Seven

Azrael should have realized something was wrong when the voices at the Lake of Sounds went suddenly silent.

When it happened, the dwarf was listening to the dark describe what his kingdom would be like. There were other things he should have been tending to-the hunt for the White Rose, eavesdropping on Soth or the Wanderers-but those were tedious, empty pursuits compared to the construction of the new Sithicus, even if only in his mind.

As always, the dark had been describing his realm with the stolen words of others:

"You've never seen such a look of terror."

"It will be easy to get her to leave."

"All of this needs to be cleaned up."

"It was Azrael"

Somewhere at the back of his mind, the dwarf dimly recognized that last voice. He had no time to identify the speaker, though. A hush had settled over the lake, a fear-thick pall that seemed to make the purple twilight tremble. Azrael's white brows knitted together in consternation. "What's going on?" he murmured.

The question had not died upon his lips when the answer came. A hand gauntleted in ancient, fire-blackened armor gripped Azrael's shoulder. "Traitor," said a hollow voice. The word reverberated across the still, black water. A heartbeat later that sound was joined by the dwarfs groan as he slammed against the cavern's salt-crusted wall.

"Mighty lord," Azrael gasped, scrambling to his knees before Soth, "what have I done to offend you?" Soth did not answer, merely traced a symbol in the air. The glyph hung there, burning with the same orange fire that lit the death knight's eyes. It appeared an instant later on Azrael's forehead. The brand flared, then vanished.

The dwarf stiffened, and a strangled cry of agony rasped from his throat. Rivulets of blood trickled from his snout and ears.

The death knight clamped his hands to either side of Azrael's head and lifted the dwarf from the ground. Slowly, he began to tighten his grip, pressing his palms together like the jaws of a vice. Azrael howled in pain. With fingers ending now in a badger's thick black claws, he tore at Soth's arms. "Mercy," he cried.

"You showed Magda no mercy," Soth replied coolly. In his hands the dwarf's face shuddered, bones sliding into their hybrid configuration. In response, the death knight shifted his thumbs up from Azrael's cheeks to the dwarf's tearing eyes.

"I did it to protect you!" The werebeast thrashed like the captured animal he was. He clawed at Soth's helmet, kicking his armored chest "She'd joined the Thorns," he snarled. "Allied with the White Rose. She was plotting to destroy you!"

Soth's grip went slack, and Azrael dropped to the cavern floor. He writhed there for a time, retching from the pain. The ringing in his skull made him claw at his temples. Finally he slumped back against the cavern wall.

"Proof," Soth said. "Convince me of what you say, or you will die."

"After the meeting with Aderre, Magda went off alone into the Iron Hills to find the White Rose," Azrael replied. He wiped the vomit from his muzzle. "She must not have thought you capable of protecting her. Or maybe she had been in league with the Rose all along."

"Conjecture," Soth rumbled.

"No," Azrael said quickly. With one clawed hand he indicated the vast and silent lake. "This place allows me to eavesdrop on her and on almost anyone in the land. Magda wouldn't speak of her mission to her people, or tell them she doubted your ability to protect her, but she whined about those things incessantly to that flea-ridden hound of hers as they traveled to the hills."

"What did the White Rose say to her? What was their plot against me?"

Azrael shifted uneasily. "I, uh… cannot hear the White Rose's voice, or that of anyone within her presence."

"Feh," Soth snorted. "You stall for time." His sword scraped from its scabbard.

"Magda was carrying a white rose," Azrael offered desperately. "It was a symbol of her allegiance. The flower can be grown nowhere in Sithicus but the Iron Hills, in the territory controlled by the Thorns. That's proof she met with the rebels."

Soth sheathed his sword and paced along the stony shelf. "She handed me the flower as she died," he said at last.

Azrael nodded. "She wanted you to think the Rose might help you escape this place. That was her intent all along, to make you a party to your own destruction. It's the only way they could defeat you, mighty lord."

Emboldened by the death knight's hesitation, Azrael struggled to his feet. He slipped his chain of office from his neck and held it out to Soth. Head lowered, he said, "I thought I was doing my duty in sending the shadows against her."

Sardonic laughter escaped Soth's lips. Another seneschal had spoken similar words of contrition, in a time and place far removed from Sithicus. Back in the days when Soth's heart still beat, before his damnation to eternal unlife, he had confronted that minion with the disappearance of his first wife. The Knights of Solamnia had accused Soth of murdering Lady Gladria, to clear the path to his bed for the elf maid with whom he had betrayed his marriage vows.

"A hundred times I'd heard you voice a wish that the woman be gone," Caradoc had said. He, too, had presented Soth his chain of office. "I thought I was doing my duty in sending her away."

Soth had been unable to deny that he'd secretly longed for Gladria's demise, that Caradoc had only acted upon desires he himself had been incapable of acting upon. The man had merely done what he thought best for his lord, for the land.

So, too, with Azrael. The dwarf could see Magda's treachery where he had been blind. He should have seen the white rose as a sign of her alliance with the rebels. Instead, he had misinterpreted it as a sign of hope. And hope is something better left to fools and madmen in Sithicus, Soth reminded himself bitterly.

"I no longer have need of a seneschal," the death knight said. He took the heavy chain, letting it dangle from his mailed fist. "The office seems to corrupt whoever holds it. There is another mantle for you to wear, Azrael-one to which you are much more suited."

"Anything, mighty lord."

"Devote yourself, and whatever agents you can muster, to the eradication of the White Rose's allies. She is a general, a clever one, but a general is nothing without troops."

"And the Rose herself?"

"I will deal with her when the time comes," Soth replied.

Azrael turned to go, but the death knight held up a restraining hand. "Do not mistake this stay of execution for a pardon," Soth said coldly. He tightened his fist and crushed the heavy chain. "Know that my gaze will be upon you as you do my bidding. You are my minion, Azrael. Reach above that station again, and your death agonies will be legend, even in Sithicus."

Glumly, Azrael nodded.

"Good." Soth dropped the broken chain. The metallic clank rang out over the lake. "You will explain this place to me," he said, turning to the water. "I can see that it might be quite useful."

Azrael chronicled how he had discovered the lake and explained the water's properties. He failed to mention that the dark spoke to him in special ways, that those voices told him of the palace he would raise upon the ruins of Soth's crumbling keep. The death knight's anger and the narrowness of the dwarf's escape had engendered a new caution in him, even a little fear. But he did not fear anything enough to betray the dark.

When the dwarf had gone, Soth removed his helmet and his right gauntlet. Cautiously he dipped two fingers into the lake and touched the salty liquid to his scarred, scabrous lips. Voices filled his ears, a riot of sound more staggering than the banshees' keening. The babble overwhelmed him, and he sat stunned on the stony shore.

Finally, Soth's consciousness found an anchor: his name. Someone in the domain had spoken the death knight's name.