Umber

Mysterious and unfriendly forces swirl about Hommlet; the adventurers grow concerned when they discover a strange merchant has sold unique items to strategic individuals there.

It was a little after ten o’clock at night by the time the adventurers finished speaking with Canoness Y’Deh and smuggled Genevive and the rest of Arda’s captives into the church. Brin had planned to nap for an hour before beginning her prayers, but Willie had other ideas. “You aren’t going to talk to Hadrack?”

“I’m very tired.”

“You’re still afraid,” he said in a tone of mild accusation.

“Willie,” she replied patiently, “having a psion stabilizing the link is very different from trying to do it myself. So yes, I am afraid.”

His small round eyes glittered. “If you don’t trust yourself, trust Hadrack. He deserves to know his people are safe. He will be very worried.”

“Their communication network is extremely efficient. He’ll know shortly anyway.” The weasel said nothing, but didn’t lower his gaze from her face. “Oh, fine,” she sighed, knowing she had other, more unpleasant, news she should give him as well. “I’ll try.”

* * *

It was a little before ten o’clock at night at the Three Feathers Inn. Hadrack and Erenil had been in his rooms going over intelligence reports, but as the evening wore on the Heironian was increasingly inattentive. He hadn’t slept since he’d received word of his compromised agents in the Underdark several days earlier. “They knew it was dangerous,” Erenil said after they’d dispatched an urgent message to Clement requesting the assistance of any knights in the vicinity.

“Sending three of them into twenty-five hundred drow?” Hadrack replied bitterly. “It wasn’t dangerous. It was suicide. And I knew it, however much they wanted to believe otherwise.”

“But it had to be done, didn’t it? The consequences of all those drow reaching…” he broke off and looked at the Heironian reproachfully. “I would have gone with them.”

“I know you would have,” he replied, managing a weak smile. “But a renowned drow-hunter is not quite the elf for a job of quiet sabotage. And even you can’t beat back an army of thousands.”

Erenil’s fingers twitched toward his blade. “It would have been fun trying, though.” Seeing the sorrowful look return to Hadrack’s face he added, “You shouldn’t blame yourself.”

“The day I stop blaming myself,” he sighed, “is the day I retire. It has to hurt, every single time. Otherwise, we’re just like them.”

Now exhaustion finally had taken its toll and he had dozed off in front of the fire some short while earlier. Erenil slipped out of the room, paperwork in hand, to finish what he could on his own and leave less for later. In Hadrack’s restless dreams, an Underdark horde, weapons drawn and shouting curses, were chasing after a gnome, a dwarf, and a turncoat drow. The dark elves drew nearer, abreast, cut them down and ran on, an evil floodtide washing over all of Oerth.

In the midst of their violent rampage he heard a woman’s voice. She sounded rather irritable. “I don’t know. I think he’s asleep.” Now he heard a soft chittering, an animal sound. “I don’t think I should. I’m always waking him up.” After a pause, the chittering resumed briefly. “Implant a message in his dream? Do I look like a wizard to you? I don’t know how to do that.” More chattering from the animal, then the woman again, “You seem to be here in the head-space. Why don’t you talk to him and I’ll – I don’t know – wait outside or something?” The animal’s tone grew more indignant. The incongruity between the pair’s spat and the images of destruction made him laugh in his sleep and the dream slipped away. Not yet fully awake, he was startled again by an alien presence in his mind. But he and Erenil had been practicing, and even as it shied away in embarrassment he reached out with his thoughts. He heard a small chitter he recognized as Willie, then that personality faded and he and Brin were alone. “Hi,” she said awkwardly.

“Hi.” She could feel his answering smile in her mind. It was unnerving, coming from inside her head; the mystery of thoughts’ origins might be a popular subject for pub philosophy over an ale, but the next time someone tried to tell her that she couldn’t really know whether her thoughts were her own she would inform them emphatically that they had no idea what they were talking about.

“This is – uh – a little disconcerting,” she confessed. “Do you think we could try that trick Erenil showed us – at least pretending we’re occupying physical space?”

His vigorous agreement suggested that he was not especially comfortable with the current arrangement either. It took them a few minutes, but eventually they had creditable images of one another sitting much as they would be if Brin were actually there. “That’s better,” he said. “So, what was this message you were supposed to implant in my dream?”

“Your Underdark operatives – I wanted to tell you that they’re all right.”

