He had to open the coffin. He had to know.
He treaded water just above the tomb. Only then did he realize how long he had tarried, and he reached for the second potion on his belt, understanding then that the first was nearing its end.
But even as he brought the vial up before him, he noted that the silver coffin cover seemed to thin out below him, growing less and less opaque. To his shock, he made out a form within the casket.
The cover became translucent.
He looked upon the corpse, the leering, rotted, bloated, horrific form.
It smiled at him, dead eyes opening.
It reached for him, a skeletal arm, flaps of flesh waving in the watery currents, coming forward for him, coming out of the tomb, as if the cover of the coffin was no more!
Regis dropped the vial and scrambled wildly for the break in the hull, his breath bursting forth in a rush of confusing bubbles. He thrashed and he swam, and had the snakes of the dagger not been curled around him, he surely would have dropped the blade!
Out in the open water, caught in the current, he paddled upward with all his strength. He rose too quickly, but didn’t care. He knew better than to come up fast from such a depth, but at that moment, he knew nothing except that he had to get away!
“There! There! Oh, dear child!” Wigglefingers yelled, jumping up and down and pointing to the northeast. He was still looking through his wizard eye, and had seen Spider come forth from the hull, trailing blood and eyes wide with terror, and lungs near to bursting, if his expression was to be believed.
“Up anchor!” Pericolo yelled and the other halflings grabbed the line and began hoisting.
The wizard eye dweomer expired.
“Faster!” Wigglefingers implored the crew, slapping his forehead and silently cursing his spell’s ill-timing. “Oh, Spider!”
He and Pericolo leaned over the rail, staring off into the distance. The water roiled as Spider broke through, gasping and splashing, and sinking right back under.
“Faster!” Pericolo demanded. “Hold on, boy!” he cried. He and Wigglefingers turned, hearing a thump behind them, and they had barely registered it as Donnola’s boots falling to the deck as the young woman rushed between them and dived overboard.
“Donnola!” Pericolo cried. He turned to the crew and yelled at them to go faster, then jumped down beside them and began pulling in the anchor line.
“Do something, mage!” he yelled at Wigglefingers.
“I have nothing to offer, Grandfather!”
“A servant! A rope trick! Speed for Donnola! Something!”
But the mage could only shrug helplessly. “Nothing,” he said in a defeated tone, but he perked up immediately and cried, “She has him!” jumping up and down on the deck with glee.
Pericolo scrambled back to the rail and got there just as he heard the anchor come up over the side.
It didn’t matter, though, for Donnola was now approaching, one arm locked tightly around Spider’s chest.
“Is he dead? Oh, child!” Pericolo wailed, for the younger halfling showed no signs of life.
“Help me,” Donnola begged, spitting water and clearly exhausted. She shoved Spider forward, where Pericolo and Wigglefingers grabbed him by the tunic and roughly pulled him aboard.
Despite the immediate concerns, neither failed to gasp at the sight of the fabulous dagger affixed to Spider’s hand. They laid him out in the bottom of the boat, while others helped Donnola aboard.
“Row fast, sail fast, to Delthuntle!” Pericolo demanded. “We must find a priest for the boy.”
“Spider, Spider,” Donnola pleaded, climbing across to lie atop the prostrate halfling. “Oh Spider, don’t you die on me!”
Regis, falling backward into a great darkness, could not ignore that plea. He opened one eye, coughed up some seawater, and managed a little smile.
Then he fell into unconsciousness, letting go within the tender embrace of Donnola Topolino.
“It saved my life,” Regis said, taking the three-bladed dagger from Grandfather Pericolo. “I had lost my rapier.”
“Easily replaced,” Pericolo said. “And not worth the effort to return to the wreck to retrieve it.”
“I won’t go back there,” Regis said flatly. Beside him, Donnola put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“No, no, of course not. Be at ease, my dear Spider,” Pericolo replied with a warm smile. “Your extraordinary courage and competence soared beyond my expectations—my high expectations, I assure you! I would not ask you to return, and have no plans to do so, in any case.”
