The Adversary

Chapter Twenty-four

26 Ches, the Year of the Nether Mountain Scrolls (1486 DR) The Lost Peaks

Mehen helped Havilar out of the portal and into a bedroom hidden under dustcloths. “You can open your eyes again,” he said. Havilar looked around once, holding tight to her weapon.

“Where is she?”

“Near,” Lorcan said. He unlatched the door and peered out. “Before we find her, though, you need to know two things. First, there’s a Chosen of Shar somewhere in here. She’s exceedingly powerful-you’ll feel it.”

“How do we fight her?” Havilar asked, as she moved ahead, out into the hallway beyond, scanning for guards.

“Strong feelings seem to get you a little space,” Lorcan said. “But not much. And you may not need to worry about that,” he added, “because Sairché is in here somewhere, too, and I know you both have very strong opinions about her.”

Good, Mehen thought, tasting the air. The devil who’d tricked Farideh. The devil who’d stolen his daughters.

“But that’s the second thing,” Lorcan said. “She and I have a pact of our own. I’m bound to protect her, and she has to protect me.” Mehen started to tell Lorcan he could try however he liked to stop Mehen from hurting Sairché, but Lorcan held up a hand.

“It doesn’t come into play,” Lorcan said significantly, “if I don’t know what’s going to happen. Understand? I have to make sure Farideh’s safe- that agreement is”-he shuddered-“more pressing. But then I’m obliged to save Sairché, and if I know that she’s, say, in the way of your falchion, I have to stop it.”

Mehen bared his teeth. “I’ll keep my thoughts to myself.”

Havilar cried out as a pair of human soldiers came up the stairs. Their swords were out, and as they spotted Havi, they turned and called back to someone out of sight.

Mehen pulled his falchion, ready for a fight. But Havilar yanked the remains of the ruby necklace from her pocket and threw the whole thing over the guards’ heads.

The explosion threw the guards from their feet and sent a rattle of stones sailing through the hall. Havilar ducked, shielding her head from the flying rock.

“Well done,” Mehen said. The flight of stairs below was a crater, the outer wall blown wide to the cold daylight. The guards below who’d survived shouted conflicting orders.

Mehen looked back to see Lorcan straightening over the guard’s body, his blade wet with blood. “Start climbing,” he said.

The broken rock extended half the flight. Mehen climbed to the next landing and found his heart suddenly racing, as though he were in the heat of battle, his thoughts sinking as they had on the lowest nights, the times he was sure his girls were gone forever.

Lorcan stopped dead. “There,” he said. “That’s it. That’s the Nameless One. And. . shit and ashes. That’s not just the Nameless One.”

Mehen looked down the empty hallway. Smoke clung to the ceiling, and the crackle of flames echoed through the space. He looked back at Havilar and saw the pinched look of her features.

“Brin won’t know what happened,” she said. Mehen took hold of her shoulder and steered her down several steps, past the point where the unwelcome feeling took hold.

“Stay here,” Mehen said. “Make sure no more guards come up the stairs. I’ll get Fari.” Lorcan trailed him as he stormed toward the farthest room, each step driving his pulse faster, each breath a little harder to draw.

Mehen squared his shoulders and pressed on.

In the middle of the room, a flaming angel faced off against a child of shadow, a battle of wills, a battle of proxies for the powers that filled the black stone room, the only sign of their presence the maelstrom of fear and loss that stirred in Clanless Mehen.

“Farideh,” Mehen said. The flaming angel didn’t move. He stepped into the room, focusing on his daughter in the middle of that fire. “Farideh.”

Dread gripped his chest. He’d been ready for a wizard, a devil, a pack of guards. Whatever this was. .

Whatever it is, he told himself firmly, she’s still Farideh.

“Farideh,” he said, coming to stand beside her, just out of reach of the wings of flame.

“Go,” she hissed. “If I stop, she’ll overwhelm you.”

He glanced at the shadowy girl, at her manic grin. Briefly he imagined his girls at that age, and thanked the gods no one had given them such strength. He could feel the girl’s powers pulling his soul open, making a hollowness he was all too familiar with.

