The high priestess of Kiri-Jolith followed the white-robed wizard up the wide marble staircase leading to the second floor. Sunlight spilled through a row of windows on the south wall of the long laboratory. The workroom of magic was neat and tidy in a cramped kind of way. Volumes of books lined the shelves, with similar bindings catalogued on the same row. Components were stored in matching white bottles with labels and black stoppers; the different sizes of bottles were all lined up with matching sets.
The place had been designed by Jenna the Red Lady, but the priestess was not surprised to see that Coryn the White was adding her own touches while the house’s owner, the reigning head of the Orders of Magic, lived in the Tower of High Sorcery in Wayreth Forest.
Melissa and Coryn, while not fast friends, had both been instrumental in disrupting the power of the Dark Knights in Palanthas. When the Knights of Solamnia launched their coup, the priestess had used spells of darkness and silence to help the rebels achieve surprise. At the same time, the white wizard had caused whole Dark Knight guard garrisons to fall asleep. Her lightning bolt, cast only reluctantly because she disdained killing, had broken the Dark Knights’ defense in their last redoubt. After the battle, the priestess’s powers had allowed many badly injured men to survive and recover from their wounds.
As Melissa du Juliette took her seat and Coryn adjusted the bellows and flue of her fire, the wizard sensed that the other woman had come to her manor on a matter of some grave concern.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Have you heard from Selinda lately?” the priestess responded. “She vanished from her palace chambers three days ago, and no one’s seen her or heard of her whereabouts.”
“No, I haven’t heard from her or talked to her in some time,” Coryn replied in a measured tone.
She was surprised at the jealousy she still felt toward the woman who had married Jaymes Markham. Her anger toward the emperor had faded during the weeks since she had seen him, but hearing the very name of the woman who was to bear his child caused her a strange disquiet.
Then, remembering the magic ring she had given to the princess, she also felt a stab of guilt. “She hated being locked up,” the wizard said cautiously. “But she… she had the means to get out of there.”
“I know. She came to visit me,” Melissa said. “While Jaymes was gone to Vingaard, she used the ring you gave her.”
“Oh?” Coryn didn’t know what to say.
“Yes. Did she tell you how she felt about her pregnancy?” asked the priestess. Melissa was only a few years older than Coryn, but her eyes showed the wisdom of an elder.
The wizard decided not to dissemble. “She told me she wasn’t sure she wanted the child. I–I gave her the ring because Jaymes was keeping her a prisoner in her room. I couldn’t tolerate the thought.”
“I think it was good you gave her the key to at least some degree of freedom,” Melissa said. “She told me the same thing about the baby. She was terribly frightened-of so many things-but eventually we teleported to Vingaard to confront Jaymes. When she saw the damage he had done to the keep there, she lost heart and decided not face him. So we came back home.”
“I didn’t know that,” admitted the enchantress.
“There is more. A guard-he didn’t know who we were-told us that the daughter of Lord Kerrigan had come to see the emperor the night before, to plead with him to cease the bombardment. Apparently she came in the middle of the night and stayed until dawn. And that is when he ordered the gun to cease firing. When Selinda heard that news, she was deeply upset.”
“I can understand why,” Coryn declared, nodding and feeling a pang of heartache for her rival. “Have you seen her since then?”
The priestess shook her head. “I went to call on her yesterday, just to say hello, and the guards told me she hadn’t been seen for days. They were terribly worried, of course, and wondering if they should send word to the emperor. But he’s on the other side of the mountains, looking for Ankhar. What could he do from there? And besides, she could be anywhere in the world.”
“Yes.” Coryn said, grimacing. She shook her head. “This is my fault. If I hadn’t given her that ring-”
“Don’t talk like that!” Melissa retorted. “We both know he had no right to imprison her. You gave her the means to get out of her cell! That wasn’t wrong.”
The white wizard sighed. “Do you have any ideas where she might have gone?”
“I… I hope she isn’t trying to do something-to hurt the baby,” the priestess admitted. “I fear for the state of her mind.”
“So do I,” Coryn replied earnestly.
“I was hoping we could look for her together,” said the cleric.
“Combining our skills, yes. I will seek her with magic.”
“Very well,” said Melissa du Juliette. “And I will try to gain an answer from the gods.”
Ankhar watched with numb disbelief as the massive tubes of the uncompleted bombards burned. In a mad frenzy, the ogres had tossed the unfinished barrels into a great heap, doused them liberally with oil, and ignited the conflagration. Normally the half-giant would have relished such a fiery spectacle, proof of his army’s triumph. But the emperor’s guns had been decisive against Ankhar in the Battle of the Foothills. Those great weapons, the next generation of savage new armaments, were destroyed without firing a shot. He wished that he could have had a chance to use them.
Worse, the great, searing explosion of the bridge had cost him the life of the person dearest to him in all the world.
“Laka!” he wailed, slumping to the ground, beating the stones of the plaza with his fist.
Pond-Lily watched him warily from nearby. She was still bleeding from the cuff he had given her when she had first offered her sympathies. Her eyes grew moist as the half-giant pressed his face to the paving stones, groaning and wailing.
When he finally caught his breath and raised his head, he saw that his ogres were watching him in amazement. Some of them had stepped away from him as he thumped and wailed, while others-including Bullhorn and Heart Eater-had actually sidled in closer. These two would bear watching, the half-giant suddenly realized.
Ankhar got on his feet with a snort. He reminded himself he could not afford to show weakness, especially not after his warriors had won another great victory-destroying and sacking a town belonging to the ogres’ traditional enemy, the dwarves.
Thrusting his chest out, he swaggered around the central plaza, sneering at the great fire rising from the cannon factory, then turning to scowl at the still-smoldering remains of the stone bridge. Some of the buildings in the town were burning heartily, while others were still busy being trampled, plundered, and looted.
Naturally, a dwarf town had plenty of inns, and already a dozen massive kegs of dwarf spirits had been trundled into the street. The taps had been opened, and ogres were lining up in order of physical prowess, tilting forward to fill their gullets with the fiery, intoxicating brew. Whoops and hollers rose from the conquering brutes, and as more and more spirits were consumed, the scene degenerated. A tailor shop was ransacked, and a dozen grotesque brutes began to strut about with undersized dresses and fancy coats draped all over them. A sword smith’s shop yielded up its contents after an ogre smashed down the door, and in just a moment, five clumsy sword-wielding ogres-unused to the keenness of dwarven steel-were bleeding from deep, accidental cuts.
Meanwhile, Ankhar seethed. The dwarves had for the most part escaped. He glared up the hill at the three dark holes where they had vanished. And again he remembered his mother, violently slain by the trap so cleverly laid by those fiendish dwarves.
A familiar figure clumped up to the half-giant, and Ankhar recognized Bloodgutter. The ogre general, veteran of so many campaigns and conquests, remained aloof from the chaotic celebrations of novice raiders. He looked with contempt at the drinking and looting.