The Night Parade (26 page)

Knowing that she would not be able to sleep as long as she wore the locket, Krystin removed the cold metal amulet and placed it in her pouch. She curled up behind Myrmeen, looked at the scars on the woman’s back, and remembered her words: They can be marks of courage. I have several myself, each with its own story to tell.

While Myrmeen slept, Krystin gently traced each of the dozen scars she counted on Myrmeen’s back and tried to imagine where the woman had received each one. There were battles with the Black Robes, the Zhentarim, she was certain. Others had come from the raking talons of ores and hobgoblins. A fall from a great height, bucked from an evil dragon, accounted for another scar, and the fiery bolts of a clan of wizards, yet another. At least one, she was certain, had come from the hand of an over-enthusiastic lover.

When she could no longer bear to stay awake, Krystin put an arm over Myrmeen, pressed her face into the woman’s neck, and allowed sleep to come for her.

That night, the nightmares left them in peace.

Sixteen

By Myrmeen’s estimate, they had traveled six miles along the shores of the Calim River before Shandower signaled for the group to halt. They had been driven into the mountainous regions high above the river, making casual detours to the beach an impossibility. For the last two hours they carefully had made their way along one of the many tiers of rock chiseled from a cliff above the Shining Sea. The trail had been known only to Shandower. Before long, the path dipped treacherously and they were forced to lead their mounts. Their boots and the frightened animals’ hooves slid too often for the comfort of anyone but Shandower, who had grinned as they had made their way down to a midlevel rise. The cliffs edge sagged, then rose again.

They were stopped before a bare section of sienna rock. The rich blue sky played host to soft white mushroom clouds that might have been kingdoms for fairy folk, or so Krystin had imagined them, to help relieve the boredom of the journey. Far below, white foam licked at the rocks that composed the sea’s pleasant shoreline.

There’s nothing here, Myrmeen thought, then realized, that’s exactly the point. Shandower would not hide an object that could cripple an entire race of beings where people were likely to stumble’ upon it every day.

“Prepare yourselves,” Shandower said as he leaned forward and kissed the closest stone. Before any of the travelers could wonder if he had lost his mind, the rocks faded, revealing a huge black mouth on the cliffs surface. One of the mounts reared, and Reisz quickly brought the creature under control, though the unexpected proximity of sorcery had set his own nerves jangling.

Krystin’s eyes adjusted first to the sudden darkness before them. “Caverns,” she said.

At the sound of her voice, the darkness was replaced by a soft yellow light that intensified as thousands of candles suddenly were lighted, one by one, in a pattern not unlike falling dominoes. The light revealed a breathtaking expanse of towering columns and branching pathways that were the soft brownish white of a dust storm, or memories faded by time. Myriad dripping stalactites, resembling icicles made of soft, burnished stone, hung from above. Craggy depressions interrupted the fine line work wrought by nature within the main gallery.

Shandower led them inside, where they found an area laid out for the mounts to graze upon. “We’ll have to carry everything from here.”

The friends gathered their supplies and followed Shandower as he led them through the labyrinthine depths of the caves that had served as his home when he was not waging his war.

“Can anyone follow us?” Myrmeen asked.

“No,” Shandower said calmly. “The winds will wipe away our tracks, and the magic that allowed us to come inside is very particular. I don’t think any of the Night Parade will be able to get past its test for admittance.”

“Why’s that?” Myrmeen asked.

“Because only love can open this doorway,” he whispered.

He guided the party to a small cavern where a boat sat upon a small pool of water. Ord and Reisz handled the rows for the one-armed man and soon they were floating across the waters in Shandower’s boat. They passed beneath a canopy of rapierlike stalactites and drifted into a darkened passage.

Krystin gasped as they entered a grotto that was lighted, not by arcane fires, but by something that appeared more majestic from a distance, and somewhat distasteful up close. “Glowworms,” Ord said with a laugh. Krystin ignored his words. The view was spectacular. The chamber’s jet-black, craggy roof was covered with tiny greenish white lights that sometimes flickered like stars and were grouped in patterns as beautiful as the constellations.

