Emerald Sceptre (6 page)

as Vambran gingerly rubbed his jaw. “You almost got us both charred!”

“They were important,” he said.

“More important than my life? Than yours?”

The mercenary officer shrugged. “I did what I did. You’re safe.” Changing the subject, Vambran turned back to the druid. “This is my companion, Arbeenok, from the Nunwood. You’ve already met, though you do not know it. He was my canine companion earlier this evening.”

Elenthia’s eyes grew wide for a moment, and she said, “A druid! I knew it!” The words were not kind. Then she turned to Vambran and asked, in a tone filled with ice, “What are you doing traveling with the likes of him?”

“Do not let what you think you know of the Emerald Enclave prejudice you against him,” the lieutenant warned. “Arbeenok is both honorable and steadfast. If not for him, we’d be roasting in the fire or hip-deep in zombies—take your pick.”

Elenthia sniffed, obviously unconvinced, but she said no more about the alaghi’s allegiances. Instead, she turned and stared at the burning remains of her home and the bodies of both soldiers and undead strewn everywhere upon the street. “My father sent those soldiers to protect me,” she said. “He must have realized the city was under attack. What is happening?” she asked in a near-whisper, her dismay making her voice crack. “Has the plague truly returned to Reth?”

“It has,” Vambran said. “The zombies are spreading it. I fear it’s now too late to get to my men.” He sighed and added, “I’ve already found my uncle. It was too late for him.” When Elenthia turned to look at the mercenary officer, horrified, he merely

nodded. “We’ve got to get you out of the city.”

“No!” Elenthia replied, her eyes wide with animalistic fear. “I must get to my father! Please take me to him!”

Vambran started to protest, but the words died in his throat as a soft groan reached the trio’s ears from across the street. As the lieutenant turned to look, one of the watchmen’s bodies stirred and began to rise.

The tower upon which Darvin Blackcrown arrived with the aid of his magical boots stood well above every other point in the city of Reth. From there, atop the Palace of the Seven, an observer could see well out into the Reach, watch either of the two roads—one that skirted the Nunwood approaching from the south and the other winding its way into the Akanapeaks to the east—or study the woods or low-ridged mountains. A visitor coming to that tower could also see almost every point in the city of Reth itself, though few of the palace’s inhabitants ever did. Indeed, few even knew whicfi back passages and stairwells to traverse to attain that high promenade. Nonetheless, when Darvin appeared in the center of the tower, another figure was already there.

Rodolpho Wianar barely gave the newcomer a cursory glance.

Darvin, known to most of Chondath as the assassin Junce Roundface, strode over to where Rodolpho rested against the crenellations of the tower, looking out over the city. Far below, the orange glow of several fires shone in the evening darkness. Darvin

realized the fires were burning buildings, and that dismayed him.

“What is happening down there?” he inquired, peering across the landscape and counting conflagrations. “Why is the city burning?”

Rodolpho began to chuckle, but it was not a merry laugh. It sent a shiver up Darvin’s spine with the insanity of it. “Yes,” the man said, not looking at Darvin. “It burns. It is a beautiful sight, isn’t it?”

“No,” Darvin rebuked, turning to look at his counterpart. “Eles isn’t going to be very happy to see Reth tin flames. Why are you allowing this?”

Rodolpho snorted. “Allow? I’m not allowing anything. Events are simply taking their natural course. The plague has begun to spread outward from the sewers. The people are panicking, fleeing into the night, and some among them who most fear the disease have set fires in hopes of containing its spread. But they will fail,” he said, finishing with another chuckle.

“How is it possible for them to become so panicked so quickly?” Darvin demanded, grabbing Rodolpho by the shoulders and turning him so they were face to face. “What did you do?”

“I did what my cousin demanded,” Rodolpho snapped back. “I created the plague for him, just as he ordered! And now, it’s taken on a life of its own! Now my creation will thrive, and you and Wianar can rot with it!” he said, cackling.

“By the gods,” Darvin muttered, staring back down on the city. “You’ve made it too virulent. It’ll kill them all.”

“And what if it does?” Rodolpho cried out. “What if all of Reth burns to ash? What do I care? I did not choose this course. I did not ask to be here, hiding for

twelve years, just so my dear, beloved cousin could stake his claim to another piece of land.”

