The Rite (22 page)

“That’s Wardancer,” Rilitar said, “one of Kara’s seekers. But where’s she headed? Firefingers’s tower is the other way.”

Taegan’s intuition supplied the answer: “She and her riders are headed the same place we are. Come on”

He spread his wings and leaped into the air.

Will opened his gummy eyes, surprised to find he was still alive. It was hard to be particularly happy about it. His wounded shoulder hurt too badly, especially since infection had set in, causing greenish pus to ooze from the ragged puncture and painting red streaks on his skin.

Trying to block out the throbbing pain, he warily lifted himself up from the depression in the ground and peeked through the thorn bushes. Then he sighed with relief, because the dragons were still there, crouching on the moor, shuffling about, snarling and ranting to themselves like the mad things they were. Had they wandered off while he was unconscious, it would have been just as disastrous as if they’d discovered him passed out in his hole.

The four wyrms on the heath were greens, one huge, old one and three that, though smaller, were still colossal compared to a halfling, human, or even an ogre. Maybe they’d laired in the great wood that was Cormanthor on the southern shore of the Moonsea, or in the Border Forest to the west, before frenzy launched them on their aimless journey.

Wherever they’d come from, they hadn’t had an entirely easy time getting so far. Some of their prey had put up a fight, slashing and stabbing holes in their hides. Probably that was why they’d stopped to rest, though left to their own devices, they wouldn’t bide for long. The Rage wouldn’t let them.

If Will could only have been certain they’d go tearing off in the proper direction, it would have made his life easier. But as he had no way of knowing, he had no choice but to resume his labors.

He waited until none of the greens were looking in his direction. Then he popped up, whirled his sling, and hurled one of the mud balls he’d shaped. Blessed Mother Yondalla, but it hurt to move quickly! Biting back a gasp of pain, he dropped down once more.

The mud ball thudded in the sparse grass with a softer, more ambiguous noise that a stone would have made. The greens whirled and charged toward the noise, then, growling to one another, prowled about the vicinity from which it had issued.

That was all right with Will. He was twenty yards away.

But then the biggest wyrm decided to sweep a larger area. It stalked away from its fellows on a spiral path that would bring it within a stride or two of the depression where he lay hidden.

If he wasn’t mistaken, he’d be downwind of the reptile, and he’d rubbed himself with juice crushed from the proper leaves to deaden his scent. Still, he was all but certain the green would smell his festering wound when it came close enough, glimpse him despite his screen of thorn bush, or simply hear the pounding of his heart. Yet all he could do was lie perfectly still and hope. He surely couldn’t run. The wyrms would spot, pursue, and overtake him in a matter of seconds.

Nostrils flaring, forked tongue flickering, horned and crested head twisting this way and that, the green loomed above him, close enough for him to distinguish the reptile’s individual scales. Gleaming despite the layer of heavy gray cloud attenuating the sunlight, they made an intricate mosaic of jade, olive, and emerald, of all the myriad hues of leaf and moss. As Will held his breath, trying not to cough or gag on the stink of the wyrm’s corrosive poison, he thought that if, as seemed likely, it was his time to die, at least the last thing he’d ever see was beautiful.

The drake arched its head forward. In another instant, it would peer over the thorn bushes. Then one of the other wyrms called to it. The big green spat a little puff of vapor that rotted away the uppermost fringe of the bushes, pivoted, and strode to rejoin its comrades.

Will waited until the reptile made it all the way back. Then he crept south, found a new hiding place, and in due course threw another mud pellet, drawing the dragons after him again.

Afterward, he decided that was enough, He hoped he’d lured the dragons close enough for his purposes, and in any case, the same simple trick couldn’t fool even demented wyrms for long. Keeping low, he skulked away from them, up a hill and down the other side, toward the hollow containing the black lake and the temples of the infernal powers.

The ogres were still camped in front of the grandest shrine. Will looked for his pony and Pavel’s horse, but saw neither. The giantkin had likely eaten them.

It was yet another stroke of misfortune, but there was no point fretting over it. Will sneaked on to a green, corroded bronze statue of an eyeless, four-armed demon positioned partway down the hillside. Crouching behind it, he might stay hidden for at least a few heartbeats.