The relief she felt from him was nearly overwhelming in its intensity. She wondered how he managed to function as a commander, if every potential loss affected him so deeply. “Discipline,” he said unbidden. “And the knowledge that certain things need to be done, no matter how painful the cost.” Then he looked a little sheepish. “You didn’t actually ask me that, did you?’

The image in the chair shook its head. “No. There seems to be a bit of, for lack of a better word, bleed-through. Erenil must have been keeping our minds wholly separate. We don’t seem to have the knack of it by ourselves.”

“We’ll figure it out eventually,” he said. “In the meantime, we’ll just have to – ”

“Grant each other some leeway.” The thought arose in them simultaneously. She grinned. “I wonder which one of us needs it more?”

He laughed, then said, “How did you hear about the Underdark mission?”

“We were nearby when Sir Borch swept through on that flying horse of his demanding assistance. We weren’t precisely in shape to provide it, but there wasn’t anyone else, so Vayel jumped onto his mount with him and the rest of us followed behind as we could.”

“Wait,” he interrupted. “That was near Hommlet. I thought you were going to Crater Ridge.”

“We never quite made it. While we were visiting Hommlet, Canoness Y’Deh told us that they had been rather pressed of late. Unusual, threatening creatures were on the rise in the woods, and attacks on patrols were mounting. Hommlet was rapidly becoming an island in a sea of dangers. We still had some knots to unravel in Nulb, so we discussed the possibility of remaining in the area for a little while. Then, coincidentally, we received a hunting invitation from the owner of that mysterious mansion that interests the king, and that tipped the balance.” She cast a critical glance in his direction. “If certain segments of Clement’s intelligence network were freer with their information, we might have known what we were walking into.”

“Certain segments of Clement’s intelligence network didn’t know you were going to be there,” he replied dryly. “And we’re as free with our information as we need to be. Rather like cures for wounds infected with psionic parasites.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “Touché.”

“What was in the region, aside from the army?”

“On their side? Assorted drow, some ettercaps, and a small army of giant spiders. Including one so large that Corwin overlooked it.”

“Overlooked it?”

“He, uh, mistook one of its legs for a tree trunk.” Hadrack grimaced. “And on our side,” she went on, “there were mostly individuals who didn’t care for us but really despised them.” The use of the word ‘individuals’ rather than ‘people’ didn’t escape his notice, but he let it pass for the time being. “The initial skirmish wasn’t so bad. All of the webs were inconvenient, and Corwin had a few unpleasant moments, but they kept trying to poison us, and we could stand there and take that all day.”

“Ah, the morning ambrosial feast,” he laughed. “Believe it or not, it gets dull after a while. But there’s no arguing with the benefits.” Then he grew more sober. “You spoke of the initial skirmish? What came after?”

“Something we tried desperately to avoid. A wolf came to speak with Corwin, warning him of a dangerous spider woman who had taken up residence in a nearby cave. We had encountered only a fraction of her assembled forces, he said. His own master loathed her presence, but was not powerful to strike at her. Neither, he said, were we.”

“Were you inclined to take him at face value?”

“I don’t like taking anyone I don’t know at face value. But just then we had a sending from the Canoness. She’d received word of the size of the opposing force, and that it was headed straight for us. She urged us to retreat, but it was too late. Before we could get away, we were hemmed in by webs on all sides.”

She fell silent, brooding. When she showed no signs of resuming her narrative, Hadrack began a ginger exploration of her thoughts. She made no effort to stop him, and he quickly gleaned the essentials of the conflict: the drow archers realizing the ineffectiveness of their poisoned arrows and peppering them with force missiles instead, the cleric of Lolth on her spider mount, her tiny spider familiar jumping unseen onto Vayel and…“Vayel almost died,” he said. “The spider was carrying her spells to you, unseen.”

Brin nodded. “If it had been anyone else, they would have. Ammitai was tripped up in the webs for a while, but Vayel shrugged them off as if they were strands of ivy. I suppose the priestess wanted her out of the picture. I tried to heal her, but the cleric wasn’t having any of that.”

“Then she tried to kill you as well.”

“If it hadn’t been for the – residue – of the Alpha, she would have succeeded.”

“But you all still held your own.”

“Callie was unstinting in her psionic attacks, and Dryden’s bow sung furiously against the drow. Once Ammitai was free, Starfire cut through spiders left and right. But no one could touch the priestess. Her mount was too large, and she was too good at riding it. Finally, out of frustration, Corwin shaped the silver psiblade into a javelin and hurled it at her. The point struck true. She fled from the scene of battle, taking her few remaining troops with her.”

