“Fari!” Havilar shouted, running toward her. “Fari, karshoj, don’t-”
But Farideh took hold of Adolican Rhand’s proffered hand and vanished before Havilar could grab hold of her and make her stop. The shadar-kai glanced at each other, as if none of them wanted to follow orders, but each stepped through the nearest patch of shadow and disappeared, back to the fortress.
Silence hung over the bloody beach. Then, Havilar screamed.
Lorcan knew he ought to ask the mirror to show him Adolican Rhand-if it couldn’t find Sairché, it could at least find her captor and narrow Lorcan’s search. But instead he caught the scourge pendant in his hand and asked to see Farideh.
Asmodeus’s demands outweighed his agreements with Sairché, he told himself. The mirror shivered and shifted to reflect Farideh tearing down a slope toward a score of armed shadar-kai, and Lorcan cursed.
Lorcan sprinted back to the portal, holding in his thoughts the image of Farideh, the edge of a frozen lake.
The portal to the fortress didn’t behave any better for Lorcan than it had for Sairché. He stepped out, not into the middle of the battle with the shadarkai, but into empty streets between ragged huts. He heard the shouts and scrambling of a handful of people running from his entrance to the plane. Good riddance, he thought, trying to orient himself. The lake would be to the south and west-
Out of nothing, an all-too-familiar horror clutched at Lorcan’s throat-
Calm, he told himself. Calm. It might be something else. It might be some Chosen’s trick, some other god’s sleight of hand. He leaped into the air, gaining enough height to spy the lake, the beach, the shadar-kai scurrying back as wings of fire unfolded from Farideh’s back. There was no hoping this was some trick of the wizard, some errant Chosen fallen into the wrong fight.
The rest of Asmodeus’s blessings had fallen on Farideh.
An arrow whizzed past Lorcan. He looked down to spot Mehen, the sour-faced elf with her longbow out and aimed at Lorcan, and the straggling scout besides.
“Save the arrows!” Lorcan said. “Farideh’s in trouble. Get to the lake.” Screams rose from that direction, and he said a little thanks to the Lords of the Nine that Mehen didn’t protest, didn’t ask what was happening. There would be plenty of time to think of ways to explain without explaining- now, they had to get Farideh out of there, first and foremost. Whatever she thought she was doing, it was obviously dangerous and not necessary to stopping Magros. He’d pull her out of there, convince her-
He crested the last row of buildings in time to see Farideh take hold of Adolican Rhand’s outstretched hand, and vanish.
No, Lorcan thought, hitting the ground. No, no, no. .
Havilar let loose a keening scream, part war cry, part anguish. Some part of Lorcan-the sensible part-tried to stop his feet, to turn him anywhere but where he was headed. But he ran straight to Havilar, cursing. “You let her go?”
She turned, eyes alight with fury, and shoved him hard “You said she was safe. I told you not to leave her with him, and you said it was fine! Now she’s gone, back into that karshoji fortress.”
“What?” a gruff voice cried, and Lorcan cursed again. Mehen and the Harpers had caught up to him. Havilar took one look at her father and burst into tears.
“Rhand took her,” Havilar said. “Back to the fortress, then back to Shade. And Zahnya’s spell is going to finish, and we all have to be underground. She’s going to die!”
Mehen swung his head to Lorcan. “You’re popping in and out of this place. Get me to that fortress.”
“You’re not leaving me,” Havilar said, and Lorcan felt sure that even sending her to the stasis cage in Malbolge would not stop Havilar from following. “If you go, Mehen, I’m going too.”
“Havi, go back with the Harpers. Get to shelter.” Mehen hesitated. “Find Brin. Make sure he gets somewhere safe.”
“Brin is perfectly capable of taking care of himself,” Havilar said-though she had no luck in hiding the fear and the doubt in her voice, not from Lorcan. “I’m coming.” She looked back at the odd assortment of Harpers, at the short, dark-haired woman. “Will you tell Brin what’s happened, and that we’ll be back?”
The dark-haired woman shook her head in disbelief. “I’ll say those words,” she said. “But do you really think-”
“Yes,” Havilar said fiercely. “Promise. I will find him after.” She turned back to Mehen. “But first, we take care of Fari.”
Lorcan hesitated, his eyes darting between them. “You two understand that means passing through the Nine Hells? It means crossing the planes-twice. I can’t simply leap into the fortress.”
Mehen took hold of Havilar’s hand. “Then start crossing.”
Lorcan spared a glance for the two Harpers and the shivering boy who looked as if he’d fallen into a nightmare. He took the trigger ring from the chain around his neck, held it over the tip of his index finger, and held his other hand out to Mehen. “Don’t let go of me or Havilar. And shut your eyes,” he advised.
Mehen took hold of Lorcan’s hand, eyes resolutely opened as the portal to the Hells opened around them.
Chapter Twenty-three
26 Ches, the Year of the Nether Mountain Scrolls (1486 DR) The Lost Peaks
Dahl led the first group of Chosen through the camp, sword out, eyes sharp. Armas, carrying Vanri and surrounded by his god’s earthen guardians, came close behind, followed by another ten Chosen and Oota at the rear, the strongest of them arrayed throughout the group to give cover to the weakest. Surely, he thought, the guards have noticed something’s wrong by now. Surely the shadar-kai will be everywhere. Surely the small force of Shadovar guards would be sent out as well. They’d selected four paths through the camp to keep the guards from positioning themselves to catch everyone. But either Dahl had drawn the luckiest route or the guards were nowhere to be seen.
Overhead, the gathering spell had grown large enough to rival the orb of the midday sun in size. They didn’t have long.
They reached the shelters at the same time as Vescaras’s group, halting at the edge of the milling crowd of prisoners. “Looks as if it’s getting tight,” Vescaras said, eyeing the stalled lines of Chosen descending into the earth, the basket carriers who shoved past, shouting to keep back, to keep the tunnel open. “We may have a problem.”
Tharra hadn’t returned yet, and neither had Farideh. Dahl wondered if the Harper agent would return at all, if Farideh would give up and turn back. It had been at least half an hour, hadn’t it? “Tell them all to inhale,” he said. “Did you cross any guards?”
Vescaras shook his head. “Not a one. That worries me too.”
Hamdir and Sheera’s group of Chosen arrived, then Brin’s. Tharra and Farideh were with neither. “We found a few guards,” Brin said. “They were retreating, though-their leader wasn’t happy about them scuffling with us.”
“You’ll have to call the course,” Vescaras said to Dahl. “If she doesn’t come back-”
“Then we stand out here and die,” Dahl said. “I’m happy to hear another plan.”
Tharra came running full tilt through the alleys, her auburn hair unbound and blood streaming from a wound on her forehead. Her blouse was soaked in blood and the daggers she’d carried were gone. In her hand, she gripped the ancient scroll hard enough that Dahl had to stop himself from snatching it away as well. Farideh wasn’t with her.
“Got it,” she panted. “They’re pulling back, but-”
“Get down and cast it!” Dahl shouted. “We haven’t got time.” She darted past, weaving her way between the prisoners, down into the tunnels below, Vescaras following her.