He grinned wryly.
“You will sell the location of the wreck,” Regis said, and both Donnola and Wigglefingers looked at him with surprise, but then nodded their agreement and turned to Pericolo, who was smiling even wider.
“You see?” the Grandfather asked. “My faith in Spider is not misplaced. Well reasoned, my boy! Yes, we have our treasures”—he waved his arm to the side, to a table covered in gems and jewels, potion bottles and assorted trinkets—“and likely the best of the lot to be found. I have all the proof of the wreck I need to auction the location, and no matter what comes further from it, I have—”
“You have secured your legacy as the person who discovered Ebonsoul’s resting place,” Regis interrupted.
Pericolo nodded and patted his young protégé’s other shoulder. “You were promised your pick of the treasures, and surely you earned that, at least.”
Regis turned and glanced at the table.
“The dagger is powerful,” Wigglefingers said. “More so than you have yet discovered. It is possessed of many enchantments, I suspect, and better than that, it is not possessed of its own identity and pride, which is oft the downfall of mighty weapons.”
Regis nodded, and marked well the truth of the wizard’s words, remembering Khazid’hea, the Cutter, and what it had done to Catti-brie more than a century before. She hadn’t been ready to do mental battle with the blade, and the evil thing had overwhelmed her.
“What else might it do?” Regis asked, but Wigglefingers just shrugged and shook his head.
“For your second choice, I suggest this,” said Pericolo, and he brought forth a curious ring, iron-banded and set with a prism-shaped gemstone. “You will find it useful in many of your tasks, I expect.”
Regis took it and lifted it up before his eyes, and found one use immediately, for turning the triangular prism stone just so and peering through it greatly magnified the immediate field of view.
“Again an item full of magic,” said Wigglefingers. “And quite useful.”
“What else will it do?”
“You will sort it out when you need it,” the mage assured him. “That is the way with magic rings.”
Regis slipped the ring on and shivered, for a chilly wave of energy flowed through him. He looked down at the ring with some concern.
“There are spells which see heat and creatures who view the world in that way,” Wigglefingers explained, something Regis knew well, of course, but that Spider likely would not. “With that ring, I believe that you are invisible to such dweomers.”
“Not very snuggly, though,” Donnola remarked, hugging herself as she backed away from Regis, and they all laughed.
Regis closed his eyes and called to the ring, and the chill passed, and he heard the hints of other possibilities contained within. It occurred to him that when he enacted the chill, he would find himself protected from heat, from fire even. And there was more within that gemstone prism, he realized, and he couldn’t help but smile.
A bank of fog wafted up from the depths and gathered atop the Sea of Fallen Stars, above Thepurl’s Diamond, in the dark of night. It hovered there for some time, its edges rolling in the sea breeze, but not dissipating in the least.
Then it began to drift, but not on the breeze—indeed, counter to the breeze, making its way slowly to the northeast, toward the shore of Aglarond and the city of Delthuntle.
Regis awakened
to the sound of the most horrific, bloodcurdling scream he had ever imagined. So jarring was it that the halfling tumbled out of his bed and onto the floor, tangling in his blankets and bedclothes.
He finally extricated himself, grabbed his dagger, and crouched in the corner, trying to figure out his next move. He didn’t dare light a candle.
He looked out the window, thinking to go outside and circle around for a better position. He tried to sort out the scream. Who was it? From where had it emanated?
He caught his breath as his bedroom door burst open, torchlight spilling in from beyond. He recognized the silhouette of Donnola, stumbling in, and rushed to her.
“Run!” she said, and she thrust some items at him.
“Quickly, Lady,” said Donnola’s guard, coming into the room with the torch.
In the light, Regis noted the gifts Donnola had offered: a sword belt and pouch. His eyes widened indeed when he noted Pericolo’s fabulous rapier hanging in that belt, and across from it on the right hip, the smaller holster for the magical hand crossbow.
