“Mmm,” Shanhaevel said, draining his mug as he looked up at the stars. “So, what’s your story, Ahleage?” he asked quietly. “How did you get hooked up with Melias?”
Ahleage twisted his mouth around in a pensive frown. “Well,” he said, playing with one of his ever-present daggers, “Let’s just say I was getting tired of the street life in Verbobonc. Melias and I bumped into one another one night, and he offered me a job. It was a nice change of pace, so I accepted.”
Shanhaevel chuckled. “You tried to steal something, he caught you, and then he gave you a chance to avoid going to the viscount’s dungeons if you would come with him.”
Ahleage grinned. “Well, not exactly, but close enough. My welcome was worn out back there, that’s for sure.”
Shanhaevel nodded “What about Draga?” he asked, gesturing at the man sitting next to him. “Where’s he from?”
“I don’t know,” Ahleage answered, shrugging. “He doesn’t say much, but he’s good for a laugh or two, and he’s a damn fine shot with that bow,” he finished loudly enough that Draga heard.
The bowman looked up and smiled, then played a little melody on his flute. It was not in tune, but Shanhaevel could tell it was getting better as Draga continued to work on it.
“Yes, he is,” the elf replied, grinning.
Ahleage looked directly at the elf. “What about you? Why are you here? And what in the nine hells did Elmo mean when he called you ‘whelp of the shadow wood’?”
Shanhaevel sat back, thinking. “When Burne called upon Lanithaine to aid him, it seemed to go without saying that would I come, too. When Lanithaine died”—the wizard swallowed hard, thinking of the incident; it seemed so much longer ago than a few short nights—“he bade me to come without him.”
“So Burne wanted someone to come poke around the ruins of an old fort, and you just said, ‘Sure’?” Ahleage looked skeptical.
“Well, I didn’t know exactly what the favor would be when I agreed, but essentially, yes. It’s something I had to do for Lanithaine’s sake. And it’s what my full name actually means.”
“What?”
The elf looked at him. “My full name is Shantirel Galaerivel—‘Whelp born of the Shadow Wood’ is the truest translation, although I prefer ‘child’ to ‘whelp’. ‘Shanhaevel’ is the short form, and it means ‘shadowchild’.”
“Shadowchild?” Ahleage said, looking at Shanhaevel. “Why would your parents name you that?”
Shanhaevel smiled as Ahleage reached to refill his mug from the wineskin the two of them were sharing. “Actually, I was orphaned. A woodsman found me crying one day while he was hunting. He didn’t like children very much, and it was in a deep, dark part of the Welkwood, so he gave me this unpleasant name in Elvish. He was from a community of humans and elves who managed to live together peacefully, which is how he knew the Elvish language.”
“So you don’t know who your parents were? They were never found?”
Shanhaevel shook his head. “They lived a little ways away from that community. They were slain by ettercaps, the spider people who live in the darkest part of the woods. No one is really sure how I managed to survive. Anyway,” he continued, “my aunt Soli—she’s not really my aunt, but I think of her that way—she’s an elder on the council where I grew up. Aunt Solianturel made them shorten it to Shanhaevel. Shadowchild.”
“So that’s why you call yourself Shanhaevel,” Ahleage said. “I like Shadowspawn better. Really, that’s kind of what your name means.”
Shanhaevel just shook his head in resignation. “Whatever makes you happy.”
Shanhaevel turned to look up at the night sky. He stole a glance at Shirral, sleeping on the far side of the remains of the fire, wrapped in her thick cloak.
“She likes you more than she’s admitting, you know,” Ahleage said. “You’re giving up too easily.”
Shanhaevel nearly choked on his wine. “What? What are you talking about?”
“I’m not stupid, and neither is anyone else. We all know how you feel about her. Believe me, I can see it in your eyes when you look at her, and it’s in her eyes, too. She’s just stubborn, that’s all.”
Shanhaevel cocked his head to one side, studying Ahleage and mulling over the man’s words. “She made it clear I should leave.”
Ahleage snorted in derision. “That’s what she said. That’s not what she was thinking.”
Shanhaevel shook his head, but he realized he was suddenly thinking about the possibilities again.
11
Hedrack’s footfalls were soft against the flagstones, echoing in the near silence of the great temple chamber as the high priest of Iuz hurried toward the private chapel behind the writhing violet curtain. Once beyond the dais and in the room with three altars, Hedrack dropped to his knees and, taking a deep breath, began to pray, frowning slightly as he struggled to find the right words. It was not long before the priest felt his deity’s presence in his mind.
“My lord Iuz,” Hedrack said, the words tumbling forth. “I am your Mouth. I pronounce your wishes to the world you will tread beneath your feet.”
I sense your unease, servant. The gravelly voice inside the priest’s head grated down his spine.
Hedrack knew better than to hide this information from his master. “Yes, my lord. I bear unpleasant news. We have lost the moathouse. Lareth did manage to flee and is safe with me, but certain things were left behind that could prove troublesome.”
There was no answer, but Hedrack nonetheless felt the waves of malevolent displeasure washing through him as Iuz seethed. Despite himself, the priest shuddered, a small part of him fearing that the god’s annoyance would spill over to him.
How? Iuz finally asked, his voice more grating than ever. How did this happen?
“Lareth reported that a band of interlopers wielding substantial magic invaded the place. I’m still trying to find out the particulars.” Hedrack’s thoughts strayed to the handsome priest, bound in chains in one of his recreation rooms, awaiting his return for more questions. “I will know more soon.”
It is his doing, the god said. I warned you that he had sent meddlers to interfere. You must not take them lightly. For them to defeat one of our best commanders…”
“I understand, my lord,” Hedrack responded. He knew the group of adventurers that had managed to bring Lareth’s forces down would follow the trail to Nulb, looking for more information on the temple. Hedrack’s instructions had been clear: Destroy them when they arrived and bring their bodies to him.
What other news? Iuz asked, interrupting Hedrack’s thoughts.
“Ah, good news, my lord. We have begun to bring forth creatures from the planes. I have witnessed three, and Falrinth and my other staff have moved several more from the planes to the nodes. Our army is growing, my lord.”
Excellent, Iuz beamed. What of my beloved? Have you located her yet?
“Efforts proceed apace, my master. She remains only marginally aware, and communicating with her is arduous. She does not seem to know where she is, and thus far Falrinth’s scrying efforts have revealed little. However, we have found the key she mentioned—a golden skull, although it does not appear to be intact. There are four sockets that seem to have been designed to hold something… gems perhaps. Once Falrinth determines its workings, we will use it to free her.”
Of course! Iuz effused, waves of pleasure radiating over Hedrack from the god. She was always clever. The sockets are, indeed, designed for gems, one representing each element. This is an item of power that she and I constructed before to aid in ruling the temple. She must have attuned it to herself, somehow. Find the gems, place them in their sockets, and you find her.