“Let her go, Fari,” he said. “Come back.”

Farideh shook her head. “Go, please. It’s not safe.”

“Trust me,” he said. “Put the flames out and trust me.”

Farideh swallowed, and for a terrible moment, with the growing light of Zahnya’s spell flashing on their faces, Mehen feared she would refuse once more. Then she let out a gasping cry, and the flames, the wings, and the terror all vanished. At once the Nameless One’s gift rolled over them both, and Farideh’s knees buckled. Mehen caught hold of her, and she let out an explosive breath.

Sairché remained, shaking against the wall.

Mehen gritted his teeth and looked to Lorcan, standing frozen in the doorway.

“Your sister,” Mehen called. “Your problem.” He hooked an arm under Farideh and helped her toward the door, holding her close as the waves of aching emptiness crashed against them.

“Stop!” the girl cried. Her whole frame seemed to tremble with the powers that poured out of her, as she glared at Mehen. “You can’t leave. You can’t bear it.” The force of her powers intensified and Mehen’s heart felt as if it were shattering all over again.

But beside exile, beside Arjhani, beside losing his daughters, and losing them again, the powers of the Nameless One were nothing. For all the sadness and emptiness tried to tangle him up to drag him down, Mehen had lived long years with that feeling-and he’d learned how to ignore it.

Mehen looked down his snout at the girl. “You have scant time before this camp is destroyed. Find your way out.”

The Nameless One looked up at him, shocked and horror-struck. The powers ebbed and Lorcan rushed past Mehen and scooped Sairché ungently from the ground.

“Get that portal open,” Mehen growled as Lorcan passed.

“We need to go down,” Dahl said, looking nervously at the crackling ball of magic. It had doubled in size since Brin and he had started watching for the twins. “We need to get the doors shut.” Brin didn’t move.

“Brin!” Dahl shouted. He didn’t want to go down any more than Brin did, didn’t want to assume the worst. But the longer they waited, the thinner their chances grew. “Gods books, Brin, come on!”

“I should have stayed with her,” Brin said.

When he didn’t turn, Dahl ran from the open door to the Cormyrean’s side and grabbed hold of his arm. “She gets out, and you’re going to be looking back from the afterlife a great fool,” he said.

Brin looked at him, as haunted as Dahl had ever seen a man. “And if she doesn’t?”

“Then I think she’ll forgive you waiting a few days,” Dahl said, “if you’re going to be a great fool and join her. Come on.”

He shoved Brin toward the door, ignoring his own racing fears. They were nothing beside Brin’s-and it was an insult to the other man, he thought, to make the comparison. But as Dahl pulled the wooden door shut and followed Brin down into the dark, he said a little prayer to Oghma.

If you don’t let her figure out a way to escape, he said, then I really am through with you.

The girl who had long since offered her name up to Shar watched the field of magic that had grown to the size of a cart, sizzling and flashing in the air beyond the study’s open windows. As she slipped into the room, her eyes fell on the wizard, twitching uneasily in his sleep, but they didn’t linger. She came to stand instead over the basins with their ice-cold waters. She didn’t ask her goddess for deliverance-no one thought she understood what she had pledged herself to, but she knew down in her bones that Shar would not save her, not a second time.

She took a pinch of the powdery blue blossoms and scattered them over the surface of the water, closing her eyes for a moment and cursing her want. “Show me Sakkors. .”

Zahnya looked over the shimmering runes that burned into the forest floor, the lines of power that strengthened and directed the spell. Her two remaining apprentices lay dead on the ground, their blood spilled-quickly and quietly-to bolster the magic. Nothing in the grove breathed but Zahnya.

In the camp beyond the dancing light of her spell shone down on the huts like a second, sickly sun and reflected off the polished tower, green and orange and gold.

Zahnya held her wand before her chest and spoke the last words of the spell. They struck the air like the rattle of grave dirt on a casket lid, and turned into motes of darkness that swirled together over the runes, collecting into a mass that suddenly evaporated into the ether.

And beyond the wall, everything became sound and light.