The Adversary

Chapter Six

18 Ches, the Year of the Nether Mountain Scrolls (1486 DR) Somewhere north of Waterdeep

The floor dropped out from under Dahl’s feet, the air around him evaporated, and the only thing he could be sure of was the weight of Farideh slumped against him. But with his next heartbeat his feet slammed into a stone floor, the air condensed around him once more, cold and clammy, and there were six shadar-kai men standing around them, looking startled. “Gods’ books,” Dahl spat, and he dropped Farideh to her knees. He drew his sword and cut at the nearest of the shadar-kai-the blade slashing deep into the scarred, gray skin of the man’s arm, opening a vein. The shadow-damned creature looked down at the blood pumping from the wound, surprised. A wild grin spread across his face, thrilled by the sensation stirring up his nerves, anchoring his soul to his body a little firmer.

Dahl cursed. One didn’t wait for shadar-kai to bring the fight, and one didn’t count on a surrender.

Dahl moved quickly, taking out the fellow behind the wounded shadar-kai with a quick, fortunate strike to the side of the head. Still spraying blood, the wounded one pulled a pair of sharp sickles and with a crazed yell hooked both around toward Dahl’s back. Dahl twisted, slamming the hilt of the sword into the man’s face.

All around him, the sound of blades being pulled from scabbards, chains being unhooked from carriers, bodies primed for violence and eager for the pain of that violence, set into motion. He glanced around as he wrenched one of the sickles out of the wounded shadar-kai’s hand. They were all grinning.

Farideh was still on the floor, fingers curling against the stone, eyes on the backs of her hands. Gods damn it, Dahl thought, stepping between her and the shadar-kai. He flung the scythe at an approaching guard, a thick brute with a missing eye. He didn’t even flinch as it hit his collarbone. A long spiked chain slithered over the floor beside him, twitching as if preparing to strike.

It lashed out, but Dahl was ready. He leaped out of range and into the reach of another shadar-kai, this one shaved bald and pierced all over with silver barbs. He caught Dahl and slung him down to the stones, so quick Dahl couldn’t stop his head from smacking the floor.

Up, up, up! he shouted to himself. His head was spinning and the pain was intense, but it was nothing compared to what would come if the brutal shadar-kai got ahold of them. The chain struck him hard in the ribs as he pushed up, sending a lightning bolt of pain through his chest. One elbow buckled, but he kept moving, twisting up to face the shadar-kai who’d thrown him and slamming his elbow into the side of his knee. The pain lit the man’s face, and the dagger that was arcing toward Dahl slowed, enough to give the Harper a chance to sit up and get out of the way of the chain that hit its owner’s ally instead. Dahl’s sword finished its work.

But, Hells, there were still too many. He looked around, past the advancing thug with his chain, past the swordsman shifting around Dahl’s side, past the fellow who’d knocked him down, now holding a pair of sharp-bladed carvestars in hand, ready to throw. There had to be an exit, a way to retreat, but even then, could he get Farideh-

A crackling gust of magic streaked through the air and devoured the carvestar as the guard threw it. An explosion of metal shards and sparks made the guard flinch back. Farideh stood now, eyes wild, the powers of the Hells suffusing her arms and tinting her veins black. She hissed another unholy word and Dahl scuttled back, as several bolts of burning brimstone streaked out of nothing to hammer at the three guards.

The big fellow turned on her, but when his chain lashed out, she stepped into it-and vanished, reappearing at the guard’s back. She threw another bolt of bruised-looking energy. Dahl took advantage of the guard’s surprise and punched his dagger through the seams of the shadar-kai’s leather armor, deep into his belly. The chain slipped from the man’s grasp.

He heard Farideh’s shouts of Infernal and the sound of one of the swordsmen crying out and hitting the floor. When Dahl turned she was bleeding from one nostril and a cut on her arm below where the sleeve of her shirt had torn loose like a flapping sail, but the heel of her hand was also slamming into the philtrum of her assailant. The shadar-kai’s head snapped back, but he kept his feet.