He placed a stone in his warsling and let it fly, to crack against the head of the sentry lounging just a few yards away. The ogre dropped to one knee, and dazed, rubbed its bloody forehead. Will clipped the guard a second time, and it toppled forward onto its face.

Will turned his attention to the brutes in the filthy, slovenly camp below. They could eat skiprocks until the supply ran out. Despite the handicap of slinging with his off hand when he was sick with pain and fever, the missiles rebounded properly, bashing multiple targets with each throw. Will grinned.

I’ll bet now you wish you’d taken the trouble to track me down, he thought, instead of just assuming I’d bleed out. Now roar and hoot, you brainless, treacherous louts.

They did bellow. The only problem was that soon, one of them pointed and shouted that there, there was the halfling! Will glanced behind him. The crest of the hill was still empty.

How could that be? He was sure he’d drawn the dragons close enough to hear all the commotion. Unless they’d flown away as soon as he lost sight of them, and of course, that was exactly how his luck was running.

He cowered behind the statue for as long as it was practical, popping out to sling stones, ducking back to avoid the spear and rocks the ogres threw at him. When the giantkin were a few strides away, he scrambled backward, making them chase him farther.

He knew it would only be a little farther. He couldn’t stay ahead of them for long.

He jerked himself out of the path of a thrown hatchet. A pair of ogres pounded at him, spears leveled. He wished he still had his hornblade, or at least his dagger.

Then, behind him, something screeched, loud enough to shake the earth. The ogres froze, eyes wide with dread. Will didn’t have to look around to know what they had seen.

By the time Taegan and Jivex reached the cobbled plaza in front of the Zhents’ mansion, Wardancer had deposited her riders on the ground and taken flight once more, to circle above the house. The bronze was watching to make sure nobody sneaked out the back way.

Baerimel, Jannatha, and to Taegan’s surprise, Darvin Kordeion and Scattercloak stood before the front entrance, a high, black-enameled door reinforced with iron. Had they already knocked, demanding admission? If so, the Zhents had opted not to respond. Scattercloak, hooded and shrouded as ever, stood before the panel, reciting an incantation in his emotionless voice, and lashing one hand, covered almost to the fingertips by a long, flopping sleeve and gloved in gray leather beneath, through a mystic figure. The magic accumulating in the air made shadows twist and twitch where they lay on the ground.

“Stop him,” Taegan said, “without hurting him.” “Right,” Jivex said.

Hovering, the faerie dragon stared at Scattercloak, and a brassy note blared through the air. It was loud even where Taegan was standing, and judging from the way the wizard flinched, it had sounded right beside his ear. The shadows stopped writhing the instant he botched his spell.

He and his fellow mages rounded on Taegan and Jivex. “What’s wrong with you?” demanded Darvin, his snowy robes shining in the sunlight. “Help, or stay out of this.”

Rilitar appeared in the center of the square, vanished once more, and an instant later, materialized at Taegan’s side. The puff of air thus displaced rustled the avariel’s feathers.

“Please, wait,” the elf wizard said. “What do you intend?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Baerimel asked. Judging from the redness in her eyes and the tangles in her hair, she’d wept most of the night away. “Maestro, you said the chasme led you to this house.”

“It means nothing,” the bladesinger said. “The first night I encountered the chasme, Jivex and I followed it to Scattercloak’s house before it winked out of sight.”

That silenced them all for a moment, and during that hesitation, something blocked the sunlight streaming from on high. Taegan had to stifle the instinct to cower, even though he realized it was one of Kara’s allies swooping down.

Wardancer touched down with considerable agility in what was, for her, a cramped space. The tip of one scalloped wing brushed a shower of russet paint flakes from a wall, but otherwise, she did no damage. Up close, she smelled like the sea, as bronzes often did.

“What’s wrong?” the dragon asked. “Why haven’t you battered down the door and hauled the Zhents out?”

“As I was just endeavoring to explain,” Taegan said, “that’s not a sound idea.”

“According to Baerimel,” Wardancer rumbled, “they drove Samdralyrion mad, resulting in his death, then murdered little Sinylla. I was fond of that child.”

“We don’t know that they’re to blame,” Rilitar said. “In fact, Maestro Nightwind and I very much doubt it.”

