Kessell had again appeared between two mirrors borne by trolls, standing with arms crossed and one foot tapping impatiently. The evil scowl on his face gave Regis the distinct impression that the wizard, in a fit of uncontrollable rage, would strike him dead before he even reached the bottom of the hill. Yet the halfling had to keep his eyes focused on Kessell to even continue his approach. The wretched trolls disgusted and revulsed him beyond anything he had ever encountered, and it took all of his willpower to move anywhere near them. Even from the gate, he could smell the foul odor of their rotting stench.
But somehow he made it to the mirrors and stood facing the evil wizard.
Kessell studied the emissary for quite a while. He certainly hadn’t expected a halfling to represent the city and wondered why Cassius hadn’t come personally to such an important meeting. “Do you come before me as the official representative of Bryn Shander and all who now reside within her walls?”
Regis nodded. “I am Regis of Lonelywood,” he answered, “a friend to Cassius and former member of the Council of Ten. I have been appointed to speak for the people within the city.”
Kessell’s eyes narrowed in anticipation of his victory. “And do you bear their message of unconditional surrender?”
Regis shuffled uneasily, purposely shifting so that the ruby pendant would start into motion on his chest. “I desire private council with thee, mighty wizard, that we might discuss the terms of the agreement.”
Kessell’s eyes widened. He looked at Cassius upon the wall. “I said unconditional!” he shrieked. Behind him, the lights of Cryshal-Tirith began to swirl and grow. “Now you shall witness the folly of your insolence!”
“Wait!” pleaded Regis, jumping around to regain the wizard’s attention. “There are some things that you should be aware of before all is decided!”
Kessell paid little attention to the halfling’s rambling, but the ruby pendant suddenly caught his attention. Even through the protection offered by the distance between his physical body and the window of his image projection, he found the gem fascinating.
Regis couldn’t resist the urge to smile, though only slightly, when he realized that the eyes of the wizard no longer blinked. “I have some information that I am sure you will find valuable,” the halfling said quietly.
Kessell signaled for him to continue.
“Not here,” Regis whispered. “There are too many curious ears about. Not all of the gathered goblins would be pleased to hear what I have to say!”
Kessell considered the halfling’s words for a moment. He felt curiously subdued for some reason that he couldn’t yet understand. “Very well, halfling,” he agreed. “I shall hear your words.” With a flash and a puff of smoke, the wizard was gone.
Regis looked back over his shoulder at the people on the wall and nodded.
Under telepathic command from within the tower, the trolls shifted the mirrors to catch Regis’s reflection. A second flash and puff of smoke, and Regis, too, was gone.
On the wall, Cassius returned the halfling’s nod, though Regis had already disappeared. The spokesman breathed a bit easier, comforted by the last look Regis had thrown him and by the fact that the sun was setting and Bryn Shander still stood. If his guess, based on the timing of the wizard’s actions, was correct, Cryshal-Tirith drew most of its energy from the light of the sun.
It appeared that his plan had bought them at least one more night.
* * *
Even through his bleary eyes, Drizzt recognized the dark shape that hovered over him. The drow had banged his head when he had been thrown from the scimitar’s hilt and Guenhwyvar, his loyal companion, had kept a silent vigil throughout the long hours the drow had remained unconscious, even though the cat had also been battered in the fight with Errtu.
Drizzt rolled into a sitting position and tried to reorient himself to his surroundings. At first he thought that dawn had come, but then he realized that the dim sunlight was coming from the west. He had been out for the better part of a day, drained completely, for the scimitar had sapped his vital energy in its battle with the demon.
Guenhwyvar looked even more haggard. The cat’s shoulder hung limp from its collision with the stone wall, and Errtu had torn a deep cut into one of its forelegs.
More than injuries, though, fatigue was wearing on the magical beast. It had overstayed the normal limits of its visit to the material plane by many hours. The chord between its home plane and the drow’s was only kept intact by the cat’s own magical energy, and each passing minute that it remained in this world drew away a bit of its strength.
