Erin Evans - The Adversary

Maybe it would even be best for the world, she thought. Maybe by helping Sairché she could rid the world of something worse.

You can’t trust her, Farideh thought. But did she have time not to, with collector devils at her heels and Sairché threatening Havilar and Lorcan?

“What about Lorcan?”

“I think his own rivals will sort him out,” Sairché said. “He doesn’t even realize how worn that spell has gotten-it was never meant to protect the both of you. And he’s made an awful lot of devils angry.”

“Protect him too,” Farideh said. “That’s what I want.”

Sairché chuckled. “Oh, he won’t like that.”

Once Sairché had held her brother prisoner in the Hells. The nightmares that had plagued Farideh during that time flashed through her thoughts: Lorcan screaming, bleeding; eyeless, tongueless, pinned to the wall. If another devil wanted Lorcan out of the way, the same thing would happen. “Protect Lorcan, Havi, and me for all those years. I’ll give you the favor-but no souls and no killing. And I don’t want to hurt anyone. . anyone who’s innocent. Even if it’s to stop someone I call an enemy.”

Sairché raised her silver eyebrows. “That’s quite a lot of caveats. I may need more for my efforts. Two favors.”

“The same sort of favors,” Farideh said.

Sairché seemed to weigh this. “Fine,” she said, extending a hand. “Not my first choice, but I do love a favor.”

“When does it start?” Farideh asked.

Sairché smiled and took hold of Farideh’s hand. “Right now.”

All in an instant the spells holding Lorcan and Havilar dissolved and both were shouting. Sairché spread her other hand wide, and tendrils of magic shot out, glowing red as hot steel to wrap around Lorcan and Havilar both. Brin kicked the door in, looking around wildly, and Farideh tried to shout, to tell him to get back, out of Sairché’s reach.

A wind whipped out of the still, hot air, blew up from the floorboards and swirled around Farideh, around Sairché, around Lorcan and Havilar as the magic pulled them close. It caught her warning and tossed it away. It caught Brin’s cry of protest and ground it into a wordless howl, as he grabbed Havilar and tried to pull her free of Sairché’s spell.

Sairché released Farideh’s hand. With a small, wicked smile she spread her fingers, sending out another set of glowing lines that plunged into Farideh, wrapping around her sternum, her heart, burning her from the inside out. She might have screamed. She might have tried to tell Sairché this wasn’t what she wanted. She couldn’t hear her own voice. There was only the whirlwind and the fire and the blackness that grew out of Sairché’s spread hands to swallow them all up and smother any more words she might have spoken.

In the frozen woods beneath a crashing earthmote, Farideh remembered. Sairché smiled-the same sort of smile Sairché had given her as the blackness surrounded them-and horror bloomed in Farideh.

“What have you done?” she breathed. “ Karshoji tiamash , what have you done?”

“I gave you what you wanted,” Sairché said.

“When did I want to wake up in a forest?” Farideh demanded. “When did I ask you to lose my friends? Where’s Lorcan? Where’s Brin?”

Sairché pursed her lips briefly. “The forest,” she said, “is immaterial. Lorcan is on his own. Whoever Brin is, I assume he’s handling himself. I’ve held up my end. I’ve made you safe.”

“You’ve made us lost ,” Farideh said. The powers of the Hells scaled Farideh’s frame, wrapping around her nerves and pulling her bones down with heavy magic. “Where are we?” She looked around the chilly grove, the fog snaking eerily over the ground. “This isn’t the Hells is it?”

“Please. You’d know it if you woke up in the Nine Hells.” Sairché looked up at the earthmote and glared at it a moment, before taking a scroll from one of the cases on her hips. She opened it wide to display a map of Faerûn, shivering with faint magic. She muttered something vicious sounding under her breath, then sighed, as if it couldn’t be helped.

“Here,” she said, laying the map on the ground and pointing to a block of forest just outside of Waterdeep where a silver mote pulsed. “That’s where we stand.”

Farideh’s blood stilled as she studied the twining lines of roads and rivers, the dots of cities, the swell of mountains. The distance between the little cluster of towers marked Waterdeep and the little cluster marked Proskur.

Havilar’s arm threaded through hers, as she leaned over the map. “That’s not right. That spot is leagues from Proskur.”

Sairché gave her a cold look. “Clearly,” she drawled, “there is a problem with my portal, many thanks for pointing it out. Yes, you are quite a ways from where you started.” She rolled the map back up and stood, giving them both a wicked smile. “It’s not as if you can’t walk back there again. It hasn’t moved.”

“A portal?” Farideh said. “You weren’t supposed to take us through any portal.”

Even as she said it, Farideh realized while Sairché had not said anything about a portal, she hadn’t said anything about not using a portal.

Sairché narrowed her eyes at Farideh. “Perhaps Lorcan was in the habit of explaining the finer details of his spells to you. I will not. You’ll have to trust me.”

Farideh swallowed. “ ‘Was’?”

That made Sairché’s wicked smile return. “Do you really think you’re still his warlock now?”

“You said. .” Farideh’s voice failed her. “You said you’d protect him, too.” But there was no sign of Lorcan, no pull on the spell of protection they’d shared.

“I did,” Sairché agreed. “And I have. But if you think he’s pleased you came looking for my help. . well, I would prefer a clever warlock, but it’s not a necessity.”

“I didn’t pact with you.”

“Not yet.” She took one of the rings strung along a chain around her neck and slipped it onto her finger. Sairché rubbed the sapphire in the center with her thumb until a patch of the ground shimmered and a pile of gear appeared beside one of the leaning trees. Sairché gathered up a sword and belt, a glaive with an enameled haft, and a small case.

“Rod,” she said handing it to Farideh. “Sword. And glaive.” She pulled out a pair of daggers next and new haversacks, new cloaks, new rations.

The sword was not Farideh’s-it was far newer, far lighter, and the blade was sharp and freshly oiled. She opened the case and found a similarly unfamiliar rod: ivory shaft carved over in Infernal runes, rubies at the tips instead of the cracked and cloudy amethysts her last implement had borne. She took hold of it, and her powers surged forth as if the rod had cleared some impediment. It made her dizzy.

“The weight’s wrong,” Havilar said, pushing the unfamiliar glaive back at Sairché. “And the length.”

“You’ll adjust,” Sairché assured her.

Havilar shoved the glaive into the ferns. “Give me back my glaive.”

Sairché looked as if she were reconsidering the deal they’d made. As if she were deciding if it were worth the trouble to call up her erinyes and have them both killed. “You can certainly see about replacing them in Waterdeep but take these for the moment. It’s several hours’ walk to the city, and heavens know what you might find. I’m sure you’re well acquainted with the sort of things one encounters in the wood.”

Out of the litterfall, she picked up the last two items: a bottle and a small velvet bag.

Sairché handed the bottle to Havilar. “A restorative. The spell tends to sap your strength a bit. And I know you need it.”