“For all I know, it may be gone,” Ruen said. “I haven’t been home in almost twenty years.”
“That long?” Icelin slowed and stopped in the middle of the plaza. Ruen turned to look back at her. “Why didn’t you say so when we began our journey? We could have our route take us there, we-”
“It’s a waste of time,” Ruen said firmly. “I have no family left there. My mother is dead, and my father was gone long before her.”
“Surely you must have had friends,” Icelin said.
Ruen scowled at her. “You remember the vision you saw of that place. You know how they felt about me and my ‘gift.’ ”
Icelin did remember. With perfect clarity, she recalled the night they’d spent in the belly of a rotting, haunted ship in Mistshore, where a ghostly troupe of spirits had pulled the childhood memories from Ruen’s mind and performed them before Icelin and her friends. Had she not possessed a perfect memory, Icelin thought that by now that night might have taken on the qualities of a dream.
No, she remembered the little boy whose own mother had been afraid to touch him for fear of his strange power to predict death. The true mystery, to Icelin at least, was that no one in the village had had the courage to look past such a curse to see the frightened, lonely child laboring under it.
“I can see why you wouldn’t want to go back,” she ventured. “I know what it’s like to be among people who don’t understand you and who fear you because of it.”
Would he let her reach out to him? Surely, at this moment …
Tentatively, Icelin laid her hand on his arm. She felt a tremor of hesitation go through Ruen’s body before he pulled away. Icelin wasn’t truly surprised, but that didn’t stop the sadness that squeezed her chest.
“Is that the way it’s always going to be?” she said softly.
“We’re here,” Ruen said, not answering.
Silence fell between them. Icelin noticed more guards than she’d seen yesterday clustered around the entrance to the king’s hall. They parted when Icelin approached, and one of the guards led her inside to a smaller hallway than the one that led to the king’s audience chamber. At the end of the hall was a pair of doors. As they approached, the right hand door opened, and King Mith Barak himself stepped through to greet them.
“You waste no time. Good,” the king said. He fixed a keen gaze on both of them. “Looking a little melancholy today, though, aren’t you? What’s it about? Beds uncomfortable-too short, were they?”
Icelin sensed the thread of humor running beneath the king’s scowl and tried to respond in kind. “Not being overly blessed with stature, they were more than adequate for me,” she said. “I’m afraid there’s not a bed in the city big enough for my butcher, but he managed fine as well.”
“Glad to hear it,” the king said. “So if you slept well, your dour faces must mean you’ve reconsidered our bargain.” He reached out and took hold of the knob of the adjacent door, but his penetrating gaze never left Icelin’s face.
“I haven’t decided anything,” Icelin said. “The threat your city faces is a monstrous one. Even if I do what you ask with this drow prisoner, I don’t see how it will make a difference in the fight that’s coming.”
“You let me worry about that,” the king said-rather sharply, Icelin thought, but she had no time to ponder why he was agitated. He turned the knob and swung open the door.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
ILTKAZAR, THE UNDERDARK
22 UKTAR
Icelin experienced several emotions at once when she stepped into King Mith Barak’s library. Foremost was awe, at the sheer size of the chamber, the vaulted ceilings, the rugs and furniture arranged around the room. A large table took up most of the space in the center of the room, but smaller, more inviting tables and chairs occupied the corners, arranged near a set of books resting under glass on marble pedestals.
She’d been expecting a dark cell, or some other confined space where prisoners were interrogated, but this …
When she gazed at the books on the walls, Icelin grew lightheaded. The smell of old parchment filled her nose, and she fell into the scent as if into the arms of an old friend. She’d always loved books, but the volumes of knowledge contained in this room eclipsed anything she’d ever seen in the bookshops of Waterdeep.
Standing in the middle of it all, one arm leaned against the mantle of a huge marble fireplace, was the drow.
He looked up from a book he held in his hands and met her gaze. For a breath, Icelin made no reaction at all. The drow’s presence was so out of place in the warm, inviting room, she thought he couldn’t be real.
“What game is this?” the drow said.
Icelin jolted in surprise. The drow had spoken in Common. His melodic voice was full of wary indignation.
“They’re my guests,” Mith Barak said. He nodded at Icelin. “She’s here for the same reason you are, Zollgarza. I told her you’d behave yourself.” He made a gesture, and a pair of guards strode into the room, taking up positions near the door.
“You send a child to interrogate me now?” Zollgarza sneered. “Am I expected to roast the girl over the fire and devour her flesh to satiate some unholy appetite?” He flashed a lascivious grin at Icelin. “No, she has barely enough flesh to make a meal. Still, there are other pleasures she might supply, for a tenday at least, before I tire of her.”
Ruen reached for his dagger. The king stepped forward, and despite his shorter stature, he more than compensated with his bulk to block Ruen’s path.
“He won’t touch her,” the king said. “You have my word. And the lady is not without her own protections. Don’t mind him,” he said, this time addressing Icelin. “I’m the one he wants to kill. He’s bitter because he missed his chance. Aren’t you, Zollgarza?”
This time the drow actually smiled. “How much easier my task might have been, had I found you in the form of a statue. Were those simply legends, King-mad tales spun by your followers? Do your guests know what rumors your own people whisper about you?”
Icelin glanced at Mith Barak, but the king’s face had gone cold, his silver eyes devoid of expression or apparent feeling. “Beyond the guards, there are protections in this room-older than any of the tomes-that will activate if the drow tries to attack. No, the only thing you have to fear from this one is his tongue,” Mith Barak said. “There is no greater weapon, no more lethal poison. He will try to break you with nothing more than words, and he has succeeded on many hapless souls in the past, I’ve no doubt. Take care and do not heed him.”
Slowly, Ruen sheathed his dagger and turned to Icelin. “Are you sure you want to speak to this thing?” he asked in a low voice. “I tell you again, it will do no good. You’ll regret it.”
Icelin hesitated. “What did you mean when you said he and I are here for the same reason?” she asked Mith Barak.
“The sphere,” the king said. “It has hidden itself somewhere in this library. Zollgarza seeks it, too, so I’ve decided to let both of you look for it, though I have a feeling it will reveal itself to the lady first.”
“You mean you don’t know where it is?” Icelin couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “But how will I find it? I don’t even know where to begin to look.”
“If you prove worthy, it will find you,” Mith Barak said, as if it were that simple.
Icelin knew she shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d sensed the king was hiding something. Now her task seemed twice as impossible as before. “I need to speak with Ruen privately,” she told the king.
Mith Barak nodded. “Take your time,” he said.
“I like nothing about this,” Icelin began when they were back outside in the plaza.
“Neither do I,” Ruen said. “For whatever reason, Mith Barak thinks you will be able to find the sphere.” He scowled. “One thing I’m sure of, if that drow dies under the Silver Fire, I for one won’t shed any tears for him.”