The Sorcerer (18 page)

Still trying to figure out why Yder was chasing Malik, Aris asked, “You did not come here to convert?”

“Hardly.”

Finally paying attention to his injury, Yder grabbed his flopping hand and pressed it back to his wrist. The bleeding ceased immediately, and black shadows began to swirl over the wound.

Yder continued, “It was bad enough when the worm stole the ear of the Most High, but this—” he rolled his eyes across the temple’s vaulted ceiling—”this could not stand. It is good you were not a part of it.”

Aris glanced up at the relief he had been working on and wondered how much the prince really knew about what he had been doing.

“You’re no Cyricist, I mean,” Yder said. “Your disappearance would have been difficult to explain.”

Aris asked, “And Malik’s won’t?”

“No one will notice. You will finish his temple, but Malik will become a recluse, never to be seen by anyone except his personal servants—personal servants who are loyal to the Hidden One.”

Aris did not have to ask who the Hidden One was. Though Shar had no temples in Shade—at least none he had ever noticed—the Mistress of the Night was popular enough in the city that Aris, gifted with the acute ears of most giants, seldom went more than a few hours without overhearing a whispered prayer to her.

At length, one of Yder’s escorts emerged from the nave and dropped to a knee.

“High One, the blasphemer has vanished.”

“Vanished?”

Yder glanced over to Aris’s guards, who, already trembling in fear of their own fates, could only shrug and shake their heads. His golden eyes deepened to stormy brown, and he looked back to his escort

“You have used the Hidden One’s Gift?”

“We have, and still we could not find him,” the warrior said. “He must have escaped.”

“Escaped?” Yder’s voice was cold and level. “How did you let that happen?”

The escort’s gaze remained fixed on the floor.

“It is a mystery—” this was a favorite phrase of Shar’s worshipers—”the exits remain blocked, and we’ve searched every vestibule and chapel.”

Yder cursed under his breath, and it dawned on Aris how much the prince was risking. Malik had bragged many times about his relationship with Telamont and how his strategy to lure Galaeron back to Shade had earned the Most High’s undying gratitude. If only half of what the seraph claimed was true—and Aris knew that Mystra’s curse prevented him from telling a He—then all Malik need do to save himself was reach the Palace Most High and report what had happened.

If Yder survived Telamont’s wrath at all, his political base would be greatly weakened.

Having learned the hard way from Malik’s treachery, Arts thought he saw a way to turn the situation to his advantage. He could not volunteer the information too readily. Malik had taught him that the surest way to manipulate someone was to remind him of his problem, then let him think you knew a way to solve it.

“I may know where he went,” Aris said.

Yder spun on him. “And you remain silent?”

“It didn’t occur to me that you would want the opinion of a slave.”

“You are a slave by the Most High’s decree,” Yder said. “There is nothing I can do about that.”

Aris shrugged. “It was also his decree that Malik be my—”

In a movement as smooth as a sliding shadow, Yder leaped into Aris’s lap and had the tip of a black sword pressed to his throat.

“If I am to be suffer once for defying the Most High, I may as well suffer twice.”

“There’s a trapdoor under the altar.” Aris began to wonder if he had played the game a little too well, and added, “Gelthez can show you.”

Yder turned his yellow eyes on the guard.

Gelthez’s jaw fell. “T-t-trapdoor?” He continued to stammer for a moment then finally seemed to understand what Aris was doing to him. “He’s lying!”

“Go look. You open it by pressing on the left corner of the base stone.”

Aris had no idea whether this was where Malik had fled, but having built the secret door himself, he did know that Yder would find the passage.

“If Gelthez refused to open it for you,” the giant added, “perhaps it’s because he has converted.”

“Converted?” Gelthez gasped. He reached for his sword and spat, “Liar!”

Yder’s escort caught the guard’s arm before it could reach his scabbard, then slipped behind him and pressed a dagger to his back.

Gelthez turned to Yder with a look of desperation.

“You cannot listen to him, my prince. He is a murderer! He killed Karbe.”

Yder stepped off Aris’s lap and said, “I thought that was an accident.”

“No, it was—”

“I wasn’t talking to you,” Yder said.

When he turned to Amararl, it was all Aris could do to keep from smiling. Amararl had no choice except to back up Aris or admit that he had lied earlier.