“Run, and do not look back,” Donnola said, thrusting the gifts into Regis’s hand.
“The Grandfather?” Regis asked breathlessly, and he understood then who it was that had screamed.
“And this,” Donnola added, producing a blue beret, the prized cap of Grandfather Pericolo Topolino.
Without doubt, then, in that terrible moment, Regis knew that the great halfling was surely dead.
“I cannot leave,” he whispered.
“You have no choice, boy,” said Wigglefingers, coming up to the door. “For your sake and for all of our sakes!”
“What is the meaning of this?” Regis demanded.
Donnola grabbed him by the shoulders and squared him up to face her, then gently kissed him. “Ebonsoul,” she whispered, pulling back. “He is here … for you. Be gone, I beg! Out your window, out of Delthuntle, at once.”
“No time, boy,” Wigglefingers added. “We cannot contain him, we cannot defeat him.”
His expression reflecting his shock, the dumbfounded halfling took the beret from Donnola and glanced at his window.
Donnola threw herself over him, kissing him again, deeply and passionately, sweetly and sadly.
How could he leave her?
But he thought back to the image he had seen in the Lichwreck, the leering, emaciated form of the lich, and his legs went weak beneath him.
He strapped the sword belt around him, set his dagger into it opposite the grand rapier and right beside the hand crossbow, and was out the window quickly, scrambling along the side of the mansion as nimbly as any spider. He didn’t go straight to the ground, as he should have, but instead, seeing a light from within, he crept along the side of the second story to the master chamber.
He spotted Pericolo immediately when he looked in, the old halfling sitting before the hearth. Old indeed! The Grandfather’s silver hair had thinned greatly, and turned pure white, and his face! All wrinkled it was, as if Pericolo had suddenly aged decades.
It took Regis a long while to realize that he was gasping for breath.
He noted then a fog slipping under the closed door of Pericolo’s room, and a great chill swept through him, and not from his ring.
“Ebonsoul,” he whispered, and he scrambled away, jumping down into the hedges and staggering off across the small lawn and down the lane. He didn’t look back for many strides.
But his thoughts surely did.
He had abandoned Donnola! He had left her in a house with the lich Ebonsoul!
Tears of shame streaked down his face. Was he that same Regis once again, the tag-along halfling who had more often been a burden to his friends than a valuable companion?
He skidded to a stop and swung back to look at the house.
“No!” he said determinedly, hands going to rapier and dagger. He would not abandon his friends, would not flee in fear, leaving them to face this great foe alone!
He took a step back toward the mansion, but stopped and fell back immediately, for he saw a fog collecting outside of Pericolo’s house, a small patch up by the window.
No ordinary fog, he knew without doubt.
Coming for him, he knew without doubt.
“He is here for you,” he whispered, recalling Donnola’s words.
Regis turned and fled.
Spider sat alone behind the captain’s quarters, on the deck of a sailing ship, the very next afternoon, the coast of Aglarond long out of sight behind him. He wore Pericolo’s hat, though he called upon its magical qualities to change its appearance to that of a simple black cloth beret. That hat had also altered his appearance, making him seem much older, and with blonde curly hair instead of brown. He had even added a thin mustache for effect, and the tip of a beard at the point of his chin. And his rapier, that fabulous and distinctive blade, looked much more like the mundane one Regis had carried to the Lichwreck. He had secured the hand crossbow safely away, for that item was too unique, its craftsmanship alone speaking of a king’s treasure, for him to properly disguise it. His three-bladed dirk fit well into the hand crossbow’s holster anyway, and he was skilled at the two-handed fighting technique.
He glanced around to ensure that he was alone, then turned to the pouch that was set upon the belt. He knew it well, and knew, too, the key words to activate it—indeed he had done just that to hide the hand crossbow within. Anyone without those magical words would think this a normal pouch with a few coins inside, but once Regis whispered, “For the love of pink pearls,” to it, his hand slipped in deeper. Much deeper, up to his elbow and with no sense of being anywhere near the bottom, though the magical container still outwardly appeared as no more than a small belt pouch that would barely hold his fingers.
