The Ghost King (22 page)

“I am not your enemy, Drizzt Do’Urden,” he said.

“What’d’ye do?” Bruenor demanded.

“The eye patch protects the mind from intrusion, magical or psionic,”

Jarlaxle explained. “Not fully, but enough so that a wary Drizzt would not be drawn again into that place where …”

“Where Regis’s mind now dwells,” said Drizzt.

“Be sure that I’m not knowin’ a bit o’ what ye’re talking about,” said Bruenor, planting his hands firmly on his hips. “What in the Nine Hells is going on, elf?”

Drizzt wore a confused expression and began to shake his head.

“It is as if two planes of existence, or two worlds from different planes, are crashing together,” Jarlaxle said, and all of them looked at him as if he had grown an ettin’s second head.

Jarlaxle took a deep breath and gave a little laugh. “It is no accident that I found you on the road,” he said.

“Ye think we ever thinked it one, ye dolt?” asked Bruenor, drawing a helpless chuckle from the drow mercenary.

“And no accident that I sent Athrogate there—Stuttgard, if you will—into Mithral Hall to coax you on the road to Spirit Soaring.”

“Yeah, the Crystal Shard,” Bruenor muttered in a tone that showed obvious skepticism.

“All that I told you is true,” Jarlaxle replied. “But yes, good dwarf, my tale was not complete.”

“Me heart’s skippin’ to hear it.”

“There is a dragon.”

“There always is,” said Bruenor.

“I and my friend here were being pursued,” Jarlaxle explained. “Nasty buggers,” said Athrogate.

“Pursued by creatures who could raise the dead with ease,” said Jarlaxle. “The architects of the Crystal Shard, I believe, who have somehow transcended the limitations of this plane.”

“Yup, ye’re losing me in the trees again,” said Bruenor.

“Creatures of two worlds, like Catti-brie,” Drizzt said.

“Maybe. I cannot know for certain. That they are of, or possess the ability to be of two dimensions, I am certain. From this hat, I can produce dimensional holes, and so I did, and threw one such item at the creature pursuing me.”

“The one what kept melting before me morningstars could flatten it out,” Athrogate explained.

“Plane shifting,” Jarlaxle said. “And it did so as my dimensional hole fell
over it, and the combination of two extra-dimensional magics tore a rift to the Astral Plane.”

“Then the creature’s gone,” said Bruenor.

“Forever, I expect,” Jarlaxle agreed.

“And ye’re needin’ us and needin’ Cadderly why, then?”

“Because it was an emissary, not the source. And the source …”

“The dragon,” said Drizzt.

“Always is,” Bruenor said again.

Jarlaxle shrugged, unwilling to commit to that. “Whatever it is, it remains alive, and with the terrible power to send its thoughts across the world, and send its emissaries out as well. It’s been calling forth minions from the realm of the dead with abandon, and perhaps”—he paused and looked back to the scene of the slaughtered beasts around them—“the power to call forth minions from this other place, this dark place.”

“What’re ye about, ye durned elf?” Bruenor demanded. “What did ye pull us along to?”

“Along the road that will find an answer for your dear daughter’s plight, I hope,” Jarlaxle replied without hesitation. “And yes, I put you beside Athrogate and I in our own quest, as well.”

“Ye dropped us in the middle of it, ye mean!” Bruenor growled.

“I’m wantin’ to punch yer skinny face!” Pwent shouted.

“We were already in the middle of it,” Drizzt said, and when all turned to regard him as he knelt there hugging Catti-brie, it was hard for any to disagree. Drizzt looked at Jarlaxle and said, “The whole world is in the middle of it.”

W
e cannot just wait here for them to assail us again at twilight!” a young wizard cried, and many others took up that refrain. “We do not even know if that will happen,” reminded Ginance, an older woman, a priest of Cadderly’s order who had been cataloging scrolls at Spirit Soaring since its earliest days. “We have never encountered such creatures as these … these lumps of ugly flesh! We know not if they have an aversion to sunlight, or if they broke off the attack at dawn for strategic reasons.”

“They left when the dawn’s light showed in the east,” the first protested. “That tells me we’ve a good place to start in our counterattack, and counter we must—aggressively.”

“Aye!” several others shouted.

The discussion in the nave of Spirit Soaring had been going on for some time, and thus far Cadderly had remained quiet, gauging the demeanor of the room. Several wizards and priests, all of them visitors to the library, had been killed in the brutal assault of the previous night. Cadderly was glad to see that the remaining group, some seventy-five men and women, most highly trained and skilled in the arcane or divine arts, had not given in to despair after that unexpected battle. Their fighting spirit was more than evident, and that, Cadderly knew, would be an important factor if they were to sort through their predicament.

He focused again on Ginance, his friend and one of the wisest and most knowledgeable members of his clergy.

“We don’t even know if Spirit Soaring is cleared of the beasts,” she said, quieting the exuberance.

“None are out biting at us, the vicious creatures!” the first mage argued. Ginance seemed at a loss to overcome the tidal wave of shouts that followed, all calling for action beyond the confines of the cathedral.

“You presume that they’re mindless, or at least stupid,” Cadderly finally put in, and though he hadn’t shouted the words, as soon as he started talking, the room went silent and all eyes focused his way.

The priest took a deep breath at that reminder, yet again, of his importance and reputation. He had built Spirit Soaring, and that was no small thing. Still, he remained unnerved by the reverence shown him, particularly given that many of his guests were far more seasoned in the art of warfare than he. One group of priests from Sundabar had spent years traversing the lower planes, battling demons and devils. Yet even they stared at him, hanging on his every word.