“The hammer was dropped, my prince,” he said. “It did not look intentional to me.”

This was enough for Yder, who nodded to the escort and said, ‘Take him and see. If he shows you how to open the door, spare his life.”

The escort bowed, and still holding his dagger at the man’s back, turned to leave.

“Send a company to the temple treasure vault,” Yder said. “I’ll join you there after I see to the giant.”

“The treasure vault, my prince?” the escort asked.

“Where else would Malik lay a secret tunnel?” Yder said.

Aris’s heart fell. He had Amararl in his hold just as Malik had taught him, but that would do him no good with a prince of Shade standing there.

Yder glared at Amararl and said, “Why did you not tell me about this trapdoor, guard? Are you also a Cyric-worshiper?”

“Never, my prince!” Amararl spat on the floor and said, “That is all I have for the Mad One.”

Yder remained silent, awaiting his answer.

“I—I knew nothing about the door,” Amararl said. “I was not guarding the giant when he built the altar.”

The prince looked to Aris, who confirmed the claim with a nod.

“Gelthez was with a different group that day,” Aris lied. He was beginning to think he had spent too much time in Malik’s temple; the lies were beginning come as easily as his own breath. “That was when Malik converted them.”

“You will give me these names, giant.”

Aris shrugged noncommittally, then finally saw how he was going to get what he wanted.

“If you like, but they will be no good to you if you do not beat Malik to his treasure vault.”

Yder’s eyes brightened in alarm.

“He has escape magic there?”

“He doesn’t need it,” Aris said. “He has a blessing from his god that helps him hide. That’s how he—

Aris had no need to finish. Yder was already rushing into the nave, calling back over his shoulder for Amararl to stand watch on the slave.

No sooner was the prince out of sight than Amararl braced himself against a black column and sank to the floor, his legs trembling and his brow dripping with sweat.

“Well done, giant,” he said. “What is it you want?”

“Nothing that will get you in trouble,” the giant replied. Feeling nearly as relieved as the guard, Aris started for a dark corner. “Only a few minutes alone.”

________CHAPTER ELEVEN

Malik pulled himself up inside the false coffer in his treasure vault and kneeled there in the cramped darkness, his breath coming heavy and fast, his throat raw and aching where Yder had nearly crushed it. An alarming rasp and rattle was building behind him as his pursuers scurried up the tunnel, and even with the gifts of stealth and endurance bestowed on him by the One, he would need to hurry if he wished to stay ahead of them. It would not be easy, not when every gasp of air fanned the anguish burning in his crushed gullet, but he had to reach the palace before Yder and inform the Most High of the prince’s treachery. In circumstances such as these, a ruler’s findings were always dictated by the one who arrived first. Voices began to whisper up the tunnel, and

Malik knew he would be doing well to gather even the bags containing his most valuable gems before they entered the vault behind him.

“Accursed giant!” he hissed. Only Aris knew about the secret tunnel, as Malik had made him construct it secretly at night, when everyone assumed he would be sleeping. “Why am I vexed with friends who never think of anyone but themselves?”

Vowing that the giant would pay for his selfishness, Malik released the latches that held the coffer closed. Using his back to lift the lid, he rose to a crouch. The vault was dark, quiet, and enormous. Save for perhaps two dozen coin boxes and gem bags, it was also mostly empty. Building a temple was expensive—even when wealthy converts donated much of the material in exchange for Aris’s statues—but Malik had no doubt the investment would prove worthwhile. Once the interior frieze work was completed, he planned to start charging a hefty fee to come and stand in the narthex. Any who wished to see the sublime work in the rest of the temple would be required to convert—a process that would require a substantial offering as proof of the novice’s sincerity.

A Shadovar helmet thunked into the low lintel where the tunnel crossed the treasure vault’s foundation. Reminded of the urgency of his situation, Malik slipped out of the coffer and lowered the lid as quietly as possible. The latches clicked softly as they reengaged, and he began to fumble for the magic lamp he kept on the floor at the corner of the coffer.

Instead of the smooth loop of a lamp handle, his hand found what felt like the scuff-roughened toe of a veserab-hide boot. Malik’s mouth went instantly as dry as dust, and he reached for the curved dagger hidden inside his cloak. A strong hand caught him by a horn and lifted him off his feet. A second hand, still shaky because of the tendons Malik had slashed but more than strong enough to hold him motionless, clamped hold of his wrist.

