Forsaken House (32 page)

“Your council now stands at seven members, Lady Moonflower. While there is no law that dictates the size or composition of the Council of Evermeet, tradition would indicate that we should replace Miritar and Jerreda Starcloak. I have given the matter some thought, and it occurs to me that we could fill Miritar’s seat immediately.”

Zaltarish folded his hands before him and said, “Lady Durothil, it has been less than a month. Council seats have sometimes gone unfilled for years. There is no need to hurry such an important decision.”

“I disagree. First of all, it is not clear to me that Evermeet’s peril allows us to delay this decision as we might in more peaceful times. Secondly, if an ideal candidate is available, I see no point in delaying his or her accession.”

“I presume you have some ideal candidate in mind?” Meraera Silden said dryly.

“Lord Miritar was, of course, the High Cleric of Corellon’s Grove, a very senior representative of the Seldarine’s clergy. I find myself concerned that we have no high-ranking cleric on the council now who might advise us of the will of Corellon Larethian when we engage in our deliberations. Therefore, I propose that Elder Star Mellyth Echorn should be elevated to Miritar’s seat. He is the highest-ranking cleric of Corellon in Evermeet, and a member of a high and noble family as well. Who could be a better choice?”

Amlaruil leaned back in her seat, her expression neutral. Clearly, Selsharra Durothil thought that a conservative cleric of Corellon Larethian might be a powerful new voice on the council, a voice sympathetic to the traditionalist sun elf Houses. By suggesting Mellyth Echorn, Selsharra put Amlaruil in the position of accepting her nomination—not something Amlaruil was particularly inclined to do, though in truth she didn’t know if Echorn was unsuitable—or declining the Elder Star, which would appear to be a deliberate slight to those of Corellon’s faith. She had no doubt that Selsharra would see to it that word got out that the Durothils had pushed for the Elder Star’s nomination. Lady Durothil gained in either case.

I wonder how badly it would go if I told Selsharra Durothil that her seat was vacant, too, Amlaruil thought.

The queen offered the sun elf noblewoman a warm smile.

“The councilors serve at my pleasure, as I am sure you know,” she said. “I will consider the matter carefully, and I thank you for your suggestion. However, I would rather examine our needs thoroughly and make sure that I select the right candidate than act hastily and perhaps choose the wrong one. I will let you know when I have decided.” She rose, and indicated the chamber’s doors. “Now, let us join the festivities, before our absence creates undue alarm.”

The cave mouth led into a warren of dank, twisting tunnels, filled with swift, icy rivulets of water that poured down through the wet rock. Araevin summoned a magical light in order to illuminate their path. More bones, splintered and crushed, glimmered in the yellow magelight, and a damp, musky scent hung in the chill air.

“Damn,” whispered Grayth. “That’s a hill giant’s skull, or I’m a goblin. Are you sure this is the right cave, Araevin?”

“I won’t be upset if you say no,” Maresa added. Araevin replied, “Sorry to say so, but yes.”

He paused to examine the chamber. As had happened in the Forest of Wyrms, he was too close to sense the exact location of the next stone. They would have to find it the hard way. Several passageways burrowed off into the blackness, but they seemed somewhat small and contorted for anything large enough to make a meal of a giant. To his right, though, a V-shaped cleft seemed to go back into the rock for quite a distance, and a good-sized stream poured out of its bottom to run across the cavern floor and out into the gorge.

“This way, I think.”

One by one, they clambered up into the cleft, icy water running swiftly over their feet, and followed the subterranean streambed deeper into the caves. The way was difficult and wet. Though the stream was rarely deeper than mid-calf, the path was obstructed by numerous boulders and awkward shelves and columns of stone, and the stream descended sharply from above. They scaled several small cascades and chutes, until Araevin’s teeth chattered from the cold and his hands were numb.

Forty or fifty yards from the entrance, they climbed up into a large, open cave. The air stank of old meat, and the smell was overpowering. Grayth drew his sword and carefully moved up out of the streambed, peering into the twisting galleries of stone that framed the chamber. Araevin followed the Lathanderite, glad to have a strong friend in heavy plate armor a few steps ahead of him. Ilsevele and Maresa brought up the rear, Ilsevele’s bow at the ready, Maresa carrying her rapier and crossbow. Clearly, something lived in the chamber at the top of the stream. More discarded bones lay scattered about, and more tellingly, rotten old wooden chests bursting with silver and gold coins stood haphazardly at the far end of the room. But there was no sign of the cavern’s denizen, though more of the small, halfling-sized tunnels led away from the room.

