The cleric, red eyes wide with fear, danced backward, avoiding Ryld's charge. Then, nerve broken, he turned and fled, screaming the words of a prayer. A circle of darkness appeared in the air just ahead of him, and he hurled himself into it. Then he was gone.
An instant later, the mask vanished from Ryld's face. Able to breathe again, Ryld drew a shuddering breath and steadied himself against one wall. For the moment, all was well. The cleric was gone, his magic having spirited him away, and the two warriors of House Jaelre who had accompanied him were dead. Even if the cleric did find Pharaun and the others, Ryld had greatly improved the odds. In the meantime, the two dead bodies would give his excuse about going back to see who was following them the ring of truth. If the others came that way they would find the dead warriors, would be able to tell from the tracks that there had been a third man, and would assume, when Ryld failed to return, that he had been captured and dragged back to Minauthkeep. Perfect.
Stepping out into the chimney once more, Ryld levitated down to retrieve the sword he'd dropped. The bodies of the two warriors he'd killed lay in a tangled heap, wedged into the bottom of the chimney.
Ryld's sword was sandwiched between them.
Flipping the top corpse over, he reached for his sword?then gasped when he spotted a pair of leather gloves that had spilled out of one of the warrior's torn pockets. He recognized them in an instant by the insignia of House Melarn embossed onto their wide cuffs.
They were Halisstra's gloves?and the soft leather was stiff with dried blood.
Fear washed through Ryld like an icy river. Did that mean Halisstra had been killed? If so, the logical thing for Ryld to do would be to return to the others?assuming they weren't demon meat by then?and give up the insane notion of remaining on the surface. It had all been Halisstra's idea, anyway. If she was dead, there was no point in him continuing alone.
But if she wasn't dead. .
Ryld shook his head, angry at himself. He didn't owe Halisstra anything, he told himself Going after her was simply insane.
His fist tightened on the bloody gloves. Stuffing them into a pocket of his piwafwi, he touched his brooch and levitated up the chimney.
Chapter Five
Pharaun smirked as Belshazu surged across the boiling pool of water.
"Demons are so predictable," he said, tsk tsking.
He raised the cone of glass he'd palmed earlier and spoke a command word. A blast of freezing air burst from the cone, smashing against the demon. Sweat crystallized to sparkling ice on Belshazu's broad chest but cracked and melted away under the heat and motion of the demon's charge. When the cone of cold struck the knee-deep water that surrounded Belshazu the pool instantly froze solid again.
The demon, finding himself trapped in knee-deep ice, directed the flames that surrounded his hands downward, but the ice did not melt.
Pharaun's smirk grew as he saw that his plan had worked.
"Thanks for stirring up the pool," he told the demon. "You mixed Jeggred's blood into it quite nicely. Oh, and here's a bit of trivia for you. Did you know that ice crystals always have six sides? So do crystals of blood, since blood is mostly water. They always form perfect little hexagrams. Millions of them."
It took a moment for the demon to realize what Pharaun was talking about. When it did, it roared even louder than before, smashing its pincers down on the ice that bound it. While the blows were hard enough to fill the cavern with booming crashes, the ice neither cracked nor splintered. The effort seemed to tax the demon. After just a few blows, it was panting in great, wheezing gasps.
"Now then," Pharaun continued. "You were going to tell us where the nearest gate to the Abyss can be fou?"
With a lurch that sent bile rushing into his throat, Pharaun fell upward as gravity suddenly reversed itself. Bound in ice the demon might be, but he still could work his magic. Taken by surprise, disoriented by the sudden gravity shift, Pharaun was unable to counter his fall with levitation magic. He slammed into the ceiling, knocking the breath from his lungs. Danifae and Jeggred crashed into the ceiling an instant later, but Valas had landed on his feet with catlike grace, and Quenthel was able to levitate before striking the rocks.
The demon lunged up at Pharaun, stretching as far as his icebound feet would allow. One of his pincers clamped onto Pharaun's foot and scissored down, slicing through boot leather and flesh until it grated against bone. Pharaun screamed in agony and scrambled at the rocks, trying to find a handhold as the demon pulled the drow wizard toward himself.
A moment later, something flashed past him: Valas. Magic lending him unnatural speed, the mercenary had sprinted across the jagged rock of the ceiling with a dagger in either hand to slash at the demon. One of the enchanted blades bit deep into Belshazu's wrist, spitting blue sparks of magical energy as it cleanly severed the bone. The demon howled in wounded rage and flailed with his remaining pincer at his new target, but Valas darted out of range.
As Pharaun felt the severed pincer fall away from his bloodied foot he levitated away from the ceiling, pushing himself out of range of the demon. Still roaring, with foul-smelling black blood pumping from its severed wrist, Belshazu reversed the spell he had cast a moment before. Danifae and Valas fell back to the cavern floor, the mercenary at once clambering to his feet to menace Belshazu with his dagger. Quenthel and Jeggred floated down after Pharaun.
Pharaun, favoring his mangled foot, landed on the frozen pond behind the demon. Blood squelched out of his torn boot and spread across the ice, freezing to pink on the intensely cold surface. He fumbled a small metal flask out of a pocket of his piwafwi, uncorked it, and drained the contents. The healing potion took effect almost immediately, numbing his pain like a glass of lace-fungus brandy. In another moment his wounded foot was whole again. He tested his weight on it, and no more than a slight tingling feeling remained. Aside from the tear in his boot, he might never have been wounded.
From the slope where the others had landed came the low hiss of the vipers in Quenthel's whip. Their mistress's voice was equally impatient.
"Pharaun! Stop wasting time. Compel the demon to tell us what we need to know."
Pharaun gave a brief bow in Quenthel's direction, then turned to Belshazu, who had sagged into a crouch on the frozen pond, feet still bound by the ice. The demon was wheezing from his exertions and held his severed wrist tight against his chest. He appeared to be sulking?but by the blaze in his violet eyes Pharaun could see that the demon had not been tamed. Yet.
Like a sava grand master, Pharaun put his final piece into play.
"Here's something else I think you should know," he told the demon. "My spell not only froze the pool, but also crystallized the water vapor in the air. That's what you can feel inside your lungs … thousands of tiny hexagrams, sawing away at your flesh. Tell us what we want to know, and I'll release you before they do any further damage. Keep stalling, and you'll die."
As Belshazu considered that, Pharaun carefully kept his face composed. He had no idea whether the ice crystals inside Belshazu's lungs could actually harm the demon?but it sounded good.
Belshazu roared in anger, but the roar ended in a wheeze. The demon gave Pharaun a pained look, then grudgingly nodded.