Drizzt stroked the muscled neck tenderly. He understood the sacrifice Guenhwyvar had made for his sake, and he wished that he could comply with the cat’s needs and send it back to its own world.
But he could not. If the cat returned to its own plane, it would be hours before it would regain the strength required to reestablish a link back to this world. And he needed the cat now.
“A bit longer,” he begged. The faithful beast lay down beside him without any hint of protest. Drizzt looked upon it with pity and petted the neck once again. How he longed to release the cat from his service! Yet he could not.
From what Errtu had told him, the door to Cryshal-Tirith was invisible only to beings of the Material Plane.
Drizzt needed the cat’s eyes.
28. A Lie Within a Lie
Regis rubbed the after-image of the blinding flash out of his eyes and found himself again facing the wizard. Kessell lounged on a crystal throne, leaning back against one of its arms with his legs casually thrown over the other. They were in a squared room of crystal, giving a slick visual impression, but feeling as solid as stone. Regis knew immediately that he was inside the tower. The room was filled with dozens of ornate and strangely shaped mirrors. One of these in particular, the largest and most decorative, caught the halfling’s eye, for a fire was ablaze within its depths. At first Regis looked opposite the mirror, expecting to see the source of the image, but then he realized that the flames were not a reflection but an actual event occurring within the dimensions of the mirror itself.
“Welcome to my home,” the wizard laughed. “You should consider yourself fortunate to witness its splendor!” But Regis fixed his gaze upon Kessell, studying the wizard closely, for the tone of his voice did not resemble the characteristic slur of others he had entranced with the ruby.
“You’ll forgive my surprise when first we met,” Kessell continued. “I did not expect the sturdy men of Ten-Towns to send a halfling to do their work!” He laughed again, and Regis knew that something had disrupted the charm he had cast upon the wizard when they were outside.
The halfling could guess what had happened. He could feel the throbbing power of this room; it was evident that Kessell fed off of it. With his psyche outside, the wizard had been vulnerable to the magic of the gemstone, but in here his strength was quite beyond the ruby’s influence.
“You said that you had information to tell me,” Kessell demanded suddenly. “Speak now, the whole of it! Or I shall make your death an unpleasant one!”
Regis stuttered, trying to improvise an alternate tale. The insidious lies he had planned to weave would have little value on the unaffected wizard. In fact, in their obvious weaknesses they might reveal much of the truth about Cassius’s strategies.
Kessell straightened on his throne and leaned over the halfling, imposing his gaze upon his counterpart. “Speak!” he commanded evenly.
Regis felt an iron will insinuating itself into all of his thoughts, compelling him to obey Kessell’s every command. He sensed that the dominating force wasn’t emanating from the wizard, though. Rather it seemed to be coming from some external source, perhaps the unseen object that the wizard occasionally clutched in a pocket of his robes.
Those of halfling stock possessed a strong natural resistance to such magic, however, and a countering force—the gemstone—helped Regis fight back against the insinuating will and gradually push it away. A sudd
en idea came over Regis. He had certainly seen enough individuals fall under his own charms to be able to imitate their revealing posture. He slouched a bit, as though he had suddenly been put completely at ease, and focused his blank stare on an image in the corner of the room beyond Kessell’s shoulder. He felt his eyes drying out, but he resisted the temptation to blink.
“What information do you desire?” he responded mechanically.
Kessell slumped back again confidently. “Address me as Master Kessell,” he ordered.
“What information do you desire, Master Kessell?”
“Good,” the wizard smirked to himself. “Admit the truth, halfling, the story you were sent to tell me was a deception.”
Why not? Regis thought. A lie flavored with the sprinklings of truth becomes that much stronger. “Yes,” he answered. “To make you think that your truest allies plotted against you.”
“And what was the purpose?” Kessell pressed, quite pleased with himself. “Surely the people of Bryn Shander know that I could easily crush them even without any allies at all. It seems a feeble plan to me.”