“Because you’re obsessed with the notion that a member of our own circle is responsible,” Scattercloak said, “even though you have no proof. Now, it seems, you mean to point the finger of suspicion at me, even though the fencing teacher already declared rue innocent.”

“No,” Taegan said, “I remain convinced of your innocence.” He’d forfeit any influence he had over them if he admitted to being fallible or uncertain. “The point I was endeavoring to make is that our enemy consistently strives to make us suspect the wrong person.”

“I’ve lived near and beneath the Moonsea for centuries,” said Wardancer. “I know the Black Network and the evil it does. If the folk in this house are Zhents, then I can readily believe they’re responsible for our woes.”

“I confess,” Taegan replied, “I’m a stranger to this region. But front what I’ve gleaned, though the lords of Zhentil Keep are tyrants, and their troops, brigands and pirates, most of their subjects are simple farmers and craftsmen, like the majority of folk in any land. it’s likely the merchants who live here have no more harm in them than the average fellow born and bred in Thentia.”

“Have you never heard of spies?” Darvin asked.

“I have,” Taegan said, “but please, think it through. If by some chance the merchants are agents of the Black Network, then they can’t serve the Cult of the Dragon also. The one conspiracy has nothing to do with the other.”

“You don’t know that,” said the wizard in white.

“Yes,” Taegan said, “I do. It’s obvious to anyone who makes the effort to ponder the matter calmly. It’s true that early on, the Zhentarim sought to exploit the Rage to further their own ends, but that’s scarcely the same thing as wanting dracoliches to overrun the world. The Zhentish lords want to conquer it themselves.”

“it comes down to this,” said Scattercloak. “I intend to do everything possible to ensure my safety.”

“I take it,” said Rilitar, “that in your mind, ‘everything possible’ encompasses breaking into the merchants’ home, dragging them forth, interrogating them under duress, or perhaps simply murdering them out of hand. Well, I have bad news for you. Those things aren’t possible, unless you kill me first.”

He placed his hand on the wand he wore sheathed on his belt.

“Trust elves,” said Darvin, “and their convoluted way of thinking to make any situation worse. if your forefathers hadn’t created the Rage, we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

“True,” said Taegan. “Though all of us save Wardancer would he slaves to dragon kings, but I doubt you’d find it a pleasant existence. Those ancient mages liberated Faerűn. We’re each and every one of us in their debt. It’s scarcely their fault that, millennia later, Sammaster corrupted their work.”

It seemed strange to hear himself extolling the accomplishments of elves, when he’d always considered his race to be of little account. But he was simply giving the spellcasters their due.

“If you had to bear the curse of frenzy,” Wardancer said, “you might well think their enchantment already partook of corruption. Still, there’s justice in what you say, and I’m glad I possess no thralls. In a sense, when the ancient elves delivered the small folk out of bondage, they freed the metallic drakes as well, to find a cleaner way of living, even if the means exacted a price for our liberation.”

“This is all irrelevant,” said Scattercloak.

“Perhaps,” Taegan said, “so let’s return to the issue at hand. Which is that dragons attract attention, and accordingly, much of Thentia is watching us at this very moment, peeping from windows and around corners. What will people think if you force your way into this house and harass or slay the inhabitants?”

“The inhabitants,” said Darvin, “are Zhents:

“It wouldn’t matter,” said Taegan, “if they were trolls. Folk would still decide that the town mages have grown cruel and arrogant. That they’ll commit any crime or atrocity that strikes their fancy, without regard for the law. The burghers will likewise conclude that the dragons who keep calling at Firefingers’s tower are of the same mind, and at least as dangerous.”

Watchlord and the noble families will bar dragons from entering the city. They may even seek to expel us wizards.

“We’ll lose our homes, and more importantly, be unable to continue our studies. All Faerun will suffer if that befalls.”

“Let Master Shadow-water and I interview the spice traders.” Teagan grinned. “I can virtually guarantee that they’ll be happy to cooperate with us after we chivvy four hostile arcanists and an angry dragon away from their door. Perhaps we’ll have Sureene use her magic to question them as well. If they have anything to say that can illuminate our present difficulties, we’ll obtain the information, I promise you.”