She, Lod, and the undead naga’s attendants soon arrived at an intersection of passageways where a statue of Jergal sat writing at a desk and two slain zombies lay on the floor. One of them had Vandar’s spear sticking through its knee. The red metal gleamed, reflecting the little fire burning atop her staff.
Lod cast around, then fixed his attention on the corridor to the left. “I assume when I see a blind made of shadow,” he said, “that someone is hiding behind it.”
Dai Shan stepped out of the darkness. His eyes widened ever so slightly, but otherwise, his face was the usual pleasant, imperturbable mask.
Jhesrhi’s fiery and human sides united in the wish to see him burn, and she had to clench herself to refrain from striking at him. She steadied herself with the reflection that, if things went considerably better than expected, she might be able to force him to tell her what had become of Aoth.
The Shou bowed and said, “The serpent lord is as majestic as he is unique to my experience. Is it possible he commands the entire fellowship of the undead that my poor departed friend Falconer served so ably?”
“The Eminence of Araunt has no commander,” Lod replied. “All who belong are equal. Still, someone had to create it, and someone has to guide the campaigns that will fulfill its destiny.”
“I have every confidence the visionary before me is equal to the task. How strange, then, to find him in the company of Jhesrhi Coldcreek, and she with her mouth ungagged and her staff in her unbound hands. Perhaps, for all his wisdom, he doesn’t realize she’s one of his most formidable and determined enemies.”
“I’ve explained,” Jhesrhi said, “that I served the cause of Rashemen under magical duress. How, merchant, do you justify
Dai Shan gave a slight nod. “Although her motives are suspect, the clever mage poses a fair question. I believed I could render Vandar helpless, but somehow-”
“Liar!” Jhesrhi snarled. “You let him escape because the two of you together are attempting some sort of trick. Lod, the man before you is Dai Shan. He and Vandar are two of the four champions who promised the hathrans they’d do their utmost to slaughter your people. I was there. I witnessed it.”
“Is this true?” asked Lod, swaying. “
The merchant bowed. “I am, and please, accept my apologies. It appears that sojourning in a backward land has had a deleterious effect on my manners. I should have introduced myself to the noble prophet straightaway.”
Lod looked down at Jhesrhi. “Despite Sarshethrian’s interference, messages did travel back and forth between Nornglast and Rashemen, and thus I recognize the name Dai Shan. He made possible the strategy that will break the witches, and for that reason among others, I consider his claims more credible than yours.”
Jhesrhi had no idea what it was that Dai Shan had supposedly done to aid the undead, but now that it was too late, she realized she’d never had any hope of emerging from this parley with Lod still trusting her. She raised her staff and drew breath to call for an expanding circle of flame.
Something slammed into the back of her head, smashing her thoughts into incoherence and pitching her onto her knees. Then other blows pummeled her. The brazen staff slipped from her hand to clank on the floor, and the flames on the end went out. Her mind followed them into darkness.
The silver mites poured off Pearl-eye’s robes like water. Though he was still a dozen strides away, Aoth’s spellscarred eyes discerned that the tiny things were metal scorpions. Then several of them started swelling larger.
Aoth had no idea how big they might grow and didn’t want to find out. Nor did he care to spar with them while the ghoul sorceress stood back and cast spells at him. He set the whole length of his spear aglow with power and kept right on charging.
A scorpion the size of a dog scuttled at him, and he thrust the spear through its head. A cat-sized one arched its stinger to drive it into his leg, and he slammed the butt of his weapon down on its back and smashed it. Grown large as a donkey, pincers scissoring, a third rushed in on his flank, and triggering one of the spells stored in the spear, he blasted it apart with a flare of lightning.
He raced on toward his true foe over a glinting carpet of the scorpions that were still tiny. Then pains like stabs from red-hot needles assailed his legs, and staggering, he belatedly realized the little golems might well be more dangerous than the big ones.
A moment after the pain came a wave of dizziness and weakness. He thumped his chest, rousing a tattoo that warded him against poison. That helped him catch his balance, but now the relentless fiery jabbing was torturing his torso as well as his legs.
The ghoul snarled an incantation, pointed her wand at him, and the desperation in his mind threatened to balloon into utter panic. She threw a fear spell! he told himself, and understanding what was happening inside his head helped him cling to the ability to think.
Despite the ongoing torment, he managed to gasp out a spell of his own, and a halo of whispering yellow flame cloaked him from head to toe. It didn’t hurt him-he only felt a pleasant warmth-or his gear and clothing either. But the stabbing stopped as the blaze destroyed the tiny automatons that had been skittering under his garments like fleas.
He still hadn’t entirely shaken off the effect of the venom but knew he couldn’t let that slow him down. He rushed on toward Pearl-eye.
She still had the wand aimed, and tatters of darkness leaped from the tip to lash at him. He wrenched himself to the side, and they missed.
Then, finally, the ghoul was in reach of his spear. Still luminous with power, the weapon punched deep into her midsection.
She screeched and convulsed. He used the spear to heave her down on her back, then spoke the first of the words that would make sunlight shine from the head of the weapon to burn her guts. She was tough-otherwise, the first spear thrust would have finished her-but even so, a trick that could destroy a vampire would likely dispose of her as well.
And he wanted to. But then the war leader part of him-the part he’d trained always to deliberate and make the results of its deliberations heard no matter how the anger and fear that combat engendered distracted him- suggested that bringing her wand to Shaugar would take precious time, and then the Rashemi would need more to figure out how to use it. It might well be more time than the defenders had left.
But Pearl-eye was right here at Aoth’s feet, and she already knew how to employ the wand.
He spoke the next word of the daylight spell and sensed the magic accumulating and eager for release. The ghoul plainly felt it too, and clenched herself against the flare of agony to come.
“Do you want to go on existing?” asked Aoth.
Surprised, she peered up at him, then asked, “What do I have to do?”
“Turn all the golems inert.”
“Without them, the rest of my band will die!”
“It’s them or you. Choose. Now.”
She shuddered. With anger, he sensed, not pain or fear. “Curse you. I need to be within sight of the devices.”
“Then get up.”
“Your spear is still in my belly!”
“Where it will stay. We’ll sidle along like crabs.”
Jet watched Aoth chase down a ghoul through the midst of a larger battle and yearned to help. But he seemed to be paralyzed like many of the automatons caught in the glowing pentacles. Or perhaps he was some sort of ghost, bodiless, capable of perception but nothing more.
Ultimately, he saw with relief-albeit relief tinged with an underlying bitterness-that his master didn’t need his help. He captured the ghoul with the pearl in her eye socket and forced her to deactivate all the golems. After that, the masked men on the ledges made short work of the rest of the undead attackers, and their victorious cheers echoed through the caverns.
The shouting woke Jet, or so it seemed, woke him to the ache of his wounds and the winter sunlight shining down on the section of the wall-walk he’d chosen for his nap. Then he realized the dream had been a bit muddled