“Cassius had no intentions of trying to defeat you, Master Kessell,” Regis said.
“Then why are you here? And why didn’t Cassius simply surrender the city as I demanded?”
“I was sent to plant some doubts,” replied Regis, blindly improvising to keep Kessell intrigued and occupied. Behind the facade of his words, he was trying to put together some kind of an alternate plan. “To give Cassius more time to lay out his true course of action.”
Kessell leaned forward. “And what might that course of action be?”
Regis paused, searching for an answer.
“You cannot resist me!” Kessell roared. “My will is too great! Answer or I shall tear the truth from your mind!”
“‘To escape,” Regis blurted, and after he had said it, several possibilities opened up before him.
Kessell reclined again. “Impossible,” he replied casually. “My army is too strong at every point for the humans to break through.”
“Perhaps not as strong as you believe, Master Kessell,” Regis baited. His path now lay clear before him. A lie within another lie. He liked the formula.
“Explain,” Kessell demanded, a shadow of worry clouding his cocky visage.
“Cassius has allies within your ranks.”
The wizard leaped from his chair, trembling in rage. Regis marveled at how effectively his simple imitation was working. He wondered for an instant if any of his own victims had likewise reversed the dupe on him. He put the disturbing thought away for future contemplation.
“Orcs have lived among the people of Ten-Towns for many months now,” Regis went on. “One tribe actually opened up a trading relationship with the fishermen. They, too, answered your summons to arms, but they still hold loyalties, if any of their kind ever truly hold loyalties, to Cassius. Even as your army was entrenching in the field around Bryn Shander, the first communications were exchanged between the orc chieftain and orc messengers that slipped out of Bryn Shander.”
Kessell smoothed his hair back and rubbed his hand nervously across his face. Was it possible that his seemingly invincible army had a secret weakness?
No, none would dare oppose Akar Kessell!
But still, if some of them were plotting against him—if all of them were plotting against him—would he know? And where was Errtu? Could the demon be behind this?
“Which tribe?” he asked Regis softly, his tone revealing that the halfling’s news had humbled him.
Regis drew the wizard fully into the deception. “The group that you sent to sack the city of Bremen, the Orcs of the Severed Tongue,” he said, watching the wizard’s widening eyes with complete satisfaction. “My job was merely to prevent you. from taking any action against Bryn Shander before the fall of night, for the orcs shall return before dawn, presumably to regroup in their assigned position on the field, but in actuality, to open a gap in your western flank. Cassius will lead the people down the western slopes to the open tundra. They only hope to keep you disorganized long enough to give them a solid lead. Then you shall be forced to pursue them all the way to Luskan!”
Many weak points were apparent in the plan, but it seemed a reasonable gamble for people in such a desperate situation to attempt. Kessell slammed his fist down on the arm of the throne. “The fools!” he growled.
Regis breathed a bit easier. Kessell was convinced.
“Errtu!” he screamed suddenly, unaware that the demon had been banished from the world.
There was no reply. “Oh, damn you, demon!” Kessell cursed. “You are never about when I most need you!” He spun on Regis. “You wait here. I shall have many more questions for you later!” The roaring fires of his anger simmered wickedly. “But first I must speak with some of my generals. I shall teach the Orcs of the Severed Tongue to oppose me!”
In truth, the observations Cassius had made had labeled the Orcs of the Severed Tongue as Kessell’s strongest and most fanatical supporters.
A lie within a lie.
* * *
Out on the waters of Maer Dualdon later that evening, the assembled fleet of the four towns watched suspiciously as a second group of monsters flowed out from the main force and headed in the direction of Bremen.
“Curious,” Kemp remarked to Muldoon of Lonelywood and the spokesman from the burned city of Bremen, who were standing on the deck of Targos’ flagship beside him. All of Bremen’s populace was out on the lake. Certainly the first group of orcs, after the initial bowshots, had met no further resistance in the city. And Bryn Shander stood intact. Why, then, was the wizard further extending his line of power?