“You made your choice back then,” Darvin said. “You agreed to his terms.”

“I was given no choice!” Rodolpho screamed, jabbing a single finger into Darvin’s chest. “You sent me to my grave, you craven worm, and I was dead!” The veins in the man’s neck bulged in his fury, and spittle flecked his lips as he shouted. “Oh, certainly, my dear cousin called me back from the grave, gave me a chance at life again, but only if I agreed to his plans. Only if I took a new identity, came here to this gods-forsaken city, and did his dirty work for him. Yes, there was a fine choice.” He spun away from Darvin and again stared down at the city.

“That’s between you and Eles,” Darvin said after a moment, not wishing to debate with the man any longer. “We’re well beyond that, and it’s time to put the last part of the plan in motion.” He waited, but when Rodolpho did not answer him, he asked, “So, do you have it?”

Rodolpho didn’t answer.

“Rodolpho, do you have the formula?”

Rodolpho Wianar glanced up at Darvin, smirked, and said, “There is no formula. The plague cannot be stopped.”

Darvin reeled. He suddenly wanted to be far away from there, to call on his magical boots to take him away from Reth, away from Chondath, to some distant corner of Faerűn where the disease could not reach him. He wanted to throw Rodolpho from the tower.

He dared not, not while there was a chance that the man was lying.

“You’re insane,” Darvin said. “Eles will kill you again.”

“Let him try,” Rodolpho snarled. “Rodolpho Wianar disappeared a dozen years ago, assumed dead, and no one was the wiser that I became Dwonlar Aphorio, Senator of Defense in the city of Reth. I’ll simply die again, disappear again, and Eles will never find me.” Then the man turned back to Darvin, and he smiled a cold, chilling smile. “And you can tell him I said so.”

Again, Darvin had to fight the urge to shove the figure before him backward, to send him teetering over the edge of the tower to plummet to his death. But he knew Eles would not be happy with that, would not accept Darvin’s measure of justice.

“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again,” Darvin said at last. “Eles may still have something to say about your betrayal.”

“Get off my tower,” Rodolpho said.

“Eat horse dung,” Darvin countered. Then he muttered an arcane phrase and vanished.

Darvin blinked when he arrived in the camp of Captain Beltrim Havalla, leader of the Silver Raven Company, for the place was alive with activity. In the darkness, numerous cook fires burned, enabling the assassin to see soldiers hustling in every direction. It appeared the mercenaries were preparing to ship out.

A soldier spotted Darvin appearing out of nowhere and leveled a crossbow at the man, challenging him. “Who in Tempus’s name are you?” he called out.

For a moment, Darvin just stood there, trembling in rage. He needed to hit something. The assassin drew several long, deep breaths, calming himself. Damn him, he thought. I should have pushed him.

“Answer me, or I’ll spit you!” the soldier shouted, taking a single wary step toward the intruder.

“I’ve come to speak with Captain Havalla,” Darvin replied. “Tell him that Junce Roundface is here.”

“Tell him yourself,” came another voice, older and gruffer than the soldier’s. It was the captain, striding through camp with a cluster of aides gathered around him. “What in the Nine Hells are you doing here? I’ve got a war to fight.”

“That’s what I’ve come to talk to you about,” Darvin replied, stepping over to fall in with the man. “A few adjustments need to be made.”

Beltrim Havalla swore. “I knew it,” he muttered as they reached his command tent and ducked inside together. “It never fails. I don’t care how much gold you promise, I always end up regretting fighting for you city folk and your wars. What is it this time?”

Darvin made a point of peering around the inside of the tent, examining the various tapestries that had been hung up for decoration, in order to hide his grimace at the captain’s words. He turned back and pointed at a map on the table in the center of the tent. “Captain Havalla, it’s imperative that you take your mercenaries to Reth and establish martial law there. No, wait,” he said, correcting himself. “Surround it and establish a quarantine.”

“Beltrim eyed Darvin suspiciously. “What for?” he asked. “I thought Reth was your own city. Why do you want me to lay siege to it?”

Darvin sighed. “I can’t explain it right now, but please do this now, tonight. I’ll give you half again as much gold as we’ve already agreed upon if you can have the city surrounded and sealed off by sunrise.”

