Mith Barak waved a hand dismissively. “Call me a fool if you want, but I’ve felt the touch of their goddess on Zollgarza. He came to the city to kill me, but he has a purpose beyond that, and until I know what that is, I mark him a threat to my city greater than ten drow armies.” He looked Ruen over, and his gaze softened. “You should head back to the city. The girl will be wanting to see you.”
Ruen abruptly realized how long he’d been gone. “Icelin hasn’t found the sphere yet?” he asked.
“Talk to her about it.” Mith Barak turned away. “She’s stopped looking for it.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
ILTKAZAR, THE UNDERDARK
27 UKTAR
"He’s gone,” said the Master ARmswoman when Icelin entered the hall.
“Gone?” Icelin said, amazed. She’d thought the king never left his audience chamber. “Where is he?”
“He went to supervise the digging. We’ve got a narrow passage cleared into the Hall of Lost Voices. The king went to see the first of the survivors through. Said he had to be there. No one expected it, but he insisted. I haven’t seen him so afire since …” The master armswoman shook her head. Pride shone in her gray eyes. “It’s been a long time,” she said thickly.
Icelin could only nod. Her thoughts were a disconnected jumble. “Thank you for telling me,” she murmured.
“You’re welcome, and oh, I almost forgot to tell you-Joya was asking for you. She’s at Haela Brightaxe’s temple.” The dwarf woman clapped Icelin on the shoulder and hurried away, leaving her alone in the great hall.
Icelin went back out to the plaza, wandering aimlessly as the wedding preparations went on side by side with preparations for war. It was the most incongruous sight Icelin had ever beheld. War banners and white silk-the latter covering a raised dais where Ingara and Arngam would stand to face their loved ones during the ceremony and gift exchange. After that, a feast and celebration-a revelry to end all revelries, judging by the amount of ale on hand.
On the morrow, they would go to war.
In the midst of all this, there had been no word from Ruen. Whether he was alive or dead, Icelin had already decided that she would fight with the dwarves. She told herself it was not out of revenge, though she did feel that need burning inside her. It was pointless to lie to herself about that. She would also fight for the Blackhorn family, and even for the king. She would unleash the most potent Art within her, regardless of the consequences.
Icelin made her way to Haela Brightaxe’s temple. Within the thick walls, silence reigned. Though the wounded dwarves-some of them came from the Hall of Lost Voices-still recovered here, the stone soaked up much of the sound, and the muted light coming from the silver lichen hanging near the ceiling created many dark corners and lonely alcoves.
Lonely-that was the word for this place, Icelin thought. Not abandoned or neglected, but sadness lingered in the absence of the goddess who’d once gathered her flock here.
She found Joya standing in front of an icon of the goddess. Arranged at the back of the temple, opposite the entrance, Haela Brightaxe stood clearly visible to all who entered. The stone sculpture depicted her with her hand raised as if in salute to those she welcomed to her house.
Joya turned when she approached. Her distant expression made Icelin hesitate. “Am I disturbing you?” Icelin asked.
“Not at all,” Joya said, laying her hand companionably on Icelin’s arm. “I was just meditating.”
A glint of light at Joya’s breastbone caught Icelin’s attention. The holy symbol of Moradin hung there. Icelin glanced between symbol and statue, but she bit back the question that rose to her tongue.
Joya must have seen it, for she smiled. “You wonder why I wear Moradin’s symbol, yet I walk in Haela’s hall?”
“I think I understand,” Icelin said. “Sometimes I pray to Mystra, though I know the goddess can’t hear. What I wonder is, does Moradin mind that you stay here, instead of walking the halls of his temple?”
“He and I have an understanding,” Joya said, her gaze lingering on the statue even as she gripped Moradin’s holy symbol in her fist. “I put my faith and trust in Moradin to guide me and my people, but what kind of servant would I be if I were so easily able to cast aside my former mistress? Moradin understands that I must grieve, even if that grief lasts for centuries,” she said. “Her loss is a weight on my heart that can never truly be removed.”
“I’m sorry,” Icelin said. “We don’t have to speak of it.”
“It’s all right,” Joya said, smiling. “Speaking Haela’s name keeps the goddess’s memory alive.” She steered Icelin to an antechamber off the main hall. Candles lit the interior, their sconces situated beneath red windows. Cut in the shape of anvils, the ruby-colored glass cast red glows all around the room that mimicked the light of the forge. Stone benches filled the room, but someone had stacked these against the adjacent walls, leaving the middle of the floor empty but for pools of red light.
“This is your chamber, isn’t it?” Icelin said as Joya led her to the center of the room. She looked up at the ceiling and found herself tilting her head far back to stare at a dome lit by small clusters of lichen affixed to the interior like stars. “It’s lovely,” Icelin murmured.
“The anvils of the forge symbolize our home beneath the earth,” Joya explained, “but the constellations mimic the world of Faerun above. Between the two stand Haela Brightaxe’s followers. In answer to your question, it is a room for all, but I am the only one who comes here now. I thought it appropriate to bring you here. I have news to share.”
“What news?” Icelin asked, her heart thudding against her ribs. “Is it Ruen?”
“Word came not long ago of the first of the survivors. Ruen is among them. He and the others, including the wounded, are on their way back to the city even as we speak.”
Icelin closed her eyes and swayed on her feet. Joya’s strong arm on hers kept her upright. “Thank the gods,” she breathed. “What of your family-your father and Obrin?”
“They live,” Joya said. “His comrades say Obrin is speaking in the common tongue-whether that heralds a miracle or the end of all things, they cannot say, but clearly there’s a tale to tell of what they went through in the battle.”
“Thank you for telling me,” Icelin said, her throat tightening around the words.
“Are you all right?” Joya asked, looking suddenly concerned. “I thought this news would make you happy, yet your face is so full of sorrow. What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” Icelin said, “nothing that can be helped or changed. I think I’ll go for a walk, if you don’t mind my leaving you.”
“Not at all,” Joya said, squeezing Icelin’s hand. “Go out the rear door of the temple and circle around the waterfall. There is a hidden garden attached to the temple. Few go there, especially now. It is a good place to be alone with your thoughts.”
“Thank you.” Icelin passed out of the red-lit chamber and exited the temple. She did not look around her or pay attention to the people she passed.
Ruen was safe. Unspeakable relief washed over her, making her dizzy, but coldness had settled in her stomach. Ruen would return, and she’d have to tell him that she intended to stop searching for a cure for her spellscar.
What would he think of her? Icelin thought she already knew the answer. He would leave, of course. What reason did he have to stay with her, if not for that goal?
All of a sudden, Icelin felt very cold. She walked around the outside of the temple until she saw the waterfall Joya had mentioned. It enclosed the garden on three sides, creating a private little space accessed by a walkway.
A perfect place to hide.
When Ruen at last saw the buildings of Iltkazar reveal themselves through the widening tunnel, he wanted to go to Icelin immediately.