“Fled, but not to heal,” Hadrack said grimly.

“Corwin took no small pleasure in that. So did I, for that matter.”

“There was something else that pleased him less, though.” He tried to concentrate on her thoughts. “Something about the druid. He was moving the trees around – to help you – and Corwin – poisoned him?”

“Well, what did he want to go disguising himself as a drow for?” she said impatiently. “It didn’t matter to us that he was standing off to the side of the field of battle. For all we knew he was waiting for the right moment to launch some devastating attack.” She snorted in disgust. “Then afterward that wolf burst in snappishly insisting that Corwin come heal his master – I would have been happy turning him into a hearth rug.”

“The bond between a druid and his animal companion is very strong. You can’t expect the wolf to be pleased that you injured his master.”

“Hmmph,” she grumbled, but let the matter drop. “At least the druid gave us directions to the priestess’ base of operations. Set right in the middle of a cliff, of course. A logistical nightmare to enter, unless you’re, say, a spider. Corwin snuck in ahead to assess the opposition. At the cave entrance there were only a couple of bugbears and some kind of strange spider-like shapeshifter. The bugbears were obviously frightened. They didn’t seem to be there entirely of their own free will. Ammitai wanted to find a way to frighten them out of the cave, but – ”

“But?”

“We already knew we were outmatched. Surprise was the only thing we had going for us. Dryden has some of the tenderest mercies of anyone in the group, and even he thought we couldn’t afford to let them raise an alarm. And they were bugbears. They may have been slaves to this priestess of Lolth, but there was no reason to think, if we let them go, that they wouldn’t just return to fomenting their own brand of chaos and destruction.”

“It is their nature,” he conceded. “What did you decide?”

“In the end, stealth won out. Dryden and Vayel silenced the bugbears, rather permanently, and Corwin assassinated the spider shapechanger. Further down the tunnel passage, we ran into another batch of bugbears. And after interrogating them, we did let them go.”

“Change of heart?” he asked wryly.

“They provided some useful information. It certainly would have just been a drain on our resources. And that deep into the caves, killing them might have raised more of a fuss than letting them go. Although given that Callie had just blown a guard post to bits with a ball of psionic energy, I’m not sure they didn’t already know we were there.”

“And their useful bit of information?”

“They kept babbling about the importance of not waking someone up. Callie finally figured out that they were talking about a red dragon living in the cave.” She smiled faintly. “Vayel was looking for one of those, you may recall.”

He stared at her with alarm. “She didn’t wake him up, did she?”

“No. We did speak with a sliver of him, though. Corwin found what we expected was Arda’s lair, through a hole fifteen feet wide and thirty feet overhead.” Hadrack frowned. “Yeah,” she sighed. “I wouldn’t have wanted to be the first one up that. Especially since Corwin heard someone call out that they felt magic moving in the vicinity – namely, us. He went scouting further down the corridor, hoping to find another way in.”

“Not very likely, I’m afraid.”

She shook her head. “He did find a sword. He picked it up, carefully. Looking up, he saw a few platinum pieces, part of a chest, a stream of melted copper…I’m sure I don’t need to explain what he was standing beneath. Then he encountered a man who introduced himself as Cinder.”

“The sliver of the dragon,” Hadrack guessed.

“Corwin returned the sword, very politely, and explained why we were there. Cinder wasn’t fond of the drow and their minions. He kept referring to them as vermin, and said he’d be willing to tolerate our presence as long as: one, we were there to eradicate them and two, we left immediately afterwards. We had no interest in staying, and no interest in angering him, so we agreed.”

“A remarkably amiable instance of his species,” he remarked.

“He’s been asleep for nearly two thousand years, and it sounds as if he’s planning to sleep out the next two thousand. People come by every so often to leave him gifts, and he’s happy with that. The drow, on the other hand, contributed nothing but noise to his environment.”

“Rather unfortunate for Vayel that he wasn’t amiable and awake.”

Brin’s image raised a finger in the air. “Ah, but he didn’t need to be awake for that. We had to trade him a trinket – a different blade of Vayel’s, but he did breathe on her sword. Old as he was, he almost wasn’t old enough – the first try didn’t work. After that I think it was a bit of a mission for him. But he set it in a wall of fire and tried again, and that did the trick. Although he was a little quick on the trigger – not entirely by accident, I don’t think. She managed to roll out of the way, though.”