“The fibers are sticky. They attract flies. That’s why the lights flicker, when a fly is caught,” Ord said. Krystin sighed. She had not heard a word. “The wall sealed itself behind us when we came in,” Myrmeen said. “If this place is secure and there is no other way in or out, why is the air so fresh?”

“There is a pit at the center of the caverns,” Shandower said. “It drops to an incredible depth and the walls are un-climbable, the shaft very slick and nearly bottomless. Air comes in from a small crevice at the base and through tiny cracks all about this place.”

“What about the apparatus?” Ord said sharply. “You said it’s here, didn’t you?”

“There’s a niche on the wall of the pit,” Shandower said as they passed into a well-lighted chamber. There they anchored the boat and walked to a heavy, wooden door that opened when Shandower raised his hand before it. “The apparatus rests in a box jammed into the niche.” “That’s all the protection it has?” Reisz asked. “No, it’s guarded by spells purchased from the finest sorcerers in the Realms. Even I cannot touch it.”

They spent several hours exploring the wing that Shandower had secured for himself, surprised by the furnishings in many rooms. There were silk sheets, plush bedspreads, and ornate chairs, tables, and bureaus. These items stood out in sharp contrast to the frequently arched ceilings. Some of the chambers had flat ceilings, others were adorned with stalactites, and many were blasted smooth by hand or magic.

Reisz urged Krystin to follow him through a small keyhole-shaped opening. They promised the others that they would return shortly, then departed. Reisz was concerned with the sudden change he had noted in Krystin’s behavior toward Myrmeen. He had been encouraging Myrmeen to make peace with the girl, but now his instincts were warning him that perhaps Krystin was not to be trusted. Her acidic tongue had relaxed to allow gentle and kind words to leave the girl’s mouth, and that unnerved him terribly.

They entered a glowing crystal cave. The walls and unusual formations lining the cave appeared to have been carefully sculpted from glass and lighted by a secret inner fire. Even the ground beneath them radiated a pure silver light that glowed bright in places then dimmed and resurfaced several feet from its last manifestation.

Reisz swallowed hard. He was not certain how to get what he wanted from this situation, or exactly what he hoped to prove. You’re overreacting, he scolded himself. The child’s been through every hell imaginable, fought at your side. She deserves better than an old warrior’s suspicion.

Krystin surprised him by asking a series of questions about Myrmeen. She wanted to know when he first had met her and what Myrmeen had been like as a child. With a little coaxing, she even managed to get Reisz to relate the tale of Myrmeen’s embarrassing first mission as a ranger. She wanted to know everything, and the lights in her eyes danced with fascination at Reisz’s every word. When they were finished, he knew his suspicions were misplaced.

Krystin had stared into his face as he had spoken. He had beamed with pride, and the tiny scars marring his face had seemed much less noticeable. His face was relaxed, his eyes dancing with fire.

“You’re still in love with her, aren’t you?” Krystin said.

Watching his expression, she immediately understood her mistake. His eyes once again became dark, and he seized her wrist and dragged her from the crystal cave without saying another word.

They rejoined the others and spent what remained of the day becoming acclimated to their surroundings and enjoying a feast that Shandower prepared with their assistance from his well-stocked food stores. After eveningfeast, the Harpers and Shandower discussed the future of his private war, which he agreed could no longer remain as such. It was decided that Ord and Reisz would be sent to Berdusk in the morning to enlist the aid of the Harpers at Twilight Hall.

That evening, Shandower sat on a polished crystal bench in his chamber. He flexed the muscles in his remaining hand, darkly contemplating the magically charged gauntlet, which gleamed in the semidarkness. He whispered, “I wonder how many this one will kill?”

The assassin sat alone in the gloom for several minutes, until a sudden panic consumed him. He raced through the room, lighting every torch and candle, then he checked the oil in his lanterns and fired each one. Soon the room was bathed in light, the shadows fully dispelled. He paused, realizing that he was acting like a child who was afraid of the dark, or a madman.

Suddenly, he heard a sound from the corner of the room. His heart racing, he turned and held the gauntlet before him, the weapon suddenly wreathed in blue-white fire. A woman dressed in a beautiful white gown stood before him. She pulled back the shroud covering her face as she slowly approached him.