“Adaestuo,” she hissed, and the pulse of energy came again, bursting out through her palm and over the man’s face. He screamed-that horrid scream the shadar-kai had, half pain and half mad laughter-and dropped the sword, stumbling back into Dahl and his dagger. Dahl cut the creature’s throat, ending his ecstasy.

“Oghma, Mystra, and lost Deneir,” Dahl said, panting. His ribs ached, his elbow was screaming, his head pounding hard. He couldn’t take another fight like that. He scanned the room-no more shadar-kai, but stairs up to some other level ahead and a path behind him into the torchlit gloom.

He sheathed his sword and took hold of her unwounded arm, dagger in the other hand. “We have to get out of here.”

She didn’t budge. “You have to get out of here.” She tore her sleeve at the elbow, wadded the cloth up and pressed it to the side of his head. Only when he took it, only when her hand came back smeared scarlet, did Dahl realize how much he was bleeding.

He cursed and pressed the cloth harder to the wound. “Come on,” he said. “We’ll find somewhere to lie low. There’s got to be-”

“No.” She looked from one exit to the other. “You shouldn’t have followed, Dahl.”

“Followed?” Dahl squinted, the wooziness of blood loss catching up. “You came here on purpose?”

“It’s not what it looks like.”

“It had better not be-it looks like you’re a godsbedamned Shadovar agent. Where is this place?”

“Whatever it is, it’s not safe for you to be here. Please. Trust me, I-” She jerked her head toward the sound of footsteps echoing down the stairway. “Karshoj,” she hissed. “You have to go. Before someone finds you.” She drew her sword and pushed him toward the dark corridor.

“I’m not leaving you!”

“You are, because they aren’t going to kill me.”

“What in all the planes are you-”

“Gods damn it, run!” The shadows of approaching bodies slunk down the stairs like the fingers of a reaching hand. And though a chorus of old instincts shouted at Dahl to stay, to draw his sword, to find out what in the Hells was going on, to protect her or stop her or something, Dahl had enough sense to know he wasn’t going to do any of that while bleeding from the head, Farideh fighting him every step of the way.

Farideh shoved Dahl hard toward what she hoped was the exit, and ran back to the circle of dead guards. It had to look like she’d come alone. It had to look like she’d done this, whatever the consequences. She drew her sword and bloodied it with the mess of one guard’s belly wound. Kept the rod in her off-hand. Didn’t dare look after Dahl as six guards-humans this time, but still armored in the same spiked and studded armor the shadar-kai had favored-came into view.

You can do this, Farideh thought, drawing herself up and trying to look dangerous.

The guards considered her, considered the dead shadar-kai. Considered the sickly looking light dancing around Farideh’s rod. But they didn’t move.

Not until the seventh, a man in robes of emerald so deep and dark they might have looked black were he not flanked by the guards in ebon armor, came up behind. The guards parted for Adolican Rhand, and Farideh’s heart stopped dead in her chest.

“You?” she said, suddenly no more dangerous than a stunned deer.

Adolican Rhand smiled at her, his blue eyes piercing and predatory, even if his next words were innocent enough. They always were, she thought.

“Ah, your mistress didn’t tell you,” he said. He clucked his tongue-at Farideh or at Sairché’s omission, she couldn’t say. “Nor did she mention that you planned to sacrifice half a dozen of my guards.”

Farideh didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look away. The memory of Rhand smiling at her while the poison he’d slipped her made her thoughts slip out of reach like little fishes in a dark pond. What had Sairché promised him?

Anything she wanted, Farideh thought. And Havilar and Lorcan will answer if you don’t.

She looked down at the dead guards. Adolican Rhand was still watching her, one part amused, one part hungry.

“If you didn’t intend them as a sacrifice,” Farideh said calmly, “you should have told them to let me pass. I didn’t come here to be tested.”

“My apologies,” Adolican Rhand said. “I suppose it was in their nature. To see how far something can be pressed before it breaks.” He smiled. “Obviously further than they thought.”

“Much further,” Farideh snapped.

“Well met, and I will warn them they should avoid it in the future.” His smile wavered, as if he might laugh. “Though you must promise me you won’t press them back. Come, I have quarters prepared for you.”

Run, every muscle of her body urged. Go. Go.

