Son of Thunder (37 page)

Geildarr knocked her to the floor and pinned her against the red carpet under his weight. Ardeth writhed and twisted under his full bulk. He lifted the bone dagger and drove it into her shoulder. She let out an unearthly squeal as it easily sliced her shadow-flesh. When Geildarr pulled out the weapon, he saw a flash of yellow ignite inside her.

He glanced at the dagger in puzzlement. Geildarr had examined it himself years before and found it to be completely ordinary. One of his useless relics, Moritz had termed it.

A realization struck Geildarr. Moritz must have asked Sememmon to weave a new enchantment into the dagger.

Moritz had berated Geildarr for collecting worthless relics of the past—this must be his sense of irony at work.

Geildarr guessed that Sememmon had infused it with the stuff of sunshine.

Sungar and the others watched in amazement as Geildarr struck again and again, sinking the dagger into Ardeth’s flesh. Each time he withdrew the dagger, her wails grew louder as explosions of light tortured her dark form from the inside. The bursts of sunlight grew brighter, blanketing the room with flashes of white light.

Finally, Geildarr drove the cruel dagger into Ardeth’s face. With a single flash brighter than any sun, her black form disintegrated beneath him. He flopped to the floor, falling flat on the carpet, now marked with an inky black stain beneath him.

The Heart of Runlatha rolled out from under him, toward the door from which he and Ardeth had come. But before the Thunderbeasts could move to claim it, another man emerged from the doorway and picked up the Heart in his hand.

He was tall, handsome, and black-haired, and he wore long blue robes that flowed down to the floor. He held a long staff topped with a black bat in his free hand. He was an imperious, impressive figure; his expression was calm and self-satisfied, showing no fear.

Kellin, Sungar, Thluna, and Lanaal held their weapons ready. But they were uncertain who to fight.

“You may kill Geildarr if you like,” said the deep voice of the wizard, as he looked directly at Sungar. “You have every right, and I won’t stop you. But know this: he rules Llorkh at the Zhentarim’s pleasure. When word of today’s disaster reaches them, they will be highly displeased. I’ll wager that Geildarr doesn’t have more than four or five days to live. And if I know Geildarr, I imagine those last days will be spent in fear and dread as he desperately schemes for a way to save his skin. But the Zhentarim do not tolerate failure, and they can neither be reasoned with nor hidden from. At least—” he added with a dark chuckle “—not by Geildarr. Chieftain Sungar, the torments you endured in Geildarr’s dungeon are but a shadow of what Fzoul will inflict on the Lord Mayor.”

Geildarr pulled himself to his knees and turned to the tall wizard. “Please,” he gulped. “Help me, help me now—” he pronounced the name carefully,”—Sememmon.” The name sent a shiver of recognition through Kellin, which brought a touch of a smile to the former Master of Darkhold.

“Do you not think you’ve had enough chances?” the wizard asked, tapping his staff against the floor, catching part of Geildarr’s robe.

“Please,” Geildarr said, dropping his face to the floor before Sememmon, gripping the bottom of his quarterstaff in a gesture of submission. If the barbarians would only believe that this was a wizard of extreme power before whom he supplicated himself, perhaps they would be humbled into submission, into sparing him. “I’ll do anything you say,” Geildarr said. “Protect me, save me—”

“Save your groveling for Fzoul,” said Sememmon. “But it won’t do any more good with him than with me.”

“The Heart of Runlatha,” said Thluna from across the room.

“What of it?” Sememmon snapped at the young barbarian.

A nervous shiver ran through Thluna’s limbs. “We need it.”

“No, my Uthgardt friend, I think not.” He looked at the glowing artifact. “When I have a Netherese artifact in my hands, I’m not about to let go of it.”

Geildarr admired the economy with which Moritz, in the guise of Sememmon, voiced his threat. He clutched the staff more tightly.

“We will not let you leave with it,” Sungar threatened.

“You won’t be able to stop me, I’m afraid. Consider your lives my gift to you, and only because you’ve caught me in a generous mood. You’ve accomplished nearly everything you set out to do. I’m sure your god is adequately pleased.”

Geildarr turned to them from his position kneeling in front of Moritz. “Join me and fight him,” he said. “He’s not a wizard … not the wizard he appears to be. He’s just a gnome… a gnome named Moritz wearing Sememmon’s face. He’s an illusion—a weakling gnome! We can defeat him! A gnome!”

