Tennora eyed the silver vial. "She says she had a reason. For killing the wizard."
"Of course she had a reason," he said. "There's always a reason. Let the court decide if it's a good one."
"You don't think it's a good one."
He hesitated, and in that brief moment Tennora saw that he wasn't sure. For as much as Veron Angalen insisted on the rightness of his task, he did not know what had happened on that night in Cormyr-or any other time he suspected that Nestrix had a hand in someone's death-any more than Tennora did.
"The odds say no," he said, "she didn't have a good reason. When someone is tied to as many deaths as she is, even Tymora wouldn't take the bet that it's merely coincidence."
Tennora took the vial from him. "Perhaps you're watching the wrong pieces of her game," she said, and tipped the potion back. Within moments, the fatigue melted out of her muscles and the ache out of her bones. The bruise on the side of her face faded. She stretched her neck.
"Better?" Veron asked.
"Yes," Tennora said, standing. She went to the shelf beside her bed-the only one that hadn't been damaged-and took down her spellbook. "Give me an hour."
"And then what?"
"And then," she said, "we're going into the sewers."
FIFTEEN
Dareun was beginning to question his judgment-a feeling he despised acutely. But the creature who called herself Clytemorrenestrix of the Calim wasn't giving anything up. No amount of threats, of cajoling, of searing pain seemed to break through her insistence that she could not tell him how to avoid the dragonward as she clearly could. She lay now, breathing heavily on the bottom of the cage, bruised and bloodied.
And grinning at him. He sneered back. The bitch was mocking him, and it made him want to unleash everything he had left, freeze her to the core with the horror of the void and let her beg for the Dragon Queen's cruel embrace.
The rules of xorvintaal required him to give up what magic he came by naturally-a sacrifice Dareun was not fond of. Wizards made obvious lovacs to combat the deficiency, but Dareun found them untrustworthy creatures, too keen to try and outsmart him and gain more than their fair share.
He still used them of course, in areas where he had a toehold but no hope of advancing-lands where his plans all seemed to come to ruin at the worst possible moment. All the older, better-equipped players made certain of that.
The dark voice whispering at the back of his thoughts made spells inch to the tips of his fingers. Patience, he reminded himself. It did him no good at all to kill her.
Unless, of course, he was wrong about all of it.
"What brought you to Waterdeep?"
She laughed, spitting blood as she did. "My feet."
"How droll," he said. "It helps neither of us, this disobedience."
"Disobedience." She chuckled again. "Funny, wyrmling. You are no master of mine. I have told you already-I have nothing you want. You are wasting your time."
Dareun wasn't ready to accept that she might be telling the truth. He cast again, filling her thoughts with the cold darkness of the void that lay between him and the mad being of the star. Her screams seemed to please it-though its pleasure or displeasure was never an easy thing to gauge.
No matter; it pleased him to hear her scream.
"Why did you come to Waterdeep?" he asked again. She reached up and grabbed hold of a bar, panting and unable to speak. "Why have you-"
He had gotten too close. She struck through the bars, one hand clenching shut on his windpipe. Dareun gagged and tried to pull away as her nails dug into either side of the prominence of his throat. Those blue eyes burned with disgust.
Not to be outdone, he returned the glare and took hold of her wrist. He squeezed the bones together, grinding one against the other as he twisted. The joint popped. Finally, with a small cry, she released him and pulled her arm back. He let go of her as well and rubbed his neck as she rubbed her wrist. He eyed her warily.
Footsteps behind him caught his attention, and he turned as Ferremo entered the chamber, carrying a sack in one hand.
"Back already?"
Ferremo's expression tightened. "It's done." He opened the sack, took out a silvery collar set with a lavender stone, and bowed his head. Dareun had never seen the stone's equal; even in the gloom of the sewer, it caught every scrap of light and sent it shimmering back out. A worthy addition.
"She's dead?" Dareun asked.
"Of course," Ferremo said. "Master."
"No!" Nestrix cried. He looked back over his shoulder, his opinion wavering again. What dragon cried over a lovac so useless as one who got caught? He narrowed his eyes at Ferremo.
"You'll avoid that tone with me. You're certain she's dead?"
"Certain as I can be. She's at the bottom of the river."
"No bloody cloth? No heart on a platter?"
Ferremo gritted his teeth. "You said to be quick, master. Flair like that takes time. And clothes I don't mind ruining."
"Then how do I know you took care of things?"
"Have I failed you before?" Ferremo asked.
"Recent events have been less than to my liking. How do you know she's dead?"
"I stood by the water and watched until her breath broke the surface. Then I waited another few songs-she didn't come up."
"Did you see the body?"
"She's at the bottom of the harbor, master, and it's cold water. We won't see a body for another few days."
Dareun glared at his lovac. The slow growth of his insolence had reached an intolerable point. Ferremo hadn't agreed with the decision to infiltrate Waterdeep. Dareun didn't care-it was not a lovacs place to agree or disagree, only to act. Ferremo had not failed him, not yet, but it was inevitable.
He would deal with the human once his plans were complete.
He held out a hand. "Give me the collar."
Nestrix watched, horrified, as Dareun donned the gorget. There was no light or shimmer or sound as it closed around Dareun's neck, but Nestrix could see the change in him as its affects took hold. His spine lengthened, straightening his body. The breath he drew was smooth and deep and without the rattle that had plagued him. His face smoothed, his eyes widened, and Andareunarthex began to laugh.
"By all the gods!" he crowed. He flexed his hands and they moved easily. "I could unmask a hundred lords tonight! There is no power on Toril that could bring me low!"
The anger coiling in Nestrix's heart came together with a purpose. She would be that power; she would bring him low or die trying. She thought of Tennora, poor Tennora, dead by that bastard lovac's hand, and the rage rose to fill her, ready for the first chance she had.
He turned to face her, eyes glowing, teeth sharp and white. "You're going to get some company. I hear you miss your offspring."
Nestrix stiffened. "Watch your tongue."
"Nothing of the sort," he said. "How would you like someone else's offspring to watch after?"
The leg of the God Catcher had been fitted with stairs, winding around its thigh for a few score feet before ending at a walled landing still a hundred feet above the Waterdhavian sewers.
The air thickened as Tennora and Veron descended, filling their mouths with a sour, fetid taste. The stairs grew slick with a thin layer of mold, and below the sound of water gurgled past.
At the landing, Veron leaned over to gauge the distance.
"We'll have to lower ourselves down one at a time," he said. "Though it might land us in the water."
"Try not to," Tennora said. The sewers of Waterdeep were not known for their purity.
Veron withdrew a coil of thin, sturdy rope from his haversack and secured it with pitons and a complicated knot to the wall. He looped the other end into a sort of noose, though when he tugged on it, it didn't tighten. He slipped it around Tennora so that the loop made a sort of seat, then tied a second loop at about chest height. She threaded her hand through it and held tight to the rope.