But instead she sheathed her sword, put away the rod, and sent the quickest, most secretive glance in the direction of the dark hallway. Dahl was gone, and despite her fear, she nearly sighed in relief, as she headed up the stairs, into the reaches of a man she’d had every intention of never, ever coming near again.

Dahl cursed and cursed again, as he wound through the passageway away from Farideh, away from the dead guards. He should have stayed. He should have gotten her away-she might be a traitor, she might not, and he wouldn’t be able to find out which if she was dead.

She’d come here on purpose, and if she hadn’t expected the shadar-kai, she’d expected something bad. Something dangerous.

But she told you to run, he thought, pulling the second dagger from his boot before edging around a corner. She could have kept you there, let whomever it is kill you.

Shade, he thought, easing open a door and finding a cistern and storeroom. That many shadar-kai in Faerûn and who else could it be? But why would Farideh aid the Shadovar? And if she would, why would she tell him to run?

A deal with a devil, Havilar had said. If the Nine Hells worked in concert with Netheril. .

Then Toril had best all pray together, he thought, because anyone would make a better hero than you in this case.

Dahl moved quickly and quietly, checking for exits, and though he heard the sounds of more guards behind several doors, none of them opened on him.

He ducked behind a stack of water barrels, checked his wound. Still bleeding. He pressed harder and tore strips off his own sleeve to tie the packing on. He wriggled the flask out of his breeches’ pocket and took a mouthful- just enough to think straight. Until he knew what was happening, until he could get reinforcements, he was the only hero Toril got.

Stop the bleeding, he thought. Send a message back to Tam. A group of human guards passed by, talking in low, tense voices. Dahl waited until they passed, then-after another swallow too tiny to count-he edged down the corridor in the direction they’d come from.

He tried a quiet door-found a pair of human guards, dead asleep in their uniforms-and quickly shut it. A second-filled to the edges with casks. No exit. A third-an armory. Dahl slipped inside, his head getting lighter. He needed to sit.

Racks and racks and racks of swords. Spiked chains dangled from hooks like hideous vines. Hooked knives, vicious katars, long black whips-he counted back over the rooms he’d passed, considered the unused weapons. Whatever this fortress was guarding, it was well armed.

All the more reason to get out, he told himself. Not for the first time he was glad of the little sending kit he’d convinced Tam to have his Harpers carry. Even lost in the middle of gods-knew-where, he wasn’t cut off entirely from support. And Dahl carried a spare besides.

He found a dim corner and pulled out the pouch, the vials of powdered metals and salts, the little scroll. He poured the vials out in neat lines, one eye on the door, half his thoughts on the right words to send. Weapons. Fortress. Farideh. He cursed again, and read the ritual.

The lines burst into brief, bright flame.

“Netherese stronghold,” he whispered. “Soldiers, shadar-kai,heavily armed. Somewhere cold,” he added, spotting a single fur-trimmed cloak on a rack, and he nearly cursed again, recalling his thin breath. “High up.” He hesitated. “Farideh came intentionally. I’ve lost her, both wounded. Have one reserve sending, sword and dagger.”

The magic crackled like a fading fire, as the spell carried his words across Faerûn, to Tam Zawad’s ears. A moment later the reply came.

“Lie low. Get me better idea of your location, quickly, so rescuers can find a portal. Find Farideh. Determine where she stands. Stay safe.”

Dahl opened his mouth to protest, but the magic was spent, there was no replying. There was no insisting that he didn’t need to be rescued, that wasn’t what he meant. And the way Tam had said “find Farideh”-did he think Dahl had fumbled that too? That he ought to have stuck beside her, regardless of wounds, regardless of what she told him to do-regardless of the fact that it was likely she wasn’t exactly in need of rescue from the Shadovar? He couldn’t even be sure this was a dangerous place-what if what he thought was a Netherese fortress was only some Shadovar nobleman’s pleasure house?

