The dwarf drank deeply, lowering the flask with a satisfied smack of his lips. He was surprisingly fastidious for such a filthy and disreputable creature, for not a drop of the amber fluid trickled over his lips or spilled into the tangle of his beard.
"Good," Gantor Blacksword allowed before taking another large swig. The second draft apparently confirmed his initial impression, for he belched loudly, then eased backward to lean against the cave wall, his feet stretched casually toward the fire.
A dreamy smile appeared in the midst of the dwarf's mat of whiskers. "Yes, it's been a long time since we shared a good taste of the barley," he sighed.
Kelryn was about to reply that they'd never shared a drink before, when he realized that the dwarf had not been talking to him. "Does Fistandantilus care for something a little stronger?" asked the man. "I have a small nip of wine that I've been saving for a special occasion."
Abruptly the dwarf stiffened, sitting upright and scowling with a menacing tuck of his brows. His eyes, usually so wide, were narrowed to white slits in the wrinkled map of his face. "What did you say?" he asked, his voice a low growl.
Kelryn silently cursed himself for trying to move too fast. Still, his curiosity would not allow him to backtrack. "You mentioned-that is, I believe you said-that you were here with the wizard, Fistandantilus. I merely asked if he desired a taste of wine."
"He's not here," the Theiwar declared. Once again his voice became friendly, conspiratorial. "As a matter of fact, he's dead."
"I'm sorry," replied Kelryn disingenuously. "I had hoped to make his acquaintance."
"You can." Cantor's head bobbed enthusiastically. "I know him."
The man ignored the contradiction. "Splendid! What does he want?"
"He wanted me to kill the kender. I knew that as soon as I picked up the bloodstone." The dwarf nodded in affirmation of his statement. "He told me to use the skull to nit him, and I did."
"That was wise," Kelryn agreed sagely. "He's not one you'd want to argue with."
"No." Cantor's beard and hair bristled as he shook his head vehemently.
The human thought about his companion's remarks, which he had at first been inclined to dismiss as the ravings of a lunatic. But now he was not so sure.
"You said something about a bloodstone. Is that how you talk to Fistandantilus? Do you see him or hear him in the gem?"
"That's it!" the dwarf agreed enthusiastically. Once more he cast a look to the outside of the cave. "I've never shown it to anyone before, but it's all right. He says I can let you see it."
Apparently satisfied by his own explanation, the dwarf reached under his beard, into his tunic, and pulled out a golden chain.
Kelryn gasped as the bloodstone came into view. Never had he seen so large a gem, and the finespun gold surrounding the stone was worth a small fortune by itself.
But it was in fact the bloodstone that caught his eye, that held him rapt, almost hypnotized. He could see flickers of light, like tiny magical fires, bursting into brightness within the pale, greenish depths of the polished gem. Despite himself, he felt that cadence calling to him, drawing him to the stone with powerful allure.
And he knew that he would have the gem-he had to have it!
"Fistandantilus was a great man," Cantor declared seriously. "He had many enemies, and they have smeared dirt and garbage upon his name. But he was strong and true. He would have been a light in this dark age of the world but for the treachery of his enemies."
"You know all this? You have learned it from the stone?" Kelryn tore his eyes from the gem, staring intently at the addled dwarf. "Tell me!" he insisted, his voice taut with impatience as Cantor hesitated.
"Yes. It speaks to me, guides me." The Theiwar spoke eagerly now, clearly anxious that the human understand. "It brought me here a month ago and bade me wait. And so I do, though he has not told me why."
"You were waiting for me," Kelryn asserted, once again looking deep into the stone, hearing the summons, knowing the will of the one who spoke to him from there. Cantor had been brought here by the will of the bloodstone, put in this place so that Kelryn Darewind could find him. The man was utterly convinced of this fact.
"But why you?" asked the dwarf, puzzled.
Kelryn made no reply, except to grasp the hilt of his sword in a smooth, fluid gesture. In an eyeblink, the blade was out, silver steel gleaming red in the firelight, the weapon striking forward before Cantor could move. The man lunged, cursing the awkward posture of his attack but unable to postpone his response to the presence, the irresistible summons that he felt within the enchanted gemstone.
As it turned out, his clumsy attack was more than adequate. The Theiwar waited, as still as a statue, as if he himself had been commanded or compelled to do so. Only after the sword cut through the bristling tangle of the beard, sliced into the throat, and the dwarf slumped with a gagging burst of air and a gush of blood did the man understand.
Like Kelryn himself, Cantor Blacksword had only been doing what he had been told.
CHAPTER 11
314 AC
Fourth Misham, Reapember
"Bring in the new supplicants," Kelryn Darewind declared, leaning back in the thronelike chair he had had installed in the nave of his ornate temple.
"Aye, Master!" Warden Thilt snapped to attention, bringing the claw of his baton upright beside his face. Kelryn smiled, knowing that his lieutenant clearly understood his wishes and his intentions.
Thilt stalked down the aisle of the temple. Rows of golden columns rose from the floor to either side of the man, pillars that were lost in the heights where, so far above, arched the marble ceiling. Two acolytes-dressed, like the warden, in golden kilts and chain-mail jerkins-pulled open the huge silver doors and barked commands. Standing to the side of the entry, Thilt called out numbers, and one by one the recruits to the Temple of Fistandantilus dropped to their knees and began to crawl toward Kelryn.
The high priest, for his part, leaned back in his seat and watched as the file crept forward. A nice lot, he thought, counting a dozen men and a few women. They would swell the ranks of his congregation nicely, adding still further to the influence of the sect of Fistandantilus in the Seeker-ruled city of Haven.
The first supplicant was a man, and even though the fellow knelt at his feet, Kelryn could see that he was a strapping specimen, broad-shouldered and sturdy. When the man raised his face, the high priest saw that a jagged scar, crimson and angry, slashed down the side of his face, giving him a perpetually menacing scowl.
Finally Kelryn rose, standing before the kneeling supplicant. The priest lifted the golden chain from around his neck, allowing the crimson-speckled bloodstone to dangle before the man's eyes. His eyes lit with hunger at the sight of the gem, fixing in an unblinking stare as the gold-framed jewel slowly swung back and forth a few inches from his face.
"Do you swear by the new god Fistandantilus to offer yourself to his temple, body and soul and mind? Swear you to follow the dictates of his faith and to unfailingly obey the commands of his appointed servants? And do you accept me, Kelryn Darewind, as high priest of his faith, and will you follow my orders as the very words of your god himself?"
Kelryn intoned the ritual oath in the singsong cadence that had become so familiar to him over the last few decades. He had created the rote phrases himself-it had been one of the first things he had done, once he decided to install himself in this city of theocrats-and he was quite proud of the questions and the wording.
"Master, I so swear!" pledged the scarred man.