The Summoning (40 page)

“How many times must I tell you?” Malik demanded. “I was crippled by that harlot Mystra’s truth magic and cannot lie! You may inspect everything I have taken.”

Vala reached for a coffer, but Galaeron put out a hand.

“He hasn’t lied to us yet, which is more than we can say for Melegaunt,” he said. The phylactery’s not here, or Wulgreth would be on us like a spider on flies.”

Takari turned to Jhingleshod. “Is there another place he lairs?” When the knight did not seem to register the question, she gingerly pushed his arm. “Are you still with us?”

The iron knight disappointed them all by meeting her gaze. “There is no other place. He stays near the butte.”

“Then he would store the phylactery somewhere visible from here.” Galaeron glanced toward the door. “As overgrown as the ruins are, it will take time to find.”

Melegaunt stepped in front of Jhingleshod. “I have done everything possible to keep my word, but there is more at issue here than Wulgreth. We will find the phylactery, I promise you, but Aris should be finished with his passage by now. Would it not be possible to take the Karsestone outside and summon Shade? There are thousands in the city, and they will help us search.”

Jhingleshod looked to Galaeron.

“It would be best,” Galaeron said. “Otherwise, it could take months.”

“Months?” The disappointment in Jhingleshod’s eyes was as easy to read as Galaeron had prayed it would be. The promise of the end to any ordeal could make days seem like tendays, and this looked to be as true for Jhingleshod as for an elf.

Glancing at his weary companions, Galaeron added, “I don’t know that we could survive that long.”

Jhingleshod waved Melegaunt toward the crawlway in the corner and said, “Summon your city.”

“A wise choice.” Though Melegaunt tried to sound restrained, the joy in his voice was unmistakable. “You won’t regret it.”

Giving Jhingleshod no time to change his mind, the wizard led the way through the green barrier. Vala, Takari, and Malik followed, with the iron knight next and Galaeron last

As the elf dropped through the door, a booming crash shook the cavern below. He looked down to see Melegaunt skittering across the silver pool on his back, limbs flaying and forks of magic dissipating against his spell guard. Leaping off the Karsestone after him was a skeletal form with a rotting, noseless face and lipless mouth. The filth-stained claws and fiery pinpoints in its empty eye sockets left no doubt that they had finally found Wulgreth.

Hurling himself into an oblique somersault, Galaeron grabbed his sword and had it half drawn by the time he splashed into the pool. He swam half a dozen strokes toward the rear of the cavern, then surfaced behind Jhingleshod.

The iron knight was splashing toward the battle behind Vala and Takari, his big axe raised to strike. At first Galaeron thought their guide was rushing to attack Wulgreth, but something inside much wiser and darker suggested otherwise. Jhingleshod had been trying to exterminate them since the sunken bridge. Had he not forced them to cross separately, so it would be easier for the undead to attack? After they survived that, he had led them through a savage gauntlet of wights and wraiths. When even that failed, he had found excuse after excuse to stall until Wulgreth returned. Probably, it had even been Jhingleshod who alerted the lich to their presence in the first place—after all, they had only his word that he had ever killed Wulgreth at all.

Galaeron swung at Jhingleshod’s neck. Even sharp elven

steel did not bite deep into the iron flesh, but it did catch the knight’s attention. He whirled around, his gruesome jaw hanging almost as low as his guard. Galaeron sprang for the opening, driving his sword at the knight’s exposed throat.

Jhingleshod’s arm flashed up, deflecting the attack almost before the elf saw it move. “Are you mad?”

“Hardly!” Galaeron slipped his free hand into his sleeve. “I see how you have been playing us.”

“Playing you?” A long crackle sounded from the melee behind Jhingleshod, prompting the knight to glance over his shoulder. “I am not one to play at anything.”

Galaeron pulled his hand from his sleeve, cupping a small glass rod, but Malik’s chubby arm knocked it away before the elf could cast the spell.

“Matters are bad enough without this shadow folly!” Malik pointed to the artistic trefoil passage Aris had cut into the side of the butte. “The giant told me there are phaerimm coming!”

Galaeron realized he should have been disappointed in himself, but he was not After learning of Melegaunt’s lies, the line between his shadow and himself had blurred. Suspicions that might have seemed groundless before were suddenly reasonable. He peered past Jhingleshod and saw that matters were, indeed, bad enough. Melegaunt was kneeling in the pool, beard scorched away and eyes glazed with pain. Only the constant attacks of Vala and Takari, harrying the lich from opposite sides, kept Wulgreth from finishing the wizard in a blow.