He dragged his hands over his face. Gods, he thought. You’re a mess. Even Tam knows it. He sighed, sure there was no farther for him to fall. He’d missed the signs Khochen had picked up on, and let a probable Shadovar agent into the Harper’s hall-and then let her flee. He had botched recapturing her when he’d had the chance, and as much as he’d have liked to blame that on being hit on the head, he knew better. And just to confirm how little anyone trusted him to manage, there was a rescue party coming for him. Like some kidnapped noble in sullied hose.

Dahl was sure down to his bones that if his colleagues had to save him, he would dig the tattoo out of his arm himself. He would find out what they were dealing with. He would find the way out.

And then he’d find Farideh-and whatever had passed between them before wouldn’t cloud his judgment again.

He stood, a little better for his rest, but his vision still swirled. He untied the makeshift bandage-the blood had clotted-and wiped the remaining smears away in the dull reflection of an axe head.

This is just information gathering, he told himself. You’re just in the field instead of behind a desk.

A fortress this stocked, and he’d be hard pressed to get out past its guards. He scanned the walls and racks of the armory before spotting the leather armor uniform of the Shadovar guards he’d seen earlier. If there were so many guards in the fortress, maybe one more wouldn’t faze the rest.

Dahl slipped out of the room moments later, his old clothes shoved back under a rack of pikes. The armor wasn’t fit for him, but the spare cloak covered the looseness around the chest and the gaps in the bracers. He pulled up the hood and continued searching for an exit.

The air was definitely thinner, he thought, as his pulse clattered along like a runaway wagon. Up in the mountains? Floating city? (Gods’ books, please, he thought, not a floating city.)

He found a way out at the back of a cellar, past vast stores of roots and kegs (ready for a siege, Dahl thought), and came up and out into a yard. A smithy sat to one side, still and seldom used. A trio of goats looked up at Dahl from a small pen, bleating uneasily. A handful of shadar-kai threw dice in the corner by the light of the moon. Dahl watched as one threw a bad round and was rewarded with a stiletto through the back of her hand as a prize.

While her companions laughed, Dahl slipped around the pen and past a stable, then past another stable where something big and growling stirred the shadows. He peered in a window and saw a massive creature, all leathery wings and gasping mouth. Veserab, he thought. Shit. Whoever ran this place had clout in the city of Shade to ride one of the monstrous mounts.

Another building-this one made of the same strange, craggy stone as the tower only windowless-cut off Dahl’s path as it stretched across the space between the tower and the wall.

The tower reached high enough to make a powerful caster a strong concern-you could see an army approaching from any direction up there. The wall around the courtyard would not hold against siege engines, though-too low, not fortified enough. And the forces. . there were more guards on the wall, but the racket they made suggested there was a brawl on and they were clustered near the large building. Not watching. Curious.

Dahl eased up a watchtower’s stairs to the wall’s top. The shadar-kai guards were circled around two of their fellows, both bleeding and bruised. Two of the guards looked back at him, and Dahl caught his breath. He made a face and waved at them, as if telling them to continue, to keep to themselves. The shadar-kai sneered back, but it was a good enough imitation. They returned to their battle, muttering insults about fragile humans to each other. Dahl nearly vomited in relief.

He walked quickly along the wall, looking for a likely landing place, and surveyed the surrounding land as he did. On the other side of the wall, the castle was surrounded by smaller buildings. Barracks? he thought. A village? No way to tell in this light but to pull one of the inhabitants out and ask. Beyond the buildings, the sliver of a moon reflected off a lake, and traced the edge of a mountain peak. Starmounts? he thought. Sword Mountains? Something farther afield?

Dahl dropped down the other side of the wall and quickly slipped into the darkened spaces between the squat, square huts. Woodsmoke hung on the air-scores of cookfires leaking out the twig-thatched roofs-but there were no lights hanging in the dark alleyways. Only the moon keeping watch over her wicked sister’s Shadovar followers and whatever they were up to. Dahl kept moving toward the edge of the settlement.

Beyond the last of the buildings the land rose to a steep hill scattered with rocks and low brush. Mountain sedge, frills of mauve orclar edging the rocks, clumps of snowstars shining bright in the moonlight against dark leaves-he was well north of Waterdeep. Dahl climbed, keeping to cover. A crater, he thought.

