The masked witches

He surmised that Aoth Fezim, Vandar Cherlinka, and their allies must have won an initial battle with Falconer, his fellow undead, and their servants. That seemed to be the only way the living humans could have gained access to the vaults. But what else was happening?

There was one way to find out, and Dai Shan supposed he needed to get on with it before the impermanent incarnation of himself ran out of life. He whispered a charm, and a cool tingle ran over his skin as he became invisible. Then he skulked toward the nearest source of torchlight.

Keeping a safe distance, he watched creatures like gaunt stags that walked on two legs and fought with weapons. They destroyed a steel bull that snorted jets of scalding steam from its nostrils. The bells bound to the warriors antlers made the jingling he d been hearing.

From there, he skulked on to a spot where a dozen howling, screeching Rashemi had cornered a durthan and some goblins and were hacking them to bits. The goblins screamed for the masked witch to cast a spell, but she didn t, not even when the berserkers cut her down in her turn. Perhaps she d already expended all her power.

Such scenes gave Dai Shan more insight into the situation unfolding all around him. Since there was still fighting going on, it might be premature to call the attackers victorious, but their victory appeared inevitable. They were hunting their foes and driving them before them, deeper and deeper into the vaults.

And where was Falconer? Destroyed? Trapped? Escaped via some secret exit? It was impossible to say.

But perhaps it didn t matter. It scarcely seemed like a propitious moment to make a stand with the undead. No, if Dai Shan revealed himself at all, it had better be as the honest merchant who d promised to help save Rashemen. Yet there didn t seem to be much point in a

He headed for the echoing shouts and clamor of what sounded like a nearby skirmish. But before he reached it, he spotted an archway capped with three relatively inconspicuous vertical notches like the ones he himself had chiseled beneath the Iron Lord s castle. But something about those grooves looked different.

Well, no, actually not. They looked identical, but they felt different. Dai Shan was at a loss to account for it until he remembered he wasn t his normal self. Rather, he was a shadow reshaped into human form, and some such phantoms possessed modes of perception mortals didn t: tropisms and instincts that enabled them to fix on the energies of life and undeath.

He was still trying to guess what it all meant when he heard hushed but urgent voices whispering down the passageway. Averse to trusting magic alone to hide him at close quarters, he retreated into the mouth of a branching tu

Radiating an u

With many a glance back over their shoulders, a trio of masked, hooded durthans scurried after their spectral guide. Their flickering, semitransparent familiars hurried with them: a peregrine, a wildcat, and a swarm of bees.

Orienting on the archway with the carving, the ghost extended three wispy fingers and flicked his hand in a downward motion, as if it was scratching similar marks on the air. The space beyond the doorway changed.

It was still a tu

Nor was that the only change. Since there were no lights shining anywhere nearby, it mocked common sense to suggest that the passage was blacker than it had been before. Yet it was. The idea, the essence of darkness crawled and festered there so thickly that even Dai Shan s magically enhanced sight had difficulty making out the details of the morbid carvings that adorned the walls in bewildering profusion.

The ghost led its charges through the arch and repeated the cat-scratch gesture. As quickly as it had changed before, the passage reverted to its original condition, and those who had entered it disappeared.

Dai Shan gave his head a tiny shake. When he d wondered if Falconer and his peers might have a secret means of escape, he d been wiser than he knew. And such being the case, perhaps he could accomplish something more much more! than mere reco

He waited another moment, making sure that the ghost and the witches weren t coming back. Then he approached the arch and tried the scratching motion for himself.

Across the myriad nightmare worlds that made up the Abyss, manes were the lowest form of demon. They were slaves or prey to all the others, waddling, bloated child-sized things with maggots squirming in their open sores. Aoth never beheld one without recalling how Szass Tam had disposed of Nevron by turning him into a mane, a supremely ignominious end for Thay s preeminent master of fiends.

Maybe it was that flicker of memory that slowed his reactions, for by the time he had aimed his spear, Jhesrhi was already hurling bright yellow flame from her staff. Wreathed in fire like the wizard herself, the several tanar ri fell down, screaming and writhing.

Aoth supposed that left him to account for the Nar demonbinder who d summoned the creatures. Taking care not to trip over a burning mane, or let one roll and flounder into him, he rushed the undead figure with the staff in its flaking, tattooed hands and the big round iron amulet dangling from its withered neck. Cera and a couple of the stag warriors raced after him.

Somewhat to Aoth s surprise, the Nar didn t try to call up a new fiend. It simply swung its staff in a sweeping blow instead. Aoth simultaneously blocked with his targe, charged his spear with lightning, and thrust it into the walking corpse s chest. The resulting flash and bang tore its torso apart, and it fell backward. The stag warriors hacked at it anyway. They d learned that undead and trolls sometimes needed a lot of killing.

Still, that one was rather clearly finished. Cera, the front of her bandages stained rusty brown, peered down at the remains. Breathing hard, she said, That was pretty easy.

Aoth frowned. It was, wasn t it? he said. And after all the hard fighting they d done to get so far, he supposed he should be grateful. Still, something about it nagged at him, and he tried to figure out what.

A sudden baritone voice speaking with a cultured Shou accent distracted him from his pondering. Captain Fezim, it said.

Surprised, Aoth pivoted to see Dai Shan advancing into the golden glow of Cera s conjured sunlight. Clad in his customary green coat, the little merchant was so immaculately groomed that he would have cut a strange figure on any battleground, let alone in a warren infested with the vilest creatures in Rashemen.

Nor were his cleanliness and neatness the strangest things about his sudden appearance. What are you doing here? Aoth demanded.

The Shou bowed. The shrewd war mage cuts to the heart of the matter as incisively as I would have expected, he said.

As you may recall, I too possess some knowledge of the occult arts. My explorations revealed that the hathrans quest had led you and your dauntless allies to the Fortress of the Half-Demon. So naturally, since the undertaking is mine as well, I rushed here by sorcerous means to assist however I can.