“Not this time, my behorned friend,” said Yder’s hissing voice. “Not even you surprise me twice.”

The prince bent Malik’s hand back until he screamed and let the dagger fall free.

“The One will not stand for this!” Malik warned. He thought for a moment that Mystra’s curse might actually permit the threat to stand, but soon heard more words tumbling from his mouth. “He will certainly punish me terribly for allowing you to interfere with the completion of his—”

The prince released Malik’s wrist and brought his fist up. The blow drove Malik’s jaws together with a tooth-shattering crack, and he had just enough time before sinking into darkness to wonder what would have happened to him had Yder hit him with his good hand.

Wet, pale, and tiny, the Chosen looked like a trio of newborn whelps—like a trio of stillborn whelps, as motionless and silent as they were. Worried that the fall to the vestry floor might have been too long for such small creatures— even on his hands and knees, the distance was more than six feet—Aris reached down and nudged Khelben with the nail of his index finger.

Nothing happened, except that Khelben flopped onto his back.

Aris placed a fingertip on Khelben’s chest and felt nothing. Of course, given their size differences, searching for a heartbeat was akin to a human feeling for the pulse of a locust.

“Wake up,” he whispered. “You must be tougher than that—you’re Chosen!”

When Khelben remained motionless, Aris sighed and rolled first Storm, then Laeral onto their backs. When neither moved, he placed them side-by-side and checked for signs of life as he had with Khelben.

“Hey—watch those fingers!” warned a tiny female voice.

Raising his brow in surprise, Aris put his hands down and lowered his head to within a yard of the floor, now squinting in an attempt to keep the Chosen in focus at such a close distance.

“My apologies,” he whispered. “I was only feeling for a—”

“We know what you were feeling for,” chuckled a second tiny woman. “And I thought an artist would be different!”

Aris turned his head from side to side, trying to get a better view of the three figures stretched out beneath his head. None of them seemed to be speaking or moving, but considering that they were Chosen, that meant very little.

“Up here, big fella,” said the first voice. “Beside you.”

Aris turned in the direction of the speaker and found himself looking into a pair of tiny, ivory-colored blurs. He leaned away, and the blurs slowly resolved themselves into the beautiful faces of Alustriel Silverhand and Dove Falconhand. Still only half the size of his thumb, the two Chosen were dressed in flowing black cloaks that, as they hovered beside him, gave them the appearance of some sort of shadow sprites.

“Where did you come from?” Aris gasped.

“We’ve been keeping an eye on you,” Dove said, chuckling at his surprise.

“This is no time to play games,” Aris complained. He glanced down the passage to make certain that his guard, Amararl, was still out in the nave as he had promised—and to be sure that there were no other Shadovar approaching the vestry. “Yder is here with a small army.”

“I’d call it more of a strike team,” Alustriel said. “When we realized where it was going, we thought we’d better tag along and see what was happening.”

“A good thing we did, too,” Dove said. “This is the first time we’ve found you alone.”

“It’s the first time I’ve been alone—as you can see.” Aris waved a hand at the motionless Chosen on the floor. “Was it

too long? I didn’t eat anything, but I don’t think anyone expected it to take this long.”

Alustriel’s voice grew reassuring. “They’ll be fine, as soon as I wake them.”

She flew down to the floor and kneeled beside Khelben, then began to slap his face and whisper his name into his ear.

“They went into a magical hibernation.” Dove explained. She hovered near Aris’s head, watching down the passage with him. “After the third or fourth day without food—earlier, if they refused to drink water you’d already drunk—their bodies would have started to draw on the Weave to sustain them. Even a giant could not have withstood that much magic flowing through him for very long, so they used a spell to shut down.”

“Like bears when the snow comes.”

“Something like that. Except there’s still been a little magic flowing through your body. It gave you the strength to work at Malik’s tempo, but it’s also done some damage— affected your coordination and perception, made it difficult to do things that should be easy.” Dove pointed at a lopsided likeness of Cyric on the wall. “As soon as you burn off the last of that energy, you’re going to fall asleep for a very long time. Before that happens, you should eat. Eat as much as you can keep down.”