Near the peak of the slope he nearly crossed the path of a shadar-kai patrol. He crouched beneath a scraggly yew as the two women passed, jangling with blades and chains and spikes and arguing with one another in the tongue of the Netherese.

Dahl frowned. He’d seen more attentive guards patrolling Waterdeep’s sewer. He glanced back the way he’d come and marked the edge of a crater that went nearly all the way around the fortress and its settlement. Beyond the land dropped away into dark forest, blurred by clouds or maybe the thin air. Long scramble down, he thought.

Long scramble back, he thought, to get Farideh. Old worries, old thoughts surged up in him. Oghma, let that have been the right choice. The farther he got from her, the less sure he was.

When the shadar-kai were out of sight and out of earshot, Dahl sprinted across the distance, toward the next patch of brush.

As he crossed the trail the guards used, his foot hit a rill in the dark, and he stumbled. Arms outstretched to cushion his fall, Dahl caught himself instead on the invisible barrier surrounding the strange village.

The crack of something hitting the wall jerked Havilar from her slumber. She sat up, tense and ready to attack whoever had made the noise. But the room was empty. The banging came again, and she considered the wall. Farideh’s room was on the other side. She pounded against the wall and smacked her knuckle crooked on the boards. Pain shot up her arm and forced a curse out of her mouth.

She sucked on the scrape, glad no one had seen that. All her anger and grief welled up-no. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t want to be awake. She reached for the wine bottle again, and spotted the note beneath it.

Havilar, she read.

There’s nothing I can say to fix what’s happened. But I hope you know I did what I thought I had to, what I thought I needed to do to protect us both. If anything happened to you I would never forgive myself, and the worst thing to bear is that now, I’ve made something happen that’s more terrible than I could have imagined.

You should know that our imprisonment wasn’t the price of Sairché’s protection. I owe her a favor, and she’s come to collect. I hope I come back, but if I don’t, I love you and tell Mehen I love him too. I am so sorry. I hope this makes things easier The necklace is yours. You were right. Rubies suit you better.

Havilar stared at the letter for several breaths, uncertain whether she wanted to cry out and run after her sister or crush the note into a ball and forget she ever saw it. She wanted to crush it, she realized. Even if she was scared and sad and aching in every corner of her heart, she still wanted to crumple up the foolscap and kick it under the bed.

The knock came again, and Havilar’s anger lit. As if she couldn’t hear Farideh gathering her things. As if a letter made the difference. As if Farideh running off into danger weren’t just another way she didn’t trust Havilar. If Farideh was going to go, then she ought to get on with it.

She stood woozily and caught herself on the table. . and noticed the ruby necklace Sairché had given Farideh balled against the wall like a frightened viper. As she watched, it uncoiled, the largest stone falling over with a clink.

That necklace, Havilar thought. That stupid necklace. What was it but a great big sign that no matter what Farideh did, she’d be rewarded and Havilar would be left behind? The big ruby in the middle hung crooked, as if someone had bent it toward the door. She scooped it off the ground, and slammed the largest stone against the corner of the table.

She expected the gem to rattle her hand and make her feel stupid.

But the ruby shattered under her palm, and the necklace exploded.

Havilar was thrown backward into the door by the force of the cloud of ash, knocking the wind from her. Her eardrums ached, but there was little sound beyond the tinkle of glass, the rush of smoke, and the sound of Havilar coughing.

And someone else coughing. Havilar rolled to her feet and peered into the room as the smoke thinned. She drew the little knife from her belt as the shape of a person came clear.

Lorcan, slowly standing.

“Shit and ashes!” he all but howled. He loomed over Havilar, looking like nothing so much as the sort of devil that crept into her nightmares, fierce and murderous. Ready to tear her apart. His hands were curled into weapons, and all Havi had was her little knife. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he snarled.

Havilar might still have been drunk, might have been frightened out of her mind. But she was still wise enough to reach into her shirt and clutch the amulet of Selûne that had settled between her breasts.

“V–Vennela,” she said, the trigger word sliding up, unimpeded by her frozen thoughts. A flash of silver light and Lorcan hissed as the binding spell crackled over him.

