"Yesss," responded an empty, lifeless voice."Who are you? Your voice is familiar … but distant."
Jolind, this is Lelanda. I'm here with Orlando. We've come to help you.
At that, the disembodied head released a humorless,rasping laugh and said, "You're a little late for that, old friend."
Orlando's nervebuckled, but did not fail him.
I know. We're sorry. But we want to find the personwho did this to you. He murdered Jaybel and Gwynn, too. Can you help us? Didyou recognize your killer?
"Yes, I know who killed me," whisperedJolind.
Then tell me, Jolind. Be quick; the spell is failingfast, urged Lelanda.
Orlando couldn'tdecide which was more macabre, the living but unseen spirit of the wizard orthe dead, but substantial head of the druid.
"Kesmarex," hissed the head as the eyes slippedquietly shut and the jaw went slack.
The spell had ended, and the spirit of the druid hadgone to rest with those of her ancestors.
Orlando hoped shewould find peace there. In his heart, he said a last farewell to the woman whohad meant so much to him so long ago. It seemed a crime to have drifted awayfrom her. He wondered what mysteries had died with her. A single tear slippeddown his bronze cheek.
Kesmarex? saidthe witch, slipping the hood of the shroud from around her locks and emergingbeside the fallen druid. "Who is that?"
"It's not a who," said Orlando. "It's awhat. That was the name given to Shandt's battle-axe by the dwarves who forgedit. It mean's something like 'Vengeance of the King,' but the words don'ttranslate perfectly into our language."
"But Shandt is dead…" said the witch, hervoice trailing off into a haunting silence.
"I know." Orlando exhaled. "He couldn'thave survived." After a moment of reflection, he continued, "Tell memore about the wards around this place. Just how certain are you an undeadcreature couldn't have gotten in here?"
An hour or so later, Orlando still hadn't made senseof Jolind's warning.
"If it was Shandt, he'll be back to get us,"said Orlando. "He wasn't one to leave a job undone."
Rather than answer, Lelanda merely poked at thecampfire they'd lit at the heart of Jolind's tower.
In the past few hours, her beauty had begun to lookworn and haggard. Orlando studied her face, which was still delicate andgentle, with innocent features that belied the cunning viper that lurkedwithin. Still, there was something human showing through the facade shemaintained.
"How did you ever become a wanderingadventurer?" Orlando asked.
"I don't really know," said the witch."It just happened, I guess. I was studying in Waterdeep, the usual coursesthey force on a child of a merchant prince, but they just weren't enough tokeep my attention. One of the other students said he was being tutored in magicby an old woman on the outskirts of town. I followed him one day and learnedwhere his teacher lived. When he left, I paid her a visit and demanded sheteach me magic. She looked me over carefully and refused.
"I was furious. I guess I was more than a littlespoiled in those days. When I tried to pay her for the lessons, she wouldn'ttake my gold. I'd never met anyone like her before, anyone that gold couldn'tbuy. It took me tendays of pestering her, but she finally agreed. I guess shewanted proof of my devotion.
"About a year later, I showed up for my lessonand found her dead. She had been murdered by a pack of thieves-assassins,really, in the service of a dark priest. I vowed to avenge her death. That tookme another year. By then, I'd gotten used to life on the road, and returning toWaterdeep just didn't seem very palatable to me. I never went back to school orto see my family. I suppose they assumed I'd been killed while trying to avengemy mentor. Somehow, it just didn't matter anymore."
A gust of wind swirled through the tower, twisting theflames that danced above the hearth and lifting a cloud of glowing embers intothe air. Lelanda gazed silently at them as if there might be some hiddenmeaning in their traces.
"How about you?" she asked.
"Ever been a farmer?" he asked in answer.
"No," she said.
"Well, if you had been, you'd understandperfectly."
Lelanda laughed, a clear and sweet sound that Orlando never would have expected from her. There, in the garden where they had once slaina black dragon and had recently buried an old friend, he saw a side of her hehad never thought existed. His hand, as if it had a will of its own, reachedout and rested atop hers. Her laugh faded away, and her green eyes shifted tomeet his.
"Orlando," she said, and a shock wentthrough her body.
Every muscle was rigid for a second, and her eyesbulged. As suddenly as the spasm had struck her, it passed. She went limp andtoppled forward, the blade of the great axe Kesmarex buried in her back.
The warrior, his rekindled reflexes already in action, sprang back.Without conscious thought, he brought the enchanted sword Talon into play,interposing it between himself and whoever might wield the ancient battle-axe.
"Shandt," he cried, "is that you?"
There was no answer, but in a second Orlando knew nonewould be forthcoming. With a swift and sudden motion, the axe Kesmarex liftedinto the air. Lelanda's blood dripped from the blade, but no living hand wieldedthe weapon.
At last, Orlando understood. He had always knownShandt's blade was enchanted, but had never realized the full extent of itspower. But years after the death of its owner, the weapon had tracked down thepeople it blamed for Shandt's death.
Describing a great arc in the air, Kesmarex swepttoward the warrior. He fell back, uncertain how to attack a weapon that had nowielder. He jabbed feebly with Talon, but found that the axe was every bit asmaneuverable as it had been in Shandt's hand.
"You don't understand," Orlando cried."We had no choice!"
The battle-axe chopped at his legs, causing him toleap backward. When his feet touched the ground, he felt the soft earth shiftand give way. He had landed squarely on Jolind's grave. Unable to retain hisbalance, Orlando toppled over and thudded hard on his back. The blade of theaxe flashed through the air inches above his nose. Had he still been standing,it would certainly have severed his leg at the knee.
"Shandt was buying us time to escape!" heyelled.
The axe, unheeding, swept upward as if it was beingheld aloft by its departed master. For a brief second, it hung there. Then,like the blade of a headsman at the block, Kesmarex plunged downward. Orlando tried to roll aside, but the enchanted blade sensed his intention and twisted to followhim. With a metallic crash, it smashed into the warrior's bronze breastplate,tearing through the amber metal and biting into the soft flesh beneath.
Pain burned through Orlando's body as clouds of redrolled across his vision. Talon fell from a nerveless hand, making no soundas it landed atop Jolind's newly dug grave. As the vengeful weapon drew backfor its fatal strike, Orlando's hands clutched at the searing wound. Hisfingers touched jagged metal, exposed flesh, and warm, flowing blood.
And something else. Something smooth and warm andcomforting: the amulet of Clanggedin Silverbeard. His fingers closed upon themedallion, and he snatched it clear of his neck. The silver chain upon which ithung stretched and snapped. As the great weapon began to sweep downward, Orlando held the holy symbol high.
"Shandt was my friend!" he cried. "Iwould have died to save him!"
Moonlight, sifting down from the cloudless sky, struckthe glass dome and streamed down into the garden. It fell upon the fallen bodyof Lelanda, the druid's fresh grave, and the silver axe that sought to avengeits owner's death. Two pinpoints glinted brightly in the shaft of moonlight,one the blade edge and the other the pendant.
VI
Orlando stepped back fromthe wall. He had returned Talon to its place and cocked his head left and rightto make sure it was positioned properly. He reached out and lifted the hilt animperceptible fraction of an inch.