“The Dark Knights—the Blue’s agents—will be watching us,” Blister added. The kender had finally made it up the stairs and was panting from the exertion. She wondered how many trips the sorcerers made up and down the stairs each day. Maybe mages kept their important rooms at the top so they would force themselves to get exercise, she thought.
“Still, we must go to Palanthas. I believe we can find more answers there than we can by sitting here.” Palin thrust his hand into a deep pocket. He retrieved Blister’s net bag and handed it to the kender. “It’s not magic,” he told her. “Sorry. And it’s not especially strong. I suspect the spawn must have been injured in your battle with it, unable to summon the strength to break out. We’ll keep it in the jar to be safe.”
“Won’t it die in there, without air?” the kender wondered.
Palin shook his head. “The jar is magical. I don’t want this thing escaping.” He glanced at Feril. “When did you study mysticism with Goldmoon?”
“I didn’t,” she said, looking down.
Intrigued, Palin turned toward her. “And the shrinking of the spawn, your magic?”
“It’s just something I can do. I’ve been able to use magic all my life.”
“Inherent magic,” Palin said, smiling and turning to look at the Master. “When we have time,” he added, “I’d like to discuss your magic with you.”
She nodded. “I’d be honored.”
“Can we make a... side trip?” Feril asked. “There’s a young boy in a village. He’s all alone. The spawn took all the adults in his village.”
“How many adults?” The words erupted out of Palin’s mouth.
“A few dozen were taken, from what we understand,” she replied.
“The Blue could indeed be making an army of these things,” the Master said. “And an army is never without a purpose.”
“Well, the spawn are not unbeatable,” Palin returned, pointing at the trapped creature.
“Neither are we,” Blister said.
Khellendros purred. He looked out through the eyes of his blue spawn, studying Palin, the Master, and the others. “By taking my spawn with them, they are taking me.”
The Blue was pleased. He would know everywhere they went, whatever they were working on, and all they discovered—without leaving his comfortable lair. In the process, he’d learn all there was to know about their weaknesses and drives. And when the time was right, he vowed to strike against them.
“Perhaps I shall worry them first,” he hissed. “Threaten them, frighten them. Perhaps make a game of it.” His mouth curled upward in the approximation of a grin, and he crooked a claw in the air, beckoning the wyvern guards.
“Do what now?” the larger asked.
“Do something?” the other echoed.
“Yes,” Khellendros intoned. “My lieutenant, Gale, find him. His lair is to the north. Bring him here.”
“Do now? Sun out now.”
“Hot out now,” the larger complained.
Khellendros growled as the wyverns hurried out into the hateful desert afternoon.
30
Secrets
It was late that night, and they had not yet departed for Palanthas. Under the light of several tall, thick candles that warmly lit the bell-shaped jar and bounced off the polished table, Palin continued to study the spawn. His copious and detailed notes were spread out nearby; some were on the floor. Stacks of unused sheets occupied an adjacent chair.
A stubble was flourishing across his face, the true makings of a beard, and his eyes were shadowed by fatigue. His stomach quietly rumbled—he’d been so absorbed with the operation that he passed on dinner. The Master had brought him a plate of bread and cheese, a small bowl of sugared berries, and a glass of wine. All of it sat untouched. The spawn eyed it hungrily.
The Master of the Tower was with Dhamon and his companions several levels below now, quizzing them about their encounter with the creatures, and using a few simple spells to recreate the battle—phantasmal ghosts playacting against the dining room wall, replaying the struggle again and again.
Dhamon watched, his fists clenched. He did not enjoy experiencing scenes of battle. He wondered if the threat of a new draconian army was the precursor to something more horrific than he had ever experienced.
High overhead, Palin shook the jar until the angry spawn let loose with another barrage of miniature lightning bolts.
“Interesting creature, Majere.”
Palin turned. From the darkest corner of the room, the black-cloaked Shadow Sorcerer emerged. The figure separated itself from the room’s shadows and edged toward the table, its metallic mask sparkling in the candlelight. The Shadow Sorcerer scanned the sheets of parchment, as Palin explained his findings at length.
“I saw the Red,” the Shadow Sorcerer said. “She is a huge female, larger than any other dragon we’ve observed, perhaps as large as Takhisis. She had no... spawn, as you call it, no draconians. However, she did have a growing army of creatures—goblins and hobgoblins.”
“Perhaps all the dragon overlords are amassing armies,” Palin explained. “If they were doing so to fight amongst themselves, I would not be as concerned. But the Dragon Purge is long over—not for several years has there been any fighting each other. And there’s no arguing that their war is against us now. The good dragons are doing what they can, but they have to work in secret.”
The black-cloaked figure nodded. “Secrets are sometimes necessary.”
Palin looked at the Sorcerer for a moment, then went back to arranging his notes. “I am concerned about the spawn.”
“Indeed.” As the sorcerer leaned closer to the jar, the spawn in turn peered into the shadowy recesses of the figure’s hood.
“We are leaving for Palanthas, a spot outside the city.”
“When?” the Shadow Sorcerer asked.
“Now. After I saw to the care of a boy whose village had been attacked, we had only to wait for you.” Palin rose from his chair. “I will gather the others together for transport. We can waste no more time.” He descended the stairs, pausing by a painting of his Uncle Raistlin. He gave everything for magic, for his art, Palin thought. Am I sacrificing myself, too?
31
Against the Ogres
After bidding goodbye to the Master and the Shadow Sorcerer, who suddenly changed their minds about accompanying the group to Palanthas, Palin magically transported the adventurers and himself. Shaon led the way to the city, her footfalls light and hurried. She was spurred by the scent of sea air and the thought of being with Rig again. She kept pace with Fury, and the two of them easily left the others behind.
Blister bounced along at Palm’s side, pestering her patient companion with seemingly unending questions about all the places he’d been and what the Abyss looked and smelled like and were there very many kender there. Palin answered what he could until he was practically out of breath.
Dhamon and Feril quietly walked several yards behind; the Kagonesti was carefully carrying the spawn in the bottle, which drew curious stares and pointed fingers from passers-by, while the human bore the walnut box with the lance handle and banner inside.
“Where do we find the lance?” Dhamon asked Palin.
“It’s waiting for us here in the city. We’ll retrieve it after you’ve reported to your friends on the ship.”
Shaon reached the slip where the Anvil was anchored. Her feet slapped across the creaking boards as she closed the distance, and her hands held her skirt above her knees to keep her feet from becoming tangled in the luxurious violet fabric. “Rig!” she hollered excitedly, as she and the red wolf climbed the plank that stretched to the deck. “Rig?”
Fury sniffed the railing and threw back his head with a howl. Though half the length of the waterfront separated them from Shaon, Dhamon and the others could see her darting about the deck and hear Fury’s cries.