Return of the Sorceress (24 page)

As he concentrated on working up another stream of acid, he wondered where the ivory-hued spiders had come from. They weren’t natural creatures, he was certain of that. The threads they spun were magically strong, and they moved more swiftly and operated with more intelligence than ordinary spiders. They were probably the leftover result of some wizard’s experimentation, he decided. Human mages were most untidy and often left magical creatures and objects strewn about the land. Ordinarily, Raedon didn’t mind all that much, for the mages’ negligence often resulted in him acquiring more magic items for his hoard. But these devil-spiders were one bit of mystical refuse he could’ve done without.

He spit once, twice, three times, and the last of the spiders fell toward the ground, their death shrieks cut short as the acid devoured them.

Raedon turned his head forward once more and let out a sigh of relief. He still trailed half dozen silver threads, but he would worry about removing them later. He was convinced that the spider grove wasn’t where Nearra had called to him from. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten detoured to the wrong place, and he didn’t care. Now he knew where to go.

He angled in the direction of the large stone keep and kept flying as fast as he could, despite his tired and sore wings. If he could just keep this speed up for a little longer, he would—

A sudden sharp pain lanced through the base of Raedon’s wing, and he roared in agony. It felt as if his wing was on fire, and for a moment, that’s exactly what he thought had happened—that some spellcaster—human, dragon, or otherwise—had directed a firespell at him. But when he looked back, he saw no flames, only a solitary ivory spider fastened to his wing and plunging its
fangs into the tender skin at the base over and over, injecting as much venom as it could.

He tried to perform a mid-air roll in order to dislodge the spider, but his left wing was starting to go numb and refused to cooperate. Raedon then shot a thin stream of acid—all he could produce at the moment—toward the spider. He missed, but the acid splashed close enough to his wing that several drops splattered onto the spider. The creature yanked its fangs out of Raedon’s flesh and squealed as the drops began to eat into its body. The spider lost its hold on Raedon’s wings, and the wind grabbed it and tossed it away.

Raedon was finally free of his annoying passengers, but it was too late. His wing was beginning to stiffen. If he didn’t land right away, he’d soon drop out of the sky and crash to the ground.

Raedon angled downward, jaw clenched tight as he tried to maintain control of his descent. But his wing quickly became worse, until it felt as if it had turned to stone. In the end, he lost control and began spinning, slowly at first, then with increasing speed, round and round, faster and faster, as the ground rushed up to meet him.

    E
lidor couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “It’s like—”

“Looking into a mirror?” his counterpart finished.

“Yes.” But not quite. The elf that stood in front of Elidor looked like him physically, but he wore a robe of a Silvanesti noble, the cloth so white that it almost seemed to glow, with a sky-blue sash wrapped around his waist. His blonde hair was longer than Elidor’s, and was bound into a ponytail that hung down his back. The elf wore a golden scabbard at his side, the metal embossed with elf runes. He held a long rapier in his hand, the hilt made of gold as well.

Elidor’s counterpart held the blade in a comfortable, easy grip, the same way Elidor would hold a throwing dagger or a lock pick, as if it were an extension of his body.

“Who are you?” Elidor demanded. “Did you have something to do with Davyn’s disappearance?”

“I don’t know anything about someone named Davyn,” the other elf said. “As for who we are, I thought it was obvious. I’m you, and they”—he gestured with his rapier at the others who had accompanied him out of the carcass of the hybrid creature—“are them.”

Elidor examined his doppelganger’s friends. Each resembled one of Elidor’s companions so closely that they might have been twins, except for some distinct and disturbing differences.

“There’s some manner of dark magic at work here,” Sindri said.

The black-robed kender sneered. “A brilliant observation,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “You really are as stupid as you look.”

“Thanks, I …” Sindri frowned. “Hey!”

“And you look completely ridiculous,” Catriona’s eye-patch wearing counterpart said to the warrior. “You’re nothing but a little girl running around Solamnia playing dress-up. You’re not a Solamnic Knight, and you never will be.”

