The dwarf woman appeared at her elbow, making Icelin jump. “I am here.”
“I’ve come for the sphere.” Icelin was aware of a palpable tension in the room as the others, even Zollgarza, waited to hear the dwarf woman’s reply.
“I do not know where the sphere is,” the seneschal said sadly. “If I knew-”
“You said that you have access to-that you are-all the books in the library,” Icelin interrupted. “But you also said there was one tome about the Arcane Script Sphere you were forbidden to share. What tome is that?”
“It is forbidden,” the seneschal said. “I’m sorry.”
“Call forth the tome,” Mith Barak commanded her. “You have my permission.”
“I …” Confusion passed over the seneschal’s face. “I … cannot.”
“You can’t because the artifact is inside of you,” Icelin said, grateful that her hunch had proved correct. “It made itself a part of you, just like all the ancient tomes in this room, but it did so to hide.” Behind her, Mith Barak let out a breath. “I don’t know if I’m worthy to wield the Silver Fire or not,” Icelin rushed on, addressing the seneschal and the sphere. “But I want to help Iltkazar. Please, let me help the city.”
The seneschal’s ghostly form wavered, and Icelin thought she was going to disappear. Then Icelin was staring at a tiny silver sphere hovering in the air in front of her, no bigger than a pea. Miniscule letters scrawled across its surface, but they were indiscernible to Icelin’s eyes. Despite its size, when Icelin beheld the sphere, her heart raced with excitement.
Then it began to grow.
The sphere expanded, spinning as it swelled to three, four, then ten times its original size. Transfixed, Icelin watched as the writing on the artifact’s surface sprang into focus. Spells revealed themselves, the incantations graceful, elegant, and unfamiliar, the spells of a lost goddess.
“Written by Mystra herself,” Icelin whispered. A prickling sensation touched the back of her neck.
Out of the corner of her eye, Icelin saw Zollgarza moving toward her, faster than Ruen, faster than she thought possible for anyone to move.
Without thinking, Icelin grabbed the sphere in her two hands and called Mystra’s name in her mind.
Zollgarza charged her, hands reaching for the sphere, but Ruen was suddenly between them, and the two men slammed into each other. Zollgarza howled, grasping for Ruen’s dagger. Ruen twisted out of the drow’s grasp and pinned Zollgarza’s arms behind his back.
The sphere warmed in Icelin’s hands. Tendrils of silver radiance swirled from it and closed the space between her and Zollgarza. The energy enveloped the drow, and distantly, she heard him scream again.
Mystra, Icelin prayed silently, may your memory protect us now.
Her stomach clenched, and a familiar sickness took hold of her. The Silver Fire swelled, and Zollgarza’s mind opened to her in a rush. Images-an audience chamber where a drow female sat, then a gathering of drow prepared to go to war. She saw a temple made of crystal spider webs, beautiful and cold, where whispers drifted from the shadows.
“The Black Creeper.”
“Nameless, Houseless wanderer.”
“How does he earn the mistress’s favor?”
“He is nothing.”
Sweat broke out on Icelin’s skin. Fire rose up from the spider’s web, hungrily consuming the temple. Somewhere, she heard Zollgarza’s scream of surprise and fear. This was no memory she pulled from his mind. It was her own memory, mingling with his-fire, the wild magic unleashed within her.
Icelin gasped. She felt herself losing control, her body trembling. Every part of her screamed at her to rein in the spell, to stop now before someone died.
No. I can’t do this.
Then, from the depths of the fire, a new voice spoke directly into her mind: Let it go. I’m here. I will watch over you.
Mith Barak’s voice, Icelin thought, dazed. Yet the rough scrape of the dwarf’s voice changed and distorted in her mind, becoming by turns a woman’s voice, gentle, soothing, and familiar, before turning back the Mith Barak’s again. A presence enveloped her, like cool hands clasping her shoulders, urging her to relax, and fall.
Icelin released a breath and let herself go.
The Silver Fire erupted in a storm.
Distantly, she heard Zollgarza scream again. Perhaps the Silver Fire would tear both their minds to pieces-yet Icelin felt no such madness descend upon her, linked as she was to the drow. Wherever Zollgarza’s pain came from, the Silver Fire wasn’t causing it.
Instinctively, she reached for the drow with her mind, seeking him among the fiery ruin of Guallidurth. She ran down unfamiliar city streets, rearing back as flames surged out at her, forming strange shapes in the air. Spiders, the face of a drow priestess, a demon formed of ripples of melting flesh. Icelin cried out and covered her eyes.
“Icelin! Icelin, wake. Wake!”
Ruen’s voice echoed above the roaring fire. Icelin uncovered her eyes, but a light blinded her. Unseen hands grabbed her and pulled her off her feet. She soared above the city. The buildings shrank beneath her, and the fire and black smoke became a dizzying blur.
“Wake!”
Her eyes snapped open.
She was in the library, lying on her back on the floor, the sphere clutched to her breast. Ruen and Sull’s faces floated above her, their voices calling to her, but faint and jumbled, as if she were underwater and they slowly drawing her up.
“What happened?” Icelin asked. She blinked to clear her vision and tried to sit up.
“Take it easy for a breath or two,” Sull said. He supported her back so she could look around the room. Slowly, the objects and people in the library swam into focus.
Mith Barak lay on the floor not far from her. His face glistened with sweat, and he was pale, so pale that Icelin instinctively reached out to him. “He’s hurt!” she cried.
The dwarf waved away her concern. “I’ll be fine,” he said. He drew in a wheezing breath. “You can hold a lot of power for one little girl.” He coughed and wiped a stream of blood from his chin.
“What happened?” Icelin repeated insistently. “Where is Zollgarza?”
“Here.” Ruen laid a hand on Icelin’s shoulder. Icelin twisted to look behind her.
A figure lay sprawled on the floor, naked, obsidian skin slick with sweat. A thick fall of pure white hair obscured its features. Muscles stood out in rigid lines on bare arms and legs. As Icelin watched, the figure moaned softly and rolled over.
“Oh, gods,” Icelin said, breathless. “What have I done?”
Beside her, Sull grunted and shook his head. “Not what I was expectin’ either.”
The drow lying on the floor was Zollgarza. Echoes of his features shone through plainly in the face.
A face that was also unmistakably female.
Zollgarza’s last coherent knowledge of his surroundings was the thin man holding his arms behind his back. Mith Barak’s eyes glowed silver; then the girl, Icelin, released the sphere’s power. After that, reality faded, and suddenly she was in his mind.
He’d braced for an immediate assault, fully expecting that this was the end. Something was wrong, though. She didn’t try to probe his thoughts the way the dwarf had. She only watched, waited, hovering at the edges of his consciousness. Her terror filled his mind until he gasped with the force of it. What was she frightened of?
Pain tore apart Zollgarza’s world.
He remembered once, long ago, he’d been hit by a spell that sent dark bolts of black lightning rippling across his skin. He didn’t remember who had cast the spell at him, but the energy had seized his heart and threatened to explode it out of his chest. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, and he’d lost all control over his muscles.