Jhingleshod let out an eerie wail and hefted his axe. Trusting more to Malik’s word than his own instincts, Galaeron pointed at Wulgreth’s head and summoned a spell. Vala lunged in, blocking Galaeron’s lightning bolt, and Takari attacked from the opposite side.

The lich flicked a finger and sent Takari stumbling away, wailing and shaking her head, eyes red with blood and fixed blindly ahead. Vala’s darksword took some small vengeance, slashing off a moldering arm, then whipping around to open Wulgreth’s side from spine to navel. Hissing and spitting in

anger, the lich grabbed her by the throat with its good arm.

Vala went instantly rigid, mouth gaping, eyes rolling back. Jhingleshod buried his axe deep into Wulgreth’s back, driving both the lich and the woman down beneath the pool’s silvery skin. The iron knight hefted his axe again, lidless eyes bulging as he tried to see beneath the surface. He began to shuffle through the basin, trying to locate his quarry with a series of savage kicks.

“Jhingleshod, you’ll break her ribs!”

“Galaeron?” This from Takari, who stood with her back to the wall and her sword weaving a blind-fighting pattern before her. “I can’t see.”

“You’re fine,” Galaeron said, realizing Vala was in the most danger. Even if the lich released her, its touch would leave her paralyzed and unable to return to the surface. “Stay there.”

“But Galaeron—”

She was interrupted by a startled cry from Melegaunt. The archwizard pointed his hand into the basin and started a spell, then vanished beneath the surface. Galaeron rushed forward, sweeping his sword back and forth across the bottom, trying to think of some spell that would allow him to find Vala before she drowned. Jhingleshod opted for a more direct method and dived under the surface.

A muffled crack rumbled out of the pool, then Melegaunt’s body floated to the surface, the smell of charred flesh rising from a hole in his back.

“Galaeron?” Takari called.

“Stand still,” Galaeron ordered, starting after the wizard. “Stab anything near you.”

His sword touched a body on the bottom of the pool. When it did not attack, he ducked down and grabbed hold of an armored elbow, then pulled Vala to the surface. She began coughing, spewing liquid magic from her nostrils and mouth. Dragging her along beside him, Galaeron went to Melegaunt’s side and rolled the archwizard over.

The spell had blown open Melegaunt’s whole chest. Incredibly, the archwizard’s heart continued to beat Galaeron could see it

“Meleg-ghaunt!” coughed Vala, more or less recovered from her near drowning. “He needs help!” She spun her head around the room. “Malik!”

Malik appeared in the mouth of Aris’s tunnel. “Quiet!” he hissed. “The phaerimm are already coming out of the forest.”

“We need to get him to Aris.” Vala motioned to Melegaunt

“Waste… of… time.” It was Melegaunt who gasped this. He grabbed Galaeron and pulled him close. “Promise me—”

A flurry of splashing near Takari interrupted the archwizard. She cried out and began to hack blindly at the pool.

“Where is it, Galaeron?” she yelled. “Which way?”

‘To your—”

“Elf!” Melegaunt boomed, jerking Galaeron to him with a strength born of his dying magic.

“Don’t worry, Melegaunt,” Galaeron said, trying to rise. “I remember: ‘Hear me now, People of Shade—

“No!” Melegaunt gasped, now loosing his strength. “You must leave it… to the princes, or you’ll be … lost.”

Galaeron started to promise, but stopped when the sour clang of a breaking sword sounded from the far wall. Takari cried out—no longer calling for him, just shrieking—and he turned to find her slashing at the pool with a broken sword, Jhingleshod and Wulgreth rolling across the surface in front of her.

Vala started across the pool. “Move left, Takari!” she yelled. “And don’t panic. I’m coming.”

“Malik!” Galaeron started toward the battle. “Hold Melegaunt”

“Galaeron!” Melegaunt demanded. “No more spells.”

“Yes, I promise.”

Seeing Malik approach, Galaeron started to push Melegaunt over—until the archwizard’s fingers dug deep into his arm, drawing blood and pouring a dark river of anguish into

him. Galaeron’s knees buckled, and he slipped beneath the surface, swallowing a mouthful of silvery liquid. Swirling shadows filled his mind, then he began to feel weightless and weak, and his last conscious thought was that Melegaunt had finally betrayed him, that the archwizard had used his shadow magic to switch bodies.