“Is your gemstone here, Araevin?” asked Grayth.

“It’s close,” the mage said. He kept his wand of disruption in hand, watching the shadows carefully, and moved

over to investigate the hoard gathered in the dry end of the room. That at least spoke of intelligence. A dumb beast would not gather the gold of its victims.

Ilsevele followed Araevin over to the treasure, lowering her bow, and said, “Let’s find the telkiira and get out of here before this thing comes home.”

“Too late, heh!” croaked a horrible, rasping voice from the shadows. “Grimlight is home, heh!”

Araevin and the others whirled at the sound, looking for whomever or whatever had spoken, but then, from one of the small tunnels, a brilliant stroke of lightning blasted out, spearing Ilsevele and Grayth. Ilsevele threw herself aside, somehow avoiding the terrible blast, but the bolt caught the Lathanderite dead center in his steel armor. Azure fingers of electricity crawled over the cleric, snapping and popping, as he jerked and thrashed, pinned in place by the lightning. Then it ended, and Grayth collapsed to the cavern floor, his limbs twitching and smoke rising from the joints in his armor.

“Who is in Grimlight’s den? Must be Grimlight’s dinner, heh!”

Something seemed to chuckle with a sly, throaty sound, and a huge, blunt snout appeared in the tunnel mouth. The creature slithered forth, revealing first a gaping, crocodilian maw, then a draconian face with two curling horns, and a long, powerful body covered in thick scales with pairs of small, clawed legs that it held folded close to its body as it crawled out of its tunnels.

“What in all the screaming hells is that?” Maresa snarled.

The genasi didn’t wait for an answer, but instead leveled her crossbow and loosed a bolt at the monster. Grimlight jerked its head aside with a surprisingly quick motion, and the quarrel glanced away from the thick scales above the creature’s eyes. Maresa swore and yanked back on her crossbow’s string, loading another quarrel.

Araevin retreated three quick steps away from the huge creature, narrowly avoiding a great snap of its fang-filled jaws, and pointed the disruption wand at its head, barking out the command word. A tremendous shriek of sonic power burst from the wand, blasting a yard-wide ram of distorted air at Grimlight that hammered the monster like the club of a giant. But Grimlight recovered with startling speed and barreled straight at Araevin, hurling the mage headlong with a quick toss of its horned head. Araevin crashed into the hard rock of the cavern wall. Ribs cracked and his breath exploded from his mouth in a deep grunt.

Ilsevele picked herself up from the floor and found her bow. Whispering the words of a fire spell, she ensorcelled her arrow and shot it at the scaled worm. The arrow kindled in flight and plunged deep into Grimlight’s side, a flaming bolt that set the monster to thrashing with such violence that its long, thick tail smashed foot-thick stalagmites to Hinders.

“Grimlight will eat you all!” the monster hissed in rage. “Room for many in Grimlight’s belly, yes, yes!”

Ilsevele shot again, a pair of arrows that stuck in the thick scales of the monster’s face but did not penetrate deeply enough to inflict any serious injury. The arrows did succeed in attracting Grimlight’s undivided attention, though. The wyrm hissed so loudly that Araevin’s ears rang, and launched itself at the archer like a living battering ram, lunging across the cavern floor.

Araevin managed to draw a breath deeply enough to speak a spell. He pointed his finger and fired a deadly green ray of disintegration at the huge creature. The terrible emerald beam chewed deeply into Grimlight’s flank, gouging out an awful wound for ten feet or more along the worm’s side. Black blood spewed from the injury, and Grimlight’s charge at Ilsevele faltered. The creature bucked and thrashed—incidentally knocking Grayth twenty feet across the cavern, as the cleric began to grope his way to his feet. It opened its jaws wide and blasted Araevin at point-blank range with a blue-white spear of lightning. The monster’s lightning breath hurled Araevin head-over-heels through the air, and he landed in the icy streambed and struck his head on stone. Bright

white lights flared in his vision, and a great roaring sound filled his ears.

I have to get up, he told himself.

He seized on that simple thought with all the desperation of a drowning man and slowly rolled over onto his belly, pushing himself upright with arms that felt as weak and empty as burned-out cinders. He wiped away the blood streaming down his face and looked up, even though the cavern tilted crazily from side to side.

