Downshadow (9 page)

She remembered his vow and knew that for her to beg would shame him.

As his physical prowess diminished, she’d kept him in service as her aide, thinking that he would want the post but would never ask. She’d thought it would do him honor, but now she wasn’t sure. As a caged lion might relax but still see the bars, so might a wild beast waste away at the center of his pride, knowing that he has outlived his days of ferocity.

Nor was she sure that her motivations had been entirely selfless in awarding that assignment.

She had confessed to herself that she still desired him—confessed it every day. It was not love, exactly, but she wanted him to crave her, too—to show her anything but cold distance.

“I see that gleam in your eye,” Talanna said. “Honestly—’twas but a simple question…”

“This isn’t the time,” Araezra snapped. “You’re sure the boy pointed in this—”

Then she almost jumped out of her mail breeches when Bleys Treth cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Lady Lorien!”

“Shush!” snapped Talanna. “She’ll just hide from you.”

“Aye, Shieldlar,” Treth said sourly.

“Shush, both of you,” Turnstone said. “You’ll only call monsters or thieves.”

Giving a duelist’s sneer, Bleys spread his hands. “Let them come—I’ve my steel.” He tapped the heel of his hand smartly on his sword hilt.

“Shush, all of you,” Araezra growled. “Did you see yon radiance?”

A bright white light flashed in the chamber at the north end of the tunnel. They heard the clash of steel—a duel, she thought. She put her hand on her sword hilt and nodded. The others did likewise, and Talanna plucked a pair of throwing daggers from her belt.

Araezra waved, and they picked up their steps. She heard two voices, one a familiar soft soprano, the other a rolling bass.

Araezra and Talanna stepped into the chamber. A man in black leathers and a tattered gray cloak stood before them. His face was anonymous, hidden behind a full steel helm. In his arms was the very noblewoman they sought, the priestess Lorien Dawnbringer.

Araezra gasped.

“Away from her, knave!” shouted Talanna, hefting her daggers to throw.

“Hold!” Araezra said, half a heartbeat too late. The man shoved Lorien down and dived to the side. One of Talanna’s blades whistled harmlessly past where the priestess had been,

and the other sank into his left bicep. Unhindered and unarmed, he ran toward them.

“Hold!” she shouted. “Down arms—you too, Talanna!”

No one listened. Bleys Treth snapped his blade out and lunged with the speed that had once earned him his moniker, but his target parried with an empty black scabbard. Treth twisted this out of his hands with an expert circle and cut back at his hip, but the man leaped like a noble’s stallion over the last fence before the finish.

Araezra watched, gaping, as he soared over their heads and darted down the south tunnel.

“I’ve got him!” Talanna ran, drawing another blade as she went.

Araezra and Turnstone ran to Lorien. Turnstone searched warily for another foe, while Araezra knelt at the priestess’s side.

“Are you well, my lady?” Araezra asked without ceremony. “Did he hurt you?”

“No,” the priestess said. “I came here to spread Sune’s healing, and yon knight protected me.” Her cheeks were flushed. “Shadowbane … he means us no ill.”

Shadowbane. Araezra shivered.

She considered whether the priestess had been deceived. They might have just saved her from a charming—but very dangerous— attacker. Or perhaps he truly had aided her.

Regardless, he had run, and in her experience, innocent men didn’t run.

“Come with us,” Araezra said. “We will deliver you safely to the city above.”

The guards nodded and Araezra looked to the tunnel, considering what to do next.

“Wait!” Lorien pointed to the north wall. “His sword.”

There lay a shimmering blade of silvery steel, a hand and a half longer than a typical adventurer’s sword. Araezra’s eyes widened and her hand drifted toward it unbidden.

Then she heard Talanna’s triumphanr cry from down rhe tunnels and remembered herself. “Confiscate that,” she ordered, and Turnstone moved to claim the sword.

Araezra looked between the two guards, frowning.

“Well?” she asked, pointing. “Which of you jacks will go after them?”

Treth ran his hand through his hair. “A snake strikes at short distances, not long ones,” he said. “At my age, I’m like to be no faster than Gordil, here. In fact—”

Turnstone, with his grim face and white mustache, shrugged.

Araezra sighed. “Well, well.” She pulled at the clasps of her breastplate, thrusring it open to the belly. Turnstone’s eyes almost popped and Treth just smiled. “Turn, jacks.”