Regis thought of coins and felt a pile of gold under his hand.
He cleared his thoughts and let the pouch speak in his mind, communicating its contents. He saw clothing, mostly, some fit for the muddy road, other outfits that would serve him well among the grand parties of the lords of Waterdeep. One garment in particular caught his attention, and he called to the pouch and pulled it forth, recognizing it as Pericolo’s battle armor, a mithral-lined white shirt. He glanced around once again, and quickly donned it, putting his own sweater over it, then thrust his hand back into the pouch of holding, immediately happening on another garment, a specialty item known as a housebreaker harness. He smiled and left that one alone … for now.
He had coins and jewels aplenty, enough to secure his passage and board for years to come, he guessed. Donnola had done well by him before coming to him that dark night.
He imagined a tome and pulled it forth, and as soon as he had glanced at its contents, the halfling eagerly thrust his hand back into the pouch.
“Indeed!” he whispered with a gasp of delight and astonishment as he noted another item, or set of items: a portable alchemy lab to go along with the book of recipes he had just brought forth.
He was well trained and now, well equipped. He could look ahead with hope.
This boat was bound for the Bloodstone Lands, for the city of Procampur, though Regis knew that to be a stopover only, for his road away from Delthuntle would only begin there. He meant to catch the first boat out of Procampur bound for the Dalelands on the western edges of the Sea of Fallen Stars. It was time for the eighteen-year-old Regis to look west, far west.
Donnola lingered in his thoughts. Eiverbreen, too—how would his father get on without him? And he hadn’t even said farewell to the man, fearing to bring the lich anywhere near to the helpless halfling.
“Donnola will see to him,” he told himself, and he believed it, for he believed in her as much as he had believed in anyone he had ever known.
That thought struck him profoundly, particularly considering the road upon which he had embarked, the road to his friends, to the Companions of the Hall.
He would return to Delthuntle, he told himself. He had to have faith in Donnola now, that she would escape Ebons
oul. She would assume Pericolo’s rank, with a faithful Wigglefingers at her side.
Yes, he had to have faith in her.
But he would return to her, he thought, and he nodded with determination.
First, though, he was less than three years from a date with destiny in a far-off place called Icewind Dale.
He managed a little chuckle as he recalled his first journey to Icewind Dale, in another body and another time, decades before. Then, too, he had thought himself living the life of luxury, well-fed, well-housed, settled, and content in the far-off city of Calimport.
And then, too, he had been chased out, with deadly pursuit close behind.
The smile left his face as he considered the last image of Grandfather Pericolo, sitting in his chair, so suddenly a withered corpse.
Tears streamed down his cherubic cheeks, and he wanted nothing more than to pay back the murderous lich.
He sucked in his breath at that notion, though, recalling the horrid image of Ebonsoul.
To his astonishment, he found himself wishing that it was a hunter as mundane as Artemis Entreri on his trail again.
CHAPTER 21
THE RUSE
The Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR) Shade Enclave
THE TINY MOUSE LOOKED BACK WIDE-EYED AT THE BURNING BUILDING. The roof fell in and the remaining kegs of lamp oil exploded, sending another massive fireball rolling up into the air.
The mouse silently prayed for the corpse within the building. She felt it her duty to witness this, and yet she knew that she should not, and when reason at last overruled emotion and her sense of obligation, she scurried away.
Down the alleyway, the mouse became a bat and flew off into the night, to the wall of Shade Enclave and away from the floating city.
Catti-brie didn’t dare revert to her human form. Lady Avelyere wouldn’t be easily fooled, or easily deterred from seeking her out with every magical trick and spell she could muster.
Catti-brie could only hope that her explosive diversion and her placement of the dead woman would hold the diviner off her trail long enough for her to make a clean getaway.
The Companions: The Sundering, Book I Page 29