“Restrained as he seems to be, he’s still a chromatic. I hope she doesn’t expect the finishing of Fire to go even that smoothly,” he mused. “Reds are very intelligent, sometimes even cultured. But there’s no dragon dumber – or meaner, some would say – than a white. I’m afraid the only way she’ll quench that blade is by shoving it down one’s throat while it’s spewing cold back at her. But as for the other…” He leaned forward with interest. “Was there a visible effect on the weapon?”

“The entire cavern was briefly sheathed in ice,” she said blandly, “if you call that an effect.”

Hadrack winced. “How badly did he take that?”

Her words emerged slowly. “Not – entirely – well. But he believed her when she stammered most apologetically that she had no idea that was going to happen. He even still offered to help us with Arda and her spiders and, uh,” she spoke more softly, “demons. He – ”

“Wait,” he interrupted her. “Demons?”

“That was the other piece of useful information the bugbears gave us. As far as we could make out, she summoned a demon – two bebilith, as it turned out – engaged in the usual bartering, broke their confining circle of magic and turned them loose with her.”

“But bebilith webs are virtually impossible to escape from, or to clear away.”

“That’s why the dragon’s granting us all the ability to move freely among them was extremely useful.”

The Heironian looked concerned. “And if he wanted a sword for a sword, what did he require in exchange for his spells?”

“That we prevent the drow army from reaching his cavern. Fortunately,” she hurried on as he was clearly about to chastise her, “you already had that angle covered, so as it turns out we didn’t even have to think too hard about how we were actually going to do that. Fate favors fools and young children, right?” She grinned nervously. “Some of us are still teetering on the edge of both.”

He shook his head. “And how did the battle go?”

“It didn’t start off particularly well. We thought we were being clever, sending Callie’s psicrystal up for reconnaissance. We didn’t count on there being an élan with Arda.”

“An élan?” Hadrack was clearly startled. “What are the psions doing consorting with drow?”

“That’s a very good question,” she replied, seeming a little distressed. “They tried to shatter the crystal, then an ettercap seized it and starting smashing it against the floor. They didn’t neglect us, either, hurling spells down the hole and trying to hem us in with a ring of blades. Dinadel went down in the midst of them, but Corwin managed to yank him to safety before he died. Then Vayel took Fire and Ice in hand and flew up the hole.”

“First one through?” he said with some trepidation.

She nodded. “And they were waiting for her. But she survived the barrage and let loose her roar.” A ghost of a smile crossed her face. “Eliminated the chaff, even the relatively tough chaff. She couldn’t affect the bebilith, or Arda, but most everything else became – not an issue. The élan was paralyzed, but managed to spirit herself away via some mental power. We didn’t spare our resources, and there were a few tense moments – the bebilith were doing their best to relieve Ammitai and Vayel of their armor, and if Arda loathed me before she was positively enraged after I dropped all of her magical protections – but we pulled through all right. I was healing our wounded and Corwin was searching through Arda’s belongings and correspondence when Sir Borch came charging up the hole on his horse, Cloud. A bit imperious, isn’t he?”

“I’ve never met him,” he replied. “But Clement assured me that he is a very good man.”

“What paladin isn’t, in the king’s eyes?” she said impishly, adding more seriously, “But if I might fault his manners, I certainly can’t fault his courage or determination. If we hadn’t been there, I think he would have taken on the entire army by himself. And he might have won, with that sword of his…”

“Sir Geoffrey mentioned that blade to me once. It’s said that it contains the spirit of every man who proved himself unworthy of it, their doom to serve the current wielder.”

“Ten of them, at current count. And from the look in their eyes, every last one eager to see the next man meet their fate. He said he doesn’t draw it very often.”

“Can’t say I blame him.”

He felt a strong spark of curiosity in her mind. “Still,” she reflected, “a very interesting weapon. Even more so in the hands of a paladin. A dark weapon, for a servant of the light.”

“Shelter thy spirit in light’s home, and the darkest path shall not blind thee.” He chanted the words softly, as a catechism. Then she felt a momentary surge of some peculiar emotion from him, but he quickly obscured it and changed the subject. “You were talking about the rescue mission?”

“We met the gnome and the drow,” at the mention of the latter she stared at him hard, feeling that odd emotion from him again, “running towards us with spiders hot on their tail. Their dwarven companion had been captured. They were quite distraught over that, and deeply ashamed at leaving him behind. I suspect they would have died for him, if their task had been completed.”

