how she’d been, before, as they’d walked the plazas of a faraway place called Halruaa. He’d thrilled at her mastery of a magical metropolis whose architecture equaled divine domains. She’d been a person of importance, someone who’d mattered. And someone who’d taken an interest in him. She was enchanting. He pulled her close. She melted into his arms. She wasn’t anything like a ghost. Madri gazed into his eyes as if searching for something.
“I don’t know how it’s possible you’re here, but … do you believe me? Life’s too short to spend in revenge.”
Madri pulled away. “I don’t know, Demascus. Maybe life’s too short for regular people. But we’re both here, together again. Which means there’s always time for retribution. You killed me. I can’t forget that. So now I’m going to leave you, even though I could probably save you.”
“You can get me out of here?”
“Maybe. But I won’t. I’m leaving you to die. As you killed me … I’m killing you. How does it feel?”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
After all they’d gone through together, Chant could scarcely believe Demascus was dead.
The awkward isle protruded from the sea, waves washing against it with mindless regularity. The overcast sky painted everything the color of ash. What was it to the Sea of Fallen Stars, a body of water larger than many nations, that a lone deva had died beneath its surface in a mine collapse? Nothing.
Wasn’t a deva’s death merely a temporary setback? Demascus would return …
Not really, he thought. The person I know is gone. Someone would rise again and take the name Demascus, and probably wield the same implements. He just wouldn’t remember anything of what he’d accomplished and the friends he’d made in Akanul, except as isolated fragments. In a very real sense, the Demascus Chant had called friend was gone forever.
Flakes of paint came away from
Riltana and Queen Arathane were with Chant at the railing, staring at the bleak island. They had spent fruitless hours digging, or trying to dig, but ultimately failing to make real headway, and finally everyone was forced to admit that Demascus was lost beyond recovery beneath the rock fall. After that, escaping the arambarium mine had required hours, as they traced their way out the same way they’d entered. At least the drow and all her minions had suffered the same fate as the deva, Chant hoped. He noticed that tears had made trails in the grime on the windsoul thief’s cheek.
Arathane, though, was still as a statue, majestic and deliberate. It was only the tightness in her neck and the slight quiver of her lip that betrayed her to Chant.
Recognizing the monarch’s sorrow finally broke the pawnbroker’s own reserve. Moisture gathered in his eyes. He dropped his face to his hands. “Demascus, you were a friend,” he whispered. “One of the few I made in this crazy world. Why’d you have to get yourself killed?”
The slap of water against the side of
“Hey!” came Captain Thoster’s voice from aft. “What in Umberlee’s name is that?” The captain pointed at the island.
Chant strained to look. Was it Demascus? Had the deva burrowed his way free? At first he didn’t understand what he was seeing. A cloud rose from the island summit, like steam off a teakettle. He squinted. No, it wasn’t vapor-the cloud was composed of spiders. Hundreds of spiders. Each had deployed some kind of wavering filament. Caught by the wind, the strands pulled the creatures en masse into the sky.
The largest ones held ettercaps and undead miners in their eight-fold grips …
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Pretty obvious,” said Riltana. “The drow are evacuating the island.”
A larger shape climbed into the leaden air: A balloon spun of spider silk, shaped like a massive arachnid. Hanging beneath it on a forest of thin webs, and serving as the balloon’s ballast, was a cocoon the size of a small house. A silver sheen glinted dully through a thin section of the cocoon covering.
“That’s the arambarium mother lode,” said the queen. Her voice was weary with disbelief.
Riltana said, “They didn’t use the Demonweb to reach the island-they flew! Those rat-coddling leech- kissers!”
It took only a span of breaths for the soaring spiders and arachnid blimp to ascend into the cloud ceiling.
“Gone,” said Chant. He was having trouble thinking. The image wanted to push everything else out of his head.
“Will they wing directly over the Sea of Fallen Stars?” said Queen Arathane. “Or take a ship from Airspur? If the latter, we may still catch them.”
“Why would they take a ship when all they have to do is reach the mouth of the Demonweb?” asked Riltana.
The queen gave a curt nod. “Right. We could still conceivably stop them there …”
Arathane’s was staring at a stranger who’d walked up the deck to stand with them. A human woman in green gowns with eyes nearly as tumultuous as the queen’s. Her perfume preceded her: orange rind with a hint of something sharper. Chant wondered if Captain Thoster had other paying charters on his ship.
“I know you,” Arathane said to the woman. “You were outside Demascus’s home. You’re his householder? But that doesn’t make any sense …”
“I told you then I was not his householder. That hasn’t changed.”
“Then who are you?” the queen asked.
“My name is Madri. Listen-time is short,” the woman in green said. “If you want to save your friend, you have a splinter of a chance. But he’ll certainly pass from this life if you fritter away the time with pointless questions.”
“What?” said Chant. “Are you talking about Demascus? He’s alive? Who
“He was alive, but he’s buried in a tiny tomb of fallen stones. His air is going bad. If someone doesn’t get him out in the next hour, he’ll die.”
“You’re the ghost!” said Riltana suddenly. “The one who lured me into House Norjah, so you could steal that painting! I owe you payback for that deception.”
The woman in green shrugged. “You can try. But as you say, I’ve already lost my life. Though it might be interesting to find out the limits of my existence in this realm.”
A hundred questions occurred to Chant-what was Madri talking about? Was she a ghost, or wasn’t she?
But the queen spoke. “You were with Demascus?”
Madri nodded. “Moments ago. We shared a tender moment of reflection concerning times long gone.”
Arathane frowned.
Chant broke in. “There’s no way we can get back to the island in an hour, let alone dig him out. We already tried and failed.”
“Then he’s dead after all,” said Madri. “As I told him.”
“Wait,” said Riltana. “If you were just there, could you go back again?”
“I’ve said my good-byes.”
“Even if by going back, you could save him?”
Madri glared at the thief as if the windsoul had just uttered the most shocking profanity.
“When I … flicker between destinations, I am unable to carry another being with me. Anyway, I’ll not save the one who killed me.”
“Then why’re you here?” said Chant. “If it’s his death you want, you have a damn odd way of showing it.”