“Is that how we’re doing things now, you ungrateful little-”

Something about the air seemed to snap and whip past Havilar. Lorcan broke off with a cry of pain that had nothing to do with the binding, and fell to the floor. Havilar blinked at the strange sensation, gone so quickly she thought she might have imagined it.

Except Lorcan was still lying on the floor, panting.

Lorcan’s wings snapped open, sending the last of the smoke swirling. “Does your new mistress know you have such a sweet trinket?” he said, still seething. “Or have you played her just as false?” He looked up at Havilar, and there was no mistaking the surprise in his expression.

Havilar narrowed her eyes at him. “Wrong sister.”

He eyed her a moment, a change as clear as when he wore a human skin coming over him as he turned calm, charming. “On the contrary. You’re just who I’m looking for.”

“Liar,” Havilar said, climbing to her feet. “She’s gone. Like you ought to be.”

Lorcan spread his hands wide, still looking as if he’d prefer to tear her limb from limb, but at least looking like he was thinking better of that. “We’re on the same side here. If you think I’m happy. . well, whatever you’ve endured, I did it in the comfort of that shitting necklace. So tell me where your sister is, I’ll find my sister, and I’ll get to making both of us a little happier.”

Havilar shifted and glowered at the broken bottle on the floor. At least he knew Farideh was wrong. “I have nothing to say to you,” she said, sliding the knife into her belt. She missed and it clattered to the floor.

Lorcan peered at her. “I see wine is no cure.”

“Oh thrik-ukris and karshoj arlorcanominak,” Havilar spat, the vilest curse she could think of. She scrambled for more. “You shitting bastard of a tiamashkosj. .”

“Calm down,” Lorcan said edging toward her. “No one’s saying you don’t deserve that wine. Hells, I would gladly take what you’re not using. But to start with, Sairché won’t be through-”

I don’t have to listen to this, Havilar thought. “I’m going to find Mehen,” she announced and turned on her heel. “I’ll bet he has a lot to say to you.”

The alarm that blared through the safe house’s hallways stopped her in her tracks. Suddenly there were people-so many people-pouring out of rooms, and the tide of bodies dragged her through the hall and down into the taproom. She couldn’t see if Lorcan had followed her-no one screamed about devils, but he might have changed. Every other soul in the Harper safe house was there, and the doors were barred. Several wizards with wands out seemed to be separating the ordinary patrons-now dazed and glassyeyed-from the Harpers, who were clearly being counted up.

Mehen found her then, his scaly arms catching her in a close embrace. “Here you are,” he said. He waved away the wizard who approached with raised brows. “Where’s your sister?”

Havilar scowled. “Ask Lorcan.”

“Lorcan?” Mehen looked up and over her shoulder, scanning the crowd. “What are you talking about?” He fixed a yellow eye on his daughter. “Where is your sister?”

Havilar turned and searched the milling crowd of people, but there was no sign of the disguised cambion. She made a face. “He’s here. I didn’t imagine it.”

“Where is your sister?” Mehen said again.

“Gone,” Havilar said. “She ran away. Didn’t even say where she was going.” She shoved the crumpled note at Mehen. “There.”

Mehen took it from her gingerly, as if he were afraid of the note-which was silly, Havilar thought, watching him. Mehen wasn’t afraid. But then he tapped the roof of his mouth nervously, and she wondered. He read Farideh’s message, and when he looked up again at Havilar, there was so much fear and horror in his face that she wished he would just be nervous again.

“Did she go with Lorcan?”

Havilar looked away, out into the crowd. “No. He was looking for her too. Everyone’s looking for her.”

“Now is not the time, Havi. Where did she go?”

The crowd around them parted for Tam. “You two,” he said, to Havilar and Mehen, “come with me.”

Tam’s study was at the top of too many stairs, but Havilar kept her complaints to herself. The room already held plenty of people-the handsome half-elf fellow she’d chased off when he’d watched her too long, the lady Harper who’d been with Dahl when they arrived, Brin. Havilar found herself a corner and tried to disappear into it.

But Tam wouldn’t let her. “Your sister vanished from my office with Dahl.”