“Then the sabotage?” he asked intently.

“They hadn’t been able to complete it. After we dispatched their pursuers, we pulled them onto what mounts we had and headed back toward the army. The gnome returned to his work, Callie telekinetically aided the drow, and the rest of us mounted an operation to rescue the dwarf, who was held in the mouth of a gigantic spider perched halfway across the bridge. The spider found itself with a sudden heart condition.” She smiled thinly, and he didn’t ask her to elaborate. “Ammitai finished it off and caught the dwarf before he hit the ground. He was nearly asphyxiated and weakened by venom, but he’ll be all right.”

“And the bridge was destroyed before the army could cross?”

She nodded. “That was more exciting than perhaps we might have wished. Corwin was standing on the middle of the bridge when the gnome pulled the lever.”

“He had some capability for flight, though,” Hadrack prompted.

“No. But, he insisted, he could fall a long way without hurting himself, and Sir Borch was at the ready to retrieve him. It turned out to be a good thing Corwin was there – the mechanism jammed at first pull. Callie could figure out what was wrong, but not how to fix it.” She seemed lost in a momentary reverie, and the Heironian coughed softly. “Oh, sorry. It was just – well, it was a sight worth seeing. Corwin under the bridge, tinkering with something, then the entire thing collapsing and him falling with it. Callie yanked him telekinetically out of the rubble before he went too far, though.”

Hadrack looked distinctly relieved, but a moment later was frowning deeply. “Did they have any idea what tipped off the drow to their presence?”

“One guess. Starts with a ‘p.’”

He rose and started pacing irritably around the room. Brin’s image wavered and for a moment they were occupying that uncomfortably close mental space again, but he forced himself to sit down and be calm. “Are there more than three decent psions to be found on all of Oerth?” He swore aloud, then said soberly, “I need to know about this. And you have a better understanding of the tactical situation than they will.”

“You have no idea how much you need to know about this,” she muttered. “We saw her – the psion who unveiled your people. She was traveling with the drow army. She’d shown up a few days earlier. It was her élan we’d seen, evidently. Recovered from Vayel’s roar, she showed herself near the bridge. Sir Borch ran her through with his lance,” she added with evident satisfaction. “The other psion had been terrorizing the drow, threatening them with a gem that she carried. And she kept asking your operatives uncomfortable questions. Finally, somehow, she figured out they were plants and, well, the rest I’ve told you.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

“When the bridge collapsed, she called the army back and disappeared into their midst. Before that, she was decidedly on the offensive. Vayel engaged her to buy the artisans more time.”

He felt a particular kind of dread emanating from her, that arose in response to only one phenomenon. “What did she try do to Vayel’s soul?”

“The gem was a trap. Callie and I were afraid of that. And the psion had her for an instant. I could see it. But then her sword – it’s a damned good thing we quenched that sword before we fought Arda,” she said fiercely. “Whatever personality is buried inside of it grew stronger as a result. And I watched it bolster Vayel, give her the chance to yank her soul back.”

“Hmmm. A rogue is interred alive by a wizard, the swords that were taken away from him are found inexplicably back in his tomb, and now one of them shows a marked dislike for magic. Can anyone but Vayel hold Ice, now that it has been completed?”

Brin smiled slightly. “I’m sure you already know the answer to that.”

“You, Callie and Dinadel be careful around it. It probably knows its enemies from its allies, but – if I were you, I wouldn’t paralyze her with a heart attack ‘for her own good’ again.”

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

“At least the destruction of the bridge should slow them down.”

“On the drow front, perhaps. But that’s not the only angle the psions are playing. Corwin found a map in Arda’s room. It seemed to indicate that someone is tunneling between the old Temple of Elemental Evil near Hommlet and,” she paused, uncomfortable, “Crater Ridge.” She felt a moment’s wearied despair wash over Hadrack, but he quickly brought it under control. “The cultists are a natural target for them, I suppose,” she went on. “Their bargain with Tharizdun trades volition for power. Their wills are weak: they’re ripe for, as Callie keeps reminding us, thrallherdom.”

“An ugly word for an ugly phenomenon. And a dangerous game to play,” he murmured, “if Tharizdun regains his power and returns.”

“The psions don’t seem to lack self-confidence,” she snorted. “No doubt they believe they can keep their cattle in line. And if that elven psion’s handling of the drow was any indication, they’re not entirely wrong to think so.”

