“Stop,” Havilar said. “Please.” The pressure stopped increasing. “You don’t want to save my sister-fine,” the tiefling went on. “And I don’t care what happens to your sister, pop her eyeballs out and hand her over to those erinyes things, just do it somewhere else.” She stepped closer. “But I care what happens to Farideh. And you said you’d help.”
Lorcan was silent such long moments, Sairché wondered what schemes he was weighing, what prior agreements were in play-or if he had gone too mad for such things.
“Give me your knife,” he said to the tiefling. She tossed it down to land before Sairché’s face. He aimed the tip of the blade at Sairché’s right eye, just a hair’s breadth from her lower lid.
“Ask your questions.”
“How do we get her out?” Havilar asked.
“The necklace,” Sairché said. “Every one of those gems is a failsafe, a tool to help Farideh get out of this alive. And now she doesn’t have it.”
Havilar held the strand up to the light by one dangling ruby. “What do they do?”
“Nothing, likely,” Lorcan answered. He drew the tip of the blade over the thin skin beneath her eye, drawing blood. Sairché didn’t dare flinch. “She’s quite the liar.”
“Throw it!” Sairché said. “Throw the last shitting ruby, for gods’ sake, and see for yourself!” Havilar twisted off one of the dangling jewels.
“Havi, no!” the young man cried, but it was too late. Havilar hurled the ruby across the glade, against the side of the rocky outcropping. As it struck its target, the gem detonated, the explosion large enough to send a rattling avalanche of stone off the face of the outcrop and a hot wind rushing past the camp. Havilar and her young man tumbled off their feet, but Sairché was not so lucky, and Lorcan weathered the concussion.
“Another bomb,” Sairché panted, blood dripping down into the corner of her eye and over her nose bridge. “A charm that will help her pass through the wall undetected. A portal bead that will pull her back into the stasis chamber in the Hells. A beacon for me. And Lorcan.”
Havilar looked up at Lorcan, who had gone quiet again. Sairché twisted against him-if she could get her hand up to the chain of rings she wore, she could find the one that activated her portal. .
“Bring it here,” Lorcan said. The tiefling laid the necklace out just beyond Sairché’s reach. “Now,” he said. “Which is which?”
Sairché eyed the chain of jewels, weighing the risk of a lie against the risk of the truth. “Bomb, beacon, portal, passwall. The passwall charm is the only thing that can open the wall without resorting to planar travel. She very well might need it.”
Lorcan reached out, snapped the portal bead off. “Let’s see if you’re lying.”
Before Sairché could react, he’d slammed the bead against her mouth, past her lips and over her teeth. He kept his hand pressed against her face, looking down at her without even a scrap of emotion she could use. She tried to speak, to convince him that he would lose so much more with her trapped in the Hells. The bead slipped, lodged in the gap of her molars, and Sairché froze.
Lorcan smiled at her. “Sleep well, Sairché,” he said, and he slammed the hilt of the knife into her lower jaw. The bead shattered, the glass cutting her gums and tongue, then the portal’s rough magic wrapped around her and dragged her back, deep into the caverns of Malbolge.
Chapter Eleven
21 Ches, the Year of the Nether Mountain Scrolls (1486 DR) Three days ride from Waterdeep
Lorcan took hold of Sairché’s necklace of rings and leaped aside as his sister vanished in a tangle of glowing threads and a gust of flame. The chain snapped as its wearer was pulled through the fabric of the planes, sending magical rings scattering over the forest floor.
He had expected to feel a rush of triumph, a certain glee as she was sucked away to the same cage she’d trapped Farideh and Havilar in. But the utter calm surprised him: their quarrels were finished, his revenge complete. Sairché would stay, trapped in the stasis cage for as long as he liked-one of the rings would open it.
“Now what?” Havilar demanded.
Lorcan turned to her, relishing the moment. “Now? Now I take my new trinkets and return to the Hells.” He stooped to pluck the rings from the deadfall, nearly a score in all.
“And then?” Havilar asked after a moment. “She knew how to get to Farideh, and you just. . did you kill her?”
“I sent her away,” Lorcan said, stringing rings onto their chain. “Back to where she kept you all those years.” He looked up at her. “You’re welcome.”
“She knew where to find Farideh,” Havilar repeated. “She knew and it’s not like she was going to attack you.”
“You underestimate Sairché.”
“I don’t underestimate Sairché, I listen to Farideh!” Havilar shouted. “We needed her to find Farideh, you karshoji bastard!”
“You needed her,” Lorcan said savagely. “Your sister threw me over-did you really think I was eager to rescue her? To swoop in like someone out of one of your silly chapbooks and go on like she hadn’t betrayed me? You’re a lot more foolish than even she thinks you are.”
Havilar’s cheeks reddened. “Farideh was trying to protect us!” That was just a twist of the knife-Lorcan ought to save her because Farideh was only doing what was in her and Havilar’s best interests. You thought she was different, Sairché had chuckled. They all try and scale the hierarchy eventually. They all choose someone else. He twisted the broken links together and put the chain of rings around his neck.
“Well I do hope that works out for you,” he said snidely. “Good luck finding her without Sairché’s help.” He spread his wings and flapped into the air. “Don’t you run away!” Havilar shouted. “She’s in this because of you, don’t you karshoji run away!”
“Havi,” Brin said. “Let him go.”
Lorcan didn’t wait to hear what followed, what entreaties, what insults, what outbursts. He was done. There was nothing Havilar or Brin could say to change that. Done with warlocks. Done with Brimstone Angels. Done with Farideh. .
Are you in love with my sister?
And he had nineteen new magical rings to distract him from that. But he had gone only far enough to lose sight of Havilar and Brin’s fire, when the air in front of him peeled open like a rotten wound. Lorcan dropped back as three enormous insects with bladed arms darted out of it, surrounding him.
Shit and ashes, he thought, hanging in the air. Hellwasps.
The leader dropped down to the level of Lorcan’s face, tilting its head as it considered him. “You are Lorcan,” it said. “Son of Invadiah.”
“None other,” he said, wondering if he jammed his fingers into as many rings as he could whether he’d find the one that took him away from Glasya’s monstrous messengers before he found the one that turned him to stone-or worse.
The hellwasp clicked its mandibles. “Her Highness wishes to speak to you.” Its bladed legs extended toward Lorcan. “You will come.”
Havilar watched as the night sky swallowed Lorcan and with him her last scrap of hope of finding Farideh. She clutched her glaive, hardly daring to move. “It’s better this way,” Brin said behind her. “I promise.”
She whirled on him. “How? How is this possibly better?”
“Havi,” he all but sighed. “With Lorcan? This was never going to end well.”
“He said he could find Farideh, and-”
“And he lied,” Brin said. “Can’t you see that?”
“He didn’t lie,” Havilar said. “He doesn’t lie-Farideh said so.”
“He was playing you all along, to get back at his sister.”