Grayth, sword in hand, fended off Grimlight’s snapping jaws, slashing its snout and face with quick thrusts and cuts. Ilsevele danced back away from the monster, sinking arrow after arrow into its thrashing body while Maresa riddled its other flank with her own magic. Araevin groped about in the icy water for his holster of wands, and finally found it. He fumbled with a simple wand for conjuring magic bolts, and took aim at the long, deep wound his disintegration spell had carved from the monster’s side.

“Take that,” he gasped, and fired four glowing darts into the gaping hole already scored in Grimlight’s body.

Grimlight shuddered and groaned, coiling up its great serpentine body into a squirming ball. It threw up its head to the ceiling, hissing and bubbling deep in its throat, and Grayth staggered forward. One hand cupped on the pommel, the human drove his sword up through the soft white underside of the neck, the jaw, and into the monster’s brain. The creature shuddered once and lay still.

Grayth collapsed across the monster he’d just killed, leaning on his sword.

“Thank Lathander that’s done,” he groaned. “I think I’m getting too old for this.”

Ilsevele straightened, lowering her bow. She looked around and caught sight of Araevin.

“Araevin! You’re hurt!” she cried, and ran over to take his arm.

Araevin tried to shrug off her help, but his legs felt rubbery and weak.

“I’ll survive,” he managed. “Let’s find the telkiira before we do anything else. And keep an eye open for the daemonfey. The last time we were near a telkiira, they appeared.”

Ilsevele looked closely into his face and frowned.

“Are you trying to break my heart?” she asked. “First that insane flight of yours against the whole fey’ri army, and now this. Are you trying to make a widow of me before we even marry?”

“You’re taking every chance I am,” he replied. “I’ll stop when you do.”

He moved over to Grimlight’s hoard. Several of the rotten old chests had been smashed into splinters by the creature’s thrashings, and coins and jewels lay scattered all over the cavern floor.

“So what was that, anyway?” Maresa asked. “Some kind of legless dragon?”

behir,” Grayth replied. “A little like a dragon.” He straightened up and sheathed his sword, turning to join the search. “So, will this stone look like—”

From the shadows by the steep cleft of the cavern stream, a bright blue ray shot out and struck Araevin in the middle of his torso. Araevin staggered back in surprise, but he was no more wounded than he had been a moment before. Instead, a shimmering blue field of dancing light clung to his body, sparkling in the darkness of the cave.

A dimension lock! he realized.

“Watch out! The daemonfey!” he cried.

Six demons appeared in the behir’s cavern, wreathed in foul-smelling smoke. From the cleft more of the fey’ri poured into the room, their eyes glowing red with hate. Behind the demonic warriors came Araevin’s enemy, the fierce sorcerer with the armor of golden scales and the jeweled eye patch.

He gestured at Araevin and his comrades and shouted, “Take them alive! The mage is anchored to this plane and cannot escape us this time!”

Araevin heard Ilsevele’s bow thrum, while Maresa swore a vile oath and Grayth drew his sword with a shrill

ring of steel. Araevin snapped out the words of terrible ice blast he’d learned from the second telkiira, directing a great white fountain of unendurable frigidity at the fey’ri clambering up into the chamber. The first fey’ri paled into translucent scarlet ice and shattered, and two more staggered under the weight of the magical rime that covered them, stumbling to the cavern floor with the creaking of frost and cracking of ice.

The fey’ri countered with spells of their own. Araevin tried to leap aside from a shimmering hoop of magic that formed in the air and settled down over him, pinning his arms to his side. He managed to gasp out a counter and dismiss the binding spell, only to be knocked senseless by a word of power spoken by the fey’ri captain. He reeled drunkenly across the floor, and a pair of vrocks seized his arms and bore him to the ground.

Distantly, he saw Ilsevele immobilized by a pair of webs that glued her in place with thick, ropy strands of white. Another fey’ri sorcerer captured Maresa with a will-sapping enchantment that bereft her of the volition to move and fight. Her chin sank down to her chest, the point of her rapier drooped to the ground, and the fey’ri warriors hurled her to the ground and began binding her with strong cords.

Stinking of blood and filth, the vulture-demons pinning him wrenched Araevin around and jerked up his head by his hair, laying their talons at his throat. Grayth, fighting with his back to the cave wall, reluctantly stopped and threw down his sword. He, too, was seized and bound with cords.