Then the banshee sprang backward. For a moment, he imagined that he'd wounded it badly enough that it feared to continue fighting him. Then he felt the chilling scrutiny of a new presence, whose advent the banshee had evidently perceived a moment before he had.
It could easily be a fatal error to take his eyes off his original foe, but he needed to understand what was happening, so he risked a glance around. At first, he saw nothing, but then phosphorescence oozed through the air like a brush stroke flowing downward.
The streak of glow gradually assumed a manlike shape. Bareris gasped, because though it was like looking into a poorly made mirror in a dark room, he could tell the murky form was supposed to mimic his own.
Only for a moment, though. Then the thing rejected or was unable to sustain the resemblance. It softened until it was simply a luminous shadow with the hint of some form of armor in its shape and a length of sheen extending from its hand.
Bareris didn't know what the newcomer was, nor could he see a point to its brief impersonation of him, but he could only assume it was another of Xingax's hunters. Against all probability, he'd seemed to be holding his own against the banshee, and now his achievement didn't matter a jot. Fighting in concert, the two spirits were certainly capable of slaying him, and he felt a crazy impulse to laugh at his dismal luck and the ongoing ruination of all his hopes.
Instead, he faced the newcomer, the nearer of his foes, and came on guard. He'd at least make the vile creatures work for their kill.
The phantom came on guard in its turn, hesitated, then turned to face the banshee, to all appearances taking Bareris for its ally and making plain its opposition to its fellow undead.
The banshee screamed, and Bareris sang to leech the poison from the sound. Then, even though it was apparently leery of the phantom, it raced forward to attack with its hands once more. Perhaps the will of its necromancer masters compelled it.
In the moments that followed, Bareris discerned that his new comrade, whatever else it might be, was a master swordsman, landing cunning strokes, retreating to avoid the banshee's snatching, clawing attacks, and scoring anew with stop cuts when the moaning ghost lunged after it. The newcomer likewise understood how best to exploit a numerical advantage and consistently maneuvered to insure that it and Bareris remained on opposite sides of their opponent.
The banshee pounced at the spectral swordsman. Bareris leaped after it and spun his blade through its head. The banshee frayed into tatters of glow, which then winked out of existence.
That left Bareris gasping for breath and peering at the remaining phantom through the empty space their foe had occupied a moment before. The entity shifted its sword to threaten him.
Wonderful, thought the bard. It didn't oppose the banshee because it wanted to help me. It just wanted to make sure it got to kill me itself. Probably I'm to be its supper in one fashion or another.
Yet the spirit didn't follow through and attack. It hesitated as though uncertain of what to do.
Doubtful that he could defeat the phantom in any case, Bareris decided to lower his sword. "Thank you for helping me," he said. "Unfortunately, I'm still in danger. Other enemies are seeking me, and the banshee and I made more than enough noise to draw them here. If you see fit to stand with me a second time, I'll be forever in your debt, or if you have a way we can hide or escape, that would be better still."
The spirit stared at him, then turned and started walking away. Bareris followed.
As the phantom strode, the sword melted from its hand, and its outline softened until it was just a luminous haze. Then that too faded away, though Bareris could still somehow sense it as an aching emptiness drifting on before him.
It led him into thick brush, and he had to shove and scramble to keep up. Then he took another step and found only empty air beneath his foot. He plummeted into darkness.
Samas Kul hadn't been sure he wanted to leave the banquet even temporarily. He'd eaten and drunk a considerable amount, enough to make even a fat man sluggish, enough to incline him to stay on his couch and sample all the courses and vintages still to come, no matter how enticing the reason to arise.
But he found the enclosed garden at the center of the mansion refreshing. The fountain gushed, the water glimmered in the moonlight, and the scent of jasmine filled the air. Best of all, the breeze cooled his hot, sweaty face. It made him hopeful that he'd be able to perform without recourse to magic, and that was always a relief.
"Girls!" he called. "Where are you?"
The women in question were gorgeous twin courtesans provided by his hostess. People exerted themselves mightily to entertain a man who was both zulkir of Transmutation and Master of the Guild of Foreign Trade, but perhaps not mightily enough, because the twins didn't answer.
He wondered if they'd thought a game of hide and seek amongst the flowerbeds and arbors would arouse him. If so, they'd mistaken their man. He'd abandoned such callow amusements many years and many pounds ago. These days, he preferred passion without an excess of exertion.
"Girls!" he repeated, this time putting the snap of command into his voice. "Show yourselves."
Still, no one replied, and abruptly he remembered that Druxus Rhym and Aznar Thrul were dead. Someone or something had caught them alone and murdered them. By all accounts, Thrul had even been preparing for coition, or a perverse alternative to it, when destruction overtook him.
But neither Rhym nor Thrul had anticipated trouble, nor had either had his talismans and spell triggers ready to hand. Samas invoked the power pent in a ring, and a protective aura, invisible as air but strong as steel, radiated from his body. He gave his left arm a shake and a wand of congealed quicksilver dropped from his voluminous sleeve into his pudgy fingers. He whispered a word of power and the darkness seemed to brighten. Now he could see as clearly as an owl.
That made it possible to spot the figure slipping through a doorway on the far side of the garden. Samas pointed the wand at the newcomer. A single flare of power should suffice to turn the wretch into a snail, after which it would be simplicity itself to capture him, change him back, and put him to the question.
But the man didn't move to attack, nor believing himself unobserved, did he continue skulking either. Instead, he dropped to his knees.
"Your Omnipotence," he said. "Thank you for coming. I realize I'm not as appealing a sight as the whores who delivered my invitation, but you can dally with them later if you're still so inclined. They understand they're to await your pleasure."
"How is it they answer to you? Duma Zan is paying them."
"You assumed that, and Lady Zan believes you invited the twins to attend the feast as your guests. In reality, I hired them to serve as my go-betweens."
"Who in the name of the Abyss are you?"
"Malark Springhill. We've never met, but perhaps you've heard of me."
"Dmitra Flass's man."
"Yes. May I rise?"
Samas hesitated. "I suppose so. What's this all about?"
"As you've surely heard by now, Szass Tam is convening the council of zulkirs. Tharchion Flass requests the honor of a private conversation with you, Yaphyll, and Lallara prior to the conclave."
Samas blinked. "You mean, with the three of us alone? And Szass Tam none the wiser?"
"Yes."
"Everyone knows Dmitra is the lich's creature. Is he trying to test our loyalty?"
"If you believe so, Your Omnipotence, then may I suggest that you attend the meeting, then hurry to Szass Tam and tell him what was said."