“Akar Kessell confuses me,” said Muldoon. “Either his genius is simply beyond me or he truly makes glaring tactical errors!”
“Assume the second possibility,” Kemp instructed hopefully, “for anything that we might try shall be in vain if the first is the truth!”
So they continued repositioning their warriors for an opportune strike, moving their children and womenfolk in the remaining boats to the as yet unassailed moorings of Lonelywood, similar to the strategies of the refugee forces on the other two lakes.
On the wall of Bryn Shander, Cassius and Glensather watched the division of Kessell’s forces with deeper understanding.
“Masterfully done, halfling,” Cassius whispered into the night wind.
Smiling, Glensather put a steadying hand on his fellow spokesman’s shoulder. “I shall go and inform our field commanders,” he said. “If the time for us to attack comes, we shall be ready!”
Cassius clasped Glensather’s hand and nodded his approval. As the spokesman from Easthaven sped away, Cassius leaned upon the ridge of the wall, glaring determinedly at the now darkened walls of Cryshal-Tirith. Through gritted teeth, he declared openly, “The time shall come!”
* * *
From the high vantage point of Kelvin’s Cairn, Drizzt Do’Urden had also witnessed the abrupt shift of the monster army. He had just completed the final preparations for his courageous assault on Cryshal-Tirith when the distant flickers of a large mass of torches suddenly flowed away to the west. He and Guenhwyvar sat quietly and studied the situation for a short while, trying to find some clue as to what had prompted such action.
Nothing became apparent, but the night was growing long and he had to make haste. He wasn’t sure if the activity would prove helpful, by thinning out the camp’s ranks, or disruptive, by heightening the remaining monsters’ state of readiness. Yet he knew that the people of Bryn Shander could not afford any delays. He started down the mountain trail, the great panther trailing along silently behind him.
He made the open ground in good time and started his hasty trot down the length of Bremen’s Run. If he had paused to study his surroundings or put one of his sensitive ears to the ground, he might have heard the distant rumble from the open tundra to the north of yet another approaching army.
But the drow’s f
ocus was on the south, his vision narrowed upon the waiting darkness of Cryshal-Tirith as he made haste. He was traveling light, carrying only items he believed essential to the task. He had his five weapons: the two scimitars sheathed in their leather scabbards on his hips, a dagger tucked in his belt at the middle of his back, and the two knives hidden in his boots. His holy symbol and pouch of wealth was around his neck and a small sack of flour, leftover from the raid on the giant’s lair, still hung on his belt—a sentimental choice, a comforting reminder of the daring adventures he had shared with Wulfgar. All of his other supplies, backpack, rope, waterskins, and other basic items of everyday survival on the harsh tundra, he had left in the small cubby.
He heard the shouts of goblin merrymaking when he crossed by the eastern outskirts of Termalaine. “Strike now, sailors of Maer Dualdon,” the drow said quietly. But when he thought about it, he was glad that the boats remained out on the lake. Even if they could slip in and strike quickly at the monsters in the city, they could not afford the losses they would suffer. Termalaine could wait; there was a more important battle yet to be fought.
Drizzt and Guenhwyvar approached the outer perimeter of Kessell’s main encampment. The drow was comforted by signs that the commotion within the camp had quieted. A solitary orc guard leaned wearily on its spear, halfheartedly watching the empty blackness of the northern horizon. Even had it been wary; it would not have noticed the stealthy approach of the two shapes, blacker than the darkness of night.
“Call in!” came a command from somewhere in the distance.
“Clear!” replied the guard.
Drizzt listened as the check was called in from various distant spots. He signaled for Guenhwyvar to hold back, then crept up within throwing range of the guard.
The tired orc never even heard the whistle of the approaching dagger.
And then Drizzt was beside it, silently breaking its fall into the darkness. The drow pulled his dagger from the orc’s throat and laid his victim softly on the ground. He and Guenhwyvar, unnoticed shadows of death, moved on.
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