Worse and worse-she’d run off, run off to save the day, without Havilar and with some good-looking fellow. Because Farideh got everything. She clung to that angry, spiteful thought because under it, powerful as a tide, came the panic. They couldn’t stop Farideh if she’d vanished. They couldn’t make her come back if she’d disappeared.

“And?” she said, surlier than she meant to.

“And I want to know who took them,” he said. “Where they went. Whether I need to clear this safe house. This sort of thing doesn’t happen.”

“This sort of thing happens to her all the time,” Havilar said, feeling bold. “I don’t know why you’re so worried.”

“Havi!” Mehen gave her an awful, shocked look. Even the strange Harpers looked appalled, and Havilar wished she could vanish too. She didn’t dare look at Brin. The panic squeezed her chest.

“I don’t know where she went,” Havilar said. “You’ll just have to find her.”

“They left no sign?” the half-elf man asked. “No trace of where they might have gone?”

“Nothing,” Tam said. “They were there, I turned my back, they were gone. No trace of a spell, no marks of a portal.” He waved his hand. “This room is warded against that sort of entry-so is it some new spell we weren’t ready for?”

“Have you tried locating him?” the woman asked.

“Briefly,” Tam said. “The spell didn’t find him, but such things. .” He spread his hands. “We’ll try again. In the meantime-”

“You have to find her,” Havilar said again.

She was in the library,” Brin offered. “Looking for something.”

“I’ll search it,” the Tuigan woman offered.

Tam turned to Havilar. “Why has she been acting so strange?”

“How should she act?” Mehen said hotly. “World turned her upside down.”

Havilar thought of the note, still crushed in Mehen’s hand. A devil. That Sairché. That’s who took her, she thought. Maybe who took Dahl. But Tam wouldn’t want to hear that-what would he say? That it was Farideh being wicked. She wasn’t wicked-she was just stupid.

Tam was still staring at Havilar. “What was she looking for in the library?”

“I don’t know,” Havilar said.

“She’s not in trouble. Not yet. But you have to help me here, Havi. Where might she have gone?”

“I don’t know,” Havilar insisted. “She wouldn’t have left. She knew better. Someone else must have. . Someone could have taken her.”

Mehen sighed. “She left a note,” he admitted. He handed it over to Tam. “Doesn’t say where she’s going.”

Tam cursed. “Who’s Sairché?” Havilar covered her face. This was everything she didn’t want. “Havi,” Tam said sharply. “Who?”

“The devil,” Havilar said, her voice squeezing tight. “The one who-”

Havilar’s reply was overtaken by a voice coming out of the air-Dahl’s voice, whispered and quick.

“Netherese stronghold. Soldiers, shadar-kai, heavily armed. Somewhere cold. High up.” Dahl’s voice hung for so long Havilar was sure he’d finished, but then he added, “Farideh came intentionally. I’ve lost her, both wounded. Have one reserve sending, sword and dagger.”

Tam hissed as if he were trying not to curse. He scowled at the desk a moment more before saying to the air. “Lie low. Get me better idea of your location, quickly so rescuers can find a portal. Find Farideh. Determine where she stands.” He blew out a breath and shook his head again, as if there were no end to the curses he wanted to say. “Stay safe,” he finished instead.

“ ‘Rescuers’?” Brin said. “Is that necessary?”

“We’re in the midst of a war and someone in a Netherese fortress just pulled a high-level handler out of the heart of our operations,” Tam retorted. “We’re not taking chances.”

“And the tiefling?” the half-elf man said. Tam was silent.

Mehen bared his teeth. “She stands exactly where she did before.”

“With a devil?” the half-elf said skeptically.

“You can’t think she’s a traitor,” Havilar said. “You can’t.” There were a lot of bad things she could say about Farideh, after everything, but not traitor. Never traitor.

The woman threw open the door, out of breath and clutching another scrap of paper. “Netherese,” she panted. “Was in one of the books she had out.”

Tam took the paper-and Havilar marked the writing, the same sort of writing she’d seen all over the place, when they’d sought out that creepy Netherese arcanist before. Tam considered the paper, his expression becoming harder and harder.