“You assume they ran away because they didn’t like the sunlight, rather than for tactical reasons,” Cadderly explained, carefully choosing his words. He shook his foolish nervousness away by reminding himself of his missing children, and the missing Bouldershoulder brothers. “And now you assume that if there were any more of the beasts still inside Spirit Soaring, they would rush right out ravenously instead of hiding away to strike at more opportune moments.”

“And what do you believe, good Cadderly?” asked the same young wizard who had been so fiery and obstinate with Ginance. “Do we sit and fortify, to prepare for the next onslaught, or do we go out and find our enemies?”

“Both,” Cadderly replied, and many heads, particularly the older veterans, nodded in agreement. “Many of you did not come here alone, but with trusted friends and associates, so I will leave it up to you to decide on the sizes and dispositions of battle groups. I would suggest both brawn and magic, and magic both divine and arcane. We don’t know when this … plague will end, or whether or not it will get worse, so we must do our best to cover all contingencies.”

“I would suggest groups of no less than seven,” said one of the older wizards.

They began talking amongst themselves again, which Cadderly thought best. Those men and women didn’t need his guidance on the details. Ginance came over to him then, still troubled about the notion that Spirit Soaring might be hosting some uninvited guests.

“Are all of our brethren available after last night?” Cadderly asked her.

“Most. We have two score or so brothers ready to scour Spirit Soaring—unless you would have some go out with the others.”

“Just a few,” Cadderly decided. “Offer our more worldly brothers—those who have spent the most time gathering herbs that might be used medicinally, who best know the terrain surrounding the library—to the various scouting teams sorted out by our many guests. But let us keep most of our own inside Spirit Soaring, as they know best the many catacombs, tunnels, and antechambers. That is your task, of course.”

Ginance took that great compliment with a bow. “Lady Danica would be most helpful, as would Ivan …” She paused at the sour look Cadderly flashed her way.

“Danica will be out of Spirit Soaring within a short time,” Cadderly explained. “Mostly in search of Ivan, who seems to be missing, and …”

“They’re safely in Carradoon,” Ginance assured him. “All three, and Pikel, too.”

“Let us hope,” was all Cadderly could reply.

* * * * *

A short while later, Cadderly sat on the balcony of his private room, looking southeast, toward Carradoon. So many thoughts fought for his attention as he worried about his children, about Danica who had gone out to look for them and for the missing Ivan Bouldershoulder. He feared for his home, Spirit Soaring, and the implications its downfall might have on his order and more personally, upon him. The horde of unknown monsters that had come against them so violently and determinedly had done little true damage to the cathedral’s structure, but Cadderly had felt the shatter of every window upon his own body, as if someone had flicked a finger hard against his skin. He was intimately bound to the place, and in ways that even he didn’t truly yet understand.

So many worries, and not least among them, Cadderly Bonaduce worried about his god and the state of the world. He had gone there, to the Weave,
and had found Deneir, he was sure. He had been granted spells the likes of which he had never before known.

It was Deneir, but it was not Deneir, as if the god was changing before his very eyes, as if Deneir, his god, the rock of philosophical thought that Cadderly had used as the foundation of his very existence, was becoming part of something else, something different, perhaps bigger … and perhaps darker.

It seemed to Cadderly as if Deneir, in his attempt to unravel the mystery of the unraveling, was writing himself into the fabric of the Weave, or trying to write the Weave into the
Metatext
and taking himself with it in the process!

A flash of fire from a wooded valley to the east brought Cadderly back to the present. He stood up and walked to the railing, peering more intently into the distance. A few trees were on fire—one of the scouting wizards had enacted a fireball, or a priest had called down a column of flame, no doubt.

Which meant that they had encountered monsters.

Cadderly swept his gaze to the south, in line with distant Carradoon, off beyond the lower peaks. He could see the western bank of Impresk Lake on that clear day, and he tried to take some solace in the water’s calm appearance.

He prayed that their near catastrophe was local to Spirit Soaring, that his children and Pikel had gone to Carradoon oblivious to the deadly horde that had come into the mountains behind them.

“Find them, Danica,” he whispered to the late morning breezes.

* * * * *

She had gone out from Spirit Soaring first that day. Going alone allowed Danica to move more swiftly. Trained in stealth and speed, the woman quickly put the library far behind her, moving southeast down the packed-dirt road to Carradoon. She stayed just to the side of the open trail, moving through the brush with ease and speed.

Her hopes began to climb as the sun rose behind her, with no sign of monsters or destruction.

But then the smell of burned flesh filled her nostrils.

Cautious, but still moving with great speed, Danica ran to the top of an embankment beside the road, overlooking the scene of a recent battle: a ruined wagon and charred ground.

The Baldurian wizards.

She descended the steep decline, noting the piles of melted flesh and having no difficulty recognizing them as the remains of the same type of monsters that had assaulted Spirit Soaring the night before.

After a quick inspection revealed no human remains, Danica glanced back to the northwest, toward Spirit Soaring. Ivan had been out gathering wood the night those four had left, she recalled, and typically, the dwarf did so to the sides of the eastern road—the very road upon which she stood.

Danica’s hopes for her friend began to sink. Had he encountered a similar shadowy horde? Had he seen the Baldurian wizards’ fight and come down to aid them?

Neither scenario boded well. Ivan was as tough a fighter as Danica had ever known, capable and smart, but was out alone, and the sheer numbers that had come against Spirit Soaring, and had obviously hit the four mighty wizards on the road, could surely overwhelm anyone.

The woman took a deep, steadying breath, forcing herself not to jump to pessimistic conclusions regarding the wizards, Ivan, or the implications for her own children.

They were all capable, she reminded herself again, supremely so.

And there were no human or dwarf bodies that she could identify.

She began to look around more carefully for clues. Where had the monsters come from, and where had they gone?

She found a trail, a swath of dead trees and brown grass leading northward.