"Of course you will not have to," Jarlaxle interrupted, and when all eyes turned his way again, he dipped another bow. "We ventured forth for just an eventuality such as this, and so by your side, we stand." By his side, Jarlaxle could feel Entreri's gaze boring into him.
"Bwahaha!" Athrogate bellowed again.
"Yes, of course we must investigate this further," said Canthan.
"By Dumathoin!" said Pratcus.
"All of you, then," Wingham remarked, "with Arrayan and Olgerkhan, you will vanquish this menace. Of that I am sure."
"Them two?" Athrogate asked with a great "Harrumph."
"They represent the finest of Palishchuk," Wingham replied.
"Then get the whole damn town running now, and save yerself the trouble!"
"Easy, good dwarf," said Canthan.
"We'll be spending more time dragging them two about than hunting the enemy," Athrogate grumbled. "I ain't for—"
"Enough, good dwarf," said Canthan.
Arrayan moved from Olgerkhan's side to face the furious dwarf.
"We will not fail in this," she said.
"Bah!" Athrogate snorted, and he turned away.
"Two replacements for us," Entreri whispered to Jarlaxle as they moved back across the hilltop to their respective bedrolls.
"You would not wish to miss this grand adventure, of course."
"You knew about it all along," the assassin accused. "The sisters sent us up here for precisely this."
"We have already been through this," replied the drow. "A library has been opened, obviously, and so the adventure unwinds."
"The tower we defeated wouldn't serve as a guardhouse for this structure," Entreri warned. "And that lich was beyond us."
"The lich is destroyed."
"So is my glove."
Jarlaxle stopped walking and stared at his friend for a few moments.
"A fine point," he conceded finally, "but worry not, for we'll find a way."
"That is the best answer you can find?"
"We always do find a way."
"And we always shall, I suppose?"
"Of course."
"Until the last time. There will be only one last time."
Jarlaxle considered that for a few moments.
Then he shrugged.
"First time them two fall down will only be giving me a softer place to put me boot," Athrogate grumbled, sitting on the torn fabric that used to be Canthan's tent.
He rambled on with his unceasing complaints, but the wizard wasn't listening. Canthan's eyes were focused across the way, where Wingham was sitting with Arrayan and Olgerkhan.
Something wasn't right with those two.
"What? What?" the dwarf asked him, apparently taking heed of the fact that he wasn't being listened to and not much enjoying it.
Canthan began to cast a quick spell, and a translucent shape, somewhat like an ear, appeared floating in mid-air before him. He puffed on it and it drifted away, gliding toward the conversation on the northern side of the encampment. The female, Arrayan, moved off, leaving Wingham alone with the brutish Olgerkhan.
And with Canthan, though of course Wingham didn't know that.
"You know our deal," the old half-orc said, his tone grave.
"I know."
"It must not get too far gone," Wingham said. "There can be no delay, no staying of your hand if the killing blow is needed."
"I know!" the larger half-orc growled.
"Olgerkhan, I am as wounded by this possibility as are you," Wingham said. "This is neither my choice nor my desire. We follow the only road possible, or all is already lost."
His voice trailed off and Olgerkhan held his response as Arrayan moved back to them.
"Interesting," mumbled Canthan.
"What? What?" bellowed Athrogate.
"Nothing, perhaps," said the wizard, turning to face his friend. He glanced back across the way as he added, "Or perhaps everything."
Face down, his arms bound behind him, his head hooded, Nyungy had all but given up hope. Resigned to his doom, he wasn't even crying out anymore.
But then a hand grabbed his hood and gently pulled it back, and the old sage found himself staring into the face of his friend.
"How many days?" he gasped through his dry, cracked lips.
"Only two," Wingham replied. "I tried to get to you earlier, but Olgerkhan…" He finished with a sigh and held up his wrists, cut cord still hanging from them.
"Your young friend has gone mad!"
"He protects the girl."
"Your niece." There was no missing the accusation in that tone.
Wingham looked at Nyungy hard, but only for a moment, then moved around and began to untie him. "To simply murder—"
"It is not murder, as she brought it on herself."
"Unwittingly."
"Irrelevant. You would see the city endangered for the sake of one girl?" asked the sage. Again Wingham held up his wrists, but Nyungy was too sly to fall for that ruse. "You play a dangerous game here, Wingham."
Wingham offered a sigh and said, "The game was begun before ever I knew the dangers, and once set in motion, there was no other course before us."
"You could have killed the girl and been done with it."
Wingham paused for just a moment. "Come," he bade his old friend. "We must prepare the city."
"Where is the girl?"
"Heroes have come from the Vaasan Gate."
"Where is the girl?"
"She went into the castle."
Nyungy's eyes widened and he seemed as if he might simply fall over.
"With Commander Ellery, niece of Gareth Dragonsbane," Wingham explained, "and with Mariabronne the Rover."
Nyungy continued to stare, then nodded and asked, "Olgerkhan is with her?"
"With instructions to not allow the structure to take her. At all costs."
The old sage considered it all for some time. "Too dangerous," he decided with a shake of his head, and he started walking past Wingham.
"Where are you going?"
"Didn't you just say that we had to go and prepare the city? But prepare it for what? To defend, or to run?"
"A little of both, I fear," Wingham conceded.
PART THREE
SECRETS WITHIN
SECRETS WITHOUT
Many times during his journey back to the apartment he shared with Entreri, Jarlaxle fished the violet-glowing gem out of his pocket. Many times he held it up before his eyes, pondering the possibilities hidden inside its skull-like facets as he vividly recalled the sensations at the graveyard. It was a power, necromancy, of which Jarlaxle knew little, and one that piqued his curiosity. What gains might he realize from that purple gem?
The book that had hidden it had been destroyed. Gone too was the tower it had created from feeding on the life-force of Herminicle. All that remained was rubble and scraps. But the gem survived, and it thrummed with power. It was the real prize. The book had been the icing, as sweet as anything Piter spread on his creations, but the gem, that violet skull, was the cake itself. If its powers could be harnessed and utilized….
To build another tower, perhaps?
To find a better connection to the dead? For information?
To find allies among the dead?
The dark elf could hardly contain his grin. He so loved new magical toys to examine, and his near-disastrous companionship with the infamous artifact Crenshinibon, the Crystal Shard, had done little to dampen his insatiable curiosity. He wished that Kimmuriel was available to him, for the drow psionicist could unravel the deepest of magical mysteries with ease. If only Jarlaxle had found the skull gem before his last meeting with his lieutenant.