Once, he thought, a body might have rested in the hole. But if so, time had obliterated every trace of bone, flesh, hair, or clothing, or at least every one he might otherwise have noticed in the dark. But, not corroded, tarnished, or even dirty, were a long spear and broadsword that remained. They appeared to be made entirely of some strange crimson metal, even the shaft of the spear.
The sword s scabbard had fasteners to clip it on his hip. The spear was more awkward to manage, but by running it down his back and through his belt, he managed to carry both weapons up out of the hole.
What do you think? asked the apparition, irony keen as any blade in its voice. Are the arms worthy of an Iron Lord in waiting?
Making sure not to point it at the phantom, Vandar lowered the spear into a guard position. Though he was far more proficient with a sword, even he could feel how light and perfectly balanced the weapon was. It seemed awake and eager in his hands, an instrument capable of killing even dragons and demons as required.
I m no Old One, he said, but even I can feel these are full of magic. What do they do?
I can t tell you that, the guardian said, because the weapons behave differently in every set of hands. They magnify what you already are. Knowing that, do you still want them?
Of course! Vandar exclaimed. Except for a place in my lodge and the griffons I ve never wanted anything more. He bowed as deeply as he was able.
And I thank you with all my heart.
As well you should, replied the phantom. And now you have everything I had to give. Well, except advice. I told you I don t see everything. No one does, not the wisest prophet in the bright world or the cleverest seer in the dark one. But now that I m taking an interest, I see something.
Vandar had grown at least a little accustomed to the spectral presence of the guardian, but suddenly his mouth went dry all over again. What do you see? he asked.
I see treachery and murder flying down from the sky. I see that you shouldn t trust the outlanders.
Vandar opened his mouth to ask for more, but before he could, the guardian vanished. The gap in the earth closed at the same instant, just as swiftly, silently, and completely. If not for the spear in his hand and the weight of the blade hanging on his hip, he might almost have wondered if the conversation had only been a dream.
His feelings were mixed as he strode back down the mound. Naturally, a part of him was jubilant. There would have been cause for joy if the guardian had simply lifted the curse, but it had done much more. It had given him enchanted fey weapons and as much as prophesied that he would win the griffons and rise to be a great man in the days to come. And when his brothers spotted him descending and started cheering, their vigor restored, it made the moment even sweeter.
Yet even so, when his own gaze fell on Cera and Jet, he felt a pang of disquiet.
It wasn t difficult to believe that Aoth and Jhesrhi might ultimately play him false. Fighting for coin instead of kin or hearth, sellswords were little better than bandits, and dishonorable by definition. In addition to which, the war mage plainly thought himself above everyone else why else did he constantly try to order others around? The tall, slender elementalist was as cold a woman as Vandar had ever met, even if she did have fire running in her veins.
But Cera was the servant of a god, and he liked her friendly conversation, saucy jokes, and general good cheer, as well as her willingness to take a turn at performing the various chores camp life required. She made a striking contrast to Yhelbruna s grim taciturnity on the trek into the High Country. And Jet was the living emblem of courage and fidelity as the Griffon Lodge defined them.
Still, the griffon was also a winged war steed, and when his Thayan master commanded it, he could plunge down from on high and kill a man like a falcon killing a rabbit.
I ll watch them, Vandar resolved. I ll watch and see what happens.
Mario Bez looked on as two of his crew examined the weathered menhir by the silvery glow of conjured phosphorescent orbs. One of his experts to give them more credit than was probably their due was a tubby-horned runt of a tiefling warlock who claimed considerable knowledge of the denizens of the lower worlds. The other, in spiked gauntlets and a red-trimmed jupon, was a human priestess of Tempus the Foehammer. In theory, she would provide the insights of an exponent of divine magic, as opposed to the arcane variety that the tiefling, Bez himself, and a dozen others aboard the Storm of Vengeance practiced.
It was a cold night, with a frigid wind whistling down from the higher peaks, and Bez s scholars had been at their task for a while. The skyship was presently anchored on a broad ledge on the mountainside above the standing stone, and those of the mining village far below it. The lights burning aboard her taunted a shivering son of the Shining South with the possibility of warmth. Still, nipping at a flask of Sembian brandy, Bez managed to curb the impulse to urge his subordinates to hurry. Nothing good could come of that. Instead, he comforted himself with the reflection that at least the stone wouldn t suddenly run away and hide.
Olthe, the Foehammer s battleguard, stepped back from the monument. She was as big and as broad-shouldered as many a fighting man, and could swing a battle-axe to as deadly an effect when she channeled the war god s power. Or she could just grab a man and break his back over her knee, as Bez had witnessed in several camp fights and tavern brawls.
Presumably she d completed her investigations, so he tossed her the flask. What have you learned? he asked.
The trap has two fiends inside it, she replied. Her alto voice was melodious and cultured, a perennial surprise issuing from her lumpish face and brutish frame.
I believe there might even be three, said Melemer the tiefling, his yellow eyes slightly chatoyant in the starlight.
Olthe glared. You re wrong, she said.
Melemer spread his hands. Of course, battleguard, he replied. If you re certain of your estimate, then be assured, I m certain of it, too. In combat, he was as brave as any mercenary Bez had ever known, but away from the battlefield, it was always his way to apologize, flatter, and defer at least until the person who d offended him dropped his guard.
It doesn t much matter if it s two or three, Bez said, as long as they aren t too powerful. What can you tell me about that?
I think we re all right, Olthe said. She glowered again at Melemer, like she was daring him to contradict her.
But she d already lost Bez s attention. He pivoted and peered up the slope at the murky, faceless figure approaching in a silent, flowing way that somehow looked like creeping and bounding at the same time. Melemer raised his hands, and his several rings, each made of a different metal and engraved with a different glyph, shone like his eyes.
Bez whipped out his dagger and rapier and came on guard. Lightning crawled and crackled in the smaller blade, and frost formed on the larger.
Olthe spun her axe through cuts, blocks, and flourishes and chanted a battle hymn. Though she wasn t directing the challenge at him, Bez still felt the words ring and reverberate inside him.
The shadow didn t seem daunted by the prayer or anyone else s demonstration of power. It kept coming, only halting when light rippled inside it, and its vague, flat form swelled into something constant and three-dimensional.
The transformation only took a heartbeat or two, and when it was finished, Dai Shan bowed with an elegance that somehow conveyed both impeccable courtesy and nonchalance. My valiant associates, he said.
What in the Destroyer s name are you doing here? Bez demanded.
I wanted to confer with you, Dai Shan said, so I sent one of my servants to find you. When I sensed that it had, I inhabited it, turning it into a window through which you and I can speak for the relatively brief time the magic will last.