“Havilar,” Tam said gravely. “If you know anything about this, you need to speak up.”

The wine was turning sour in her stomach. Farideh might be stupid enough to listen to Lorcan’s sister, but she wasn’t on the devils’ side. She wasn’t a traitor. And if Havilar said the wrong thing-if all her anger tricked her clumsy, tipsy tongue. .

“I don’t know anything,” she said quietly. “Can I go to my room?”

Tam studied her, as if he might search out what she wasn’t saying written on her face. But after a moment he nodded, waved her toward the door. “Don’t leave,” he said tersely.

Mehen followed her out of Tam’s offices.

“They’ll find her,” he said. “They’ll know she’s not a traitor. And I will make sure of that. Everything will be fine.” When she didn’t stop, he grabbed her arm. “Havi, wait.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I drank too much, all right? I’m no good to them, not now. I’m just going to sleep.”

Mehen didn’t look as if he believed her either. “We could sit. Talk about this?”

Havilar shook her head. “Tomorrow,” she promised. She hugged him tight and kissed his scaly cheek. He held her so long she felt guilty for turning him down. But she slipped away anyhow, went back to her room, to her half-empty bottle of wine, to her sadness and her quiet. She pulled the blanket up over her head and resolutely did not think about anything at all.

The door opened. She didn’t look out.

“So the Harpers think Farideh is a traitor,” Lorcan said. “And they don’t know where she is. Anything else?”

Havilar curled up tighter. “How much did you hear?”

“Enough,” Lorcan said. “It sounds like you’ve gotten everything you wanted.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means she’s not coming back. Not this time.”

“Of course she’ll come back,” Havilar said, throwing back the cover and sitting up. “She always gets out of these things.”

Lorcan shrugged. “I won’t pretend I know her better than you. But I do know that my sister has a way with her deals. Whatever she’s caught Farideh in is no simple task. And if your Harper friends do find her, well, there’s a war happening out there. They’re going to treat her as a traitor from the sound of it. How could they do anything else? So if her captors don’t do her in, her rescuers well might.” He turned away to toy with the window latch. “I’ll admit, I never thought you’d be the sort who could wash your hands of her. But then if it were my sister, I would do the same without thinking. Maybe we’re not that different.”

“You and I are not the same.”

Lorcan smiled. “And yet both of us would be much better off as only children.”

Havilar balled her fists as if she could squeeze all the fury out of her. “I know what you’re doing,” she said, her voice shaking. “You think I’m stupid, but I know what you’re doing. You want me to feel bad for her. To feel like I have to save her. It won’t work. She can save herself.”

Lorcan tilted his head. “Can she? Who killed the plaguetouched succubus before she could kill Farideh? Who stared down a Zhentarim assassin? Who rescued her sister from a green wyrmling at the tender age of twelve? Farideh would be dead a dozen times over without you, Havilar. Make no mistake.”

Havilar’s fists loosened. “Who told you about the dragon?”

“Farideh, of course,” he said.

“She said you didn’t talk about me.” She had said that once, Havilar felt sure, after Havi had been jealous and demanded to know.

“I don’t,” Lorcan admitted. “But she’s always been impressed with you. Always a little envious of your skills.”

“You’re doing it again,” Havilar said. “I’m not stupid.”

“No,” Lorcan said. “You’re not. And you know I’m right. Those Harpers will be too slow in the first place. And then they don’t have all the facts, and even if Mehen would never turn on Farideh, they will outnumber him by a dozen. If you want to save her-and I think you do-we’re her only hope.”

Havilar folded her arms across her chest and glared at her glaive leaning against the wall. “I hate you,” she said after a moment.

“We can work on that,” Lorcan said. “But first we need to get far away from here.”

“You don’t know where to go,” Havilar pointed out. “She could be anywhere.”

“She could be, but she isn’t,” he said. “They had no clues?”

“Cold. Up high. And there was a note in Netherese.”

Lorcan smiled. “Then it sounds as if we start by heading north.” He tensed and magic crackled over his frame, dissolving his wings and horns and turning his red skin pale. He blinked and his dark eyes were human. “Let’s find some horses, shall we?”