Mystra inscribed the Arcane Script Sphere with spells known only to the goddess, written across its surface in the tiniest script, unreadable to the naked eye. She’d intended to give them to her faithful. She placed a part of her memory, personality, and Silver Fire inside of it, so the artifact would seek out the wizards she wanted, wizards who would use the sphere, add their own spell discoveries to it, then pass it on to others who would learn from it, a cycle that went on for centuries. These wizards would feel their goddess as they learned, her soft voice like a teacher’s echoing in their heads, encouraging, guiding.…
Icelin rubbed her chest, where a hollowness had taken root. Her own teacher was gone, killed by her wild magic.
“Finished already?” Zollgarza said, twirling his spoon deftly between his fingers. “Or did you tire of reading messages on the air?”
Icelin sighed and rubbed her burning eyes. “Don’t you think it’s a little exciting? Mysterious? Words conjured out of the air-knowledge preserved with elegant magic.”
Zollgarza snorted derisively. “It’s impractical. Why not simply cast a protective spell over the book and its pages?”
“Such magic can fail or be dispelled.” The seneschal’s gentle voice echoed from across the room, making Icelin jump. She wasn’t used to the dwarf woman’s entrances and exits, which often occurred with little or no warning. At the moment, she sat serenely in a chair in the far corner of the room. “King Mith Barak believes in preserving valuable objects for their own sake,” the seneschal said. “Magic is not always the best way to accomplish that. Magic is a tool, something that should never be relied upon in place of natural skills and abilities.”
“A lovely speech, but I have a difficult time taking you seriously when magic saturates this room,” Zollgarza drawled. “For a dwarf, your king seems to have a particular obsession with the arcane.”
Icelin hated to agree with Zollgarza, but he had a point. She had never seen such a collection of magic and magical knowledge contained in one place before. True, there were many texts on the dwarves’ history, culture, and especially smithcraft, but Icelin was shocked at how much knowledge of the Art she’d found. Her thoughts whirled with all the information she’d acquired, so that she didn’t hear Zollgarza’s approach until he was right beside her. Tensing, she tried to act natural.
“You have … an interesting smell,” Zollgarza remarked, standing at her shoulder.
Icelin pushed the book she held back up on the shelf and selected another without replying. She resisted the urge to run, to put the space of the library between them. “Are you trying to intimidate me?” she said, turning toward him. She didn’t quite manage to look into his red eyes, but she had the passing thought that they were a bit like Ruen’s, masking his emotions well.
Stop treading that road, Icelin silently chided herself. Ruen and this creature are nothing alike.
“Why do you seek the Arcane Script Sphere?” he asked, ignoring her question.
“Why does anyone?” she countered, slanting him a look. “It’s a powerful conduit for-”
“Precious arcane energy-I know.” Zollgarza dismissed her explanation with a wave. “That’s what the sphere is. I asked why you want it.”
“I’m a wizard,” Icelin said as if that explained everything.
Zollgarza waited. “And?”
“And what?” She was stalling, scrambling to decide how much she could tell him. She didn’t want to mention the Silver Fire at all, if she could help it.
The drow saw through her tactics. “Why don’t you want me to know?” he asked in a teasing voice. “I’m harmless. I may as well be in a cage.” He nodded to the guards.
“You’re many things,” Icelin said. “Harmless isn’t one of them.”
A smile. “True. Come now, if you don’t tell me, I’ll simply hang about your elbow, whispering, until your nerves won’t let you concentrate. You’re already hopelessly distracted.”
Damn him, but he was right. Icelin sighed. “I am spellscarred,” she said, hoping that a small piece of the truth would satisfy him. “The affliction is slowly killing me. The sphere contains a piece of Mystra’s essence, so I hope the artifact’s power may be able to prolong my life.”
Surprise touched Zollgarza’s features. And something else-a hint of consternation? “The sphere contains a piece of the goddess?” he asked.
“According to my research, yes.” She cocked her head. “You also came here looking for the sphere, though not for the same reasons, I assume. Why do you want it?”
He stared hard at her, and Icelin knew he wasn’t fooled by her casual tone. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Why did Mith Barak send you here? You’re innocent enough looking, but there’s more to you. I can sense it.”
Icelin took a chance-again, the truth, or at least part of it. “He wants me to learn your secrets.”
Zollgarza scoffed at that. “He thought I’d tell you?”
Now it was Icelin’s turn to smile, though her heart pounded. “You’ve already told me things. For instance, you don’t know everything about the artifact you’re seeking. You didn’t know that it contains a piece of Mystra.”
She’d expected anger from him, but he merely regarded her with a tight, calculating expression. “Well, well. You do have some small talent for interrogation. Perhaps it’s your beautiful, innocent face, so pure and sweet.”
“You’re trying to intimidate me again.”
“I can’t help it. I can’t find the sphere, and the dwarf won’t have left anything else of value here to interest me,” Zollgarza said. “This is just another cage, except-” he lifted a hand and touched a strand of her hair with the tips of his fingers-“he’s left a pretty little bird here to entertain me.”
Icelin did jerk away from him then, and he smiled, which infuriated her. “So that’s all that’s left for you?” she said. “You’ll stay in this room and taunt me until the drow march on Iltkazar?”
“Or until Mith Barak decides I’m no longer of any use to him,” Zollgarza said. The color of his red eyes deepened, betraying his anger. “You must forgive me a few petty pleasures.”
“The seneschal said you were missing pieces of yourself,” Icelin pressed. “What does that mean?”
“It means exactly that,” Zollgarza said. “Memories that I should have are gone. Most of my life is a hazy shadow in my mind.” He hesitated. “Somehow, I never questioned it, not until Mith Barak laid my mind bare. I didn’t even know there was an emptiness inside me. I only ever desired a purpose-what Lolth wants for me.”
“What Lolth wants?” Icelin held her book against her chest. “Isn’t that just as futile as pacing this cage? I’ve read about your kind.” She gritted her teeth at the faint amusement that flitted across his features. “Of course the dwarves have written about you. They’ve chronicled their constant war with your race. They talk about your society too. What has your goddess ever done for you? What has she done to earn your reverence?”
Far from being provoked, the drow actually chuckled. “What a question, especially coming from you. I never expected it.”
“You’re mocking me,” Icelin said, crossing the room to sit beside the fire. “I should have known better than to expect plain speaking with you.”
“Oh, but my surprise is genuine,” Zollgarza said, coming to stand with his back to the fire. Once again, he was too close. Icelin felt her whole body tense, but she tried not to show it. She knew he was doing it on purpose. Everything the drow did was calculated to put his opponents off balance. How could a race live like that? “I wasn’t being boorish when I told you that you have an interesting smell. I was referring to the magic on you. The Art is so strong. It must be terribly hard for you, being spellscarred.”