"Seems?"
"The Waukeenar were utterly unable to contact Baerodreemer's spirit at sunset."
"And the clerics of Oghma?"
"The Namers experienced the same result this morning, my lord."
"Excellent," said Andeth. "After you return from the Talendar, fetch me this killer."
"And, what?"
"And, my friend, we shall put him to work."
CHAPTER 8
At first Cale tensed, then he relaxed his body as he fell. He raised his arms to protect his head and tried not to think of the inevitable impact when he struck bottom.
Assuming there was a bottom.
Once before, Cale had tumbled through a gate between worlds. That had been a markedly different experience, like piercing a thick membrane and entering an airless room. This time, it was gravity itself that changed, tilting him from one reality to another.
"Mask, let it not be the Abyss this-"
The impact crushed the prayer from his lips.
As Cale hit the ground, he saw daylight all around him, blue sky above, brown earth below. He rolled, trying to get his legs under him to stand, but he had arrived on a rough hillside. At first he tumbled painfully amid the scree, but he turned to roll smoothly. A sharp rock raked at his ribs, but he kept his arms protectively over his bald pate.
At the base of the slope he fell on soft grass that slowed him enough to roll at last up to his feet. He wished again that before searching for Thamalon he had taken the time to fetch a weapon or to don the leathers he kept hidden in his bedchamber. Instead he crouched unarmed and unarmored, turning swiftly to scan in all directions.
The first thing he noticed was that he could breathe the air, and apart from the rough landing, he felt reasonably hale. At least this place was more hospitable than the plane he'd last visited.
Atop the rocky hill he spotted a cluster of weird trees bending gracefully against the rising sun. The wind whistled mournfully through their tubular fronds.
On all other sides rose great black tree trunks whose boughs spread out in all directions to form a dense, flat canopy. Above the forest wheeled a flock of long-necked lizards, gliding back to their perches after a brief panic.
Cale hoped it was his own sudden arrival that had startled the creatures, not the approach of some other predator.
To the southwest, the bright green meadow sprawled for about forty yards before succumbing to the forest. Here and there were patches of strange wildflowers, their petals brilliant orange, white, lime, yellow, and blue. Cale recognized none of the flowers, and he had a suspicion that no sage in Faerun had ever seen them, either.
Not ten feet away, a cluster of cerulean blossoms the size and transparency of water bottles bowed in the breeze. They formed an almost perfectly circular patch around a mossy tree stump. Their thick red stems rose waist-high before bending under the weight of their massive heads, a few of them so heavy they touched the ground. Inside the translucent walls of their petals stirred the vague shapes of fetal sleepers. As the rising sun touched the flowers, their occupants grew restless.
One of the flowers shuddered, and its surface breached. Syrupy purple liquid spilled from the flower head, and a pale white proboscis emerged from the rent. Soon after, the rest of a slender head and neck emerged. Twin lumps on either side of the head appeared to be closed eyes.
Cale realized he was staring open-mouthed at the sight. He surveyed his surroundings again. Reassured that nothing approached the birthing flowers, he moved closer to observe the bizarre process.
Over the course of twenty or thirty minutes, a tiny winged reptile emerged from the sagging petal. As it struggled and finally escaped its creche, the creature clambered awkwardly over the too-green grass. Its eyes never opened, and Cale saw that there were no slits for eyelids. Was the creature deformed? Or were those bumps some other form of sensory organ?
Cale brushed a finger upon the newborn's back. It felt as cool, smooth, and soft as a rose petal, and he realized it was no lizard after all. Its flesh was that of a plant, not an animal.
"Srendaen," murmured Cale.
Of all the languages he'd mastered, Cale loved the poetry of the Elvish tongue not only for its lyrical sound but also for its endless synonyms. The word he used for "beautiful" would never apply to a person, only a thing of luminous, natural beauty.
Led by instinct, the flower-bird began the arduous journey up the steep hillside. Cale thought how piteous it looked, how easy it would be to carry the thing to the crest of the hill. Like all living things, however, it needed to struggle to grow strong. To help it then would be to make it weak later.
Back at the flower patch, another few blossom-sacs were bursting open, while half a dozen more had finally drooped to the ground.
Cale followed the first-born up the hill.
He wasn't so fascinated by the alien creature that he forgot his duty. Mounting the hill would give him a better view of the surrounding territory. Assuming the enchanted painting had captured Thamalon and Shamur before Cale discovered it-and Cale considered that a safe assumption-he had a better chance of spotting them from a high vantage. Finding a way back to Selgaunt would be another challenge, but he could consider that problem later.
Cale remembered something else about his previous journey beyond the material plane. He imagined himself back inside the halls of Stormweather Towers, among the anxious guards. He thought of the bright tapestries in the grand hall, the polished oak tables with their gold candelabras, even the annoying tinkle of the servants' belled turbans…
Nothing changed. He remained in the strange new world, and no amount of his wishing would change that reality.
"Worth a shot," he said.
Briefly he wished Jak Fleet was with him. Together they'd escaped the ashen plains of the Abyss, and Cale was certain his halfling friend would be of help again.
"Trickster's Toes," Cale said, smiling ruefully. If nothing else, he could always count on Jak's exclamations to dispel the gloom that seemed naturally to settle around Cale at times. Times when those he'd sworn to protect were in peril.
But Jak wasn't there. Cale was on his own.
He patted the pockets of his long jacket and felt the hard edges of the keys to Stormweather Towers and the soft folds of a black mask he kept with him at all times. It was the eponymous symbol of his patron god.
Little more than a year had passed since Cale first learned of Mask's interest in him, and in that time he'd only just begun to explore his new faith and the powers it granted him. He'd finally, reluctantly embraced his role as a champion of the Lord of Shadows, but resentment over the god's manipulations of his mortal servant still lingered in his heart. Sometimes he felt like a pawn from one of Thamalon's chess armies. At other times, he suspected the god's favor granted Cale that much more power over his own fate.
At the crest of the hill, the flower-bird spread its fragile wings. They were so delicate that Cale feared the slightest gust might tear the creature to shreds, but instead the first breeze lifted the bird and carried it out over the meadow, where it floated like a tiny kite.
From that height, Cale could see for miles in every direction, for all the good it did him. The forest seemed endlessly vast. Squinting into the sun, Cale perceived the faint violet silhouette of mountains. He couldn't begin to guess how distant they were. Too far, was his conclusion.
He heard the dull twang of a bowstring.
Cale tumbled forward and rolled to the left. He came up running away from the arrow that quivered in the ground where he'd been standing.
Sibilant voices called to each other from the trees. It was a strange dialect, but Cale recognized the words as Elvish.