiled at her, and Icelin’s heart warmed.
It’s going to be all right, she thought. We will heal from this.
“We should be leaving soon,” Icelin said. “I’m ready to see the sky again.”
“About that,” Sull said, clearing his throat.
“You have a destination in mind?” Ruen said, raising an eyebrow at the butcher.
“Well, I’m all for this adventurin’ life, but I’m goin’ to need to go back to Waterdeep at some point to replenish my supplies and check on my shop,” Sull said. “In the spring, maybe?”
“I think that can be arranged,” Icelin said.
“Adventurers, then?” Ruen said. He looked at Icelin. “That’s what you want?”
“I think so,” Icelin said. “My parents embraced the life, and it brought them happiness. In truth, I think it doesn’t matter where I go or what I do. I have what I want most right here, within reach.”
THE UNDERDARK
ZOLLGARZA EMERGED FROM THE SHADOWS OF THE tunnel, past the last remaining outpost of Iltkazar. No one hindered her. No one was left alive to do the job. Still, she moved cautiously, using instincts honed from years of stealth training—training that had happened only in her mind. Zollgarza’s lips curved. Even a false personality had its uses.
Those false memories slipped into her conscious mind, whispering to her, trying to assert themselves over the other, true memories that were just coming back to her. Zollgarza leaned against the wall and pressed her forehead to the stone, concentrating. Suddenly, she slammed her head against the stone on a curse.
Pain erupted behind her eyes, and Zollgarza slid limply to the floor. Shivering, Zollgarza clutched her shoulders as if she could hold herself together by sheer force of will.
“I am Zollgarza,” she whispered to the darkness. “I am Zollgarza.”
The vast expanse of the Underdark loomed before her, but it offered no answer. She’d considered going back to Guallidurth. With Fizzri gone, she could assert a place for herself in the temple of Lolth. She’d once held great power in the city. Whatever story Fizzri had made up in her absence could easily be denied or altered. If she wanted to, she could …
Inside her, the Black Creeper reared up in denial. I will not place myself at the mercy of the priestesses. Those bitches that look at me with contempt. Never!
“Be silent!” Zollgarza cried aloud. She forced herself to stand even as a wave of dizziness clutched at her head. “I will master you, devil. I will. I will.” She chuckled at the way her high-pitched voice echoed in the tunnel.
Mother Lolth, I will master this. Watch your broken one. I will master this, and I will return.
She looked down at the Arcane Script Sphere clutched in her hand and laughed again.
Zollgarza shuffled off down the tunnel, into the depths of the Underdark, still uttering that hollow laugh, until the darkness swallowed her.
JALEIGH JOHNSON SPENDS MOST OF HER DAYS PASSING in and out of various fantasy worlds, though she insists the real world is by far the strangest and the most difficult to navigate. She has written five novels and several short stories for the Forgotten Realms setting. She lives in the Champaign/Urbana area with her husband, and in her spare time, she enjoys gardening, video games, and going to the movies. Visit her website at www.jaleighjohnson.com.
LOLTH, ALONE IN HER
DEMONWEB PITS,
IS WEAVING HER DARK
SCHEMATA INTO THE WORLD.
AND HER DROW ARE STIRRING EVERYWHERE, FROM THE LIGHT OF THE SURFACE WORLD TO THE DEPTHS OF THE UNDERDARK …
RISE OF THE UNDERDARK™
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