Emerald Sceptre (26 page)

What the—? Vambran wondered, watching the floating sword warily. When it shot toward the lieutenant a third time, he deftly stepped aside and swiped at the blade with his hand, trying to knock

it from the air to the floor. He managed to strike the sword upon its hilt and redirect its flight slightly, but the sword recovered and zipped away, into the deeper darkness beyond the range of Vambran’s coin.

The mercenary waited, listening. The sword did not appear again for several moments, and Vambran wondered if he had scared it off with his strike. Still, he wanted to be sure, so he turned his gaze all about, seeking some sign that the blade was coming again.

When the sword did strike, Vambran did not see it, for it attacked him from behind. It caught the lieutenant in the small of the back, but thankfully, it was a glancing blow and not a direct stab. Even so, Vambran staggered from the impact and felt burning pain erupt in the wound. The sword danced away into the darkness as Vambran staggered over to a wall and placed his back against it, watching for more attacks and speaking the words of a healing orison.

The mercenary had barely managed to complete the spell to soothe his wound when the sword slashed in again. Vambran ducked and the blade struck hard against the wall behind the mercenary. The collision did not seem to confound the weapon, which skittered sideways along the wall and disappeared once more.

How am I going to fight this thing? Vambran wondered. I don’t even have a blade of my own. Then he had an idea.

Grasping his coin once more, Vambran visualized the magic he wanted to use, and with the words on the tip of his tongue, he waited patiently. Sure enough, the sword came swooping in again, trying to catch the mercenary off guard by dashing down from the ceiling. Vambran almost didn’t notice in

time, but he spotted the enchanted blade at the last moment, leaned out of the way, and cast the spell he had readied.

As his magic dampening prayer radiated out from his coin, Vambran watched the sword plummet to the floor, motionless. Before it could grow active again, Vambran leaped on top of the blade and pinned it to the stones. He reached down and gingerly grasped it by the hilt. When the sword didn’t react, Vambran eased it out from under his foot and let it rest in his hand, testing its balance and weight. It was a fine blade, well crafted, and was still shiny and free of corrosion. He wondered what sorts of enchantments had been placed on it, or if it might suddenly animate and attack him again. He considered pinning it beneath a heavy rock, hoping to preclude the weapon from coming after him again, but he decided to hold onto it for a while instead, in the event of any other kinds of trouble.

Vambran turned his attention once more to the task of finding the center of the great building, feeling certain that an inner door inside the circular hallway would lead there. But because the building had tipped when it came to rest, the lieutenant had to walk on the inner, rounded wall. As he followed that wall around, the descent became steeper and steeper. Eventually, he was forced to return to his spidery wall-walking to keep from slipping right down the curved slope into the depths below.

When Vambran had traveled perhaps a quarter of the way around the path and it appeared to him that he was in a nearly vertical shaft, he discovered a broad double door leading deeper into the building. He clung to the wall next to the portal and tested it, but the door appeared to be warped in its frame and

wouldn’t budge. Vambran remembered his newest gift of arcane sorcery, and despite the terrifying results of its previous use, he decided to employ it once more. Backing up a few steps, he gestured and watched as the doors groaned and rumbled, forcing their way open. As the twin panels parted, Vambran peered inside.

The chamber beyond was magnificent. The soft glow of colored illumination was the first thing that caught the lieutenant’s eye—points of light scattered in random locations around the periphery of the room. He wasn’t sure what was creating the lights, but enough of them were present, giving off a soft glow, that he could see without difficulty. The chamber was huge and round, as he had suspected from traversing the outer hallway. It was capped by a domed ceiling, with columns throughout the hall, many of which still held it predominately intact. A number had broken away, their remains littering the lowest surface, what Vambran thought of as the back wall.

The floor itself was not flat but rather bowl shaped, with rows and rows of benches in concentric circles filling it at one time, all facing toward the center, a theater in the round. In the center, a dais stood high enough that all in attendance would have been able to see without hindrance. A large stone altar, built to be one continuous fixture together with the dais, still remained in place. The intricately carved cube jutted out almost horizontally from its base.