“Mahrissah,” he whispered, his senses rebelling at the sight of his dead wife. A trick! he thought. The monsters know everything. They are using the past to trick me.

The woman did not slow, even when green strands of lightning flared from the glove. Her face was stunning, if slightly pale, her dark eyes reflecting the light shining from his weapon. Her eyebrows moved together as she gave him a mock frown. Then she laughed, her almost red lips pulled back in a wicked smile that he had seen many times.

“Erin,” she said as she took his hand in hers, the arcane fires from his weapon snaking across her skin to no ill effect, “You don’t have to worry. I’ve come for you. It’s time for us. Finally, my love, our time may begin.”

“You’re not real,” he said.

She touched the side of his face with her free hand. Gently she raised his hand until the gauntlet was at eye level. “Take this thing off, that I may kiss your fingers, one by one. Then you may tell me if I am real.”

Shandower felt his legs weaken, and Mahrissah guided him to the bed they once had shared. “It can’t come off. Don’t you see, it’s fused to my skin. The magic—”

“The power does as you command,” she said. “You are afraid to be parted from your weapon and so it makes that a near impossibility. Will it and it may be so. Anything you will, anything you desire, may be made so. You have only to want it, only to want me.”

His lips trembled as he said, “Mahrissah, you died!”

“Yes,” she said as she caressed his fingers, touching only metal that was now cooling, the magic fading like the surrender of twilight to the darkness. “\bu buried me here, and you vowed that when it was your time, you would return here and we would be together. Erin, that time has come.”

“The battle-“

“Will be fought and won,” she said as she touched the stump of his severed arm. “You have already given too much. Come with me and be whole.”

“I don’t know,” he whispered in anguish. “I can still feel it, do you understand? My hand, the one that is gone, I can still feel it.”

She leaned forward and kissed the gauntlet. “Surrender your avenging sword, Erin. You have done enough. Your reward has come. Do not torture yourself anymore.”

“Am I dying?” he asked dully.

“Yes. A clot of blood is racing to your brain. Your wounds were more severe than you knew. In moments your life will pass. Please, Erin,” she said as she bit her lip, “You cannot face what comes next if you are determined to bring the tools of slaughter with you.”

Shandower stared at the skin surrounding the base of the gauntlet. The weave of flesh connecting the two was coming apart, and suddenly his hand was no longer fused to the weapon. “Take it off for me,” he said in desperation, “Hurry!”

Mahrissah did as he asked, her eyes alight with rapture as she discarded the weapon and allowed the bare flesh of his hand to close around hers. Suddenly her grip became too tight and she said, “Watch my eyes, Erin, and see the truth.”

Within her eyes he saw a particular patch of darkness, which the light had not been able to ward off, a tiny splash of shadow that threatened to grow and fill the canvas of his thoughts with nightmares engineered to drive him to the point of madness and beyond.

“Kill yourself,” a voice whispered from the darkness.

Shandower rose and walked to a display of edged weapons he had collected from the corpses of the monsters he had killed. His fingers were inches from the hilt of a dagger, which he planned to ram into his own throat, when he identified the owner of that voice.

By then it was too late.

Seventeen

Myrmeen found Krystin sitting at the edge of the pit where Shandower had secreted the apparatus. Her long legs hung over the edge and she kicked absently as if she were trying to swim through the darkness that seemed to rise from below. Myrmeen sat beside her, tucking her legs beneath her, afraid of the abyss waiting beyond the shaft’s cleanly polished lip.

The locket was in Krystin’s hand, and she stared at its emerald surface in frustration. “So close,” she whispered. “I’m sorry?” Myrmeen asked. “I didn’t hear you.” “Nothing,” Krystin said as she slipped the locket into her breast pocket and looked at Myrmeen with eyes that mirrored the older woman’s sadness and exhaustion.

They sat quietly, appreciating each other’s company, when a sudden flicker of memory came to Myrmeen, chilling her. “By the gods,” she whispered. “What’s wrong?” Krystin asked.

Myrmeen hesitated, then decided she would never keep secrets from Krystin again. Haltingly, she began her story.

“Fourteen years ago I did something terrible. It was the night of the great storm. I guess I was delirious with pain. I couldn’t think clearly. I know that’s no excuse, but—”