“Easy,” Valindra said, but she wasn’t talking to Jestry. She didn’t seem to be talking to anyone! “Even if I kill him, you cannot have him. Not yet.”
“What do you mean?” Jestry demanded.
“Alive or dead?” Valindra teased.
Behind them, the other Ashmadai shifted uncomfortably, and Jestry glanced back for support. But Valindra held the scepter of Asmodeus. Sylora had named her the mission’s leader, and Jestry understood all too clearly that if he tried to disobey the lich, his “friends” would carry out her orders against him, even kill him if she asked.
“You alone,” Valindra said, nodding to herself.
Jestry called back to his fellow Ashmadai. “Guard the path, and all around.” They acted as if they looked upon a doomed man.
Without another word, Valindra glided toward the small cottage, the scepter extended in front of her. Jestry caught up with her just before the porch steps. The front door opened.
“May I help you, O wanderers in the dark of night?” she said as she appeared in the doorway, her form framed by the glow of the fire within. Her voice had a sweetness, an innocence that seemed so very out of place in that dangerous land.
“That is the only question I ever consider,” Valindra replied.
Jestry thought to glance at the lich, but found he couldn’t take his eyes off the woman standing in front of him. She wasn’t beautiful, really, though certainly not unattractive, with a slight frame, an open, round face, and curly hair that shone red even in the dim light. A strange sensation came over Jestry just standing there looking at her, just hearing the innocence and warmth in her voice, just in seeing the playful bounce of her thick hair. He thought of cherry pie.
Cherry pie on a comfortably cool autumn night, with the wind blowing off the lake and his mother and two sisters sitting beside him. He thought of the twin girls at either end of the line pulling on one end or the other of the quilt, which was just slightly too short for the job of covering them all.
He shook his head to compose himself, but the woman then said, “Do come in. I wasn’t expecting visitors at this late hour, but I’ve some fine stew still warm in the cauldron.”
Jestry found himself back again in that memory, staring across the lake in the hopes that he would be the first to spot the torchlight signaling his father’s return from the hunt.
Valindra was almost through the door before the warrior even realized she was moving. He nodded to the red-haired woman and entered the comfortable cottage. As he moved to the hearth, he kept glancing back at her.
Her face and smile were open and warm. There was nothing about her that Jestry would call sexy-certainly she possessed not a single feature that Sylora Salm didn’t possess in a more classically beautiful manner. But somehow, all together, it… worked.
“And what have I given the goodly gods to be graced with such visitors on a dark night?” She closed the door and motioned for Valindra and Jestry to sit in the chairs in front of the hearth while she went to retrieve a third chair for herself.
It all seemed so perfectly normal and natural: a man and a woman travel a road and find respite in a warm house along the way.
Valindra took her seat and held forth her scepter as the woman came over. The woman paused at the sight of that distinctive item.
Valindra smiled.
The woman grinned.
And then it hit Jestry: Valindra was obviously an undead creature. Half her skin was rotted away! The white of bone peeked out from one wrist and even on one of her emaciated cheeks. There was no way this woman, this innocent and gentle creature, couldn’t see that. And yet, she showed no discomfort at all.
Jestry glanced around, searching for an escape.
“My name is Arunika,” the woman said.
“Valindra,” the lich replied.
“And he?”
“No one worth mentioning,” Valindra assured her.
Jestry glanced from the lich to Arunika and saw on her kind face that she didn’t share Valindra’s assessment. He suddenly found himself feeling much more comfortable.
“Why have you come?” Arunika asked.
“In friendship,” Valindra replied. “And you would rather have us as friends!” she shrieked suddenly, and began chirping “Arklem! Ark-lem!” every few beats.
Arunika seemed more amused than frightened. She sat back in her chair and looked at Jestry.
“The Spellplague,” he quietly mouthed.
“Valindra?” Arunika asked as the lich finally calmed.
“In friendship,” Valindra replied as if nothing had happened. “And in kinship.”
“I’m not your kin,” Arunika insisted.
Valindra flashed a wicked smile and held forth the scepter of Asmodeus.
Arunika nodded, her light eyes sparkling at the sight.
“It was given to Valindra by Sylora Salm of Thay,” Jestry dared interject, “who serves Szass Tam.”
“And so you are Ashmadai,” Arunika replied.
“As are you?” Jestry dared ask. Why, after all, were they here in the home of a simple woman, a comely and nondescript commoner by all appearances?
Arunika’s laughter mocked him, but she held out her hand as soon as he began to recoil from it.
“You could say that I am aligned with the Ashmadai, yes,” she admitted.
“And who else?” Valindra insisted sharply.
Now Arunika narrowed her bright eyes and scrutinized the lich. “You have come as emissaries of this Sylora Salm?”
“Yes,” Jestry answered even as Valindra launched into a birdlike squeal, “Greeth! Greeth!”
“I’m not alone, I assure you,” Arunika said then. “I have friends, very powerful friends, nearby.”
Valindra hissed and Jestry thought she might attack Arunika then and there. He resisted the urge to spring up to the woman’s defense, or to shout out in frustration against Sylora’s terrible decision to ever send Valindra on this mission. And why would Sylora have made such a wrong choice? Arunika was no threat. She was a friend, surely, and she didn’t need to be confronted by a powerful and insane lich.
“My friends will be sympathetic to your cause against the Netherese,” Arunika went on, calming Valindra before her agitation could truly bubble over. “Go and tell that to Sylora Salm. I’ll serve as go-between. She knows where to find me.”
As she finished, she glanced at Jestry and motioned to the door, clearly bidding him to be gone. He took no offense, but somehow he knew that Arunika wasn’t asking him to leave, she was telling him, and in no uncertain terms. He looked at Valindra then stumbled out into the night.
He dared pause at the door for just a moment, to hear Arunika talking softly to Valindra, assuring the lich that her friends would help-and Jestry got the distinct impression that Arunika spoke in personal, and not just general, terms.
Jestry rushed away, afraid of being caught eavesdropping, but he did catch one more word: “sovereignty.”
He didn’t know what it meant.
A long while passed before Valindra exited the house. From the porch, she directed the Ashmadai, then floated down behind them on their journey back to Sylora’s base. She clutched the skull gem and the scepter close to her heart, continually giving thanks to their magical powers. The scepter had sensed Arunika, and the skull gem had given her Dor’crae-and with him, the eyes to locate Arunika.
Arunika had hinted at that which Valindra most dearly wanted to find: a way to be rid of the demons of confusion haunting her mind.
Kimmuriel Oblodra had done much to help her, and he was but a mere drow psionicist. What was that against the power of one of the Sovereignty? If Kimmuriel’s powers could keep her from falling over the ledge, surely Arunika’s friend could bring her back from the brink.
