The masked witches

To his relief, the way widened out after that. Not long after, they reached a spot where a small fissure in the wall about four feet up made a natural peephole. A trace of light leaked through from the other side.

Zyl leaped up onto a bulge in the stone just beneath the crack. He rose onto his hind legs, peered through, and then motioned for his companions to do the same. Crouching, Aoth obliged him.

The vault on the other side was a sort of garden of stone, where sculpted trees and flowers, in many cases adorned with leaves, fruit, and blossoms of gold, silver, and some green metal or alloy, rose from the floor. Water splashed in fountains and ran through cha

Lady Grontaix was lounging in a sort of gazebo, oversized like the bridges, in the center of the vault. Twice as large as any of the five male cyclopes attending her, she had a hairless hide the ugly mottled purple of a bruise, a hunchback, and one eye bigger than the other. The larger one was all amber except for a slit pupil, while the smaller one had a brown iris, a white sclera, and a round pupil.

Aoth had never encountered such a creature before. Choschax had told him she was a fomorian, and as he looked at her, he experienced a sort of division of perception. He considered her one of the most grotesque creatures he d ever seen. But the Feywild invested even her deformity with its own kind of glamour.

Still, if Grontaix herself didn t seem entirely grotesque, Aoth couldn t say the same for her current pastime. Though the cyclops males looked like children in comparison to their enormous lady, their attitude was that of the eager suitors Aoth had watched paying court to some celebrated beauty in places where extravagant gallantry was in vogue. One sat sketching the fomorian in charcoal, another was feeding her mushroom caps, and a third was declaiming what Aoth, though he didn t know the language, assumed to be cyclops love poetry. The poet punctuated the particularly passionate phrases by striking notes from the dulcimer in his lap.

Aoth motioned for his companions to take a look. When it was her turn, Cera whispered, You must be joking.

Ridiculous as it looks, Aoth replied just as softly, don t let it distract you from the fact that those creatures are dangerous. Now, Lady Luck has favored us. Grontaix is right there. We don t have to roam through her apartments hunting her. We re going to make the most of our good fortune by hitting hard and fast. He told his comrades what he wanted them to do.

What about me? asked Zyl.

Aoth had no idea what, if anything, the rat could do to help, and he didn t feel like investing the time to find out. Just make yourself useful however you can, he said.

They all took deep breaths and shifted their grips on their weapons. Cera murmured a prayer that made Aoth and everyone else, presumably feel refreshed and clearheaded. With a thought, Jhesrhi cloaked herself in fire, then she spoke to the wall. She wanted the stone to open fast, not quietly, and it split with a deafening crack.

Startled, Grontaix and her consorts jerked around. Aoth scrambled through the breach, leveled his spear, snapped a word of command, and so cast one of the spells stored inside the weapon. A cloud of greenish vapor burst into existence to envelop the gazebo. Aoth could smell its putrid stench even at a distance, and inside the billowing mist, someone started retching.

The poet cyclops reeled out of the cloud with his dulcimer still in hand. His gaze stabbed at Aoth, who felt a twinge of headache, but with Cera s blessing fortifying him, he felt nothing worse. He hurled darts of azure light from the head of his spear, and they plunged into the cyclops s torso.

The brute staggered but didn t go down. He hurled the oversized zither, and it flew at Aoth like a stone from a catapult.

Caught by surprise, Aoth just barely managed to jump aside. The dulcimer slammed into the wall behind him with a crash of wood and a jangle of strings.

The cyclops drew his blade and advanced. Aoth poised his spear to defend, but Vandar screeched like a griffon and raced past him to engage the giant. Aoth wondered if the berserker was actually following the plan or just charging headlong at the first foe to present himself. Either way, it freed Aoth up to look for Lady Grontaix.

As he cast about, he glimpsed Cera chanting and swinging her mace over her head. A shaft of searing light blazed from the head of the weapon and struck the cyclops who d fed his lady the mushroom caps squarely in the face. He cried out and clapped his hand over his eye.

Meanwhile, Jhesrhi chanted at Aoth s back. Other than the breach she d just created, there were two ways into the vault, and her next task was to seal them before other cyclopes came rushing in. Masses of stone banged, crunched, and shifted as her power pulled them shut like curtains. Shaken loose, chunks of rock fell from the ceiling.

Grontaix blundered out of Aoth s conjured fog. She had mushroom-and-red-wine vomit spattered down the front of her silken gown.

You want me! Aoth shouted, advancing a couple paces. I made the mist!

She responded by closing her small eye and glaring with the large one. Though he d never encountered a fomorian before, Aoth had heard that, like their cyclops vassals, they possessed the power of the evil eye. He twisted his head so as to not meet her gaze directly.

It didn t matter. Chathi died again, burning in an instant when the rod in her hand exploded. Mirror plunged his insubstantial sword into Szass Tam s ravaged skeletal form, and they both blazed bright, but when the light faded, the ghost was gone, and the lich lord remained. Szass Tam turned, tore Bareris s head from his shoulders and then advanced on Aoth.

Nor was he the only one. His staff glimmering with magic, Malark glided in on the sellsword s flank. Alasklerbanbastos and Tchazzar loomed above Aoth s other foes, each dragon whipping his head forward and opening his jaws wide as he spewed his breath weapon.

Aoth cried out and staggered, dropping his guard. Grontaix raced forward, her huge hands extended to seize him.

Aoth waited until she was nearly on top of him. Then, pleased that his trick had worked, he dodged, charged his spear with power, and thrust at her knee as she pounded by.

He could do it because, while it was by no means pleasant to watch people he d cared about die all over again, or to see a selection of old enemies attacking him all at once, his truesight made the illusory nature of the phantasms immediately and absolutely apparent. Thus they couldn t disorient or even hurt him as they might have another. But pretending they had was a good way to lure Grontaix in close.

Aoth s spear point tore flesh and scraped bone. The fomorian screamed and staggered, but didn t fall. Instead, she stumbled around to face him again. He rattled off an incantation that put him at the hub of a spi

Too late he saw that Grontaix didn t mean to rush him again. Not yet, anyway. Instead, she invoked magic of her own. She thrust out her fist at him like she was miming a punch, and green and yellow light swirled from the cat s-eye ring on her middle finger to make a kaleidoscopic pattern in the air.

Aoth was no longer looking at illusions that he could recognize for what they were and ignore thereafter. The light was only light, but it was supremely beautiful; its power to fascinate augmented by both the atmosphere of the Feywild and his own preternaturally acute vision. He strained to look away, break free, but there was a treacherous part of him that didn t really want to.