Avenger

Empty halls, a crown of mold,

Deathless dreams the king of old.

Long the dark and brief the light,

An hour’s play, and then the night,

Beauty fails and all grows cold,

Still awaits the king of old.

For a long time, nothing happened. Hamil glanced at him and said silently, Perhaps you didn’t do it right?

A circle of mist abruptly appeared on the ground a short distance in front of Geran, bubbling upward as if fed by some dark spring. He took a step back as icy dread congealed in his heart. The mist rose higher, taking on a hunched, humanlike shape, and began to darken and thicken. In five heartbeats it was mist no longer, but instead a figure of nightmare-a skeletal corpse clad in the tatters of kingly robes. Evil green flames flickered in its empty sockets, and it clasped a great iron staff in its bony fingers. Its bones were sheathed in strips of hammered copper, each incised with tiny arcane runes. It regarded the four of them for a moment with its horrible lipless grin; Geran could barely stand to look at the thing, and he kept his eyes fixed on its breastbone rather than gazing full into its emerald gaze.

“As you have called, so I have come,” the lich said in a dry, crackling voice. “What is it that you wish of me?”

“We desire your counsel,” Geran answered. “The enemies of House Hulmaster have seized Hulburg, King Aesperus.”

“That is hardly any concern of mine.”

Geran winced, but he pressed on. “We mean to take back our realm, but the false harmach’s wizard-an elf named Rhovann Disarnnyl-has created a small army of constructs animated through powerful necromancy. If we could neutralize or destroy the helmed guardians, we could meet the rest of the usurper’s forces on equal footing and win back Hulburg for the Hulmasters. Do you know how Rhovann created his guardians and how we might defeat them?”

“Of course I do,” the King in Copper grated. “I perceive many things, young fool; how could I fail to notice the elf’s forging of such a spell? Once upon a time I made legions of such things to serve me. Your adversary’s efforts are clever in their own little way, but he has outwitted himself in his handiwork.”

“Outwitted himself? How?” Kara asked.

Aesperus turned to regard her with his horrible gaze. “Ah, another Hulmaster,” the lich said. “Daughter of Terena, daughter of Lendon, son of Angar. Yes, I know who you are, Kara, altered though you might be by the Spellplague’s curse. I should destroy you to ensure the curse dies in your generation … or perhaps it might be excised, although the damage would be severe at this stage of your life.” Kara paled and swallowed, but she stood her ground.

“Do not harm her,” Geran said firmly. “We’re the last kin of yours left in this world, King Aesperus. Cursed or not, she is a Hulmaster, and you are sworn not to raise your hand against any of Angar’s line. Kara knows what might become of her children. You needn’t worry about that.”

The lich’s eyes blazed angrily as he turned back to Geran. “Do not presume too much on Rivan’s blood, young fool. Rivan was a worthless traitor who turned against me when I was at the height of my power! Do you think that I would hesitate for the merest moment to extinguish the last of his wretched line? I could destroy you both with a word!”

“In which case, Maroth Marstel remains harmach of Hulburg, dancing on Rhovann’s strings until the end of his days,” Hamil interjected. “And the surviving few Hulmasters live out their lives in poverty and exile. Hardly a fitting fate for a family fortunate enough to share your noble blood, mighty King.”

Aesperus glanced at Hamil but did not deign to answer. Geran decided that it might be wise to engage the ancient lich again. “How has Rhovann outwitted himself?” he asked carefully.

“His creations all share a single masterful enchantment,” the lich answered. “This is their great strength, since each additional runehelm he creates multiplies the power, resilience, and reasoning ability of all the runehelms he has so far created. But this is also their vulnerability. To share their senses with one another, to act in such perfect concert, they necessarily share a single animus. Sever that, and you could destroy them all at once.”

“What animus? How can it be severed?”

Aesperus made a low whistling sound deep in his bony chest, and Geran realized that he was laughing after a fashion. “My counsel is not without cost,” he said. “No more will I say until you meet my price.”

Geran felt the worried glances of his friends, but he did not look away. “What do you wish, King Aesperus?” he asked.

“Last spring, you delivered to me an old tome I have sought for centuries.” The lich’s jaws moved, smiling horribly at his own ironic wit; Geran had in fact done everything in his power to keep the Infiernadex from Aesperus’s bony claws, only to have the spellbook ripped from his hands at the lich’s mere gesture. “Unfortunately, it is incomplete. Do not fear, young one, I know that you did not maim my prize; the damage was done long before you stumbled across it. A number of pages were removed from the Infiernadex before it was hidden by the accursed Lathanderians. Complete the Infiernadex for me, and I will give you what you need to defeat Rhovann’s runehelms.”

“It is too high a cost, Geran,” Sarth said. “If he holds only part of the tome, then it would be better to leave it at that. We will find some other way to best Rhovann.”

“I am not speaking with you, devilspawn,” Aesperus snapped. “You gainsay me at your peril!”

Sarth fell silent, although he gave Geran a warning glance. Geran thought swiftly, considering the lich’s offer. His cousin Sergen had bargained with Aesperus a year prior, and the Infiernadex was the price the lich had named. The King in Copper had dealt honestly with Sergen and the House Veruna armsmen; Geran and Hamil had watched the lich hand Anfel Urdinger, the Veruna arms-captain, the amulet by which he paid for the book’s recovery. Aesperus hadn’t agreed to slay the Hulmasters out of hand; the lich had simply armed Sergen with the means to do so, which seemed a fine line to walk in terms of honoring his old promise not to raise his hand against any of Angar’s line. But even that suggested that Aesperus valued his word enough to take pains not to violate the exact wording of a promise.

“If we get the rest of the Infiernadex for you, will you promise not to employ its powers against Hulburg or its folk?” he asked.

The lich made a small snorting sound. “Done. I have far more important concerns than your miserable little flyspeck of a realm.”

“Then I agree. We’ll find the book’s missing pages if it lies within our power.” Geran felt Sarth’s discomfort, but the tiefling did not speak; he hoped that he was not making a terrible blunder. Of course, there was no telling where in Faerun any pages removed from the book centuries before might then lie. Perhaps Sarth would be able to divine their location, assuming that his friend would be willing to help.

I hope you know what you’re doing, Hamil told him silently. The halfling looked up at the lich and said, “I don’t suppose you know where the missing pages are, do you?”

The lich looked down at Hamil, his jaw clicking. “I have known for centuries, but potent countermeasures obstruct me. They should pose less of an obstacle for the living. The missing pages lie in the vaults of the Irithlium in Myth Drannor.”

Geran stared at the lich, dumbfounded. Myth Drannor was the one place in the world he could never go again, but before he could begin to frame a protest, Aesperus raised his iron staff, silently regarding each of Geran’s companions in turn, and dissolved back into mist again. “Summon me when you have brought the pages I seek. Do not long delay, young Geran. Doom draws near, and you will need my aid.”

The lich vanished, and silence fell over the barrowfields.

TWELVE