Sungar, Kellin, Lanaal, and Thluna frowned, exchanging puzzled looks. Was this true?

This brought a chuckle to Moritz, a perfect replication of Sememmon. “You see the desperate scheming I was talking about?” He looked down at the mayor of Llorkh. “Geildarr, did I ever tell you what happened when one of Manshoon’s clones attacked me during the Manshoon Wars? I plucked his beating heart from his chest!”

“Sememmon did that, Moritz,” said Geildarr. “Not you.”

“Good-bye, Geildarr. Give my best to Fzoul. For that matter, give my best to Cyric.” He finished with a smug look and a slight wave.

A moment later, confusion crossed his face. Moritz’s illusionary brow furrowed as he found himself unable to teleport out of the Lord’s Keep.

“Sememmon isn’t the only one who can toy with magic,” spat Geildarr. He thrust the dagger at the image of Sememmon, driving it into his abdomen. The illusion flickered and fell, and the stately wizard was replaced by a red-garbed gnome, a blackwood cane in one hand and the Heart of Runlatha in the other. He howled at the dagger, embedded in his shoulder and now sending a cascade of blood down his crimson clothing.

“Attack!” shouted Geildarr.

All looked to Sungar. The chief took one step forward and swung his battle-axe down on Moritz. Moritz lifted his cane to deflect the blow. The blackwood repelled the assault, but snapped in two under the impact.

Sungar felt a strange new energy flowing from the axe. The ancient weapon was closer to the Heart of Runlatha than it had been in many centuries.

With Sungar charging at him, Moritz hopped backward through the doorway and ducked. Muttering an arcane syllable, he vanished on the spot, along with the Heart. His red tricorn hat fluttered to the ground. Sungar stopped, puzzled.

“He cannot teleport from inside the Lord’s Keep,” shouted Geildarr. “He’s invisible.”

Faint footfalls were audible from down the hallway as small, unseen feet jumped over the fallen pedestals. Thluna and Sungar bolted after their quarry.

“Where will he go?” asked Kellin.

“He’ll try to get outside, especially since he’s hurt,” said Geildarr, pulling himself to his feet. “He’ll try for my balcony or a secret door behind the bookcase down the hall.”

“Look after him, Lanaal,” said Kellin, running down the hallway after them.

Lanaal raised her sword and rested the curve of its blade against Geildarr’s neck. “Not a word, not an incantation, or I take your head,” Lanaal promised.

“Fair enough,” said Geildarr. He asked her, “How did an elf maid like yourself come to be fighting alongside barbarians?”

“Strange times,” Lanaal answered.

“You remind me of another elf woman I met once,” he said. “Her name was Ashemmi. Have you heard of her?”

Lanaal said nothing, but raked her short sword against Geildarr’s throat, drawing a line of blood.

Geildarr’s eyes turned down toward the dark spot on the carpet, stained by the disintegrating shadowstuff of Ardeth’s body. If he were truly brave, he thought, why shouldn’t he let the elf kill him here and now?

Shaquintar, wizard tyrant of Runlatha, died in the fall of Netheril.

Lucky fool.

Something drove Sungar on as he raced down the hallway, hopping over debris. It was the axe, pushing him forward with its will and giving him a wild new strength. Sungar had wielded the axe hundreds of times before and had never known anything like this. It invigorated him, inspired him. His will and that of the axe were merged, fighting as one. He fancied that he could feel Berun, and Uthgar, and the imprints of all who had ever touched the axe, and that they were wielding it alongside him.

As he reached the end of the hallway, he slammed into a table—an invisible table that had been placed in his way. It dug into his belly and stole the wind from his gut. The axe flew from his grip, landing on the floor in the middle of Geildarr’s study.

A faint wind blew in this room, from the wide-open doors to the balcony. Bookshelves lined the walls—Sungar had never seen so many books, had scarcely seen them at all. A passageway built into a bookcase hung open.

On the floor, the axe trembled.

Regaining his footing, Sungar hopped over the invisible table and into the study. He snapped up the axe and prepared to dive after the gnome down the hidden staircase. Kellin and Thluna arrived behind him, shoving the table aside.

But as Sungar leaped toward the passageway, he felt the axe tremble in his hands. A strange red glow enveloped its head.

It pulled him the other way.

Sungar didn’t resist, but let the axe guide him, turning with its coaxing until it pointed to a corner of the study next to the balcony.