Beltrim swore again, but that time, Darvin knew it was greed that overwhelmed him. “You make an offer I shouldn’t refuse,” he said at last, “but I’ve

already got half my army in the field, keeping the druids at bay while the Rethite regulars hit the Hlathians. Something stirred up the Enclave but good, and they’re fighting mad. Just keeping them out of the way of the main battle is going to be a trick, and I can’t easily extract my forces without winding up in a nasty pinch when the Enclave counterattacks—and they most certainly will try.”

Darvin threw up his hands in exasperation. “There’s nothing you can do? What about reserves? Two days ago, you had nothing but time on your hands and lots of antsy troops being held in reserve.”

“Aye, I did,” Captain Havalla admitted. “And I still have a reserve force, but those men are tired after chasing down your Crescents and hauling them off to Reth. Besides, I need them to plug gaps in my lines for this fight.”

“I think,” Darvin said with an edge to his voice, “you could push them a little harder than usual in exchange for the additional gold I mentioned. It really is necessary.”

“If it’s so necessary, why don’t you tell me what it’s all about?”

Darvin grimaced again, not caring if the captain saw him or not. “There’s a problem,” he began. He then explained that the plague had erupted in Reth and had to be contained, lest the disease spread beyond the city’s walls and into the countryside—into the midst of the various armies on the field of battle. When he was finished, he eyed Beltrim Havalla, wondering if the man would be willing to put his forces at risk by getting so near to the disease-ridden city.

After a long and rather uncomfortable silence, Havalla asked, “Do I have permission to cut down any man, woman, or child trying to leave the city?”

Darvin nodded without hesitation.

“What about the Reach? How are you going to keep ship traffic from coming and going?”

Darvin had considered that already. “I know someone who has enough ships at his disposal to keep them hemmed in,” he said. He made a note to talk to Falagh about that as soon as he returned to Arrabar. “So what do you say?”

“I say, it doesn’t look like we have much of a choice, do we?” Havalla answered. “If we don’t hold it back, it’ll chew right through my armies, and everyone else’s. It’ll be the Battle of Nun all over again.”

“It really is necessary,” Darvin said again, rising. “Remember, by sunrise, if at all possible.”

Beltrim sighed. “I’ll have to march them all night, and they will be in fine humor by morning, but I think we can do it.”

“Excellent,” Darvin said. “I’ll make sure the gold is on its way immediately.”

As he began to put his magical boots to use once more, Darvin heard Beltrim say, “You do that.” Then he was gone, teleporting back to the Generon.

Everything was nothingness around Emriana.

The girl feared that she was becoming nothingness, too. Only her thoughts seemed to hover there, letting her cling to the notion that she still existed. She had to concentrate to keep everything else.

The sensation of being totally blind, of not having her eyes adjust to even the tiniest bit of light, had at some point begun to terrify the girl. And though she could feel her own body, could touch naked skin in that nothingness, it was horrific not to be able to

see her fingers wiggling in front of her face. She had to fight to convince herself that not being able to see them did not make them any less real.

Emriana was neither cold nor hungry, nor could she feel any air move when she breathed. Her buttocks never became numb or sore from sitting. Time did not seem to pass for her, except for her thoughts. Something told her that she could remain like that forever, just thinking. And the longer her thinking went on, the less substantial the rest of her might become. She might altogether cease to exist physically, just floating in the black void, a consciousness trapped.

Emriana fought against that image. She needed to remind her senses to work, needed to keep moving, functioning. She had tried singing—when? how long ago?—thinking that hearing herself would help, but she was unnerved by the way her voice sounded in that place. Instead she reached out around herself.

The walls imprisoning the girl were certainly real enough. She could feel them when she pushed out with her hands. Beyond that sensation, though, they had no substance, no qualities. They were neither hot nor cold, smooth nor rough. They simply held her in the midst of the nothingness. She could follow the surface with her hands, rising to her knees and finding eight corners. She could not quite stand, for the ceiling was too low. And she could not quite lie down, either. It was a box just big enough for her to sit, to draw her knees up to herself protectively, to waste away.

Junce Roundface had not been lying when he had told her she would spend a long, long time in there. That thought nearly made her start screaming again.