Mith Barak advanced into the room, but Zollgarza lingered at the door, openly staring at the walls.
Carved into the stone were hundreds of bookshelves, containing what must have been thousands of tomes. The hoard of books was so large that Mith Barak had stopped counting them over the years. The most ancient tomes he kept under glass in one corner of the room, preserved by the strongest spells. Those books were too fragile to handle with anything other than magic anymore, Mith Barak reflected sadly. A shame it was, too, for he still remembered what the cracked leather felt like under his hands, the crisp pages, and the musty book scent that had gradually settled into the whole room.
These tomes were memory, poetry, power, and lore. They were Mith Barak’s oldest friends.
“Impressed, are you?” he barked at Zollgarza. “So you should be. Even one as corrupt as you must feel the power here.” He touched one of the open books on the table, lifting the cover to close it. “I used to bring only my most trusted advisers and friends to this room, to speak on matters of import,” he said and uttered a bitter laugh. “How things have changed.”
He walked back to Zollgarza and again removed the key from his pouch. “Turn around,” he said. The drow did, and Mith Barak removed the chains that bound his wrists. “You’re free,” the king said, “in a manner of speaking.”
“I don’t understand,” Zollgarza said. He rubbed his wrists, his gaze wandering over the vast library. “What game are you playing?”
“Surely you’re accustomed to intrigue and deception in Guallidurth?” Mith Barak said, his laughter echoing eerily in the quiet chamber. “You should feel right at home. Or don’t you enjoy playing these games among the dwarves? You think we can’t manipulate and cheat with the best of your kind?”
The drow took a step back. Mith Barak suddenly realized he’d raised his voice to the point of shouting. With an effort, he controlled himself. He didn’t want Dorla storming in and skewering Zollgarza.
Every encounter with the damned drow was an engagement, a battle of wills. He needed to win this fight, though he wished he had a weapon in his hands. It might make him feel more in control-or it might increase the already overwhelming urge he had to crush this spider, this invader in his private space.
No, I need him. I must bring him and the girl together.
He’d decided to let Icelin talk to the drow here. It was a risk, letting him out of his cage, but if Icelin saw the drow imprisoned, she might start to feel for the creature. He needed her power, and he couldn’t afford to let pity shake her resolve. Besides, if Icelin were going to claim the sphere and the Silver Fire, she would have to do it here in the library. The artifact itself had determined that.
Joya had said Icelin’s power was a humbling sight. Joya had never said that about anyone, save perhaps her father. Maybe Icelin really could break the grip of the spider bitch’s magic.
“My library will be your new prison,” Mith Barak said. “You’ll be under guard, but as long as you don’t leave this room, you have the freedom to explore and learn all that you desire.”
He listened as Zollgarza gradually made his way across the room. So soft were his footfalls, so gracefully and stealthily did he move that it sent a shiver even through the dwarf king. He did not fear an attack from the drow. He had protections in place against such treachery, but.…
Can I truly leave her alone with this creature? the king asked himself. Am I that desperate, or cruel? Perhaps I’ve slept in the stone too long. It’s infected my heart.
“What is it you want in exchange for this grand gift you offer me?” Zollgarza said. “You’ve already stripped bare my mind. What else could you possibly want from me?”
“That’s for me to worry about,” Mith Barak said. “Your concern, Zollgarza, is living moment to moment. I’ve given you new life, taking you out of that dungeon cell. Loyal as they are, it is only a matter of time before one of my guards refuses to stay his hand against you. I’m offering you a degree of freedom, comfort, and access to the secrets of this city, the history and lore of countless generations. You’d be a fool not to take advantage of the knowledge here.”
“You’ll kill me before you’ll let me use such knowledge against Iltkazar,” Zollgarza said. “I see no advantage here.”
“Ah, what a shame,” Mith Barak said. He clasped his hands behind his back and clucked his tongue. “Have you given up all hope of escape, then, since your grand potato scheme failed? I expected better of you, drow. You should be planning your next bid for freedom even as we speak. Where is the cold calculation, the survival instinct of your race?”
“It isn’t lost, not yet,” Zollgarza said. Mith Barak heard the hate in his voice. Zollgarza’s eyes scanned the room in a quick, assessing glance. Mith Barak knew what he was looking for.
“Oh, yes, Zollgarza. Even the sphere is somewhere in this room,” Mith Barak said. “You see, it’s hidden itself-from me and everyone else in this city. It will only reveal its presence to one it considers worthy. Perhaps you might root it out from its hiding place.”
“You’re lying. You would never give me that chance.”
“I admit I’m fairly certain the sphere will never give itself over to a drow. But don’t you enjoy a challenge, Zollgarza?”
“Always.” Zollgarza stood next to the fire, the orange flames bringing a bit of life to his dull red eyes. “I accept your hospitality, King,” he said, offering a mock bow. “I’ll play your game. Let it lead us where it will.”
Mith Barak again suppressed the urge to cut the drow down where he stood.
Irrevocably, I have tainted this place, he thought. Whatever happens, there’ll be a price to pay.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ILTKAZAR, THE UNDERDARK
22 UKTAR
Icelin again dreamed of Waterdeep.
She sat on a stool in her great uncle’s shop, a book propped on her knees. Eagerly, she flipped the pages, but each one was blank. She went through the entire book, one page at a time, searching for the story, but it eluded her. Slamming the book shut in frustration, Icelin hurled it across the shop.
It’s not there, said a familiar woman’s voice in her mind. She recognized it from her dream the night before, the soothing voice that spoke to her while the boardinghouse fire raged. You’re not looking in the right place.
“Then where is it?” Icelin cried, waking herself up.
Groggily, she pushed herself to a sitting position. The blanket covering her slipped off her shoulder, awakening her body with a quick draft of cold. Her hips and legs ached with little pains and complaints, and her arm was stiff from lying on it on the hard bed. A low fire burned in a hearth nearby, but even by its light, Icelin had trouble sorting out where she was. Her sleep-fogged brain was slow to react to her new surroundings.
She took a breath, and the thick stench of forge fires entered her lungs, eclipsing the more subtle, sweet smoke coming from the hearth fire. With the smell, the events of the previous day came back to her in a rush.
She was miles beneath Faerun, in the dwarf city of Iltkazar.
The room she’d been given contained a bed, a small stone table with a basin of water on it, and a fireplace. On the walls were empty hooks where weapons used to hang, and discolored patches of floor marked where other pieces of furniture had once rested. These phantoms gave the room an empty, cheerless aspect, broken only by the fire, which cast a golden glow over everything.
Ruen and Sull slept across the hall. Sull’s snores carried to Icelin’s ears through two closed doors. She wondered how Ruen could sleep in the same room with the butcher.