Vambran was mesmerized. Somehow, he knew that it was the chamber spoken of in the sea elves’ histories, the same one Arbeenok had seen in his vision. He was standing in a place of history, wondrous history. The thought made him eager and sad at the same time.

All of this had been wrought to endure, he realized. It was built to withstand the test of time. And in a way, it has, though not as they would have wanted it. A shame.

Still using his magical climbing, Vambran stepped through the doorway and moved inside. He still held the sword he had subdued, afraid to release it lest it attack him, but thus far it had remained quiescent. Taking a deep breath to control his excitement, Vambran decided to investigate the sources of light first.

The glittering specks were clusters of gems, put together as flowers, and as best as Vambran could tell, they had been enchanted with minor magic that caused them to glow. Nothing more, he thought. And they function still, fifteen centuries later. The simple beauty of them made the lieutenant grin. He considered prying one loose from its mounting, a token to take back with him, but the idea appalled him for some reason.

I’m here for one thing only, Vambran told himself. And people on the surface are waiting.

Turning his back on the curious glowing gem blossoms, Vambran began to cross the vast floor toward the center, traversing it on hands and feet since it was nearly vertical. He was careful to avoid the benches that still clung to their mountings, fearful that he might dislodge one and send it crashing to the bottom of the room. Even with his caution, he dislodged a number of fragments of stone. The floor had buckled and shifted during its tumble to the bottom of the sea, leaving myriad cracks and fissures throughout the stonework.

At last, Vambran arrived at the dais. Clinging to the surface near it, he began to circle around the

altar, wondering if it might not be protected by some mechanical or arcane traps. He wondered how he was going to open it. The etchings on the box were a mixture of runes and images. The pictures he recognized easily enough—stylized faces, creatures, and landscapes—but he had no idea what the runes said. He did not even recognize most of the symbols, though some of them were distantly similar to modern ones.

Vambran was just about to crawl onto the altar to make a closer examination of it when he felt a faint vibration in the stone beneath his hands and feet. A momentary surge of panic struck him, and he wondered if he were feeling some sort of earthquake. The vibration grew stronger and the lieutenant feared that chunks of the chamber would begin to loosen and fall, possibly right on top of him. As if to prove him a prophet, a column cracked and tumbled down, missing the altar by perhaps a sword length. It hit the lowest end of the room with a thundering concussion, jarring everything in the chamber, including the mercenary.

I don’t want to be in here, Vambran decided, turning to scramble out of the chamber. I’ll come back after the earth has finished growling.

He was perhaps halfway across the floor when the lowest surface of the chamber erupted in a spray of stone. The force of the burst nearly shook Vambran free of his perch and sprayed him with shards of rock, even at his considerable distance. As the dust billowed up, Vambran looked down.

A gargantuan worm-thing the color of amethysts reared up out of a newly formed hole, bobbing and swaying. Its mouth could easily swallow him whole and looked vaguely like an orchid, but four slimy

tentacles snaking out of it and wriggling all about certainly dispelled any sense of beauty. The stench of it made the lieutenant gag.

The massive worm had no eyes as far as Vambran could see, but that didn’t slow it down. With little hesitation, its tentacles writhing in a mad dance, the ponderous creature lurched forward, directly toward Vambran.

• • •

“You may begin,” Grand Trabbar Perolin said, giving Pilos a warm smile. “Remember, we will know if you speak any falsehood,” he warned.

Pilos nodded and began to tell the council his story. No fewer than three priests were arrayed about him, focused on the various spells that would aid them in determining if he was lying, exaggerating the slightest bit, or even conjecturing rather than providing facts. He left no part out, even admitting to sneaking through the hidden passages in the temple to spy on the meeting between the highest of the high priests. That brought about a few raised eyebrows.

“Are even our own private meetings not sacred?” Lavant blurted out, red-faced with anger.

“Be silent, Grand Syndar,” Perolin warned. “You may sit on the high seat, but these proceedings will not be debased by your outbursts.”

Lavant glowered but said nothing more.

