Halonya gaped down at her. Never in a dozen lifetimes would she have expected this, which was part of the point.
Tchazzar smiled at Halonya. “My lady?” he said.
Though still trembling with frustration, the priestess was prudent enough to give the living god what he manifestly wanted. She drew a hissing breath and, in a half-strangled voice, said, “Of course I forgive you, Jhesrhi. Sister. All I ever wanted was to be sure you were loyal to our master.”
Tchazzar released the gem, and it started to float and circle him as it had Shala. Then, either forgetting or not caring that Jhesrhi found it difficult to be touched, he took hold of her with his bloody hand and lifted her to her feet.
Then he wrapped one arm around her, the other around Halonya, and drew them both against him. “At last!” he said. “At last.”
Jhesrhi’s stomach churned. She felt as if she had to shove him away or puke, and strained to keep from doing either.
Meanwhile, Halonya gave her a glare that promised their feud wasn’t over.
Jhesrhi had already been sure of that, just as she knew there were a dozen other ways the conspiracy could unravel. And it almost certainly would if it had to continue much longer.
Gaedynn, she thought, Aoth, Khouryn, where are you?
Balasar watched Nellis set up a wooden tripod. The telescoping legs had runes carved into them and, at the point where they met, supported a leather bowl.
Slowly, with a sort of exaggerated, ceremonial care, the Imaskari ambassador set his crystal orb in the socket. Then he paced around the tripod widdershins, shifting his hands into a new position then freezing and crooning one line of an incantation with every step.
Nearby, Jemleh used his cane to draw a curve of silvery glimmer in the air. He sketched an oval, and once it was complete, more shimmer flowed inward from the edges, until it looked like a hanging mirror.
Biri opened her waterskin and spilled a dash of water on the cavern floor. Whispering, she swept her wand of congealed cloudstuff through vertical strokes that made it appear she was encouraging the liquid to rise up. Eventually it turned to mist and did precisely that. Vague shapes formed and dissolved within the swirls of vapor.
When their preparations were complete, each wizard peered and muttered at his or her own preferred mode of scrying until Balasar felt like he was going to explode with impatience. Finally Jemleh turned and said, “I’m sorry, dragonborn. Divination still isn’t working. I’m almost certain Gestanius laid down enchantments to block it.”
Nellis lifted the orb from its bowl. “I agree.”
“Me too,” Biri said. Her miniature cloud drifted apart and disappeared.
Balasar scowled. “All right. We can’t see them, but that doesn’t mean we can’t reach them. We know more or less where they were when the ceiling fell.”
“Unfortunately,” said Jemleh, “ ‘more or less’ isn’t good enough when a wizard is shifting himself through space. Either the magic won’t work at all or it’s likely to stick whoever attempts it inside solid rock.”
“Then we’ll have to tunnel,” Balasar said. “I assume you have spells that can move a lot of stone quickly.”
“To an extent,” Jemleh said. “Again, it would be helpful if we knew exactly in which direction to dig. We would also need to proceed carefully enough to prevent another collapse. But that’s what we’ll do if you so direct. This is ultimately your expedition. The empress ordered me and my people to assist Sir Medrash, Sir Khouryn, and you.”
Balasar grunted. “Medrash is the leader. That’s why we need to get him back.”
“Can we talk alone for a moment?” Biri asked.
“If you want to,” Balasar said.
They moved off several paces, in the general direction of Jemleh’s floating mirror until the gleaming oval crumpled in on itself and flickered out of existence.
“I know you refuse to believe Medrash and Khouryn are dead,” Biri murmured, “and I’m with you. I refuse to believe it too.”
“Good.”
“But we’re running a race,” she continued. “We’re trying to kill Gestanius in time to prevent a war Tymanther can’t win. You should ask yourself what Medrash would want us to do.”
“Curse it, he’s my clan brother and my best friend! I can’t just abandon him… or Khouryn either.”
“We just have to hope that the branching passage goes somewhere. If it does, Khouryn will find a way out.”
“You’re assuming he and Medrash can fend off the quicksilver dragon and its servant creatures all by themselves.”
“If any two warriors can do it, they can.”
“You’re also assuming that the rest of us can keep to the right path without a dwarf to guide us.”
“You said yourself that there’s some reason to think these Imaskari know their way around underground. And I’ve seen signs of it myself. They’re not Khouryn but they’re not useless either.”
Balasar closed his eyes and took a long breath. Then he turned back toward Jemleh and Nellis. “Change of plans,” he said.
Peering from behind a gnarled little pine tree, Gaedynn watched the shadowy figure sitting atop a granite outcropping. He saw better at night than most humans-or else practice had made him better at spotting and interpreting what could be seen-but still, it wasn’t the first time he’d wished for eyes that defied the dark like Khouryn’s or, better yet, Aoth’s. Or on further consideration, maybe not. That weird, blue glow would mar his good looks.
He covered a yawn. Staying awake for his own watches and somebody else’s too was starting to wear on him. But it had to be done, especially since he hadn’t yet taken Aoth into his confidence. He wasn’t sure why, except that the particular problem just felt like his conundrum to solve.
The shadow rose and disappeared down the other side of her perch.
A surge of excitement washed Gaedynn’s sleepiness away. He rounded the pine and scrambled up the outcropping. There was no path on that side of the rock, and under duress, he might have admitted that he wasn’t quite as expert at creeping around in the mountains as he was at sneaking through a forest. Still, he fancied that he made it to the top of the stone with a minimum of noise.
He moved more quietly still when he set his feet on the path Son-liin had taken. He figured he needed to. He drew an arrow from his quiver and laid it on his bow.
The person awaiting Son-liin was doing so at a spot where the narrow, twisting trail widened out into a relatively broad and level place. The mountain walled in the site on three sides and dropped away in a sheer cliff on the other.
The place was far enough from camp that no one there would see or hear the pair. Gaedynn was glad they wouldn’t feel a need to whisper. He wouldn’t have to sneak so close to eavesdrop.
The scrawny genasi slouching in the shadows had round, slumping shoulders. The pale blue glimmer playing along the lines on his face and hands indicated that he was a windsoul. Gaedynn was fairly sure the fellow was Yemere but wasn’t certain until he heard his voice.
“Well,” the noble said, “thanks to that wretched medusa and his map, we got here faster and with fewer losses than I wanted.”
Son-liin didn’t answer. Gaedynn wasn’t surprised. He was no sorcerer, but since the day his father handed him over to the elves, he’d seen more than enough magic to guess the young stormsoul might be sleepwalking or in some comparable state.
“But everything can still work out,” Yemere continued. “I’m going to warn Vairshekellabex that we’re coming. You’re going to do your best to convince everyone to approach his lair via the north trail, and when the ambush begins, you’ll start shooting firestormers. I won’t score as many points as I would have if I’d destroyed the expedition all by myself, but I’ll still do all right.”