distance—from a location on Toril.”
“Nonsense,” Jezz scoffed. “That would require more power than you possess. The combined efforts of a hundred clerics. A thousand.”
“What if I told you I know of something that will augment the magic of each cleric participating in the spell a hundredfold?” he asked. “Perhaps even a thousandfold.” He paused. “There is a cavern, deep in the Underdark,” he told the Nightshadows, “a cavern lined with darkstone crystals, and thus a perfect vehicle for the Masked Lord’s magic. It lies at the center of an earth node of incredible power—something that will boost our magic to the levels we need to work the spell.”
“And this cavern?” Jezz demanded. “Where is it, exactly? Or is that something you’re not prepared to share with us?” He glanced at the others, then back at Malvag. “Perhaps because it, like the ‘ancient scroll’ you’ve told us about, doesn’t exist.”
Malvag carefully hid his delight. He could not have scripted Jezz’s comments better himself. “On the contrary,” he countered. “Those who choose to join me will beshown both the cavern—and the scroll—this very night. I’ll teleport them there.”
The word hung in the air. “Them.” Not “you.”
Jezz glared at Malvag, then stared around at the others, slowly shaking his head. “You
trust
him?” A scornful word, in the mouth of a drow.
Eyes shifted from Jezz to Malvag and back again.
“Then you’re fools,” Jezz said. “Anyone with eyes can see that this is a ploy to thin the ranks of the faithful, so this newcomer can rise to a more prominent position. He’ll teleport you into a cavern filled with sickstone, or somewhere equally unhealthy, and abandon you there.”
His words hung in the air for several moments.
The Nightshadows shuffled, glancing at one another. One of the House Jaelre males, a large fellow with close-cropped hair and an old burn scar on his right hand, at last broke the silence. “I’m in,” he grunted from behind his mask. He moved to Malvag’s side.
Jezz merely snorted. Without further comment he turned on his heel and strode out into the night. Two of the males from House Jaelre immediately followed. The remaining male from that House who had not yet declared himself glanced sidelong at the Auzkovyn, as if waiting to see what they would do.
One of the Auzkovyn glanced at his fellows, shook his head, then also left.
Malvag waited, holding his breath, as the four males who had not yet declared themselves—one from House Jaelre and three from House Auzkovyn—shifted slightly on their feet, hesitating. One of the Auzkovyn males muttered something under his breath at his companions then departed. The hatchet-nosed Auzkovyn also turned to leave, then hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. Even from where he stood, Malvag could smell the reek of nervous sweat clinging to the male. A moment more of hesitation then that Auzkovyn abruptly left.
That left only two in addition to Malvag and the male from House Auzkovyn who had been so quick to declare himself. If both of them stayed, that would give Malvag only the slightest of margins. The spell Malvag hoped to use required at least two other clerics, besides himself, to cast.
“May the Masked Lord forgive them for their lack of faith,” he whispered under his breath—but loud enough for the remaining two to hear. He stared out through the crack in the tree trunk, sadly shaking his head. “They’ve given up a chance to stand at Vhaeraun’s side. They’ll never know what true power is.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the remaining two square their shoulders and turn slightly toward him. They had made their decision. They would stay.
He turned to the three clerics who remained and spread his arms. He could see, by the wary glint in their eyes, that they didn’t quite trust him. Yet. But they would.
They would have to trust him by the night of the winter solstice, if his
“Nonsense,” Jezz scoffed. “That would require more power than you possess. The combined efforts of a hundred clerics. A thousand.”
“What if I told you I know of something that will augment the magic of each cleric participating in the spell a hundredfold?” he asked. “Perhaps even a thousandfold.” He paused. “There is a cavern, deep in the Underdark,” he told the Nightshadows, “a cavern lined with darkstone crystals, and thus a perfect vehicle for the Masked Lord’s magic. It lies at the center of an earth node of incredible power—something that will boost our magic to the levels we need to work the spell.”
“And this cavern?” Jezz demanded. “Where is it, exactly? Or is that something you’re not prepared to share with us?” He glanced at the others, then back at Malvag. “Perhaps because it, like the ‘ancient scroll’ you’ve told us about, doesn’t exist.”
Malvag carefully hid his delight. He could not have scripted Jezz’s comments better himself. “On the contrary,” he countered. “Those who choose to join me will beshown both the cavern—and the scroll—this very night. I’ll teleport them there.”
The word hung in the air. “Them.” Not “you.”
Jezz glared at Malvag, then stared around at the others, slowly shaking his head. “You
trust
him?” A scornful word, in the mouth of a drow.
Eyes shifted from Jezz to Malvag and back again.
“Then you’re fools,” Jezz said. “Anyone with eyes can see that this is a ploy to thin the ranks of the faithful, so this newcomer can rise to a more prominent position. He’ll teleport you into a cavern filled with sickstone, or somewhere equally unhealthy, and abandon you there.”
His words hung in the air for several moments.
The Nightshadows shuffled, glancing at one another. One of the House Jaelre males, a large fellow with close-cropped hair and an old burn scar on his right hand, at last broke the silence. “I’m in,” he grunted from behind his mask. He moved to Malvag’s side.
Jezz merely snorted. Without further comment he turned on his heel and strode out into the night. Two of the males from House Jaelre immediately followed. The remaining male from that House who had not yet declared himself glanced sidelong at the Auzkovyn, as if waiting to see what they would do.
One of the Auzkovyn glanced at his fellows, shook his head, then also left.
Malvag waited, holding his breath, as the four males who had not yet declared themselves—one from House Jaelre and three from House Auzkovyn—shifted slightly on their feet, hesitating. One of the Auzkovyn males muttered something under his breath at his companions then departed. The hatchet-nosed Auzkovyn also turned to leave, then hesitated, glancing back over his shoulder. Even from where he stood, Malvag could smell the reek of nervous sweat clinging to the male. A moment more of hesitation then that Auzkovyn abruptly left.
That left only two in addition to Malvag and the male from House Auzkovyn who had been so quick to declare himself. If both of them stayed, that would give Malvag only the slightest of margins. The spell Malvag hoped to use required at least two other clerics, besides himself, to cast.
“May the Masked Lord forgive them for their lack of faith,” he whispered under his breath—but loud enough for the remaining two to hear. He stared out through the crack in the tree trunk, sadly shaking his head. “They’ve given up a chance to stand at Vhaeraun’s side. They’ll never know what true power is.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the remaining two square their shoulders and turn slightly toward him. They had made their decision. They would stay.
He turned to the three clerics who remained and spread his arms. He could see, by the wary glint in their eyes, that they didn’t quite trust him. Yet. But they would.
They would have to trust him by the night of the winter solstice, if his
Similar Books