Suddenly, a burst of red radiance pulsed on the head of the axe. The new energy flowed across the room, and the artifact to which the axe was magically tied, the Heart of Runlatha, pulsed in return. As it had done at the Sanctuary, it dissolved all illusions, all invisibility, slicing through anything that kept the Heart hidden. Moritz the Illusionist was revealed before Geildarr’s bookshelf. The gnome staggered from his bleeding wound, and he clutched the Heart of Runlatha in one hand.

Moritz frowned at the barbarian chief and slowly shook his head.

“Sememmon’s not going to like this,” he said. And with the last of his strength, he ran for the balcony.

Sungar bolted after him, axe raised. The gnome reached the balcony’s rail and took a flying leap just as Sungar brought the mighty axe down, burying it deep into the floor. Moritz vanished over the side.

Thluna and Kellin rushed to join him. Sungar smiled, holding up the axe. Blood clung to the blade.

At his feet lay the Heart of Runlatha, clutched within a diminutive hand.

Kellin looked over the balcony just in time to see a falling body vanish into the dusty haze that encircled the Lord’s Keep. A trickle of falling blood traced its path downward.

Sungar plucked up the gnome’s arm and pried the Heart from its grip. He felt its warmth and held it up to his eye to inspect it closely, as one might a jewel. He turned to face Thluna and Kellin.

“Now,” he said. “Is someone going to tell me what this damned thing is?”

“Was Moritz killed?” asked Geildarr when they returned to him in the anteroom. Lanaal lifted the blade from his neck and stepped back to join Sungar, Kellin, and Thluna, who held the Heart of Runlatha.

“Perhaps not killed,” said Kellin.

Sungar held up the severed arm and threw it down at Geildarr’s feet.

“His own flesh.” Geildarr nudged the hand with his boot. “No illusion. So he escaped?”

“He went over your balcony,” explained Kellin. “I saw him vanish into the dust, but I couldn’t tell if he teleported or not before he hit the ground.”

“You had best hope he didn’t escape,” said Geildarr. “You will find Sememmon to be an unforgiving enemy. My advice to you is to get rid of it fast. Wait—what am I saying?” He chuckled darkly. “Why am I giving you advice? If you keep it, Sememmon will do things to your tribe that’ll make you wish you never busted out of my dungeon.”

Sungar punched Geildarr in the face. The mayor’s head rocked back and struck the wall behind him.

“Was that blow in place of killing me?” said Geildarr, blood dribbling down his chin and onto his robe. “I wish you would kill me. Moritz wasn’t lying. There is little chance that the Zhentarim will let me live, and if they do, it will be to endure a terrible punishment, far beyond anything your barbarian justice could comprehend.” His words carried a perverse pride.

Thluna looked at Thanar’s ruined body lying on the stairway. “Many of our men have died, thanks to him,” Thluna reminded Sungar.

“And how many of my people did you kill?” asked Geildarr. “How many of my people are still dying out there, while your behemoths continue to wreck my city?”

Sungar brandished his axe before the mayor. “We will let you live,” he declared.

“Somehow,” Geildarr gulped, “I’m still glad for that.”

The chief of the Thunderbeasts tilted the axe sideways and slammed its broad side into Geildarr’s head, throwing his world into blackness.

When Geildarr awoke, he wondered if it had all been a bad dream.

His head spun from the blows he had taken, and his vision was clouded with spots of light and dark. A bright light shone in his eyes from above him. He was sitting in a chair. He recognized the second floor dining hall, damaged from fighting. The paintings on the walls hung askew.

A dead dwarf lay on the table in front of him, covered by the white table cloth.

Geildarr screamed. As he did so, he realized that he could not move his arms or legs, and he screamed louder, panicked. He grasped at the shreds of his wits and looked about to discover the reason for his paralysis.

He was bound to the chair, just as he had bound Sungar.

Through the tablecloth, Geildarr could see that the dwarf’s head faced him, one lifeless eye open, the other crushed in its socket. The undamaged eye stared at him through the shroud as if mocking him, blaming him.

He screamed again. It echoed off the walls of the room. He yelled for help, but no one was in the Lord’s Keep to hear him.

Geildarr screamed some more.

Finally, he laughed.

Vell saw himself staring at the surface of a pool of water, as if he were submerged and looking up. In the stillness he could see his reflection, but when he reached out to touch it, his image was lost in the ripples.