“But if the Tharizdun cultists and the psions are both operating near Hommlet…” he trailed off. “You already know something about this.”

“There were captives in the cave. Arda’s larder for her spider mount, I think. We found a merchant woman, Genevive, weak but alive. She told us she was being held for ransom, and we offered to return her to her family’s temporary headquarters, only a short ride to the north. But as we spoke with her on the ride, we realized that something was amiss. Her great-uncle had recently established a new trade route, to the Hommlet area.”

“What kind of goods do they sell?” he asked.

“That’s just it,” she replied. “Very expensive ones. Hommlet doesn’t have the economy to support that kind of trade. Genevive admitted that it seemed very strange, and that in fact it was proving to be not at all profitable. We asked who their customers were. The Cuthbertians and the Pelorites had both purchased items, she said, and Rufus.”

“Expensive goods for people in power.”

“Exactly. We were very concerned by her news, and decided to proceed more cautiously with the merchant encampment. A good thing too. We were some distance away, deciding what to do, when someone called to me from the bushes. The Inquisitor was there ahead of us, and shocked to see Genevive. She was already in the encampment, you see.”

“Replaced. And the original wasn’t supposed to survive.”

“No. We’re lucky Arda had a spider to feed. But it’s all a bit of a mess, really. We can’t let Genevive go back to her family, and Ammitai’s opinion that she deserves to know the truth notwithstanding, I’m not keen on telling a commoner about psionic plots.”

“Where is she now?”

“In Hommlet, with the Cuthbertians. She’s acting as if we kidnapped her. I don’t think she’s going to be any happier when I tell her that I want to ship her off to Spinecastle, for her own protection. With the king’s permission, of course,” she added. “I’m going to ask him tonight. With a copy of her running around, I just don’t know where else she’d be safe.”

The Heironian studied her carefully. “You care a little less about that and a little more about letting the merchant psions think they’ve gone undiscovered.”

She shrugged. “There are various flavors of the word ‘safe.’ I don’t want her found. If a corollary is that she doesn’t get herself killed, so be it.”

“You could try explaining to her that we are at war. That the enemy – without going into why – wanted her out of the way, and because of that it isn’t safe for her to return to her family until the war is over.” He looked a little dubious. “It might work.”

“Maybe,” she said, looking equally doubtful.

“Have you spoken with Y’Deh about these suspect goods?”

“As soon as we returned. She took us into a lead-shielded vault, hidden deep within the church.”

“I’ve heard that they have quite a collection of powerful artifacts. The kind that no one knows how to destroy.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she said in a prim tone. “She told us not to look around or ask questions, and I didn’t.”

Hadrack caught a glimpse of an image – a flaming skull – in her mind, and a complex of attendant emotions, curiosity prime among them, that burned almost as brightly as the skull. “But you wanted to,” he teased her.

“I do what my superiors ask,” she said severely.

“Of course,” he apologized, realizing that he was trespassing on something she considered private. “Forgive me.” He changed the subject. “Did the Canoness know what items had been acquired from these merchants?”

“She bought a set of three goblets. She thought the Pelorites had purchased a tapestry. She knows that Rufus has something, but she isn’t sure what.”

“I assume you’ve examined her items.” She nodded. “Some sort of psionic scrying device?”

“That was our working hypothesis. It was extraordinarily hard to confirm or deny. Callie approached and at first could detect no psionic emanations from them. Corwin examined them carefully and found nothing either. But then, by happenstance, he had one in each hand at the same time, and felt a slight pulling, as if they were drawn to each other. Then he set them down, watching carefully. They moved, just a fraction of an inch, to face a particular direction relative to one another. Pick them up and set them down any way you like and they always slowly, almost imperceptibly, reorient themselves.”

“A strange phenomenon.”

“Callie was determined to pry their secrets loose after that. It took some work, but she thinks she understands them now. Each item taken individually possessed psionic power too weak for detection by normal divinatory means. They’re designed to work in concert. But they’re not remote viewing devices.” She sighed heavily. “It’s much worse than that. While she was examining them, she felt a kind of minute dulling of her mind.”

He immediately understood what she was driving at. “Memory modification devices.”

“Very subtle,” she confirmed, “but inexorable. Callie thinks that if they had remained undetected, within a year the Hommlet Cuthbertians would be unaware the psions ever existed.” She sounded grim. “Someone thinks that Hommlet is a threat.”