They did—though she could swear Treth was still watching.

Araezra shrugged out of her coat-of-plate, revealing her sweat-plastered chemise. It was a thin, short affair that kept her cool under her uniform armor—to which the padding was attached—but it was hardly modest, particularly when sweaty. She rolled her eyes and positioned the straps of her harness where they offered the most cover—and the best support. Sometimes, Araezra wished she’d been born a boy.

“Well,” she said, tying her hair back.

The guards turned. Turnstone had the decency to blush, while Treth snickered. Araezra threw her armor at the Snake’s chest, blowing the air out of his lungs.

“Ward her well,” Araezra said, nodding at Lorien. “Deliver her ro the temple, then meet at the barracks. Unless you happen across Talanna or me—in that case, aid.”

She seized the silvery sword out of Turnstone’s hands and looked to Treth. “Scabbard.”

Treth handed her Shadowbane’s scabbard.

Araezra sheathed the sword and stuck the scabbard through the straps on her back, securing it with her belt. She made sure that her hips could move freely. She wasn’t sure why she needed Shadowbane’s sword, but something compelled her to take it. Then, tapping her watchsword hilt smartly in an ironic salute, she sprinted down the corridor where Shadowbane and Talanna had gone.

Talanna would catch him, all right, unless he could outrun the fastest woman in Waterdeep. Araezra wasn’t sure, though, what would transpire when she did catch him. Likely, she would need support, and quickly.

This was ridiculous—running through Downshadow so inde-cenrly. If this didn’t end terribly, she would look into a new suit of armor: a light, balanced harness like the sort Talanna wore, crafted for speed and mobility.

For the moment—well, Araezra only hoped the chase wouldn’t take her where any citizens might be.

Araezra ran south after the sounds of footfalls. She prayed to Tymora that she’d picked rhe right direction and wouldn’t end up a dragon’s lare-night meal. Fortunately, she saw Talanna’s bright orange hair fly around a corner twenty paces ahead, so she ran on.

Shadowbane tried to flee deeper into Undermountain, but Talanna was chasing him back toward the main chamber of Downshadow. Good, Araezra thought—at least we won’t lose him in the tunnels. Ye gods, but they were fasr. Talanna and Shadowbane tore through chamber after chamber, brushing past the injured delvers they’d found, careening through empty rooms, denying Araezra the chance to gain on them.

Not once or twice but thrice they startled senrries and adventuring bands in tunnels and chambers Araezra and the Guard had avoided. Every time they caught the eye of a sentry and blazed like hellhounds through the midst of their camp, the sellswords and rogues would scramble up only in time for Araezra to appear. They met her with blades, cudgels, and even spells a-ready, confusion running through their ranks.

“Waterdeep Guard!” she cried for the first such band, and they managed only fumbling swings at her as she ran past, panting, her long tail of black hair flying. “Stand aside!”

She drew her sword but didn’t bother to block or parry—she kept running, heedless, and leaped the delvers’ cookfire ro scramble down the opposite tunnel.

The second such band actually stayed her a moment, where a quick clash of swords and a well-placed kick to the nethers laid low an agile hunter. As she tore open the door Talanna had left swinging, the archer of that group fired an arrow that rusrled Araezra’s hair and shattered harmlessly off the wall. She had no time to delay.

The third band, composed almost entirely of young noble fops and a single plain-faced lass in the boiled leather of a delver scout, just stared at the flesh Araezra had bared from under her armor. As she ran past, thanking Tymora they had not attacked, Araezra saw the young woman slap one of the lordlings across the face. It didn’t break his stare.

As she ran on, the valabrar cursed inwardly, cheeks burning, and wondered how many dreams of the next few nights would star a dark-haired, half-naked swordmaid.

These thoughts stole her concentration. Bursting into a new chamber, panting, Araezra slammed into Talanna, who had halted in her pursuit. Shadowbane, whom she had cornered, darted into an eastern passage as the women fell atop one another.

“Aye, Rayse!” said Talanna. “He’s getting—” Her startled eyes drifted to Araezra’s all-but-naked torso, and her cheeks went bright red. “Uh. Sorry!”

They fumbled apart and Araezra scrambled up. She forced her legs to carry her after Shadowbane. She saw his gray cloak flick around a corner and darted that way. Talanna, being much faster, caught up quickly.