Aside from the eye-patch, the hard-bitten woman differed from Catriona in several ways. She wore her hair short, the cut ragged, as if she’d hacked off her hair with a dull dagger. She also bore numerous scars on her face, neck, arms, and hands. She wore a battered iron breastplate and metal vambraces with sharp spikes jutting outward. Instead of dragon claws, she was armed with a short sword, the blade nicked and scratched from use.

Catriona scowled at her other self. “And from your attitude, I’d guess you to be a warrior without honor.”

The counterpart laughed. “Where we come from, there is no such thing as honor. Only kill or be killed, survive or die.”

“This can’t be real,” Ayanti said, shaking her head in denial. “It has to be like Sindri said, magic of some sort. An illusion.”

Ayanti’s doppelganger—coat and hair shaggy, wild, matted with dirt and blood—lashed out with a hand whose nails were so long and sharp that they were almost claws. The nails raked Ayanti’s cheek and the centaur cried out in pain.

“Did that feel like an illusion?” the wild centaur said in a guttural voice that was little more than a growl.

The other doppelgangers laughed, and above them all, the crowd of onlookers surrounding the Pit cheered.

“You hinted that you are from somewhere else,” Catriona said, knuckles white from gripping her dragon claws so tightly. “Where?”

“From Solamnia, of course,” the other Elidor said in a tone of contempt, as if he thought it beneath him to directly address a human. “But not
this
Solamnia.”

“I don’t understand,” Catriona said.

“Of course you don’t,” the black-robed Sindri said, dark amusement in his voice. “That’s because you lack even the most rudimentary scholastic training.”

The real Sindri leaned close to Catriona. “That means he thinks you’re stupid,” he whispered.

“I
know
what it means,” the warrior snapped.

Sindri’s doppelganger continued. “We are from a world much like your own, save that on our world, Takhisis won the War of the Lance.”

“And now the Dark Queen rules,” Catriona’s double said.

Sindri’s eyes widened in wonder. “The four of you are really from another world? How did you get here? Can you show me the way? Can I visit your world? It must be so different from here!”

Everyone ignored Sindri, including his dark twin.

“Takhisis sent us here on a mission,” the other Elidor said. “To prevent our sickeningly good counterparts—namely, you four—from interfering with Maddoc’s quest to possess the power of Asvoria.”

Sindri shook his head. “I don’t believe you. I can’t imagine anything—including Takhisis’ victory—that would make me choose to wear the black robes of an evil mage. I don’t believe that if any of my friends had been raised in such a hellish world that they would’ve grown up to become
you.
This is definitely some kind
of spell, and as soon as I figure it out—”

“You’ll do what?” the evil Elidor said. “Say a few magic words, wiggle your fingers in the air, and make us disappear?”

“Something like that,” Sindri admitted. “Though I’m still working out the precise details.”

“You’d better work fast then,” the black-robed Sindri said. “It’s awfully difficult to cast spells once you’re dead!” The evil kender wizard gestured and a dagger composed of pure shadow appeared in his hand. He threw the shadow dagger at Sindri, but Sindri raised his hand and a multicolored circle of energy appeared in the middle of his palm. The shadow-blade sank into the rainbow swirl and vanished without harming him. The energy circle winked out and Sindri lowered his hand, grinning with pleasure.

“I did it! I stopped the shadow-dagger!”

But before Elidor or the others could react, their evil counterparts came rushing at them, and the spectators above roared their delight.

The Silvanesti Elidor swung his rapier, the thin, sharp blade making almost no sound as it sliced through the air toward the real Elidor’s neck. Elidor managed to deflect the strike, but though the sword blade was as thin as paper, it hit the dagger with such force that pain blossomed in Elidor’s hand, almost causing him to drop his weapon.