“Have you spoken with Rufus and the Pelorites?”

She shook her head. “We can probably talk to Rufus. But the Pelorites – ”

“Brin,” he sounded a little exasperated, “don’t you think you’re being a little unfair? They’re a well-meaning order of – ”

She cut him off brusquely. “The Inquisitor thinks they’re sloppy. That makes them a security threat, whatever their intentions, and his judgment on the matter is good enough for me. The merchant psions cannot realize they’ve been compromised. They’ll just send something worse next time.”

He couldn’t argue with the conclusion, even if he found the premises faulty. “How will you retrieve them all, then?”

She grinned. “Corwin’s been thinking that a spot of burglary is in order.”

“But what are you going to do with the items once you have them?” he protested. “It isn’t as if you’re immune to mind-influencing effects, and if you destroy them the psions might know.”

He felt laughter bubbling up inside her. “After I talk to Clement tonight, I want to do a quick sending to the head of a certain monastery near Rastor.”

His disbelief hit her like a shock wave. “You’re going to ask a vampire to safeguard the items?”

“Why not?” she asked defensively. “I doubt if he wants a pack of unruly psions running the world and, as you pointed out, we need someone immune to mind-influencing effects. I’m hoping he finds it amusing.”

“You’re playing with fire,” he said reprovingly.

“Aren’t we all, all of the time?”

“But a vampire – ”

“You’re prejudiced on the subject,” she said lightly.

He grew serious. “I’ve been trying to get over some of them.”

Her own amusement faded. “The drow,” she murmured. “How did your people find him?”

“You know that Illune broke the staff.” She nodded, but refused to meet his gaze. “We’ll come back to that,” he said quietly, then continued. “It was an item of power, destroyed within Greyhawk. Magical alarms went off in wizards’ studies all over the city. We have our sources. Someone went to investigate. They found this particular drow, thought he would be a good fit for the order.”

She felt something muddied in his emotions. “You say you’re getting over your prejudices, but you weren’t happy that he was recruited. You didn’t want him to go through the initiation process.”

“It’s a difficult thing to explain,” he said. “And I’d rather not explain it.”

“Wait,” she went on, ignoring him, “you were thinking – that there’s only one way out of that room in Spinecastle. What do you mean?” She concentrated more intensely, picking up disjointed fragments of thought and, very strongly, the strange emotion that had suffused him when they spoke of Sir Borch’s sword.

“Brin, I’d really rather you didn’t – ”

But she had found what she was looking for. “If someone fails the initiation,” she gasped, “if the shadow they project is – wrong – you kill them. That’s part of the reason why the room is so dark, why the initiate can’t see anyone…” The implications whirled out of control in her head. “Dryden and Vayel – if they hadn’t performed to expectation – your people would have – ”

“If there had been any doubt in my mind,” he interrupted her hastily, “any doubt at all of their chances at success, I would never have let them enter that room. But I knew to a certainty that they were right for the order.”

“You half-expected the drow to fail. You thought they would need to kill him. And you would have done it.”

“Yes,” he admitted. “I did, and I would have. Had it come to that end, though, I would have been very angry with the individuals who approached him in the first place. We are at war. In war there are casualties. I don’t want to be responsible for a single death more than is necessary, but my people don’t travel with armies at their backs. Even one traitor could wreak untold harm and death. So I can’t afford to have traitors. But that doesn’t excuse exercising poor judgment in recruiting new agents.”

She was so bewildered that she could scarcely form coherent thoughts. “I just – I just never thought – of you as – that you would – ”

“I am a servant of Heironeous. His hand holds a lightning bolt, not an olive branch.” He went on in a kinder tone, “But once the trial is done, there is nothing more to prove.”

“Then you differ from my order,” she replied stiffly.

He knew what she referred to. “The Jasians have taken Illune into the mausoleum. She may prosper there.”

“I believe that she will not.” She seemed remorseful. “She understands only the rule of authority through fear. But the Jasians will neither reward nor punish that. Obey or disobey – it is a matter of indifference to them. Obey and you may remain. Disobey and you will be put out. She should have gone to someone else.”

Although she tried to hold them apart, he was aware of her thoughts. “She would not have been better off if she’d met me instead of you,” he said. “And while she lives, there is still hope.”

“Perhaps,” she said, but he felt nothing but discouragement from her. “I’ve taken up too much of your time. And I have tasks to attend to. Good night, Hadrack.” And then, abruptly, she was gone.