Pilos told the high priests of his encounter with Mikolos, and the message the departed Grand Syndar had delivered to him. He expected Lavant to balk at the veracity of that as well, but when he looked over at the Grand Syndar, the pudgy man looked uncomfortable, perhaps even a bit pale.

Finally, the Abreeant confessed to infiltrating the Generon with Emriana, explaining how she had been captured in a magical mirror by Junce Roundface, an agent of Grozier Talricci’s, and how Laithe the wizard had mentioned Lavant by name in a conversation with Junce. At that revelation, numerous gasps escaped from the high priests and Lavant began to fidget.

Pilos knew he might be punished in some way for revealing everything to the finest detail, but he believed that, in the end, it would help his cause to be thorough.

Once the young priest finished his part of the story, he was taken aside and flanked by temple guards. One by one, Horial, Adyan, Grolo, and even Edilus were brought before the council to tell their part of the tale. Each played his part well, explaining what had transpired, beginning with the voyage at sea and ending with their current situation, standing beside Pilos and under scrutiny. Their descriptions of the destruction of Lady’s Favor, the subsequent flight through the Nunwood, and the capture of so many of their companions drew more than a few exclamations of surprise and dismay. Pilos then finished the testimony by explaining that Lobra Pharaboldi, who was currently in House Darowdryn custody, had already admitted to everything the men and dwarf had asserted. He offered the temple the opportunity to take her into its own custody to verify her involvement.

When Pilos finished, Grand Trabbar Perolin stood. “These are all very grave accusations,” the high priest said, but he was looking at Lavant, not Pilos. During the entire proceeding, the three priests monitoring the truth of the testimony had given no

signal that anything in the tales was amiss.

Lavant opened his mouth to retort, then must have thought better of it, for he snapped it shut again with a frown, his jowls bouncing.

After all of the confessions were finished, Pilos was granted his final statement. By temple law, he was allowed to present whatever speech he felt appropriate to sway the court’s opinion.

He gave the speech of his life.

“Perhaps it is beyond my place as a mere Abreeant priest to question the activities of one so highly positioned as our Grand Syndar, but I could not in good conscience allow his actions to proceed unchecked. Because of my own lowly station, I knew I could not sway very many of you sitting on this council with my speculations alone. I did what I did, broke the laws that I broke, not out of disregard for the customs and respect of the temple and its clergy, but out of love for seeing it exalted. I could not bear to see one so bent on callous personal gain to remain in that position of power. So, whatever punishments are accorded me for violating temple law, I accept these as a necessary consequence to right many wrongs.”

Pilos could see a number of high priests frowning, for his claim that the ends would justify the means did not sit well with them. He understood that even before he began, and he did not expect sympathy from them in that regard. Shrugging off their disapproval for the moment, he continued.

“This man, this leader among leaders,” the Abreeant said, emphasizing his words with demonstrative pointing toward Lavant, “is guilty of the manipulation of many people, including the temple clergy itself. He has a powerful faction loyal to him, and I daresay he has the political clout to wriggle free

of these charges, but I say he does not deserve his high seat!”

The chamber erupted in much shouting at those words, some supporting Pilos’s assertions and others vehemently denouncing them. Lavant’s face turned a bright hue of purple as he gave Pilos the most malevolent stare the young priest had ever seen from any man.

“Order! Order, I say!” Grand Trabbar Perolin shouted. The chamber grew quiet once more. “Please finish your remarks, Abreeant,” he said, perhaps a bit sternly.

Pilos swallowed and nodded, wondering if he had pushed too far. For an Abreeant to call for abdication of the Grand Syndar

It was too late for second thoughts, Pilos knew. “I conclude with this. The depth of this man’s dishonesty seems to know no limits. I would not put it past him to be in some way responsible for the outbreak of the plague in Reth!” Pilos knew that was far-fetched, but in an unsettling way, it seemed to tie everything together, explain why everything had happened the way it did. He just hadn’t yet figured out a motive. So he threw it in, figuring he was already hip-deep in trouble if the council didn’t see things his way.