They sprinted from chamber to chamber. Most were empty but for abandoned lean-tos and rubble, but in some they flew past sword-swingers and spellweavers, packs of monsters and flaming traps. Every time, they barely glimpsed Shadowbane ahead, disappearing around this corner or that. If they slowed even a touch, he would escape.

They crossed through an especially long chamber filled with clashing blades, screams of pain, and trails of sparks and lightning. Half a dozen warriors wielding the various steel of a rag-tag collection of dungeon delvers were fighting a whole horde of shambling, mindless zombies. Blood and limbs spattered the walls—much of it undead, some of it fresh. The adventurers fought and howled against the walking, flailing dead.

The room was ourfitted with two rows of thirteen thrones stretching the length of the room. Zombies rhat stitched themselves together every time they were destroyed would make their way to the thrones. Three of the great chairs had been blasted to rubble over

the centuries, and the zombies that approached those only flopped disconsolately to the floor.

Araezra recognized that hall from whispers among the Guard—the Sleeping Kings, it was called. Most sensible folk avoided the room, but few of the sellswords who descended into Downshadow were sensible.

“This is madness!” Araezra shouted to Talanna.

“Look!” Talanna pointed at Shadowbane, who was creeping along the fringe of the room unmolested. The brawl had slowed him, though, and he was only twenty paces ahead.

With a tight nod, Araezra and Talanna plunged into the thick of it, hacking their way through the undead to continue the chase. Swords bright with firelight, blood splashing everywhere, they fought their way across.

They had no sooner stepped near one of the thrones than Araezra heard a grinding of ancient gears. “Rayse!” Talanna cried.

The floor dropped out from under Araezra’s feet, and she would have fallen had not Talanna grasped her wrist. Adventurers screamed and tumbled down, draped with the moaning, wrestling corpses animated by the room’s fell magic.

Looking around, Talanna could see that most of the floor had dropped away, leaving the thrones on their bases standing like islands around the chamber. From the appearance of the floor and the sounds of the machinery, the trap had been designed as part of the original room.

Araezra dangled over the pit, clinging desperately to Talanna’s hand. Her watchsword had slipped from her grip and fallen inro the pit along with the trap’s other victims.

She looked toward the exit—only two thrones away—where Shadowbane stood watching them. Inexplicably, he had paused in his flight, as though deciding whether to flee or sray and aid them. Araezra tried to catch his eye, but he looked away.

“Ready?” Talanna asked, teeth gritted. The strengthening gauntlets on her wrists glittered, enhancing her natural power.

Araezra realized what she meant to do. “What? No! Don’t you even think—”

But Talanna strained, swung Araezra back, then threw her toward the next platform. Araezra uttered a tight scream but caught herself at the throne’s base. It blew the air from her lungs, but she hauled herself up to discover a zombie shambling toward her, its eyes jaundiced yellow.

Leaping through the air, Talanna kicked it in the head, driving it off the platform and into the pit. Araezra pulled herself up and they stood on the platform, shaking and panting. Shadowbane waited on the opposite ledge, cloak fluttering around him.

“What’s he doing?” Araezra asked. “Why isn’t he running?”

Talanna shook her head. She gesrured at the gap, which was as long as a dagger cast. Araezra nodded. As one, they braced for it, ran, and leaped.

With the aid of her magical ring, Talanna made the jump easily enough, but she slipped on loose rubble and fell with a crash. Araezra’s feet faltered on the edge and she reeled back over the pit. Her heart froze.

Then a gauntleted hand caught hold of her arm and steadied her.

She looked up into Shadowbane’s face, covered by his helm, but he averted his eyes. He pulled her away from the dangerous drop-off.

The three paused for many heartbeats—Araezra panting, Talanna kneeling and flexing her sore arms, Shadowbane standing aloof. He didn’t seem able to meet their eyes.

“Don’t run,” Araezra said. She felt the hilt of Shadowbane’s sword at her hip, slung crosswise across her back. “We mean you no—”

Talanna lunged from behind him, but Shadowbane eluded her hands. He whirled, slapping her in the face with his cloak, and ran inro the next tunnel.

Talanna and Araezra looked at one another, then bounded after him.

On Shadowbane’s heels, they burst into the chamber they had descended to reach Downshadow—a vertical shaft beneath a popular, centuries-old tavern.