Elidor heard the clanging of steel as the two Catrionas crossed weapons, the whinny-shriek of the wild centaur as it attacked Ayanti, and the chanting of a dark spell as the black-robed Sindri prepared to fling a spell at the original. But then he had no more time to worry about his friends, for the Silvanesti Elidor pressed his assault.

The Silvanesti thrust his blade toward Elidor’s heart, and the thief managed to turn sideways just in time to avoid being skewered. He chopped downward with one of his daggers, hoping
to knock the sword out of his other self’s hand, or if he was really lucky, perhaps even break his enemy’s blade. But whatever metal the elven sword had been made from was too strong for Elidor to do more than leave the slightest of scratches on its surface.

The Silvanesti swung the rapier around in a wide arc in another attempt to part Elidor’s head from his neck. But Elidor brought his left arm up and met the attack with one of his daggers. Again, the impact made his hand throb. However, that was far preferable to decapitation.

The Silvanesti moved with such grace, speed, and precision that it was all Elidor could do to retreat from his other’s self onslaught and fight defensively, blocking and turning aside blows without being able to strike any of his own.

The Silvanesti took a swipe at Elidor’s legs, but the thief jumped nimbly into the air and avoided injury. At the apex of his leap, Elidor heard Catriona cry out in pain.

He turned in her direction and saw that she was on her knees, dragon claws abandoned on the stone floor, right arm cradled against her chest. Blood poured from a ragged wound on her forearm, and the rogue Catriona stood back and grinned, the spikes on her vambrace smeared with crimson.

The rogue Catriona pressed the tip of her sword against the real Catriona’s throat and a single pearl of red welled forth. Though there was fear in Catriona’s eyes, she didn’t lower her gaze, didn’t beg for her life. She would meet her death with the same courage and dignity with which she’d attempted to live her life.

Elidor started to go to her aid, when he heard a soft swoosh of air. Fiery pain erupted in his right ear, and he felt warm blood gush down the side of his face and neck. He turned back to his attacker and the Silvanesti laughed.

“Now that I’ve taken the point of one of your ears, does that make you a Half-elf?”

Elidor reached up to touch his wound and found that two thirds of his ear had been cut off.

The Silvanesti Elidor’s upper lip curled in disgust. “You’re pathetic. What would your mother say if she could see you now? Though you are a half-breed, you were born into House Royal. If you had fully embraced the ways of the Silvanesti—as I did—you might’ve been accepted as one of them. But now look at you. You’re a disgrace, an insult to every Silvanesti who’s ever drawn breath.”

Though Elidor tried to ignore his doppelganger’s words, they cut deeper than any weapon forged of steel ever could. Guilt and self-loathing filled him, and he was tempted to drop his daggers and let his other self finish him off. He was a half-breed and he didn’t deserve to live.

“Don’t listen to him, Elidor! He’s trying to trick—” Sindri’s voice was suddenly cut off. Elidor turned to look at his friend and saw the kender had been caught in the grip of a giant disembodied hand formed from shadow. The black-robed Sindri looked on in cruel amusement as the little mage struggled to free himself from the enchantment to no avail. The evil kender’s magic was simply too strong.

Black-robed Sindri grinned and made an exaggerated squeezing motion with his hand. In response, the giant shadow hand tightened its grip on Sindri, cutting off the kender’s air.

Ayanti!
Elidor thought. Perhaps she could—But then he saw her, lying on the stone floor of the Pit several yards away. The wild centaur stood over her, a forehoof planted in the middle of Ayanti’s throat. All the feral creature would have to do was press down hard and Ayanti would be finished.

Catriona, Sindri, Ayanti … as impossible as it seemed, they had all been defeated. Only Elidor remained standing.

The crowd began chanting. “Kill him, kill him, kill him!”

The Silvanesti Elidor slowly smiled. “What do you think? Shall we give our audience what they want?” He moved the tip of his rapier in slow circles, as if to taunt Elidor further.

It’s over. You might as well give up.