Then Malik was pounding him on the back, yelling in his ear. “Cough it out, stupid elf!”

A heavy blow landed on Galaeron’s back, then he opened his eyes to find Melegaunt floating in front of him, lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. He had no memory after his mind began to fill with swirling shadows, no idea how long he had been beneath the surface with Melegaunt—or of what had happened there. His mind felt heavy and clouded with darkness, his head ached as though it would split, and his lungs were burning for air. He had to have been under for a good long while.

Another blow landed on Galaeron’s back, and he realized the little man was holding him up by the collar, trying to hide behind the Karsestone while Jhingleshod continued to wrestle with Wulgreth. Vala stood pressed against the wall, one hand ineptly flailing at the lich with her sword, the other holding Takari’s broken and bloodied body above the surface.

“What happened?” Galaeron gasped. He could not help wondering just what Melegaunt had done to him—but now was hardly the time to puzzle it out, not with Takari wounded and the phaerimm on the way The last time he saw Takari, she was blind but still healthy. “What happened to my scout?”

“What do you think happened?” Malik released him. “Wulgreth struck her while you were doing your pool dance with Melegaunt’s corpse.”

“Pool dance?” Galaeron gasped. “Never mind! Keep a watch on the phaerimm.”

Galaeron shoved Malik toward the tunnel, then pushed off the Karsestone—and that was when he understood why they had not been able to find Wulgreth’s phylactery Liches

always stored their life-forces in something of great worth, something hard to destroy and harder to find.

Jhingleshod went limp and vanished beneath the surface. Wulgreth spun toward Galaeron, tiny forks of green lightning dancing on the fingertips of his one remaining arm. For an instant—for more than an instant—Galaeron thought the lich had finally destroyed its ancient servant. The elf thought he would be next.

Then Jhingleshod came up beneath Wulgreth, lifting him out of the pool. The lich twisted his one arm around behind his back, fingers spraying his life-stealing magic into Jhingleshod’s iron breastplate. A loud, watery knelling echoed off the cavern walls, and Jhingleshod wailed in unearthly pain. Had the magic been powerful enough to destroy him, Galaeron knew, the lifeless knight would gladly have endured the suffering. As it was, it only melted a hole in his armor and filled the air with a forgelike stench. Galaeron sloshed forward and plunged his magic sword into the lich’s fiery eye socket.

Wulgreth howled in rage, and the elven steel began to melt and sag. Galaeron started to blast the lich with his magic bolts, then remembered his promise to Melegaunt and drew his dagger, flinging it into the other eye in one smooth motion.

The blade sank deep—then vanished in a flash of blue flame.

“Galaeron!”

Galaeron glanced toward the voice and saw Vala’s black sword spinning toward him. The pool swirled around his legs as Wulgreth kicked at him. He dodged sideways, caught the black hilt and winced in pain—it was still as cold as a night hag’s kiss—then brought the dark blade across the lich’s neck.

Wulgreth’s head toppled into the pool, then bobbed to the surface and spun toward Galaeron, eyes still burning with hatred. It shrieked, “You won’t destroy—”

And Galaeron brought the darksword down again, cleaving

the head in two, then forced himself to hold the flesh-freezing hilt and hack at the lich’s body until all of the pieces sank out of sight Then, when no counterattack came and he began to believe none would, something bumped his back. He turned to find the two halves of the skull still surging toward him. He cried out and backed away, raising the darksword to strike yet again.

“What are you doing?” Jhingleshod snatched the halves of the skull out of the pool. “Well need those!”

Galaeron stared at the iron knight in uncomprehending shock, then slowly began to understand that it was over, that Wulgreth had been hacked and blasted into so many pieces that it would take him the better part of a tenday to draw himself together again.

Galaeron lowered the sword. “That’s right,” he said, realizing that Jhingleshod believed they would destroy this Wulgreth in the same way they had the demilich. “Hold onto those pieces until we find the phylactery.”

Even had he the heart, Galaeron knew better than to tell the iron knight what he had surmised about the Karsestone. His heart feeling almost as cold and numb as the hand that held the darksword, he waded over to the wall and returned Vala’s blade, then laid his icy hand on Takari’s mangled shoulder.