Erin Evans - The Adversary

Racks and racks and racks of swords. Spiked chains dangled from hooks like hideous vines. Hooked knives, vicious katars, long black whips-he counted back over the rooms he’d passed, considered the unused weapons. Whatever this fortress was guarding, it was well armed.

All the more reason to get out, he told himself. Not for the first time he was glad of the little sending kit he’d convinced Tam to have his Harpers carry. Even lost in the middle of gods-knew-where, he wasn’t cut off entirely from support. And Dahl carried a spare besides.

He found a dim corner and pulled out the pouch, the vials of powdered metals and salts, the little scroll. He poured the vials out in neat lines, one eye on the door, half his thoughts on the right words to send. Weapons. Fortress. Farideh. He cursed again, and read the ritual.

The lines burst into brief, bright flame.

“Netherese stronghold,” he whispered. “Soldiers, shadar-kai, heavily armed. Somewhere cold,” he added, spotting a single fur-trimmed cloak on a rack, and he nearly cursed again, recalling his thin breath. “High up.” He hesitated. “Farideh came intentionally. I’ve lost her, both wounded. Have one reserve sending, sword and dagger.”

The magic crackled like a fading fire, as the spell carried his words across Faerûn, to Tam Zawad’s ears. A moment later the reply came.

“Lie low. Get me better idea of your location, quickly, so rescuers can find a portal. Find Farideh. Determine where she stands. Stay safe.”

Dahl opened his mouth to protest, but the magic was spent, there was no replying. There was no insisting that he didn’t need to be rescued, that wasn’t what he meant. And the way Tam had said “find Farideh”-did he think Dahl had fumbled that too? That he ought to have stuck beside her, regardless of wounds, regardless of what she told him to do-regardless of the fact that it was likely she wasn’t exactly in need of rescue from the Shadovar? He couldn’t even be sure this was a dangerous place-what if what he thought was a Netherese fortress was only some Shadovar nobleman’s pleasure house?

He dragged his hands over his face. Gods, he thought. You’re a mess. Even Tam knows it. He sighed, sure there was no farther for him to fall. He’d missed the signs Khochen had picked up on, and let a probable Shadovar agent into the Harper’s hall-and then let her flee. He had botched recapturing her when he’d had the chance, and as much as he’d have liked to blame that on being hit on the head, he knew better. And just to confirm how little anyone trusted him to manage, there was a rescue party coming for him. Like some kidnapped noble in sullied hose.

Dahl was sure down to his bones that if his colleagues had to save him, he would dig the tattoo out of his arm himself. He would find out what they were dealing with. He would find the way out.

And then he’d find Farideh-and whatever had passed between them before wouldn’t cloud his judgment again.

He stood, a little better for his rest, but his vision still swirled. He untied the makeshift bandage-the blood had clotted-and wiped the remaining smears away in the dull reflection of an axe head.

This is just information gathering, he told himself. You’re just in the field instead of behind a desk.

A fortress this stocked, and he’d be hard pressed to get out past its guards. He scanned the walls and racks of the armory before spotting the leather armor uniform of the Shadovar guards he’d seen earlier. If there were so many guards in the fortress, maybe one more wouldn’t faze the rest.

Dahl slipped out of the room moments later, his old clothes shoved back under a rack of pikes. The armor wasn’t fit for him, but the spare cloak covered the looseness around the chest and the gaps in the bracers. He pulled up the hood and continued searching for an exit.

The air was definitely thinner, he thought, as his pulse clattered along like a runaway wagon. Up in the mountains? Floating city? (Gods’ books, please, he thought, not a floating city.)

He found a way out at the back of a cellar, past vast stores of roots and kegs (ready for a siege, Dahl thought), and came up and out into a yard. A smithy sat to one side, still and seldom used. A trio of goats looked up at Dahl from a small pen, bleating uneasily. A handful of shadar-kai threw dice in the corner by the light of the moon. Dahl watched as one threw a bad round and was rewarded with a stiletto through the back of her hand as a prize.

While her companions laughed, Dahl slipped around the pen and past a stable, then past another stable where something big and growling stirred the shadows. He peered in a window and saw a massive creature, all leathery wings and gasping mouth. Veserab, he thought. Shit. Whoever ran this place had clout in the city of Shade to ride one of the monstrous mounts.

Another building-this one made of the same strange, craggy stone as the tower only windowless-cut off Dahl’s path as it stretched across the space between the tower and the wall.

The tower reached high enough to make a powerful caster a strong concern-you could see an army approaching from any direction up there. The wall around the courtyard would not hold against siege engines, though-too low, not fortified enough. And the forces. . there were more guards on the wall, but the racket they made suggested there was a brawl on and they were clustered near the large building. Not watching. Curious.

Dahl eased up a watchtower’s stairs to the wall’s top. The shadar-kai guards were circled around two of their fellows, both bleeding and bruised. Two of the guards looked back at him, and Dahl caught his breath. He made a face and waved at them, as if telling them to continue, to keep to themselves. The shadar-kai sneered back, but it was a good enough imitation. They returned to their battle, muttering insults about fragile humans to each other. Dahl nearly vomited in relief.

He walked quickly along the wall, looking for a likely landing place, and surveyed the surrounding land as he did. On the other side of the wall, the castle was surrounded by smaller buildings. Barracks? he thought. A village? No way to tell in this light but to pull one of the inhabitants out and ask. Beyond the buildings, the sliver of a moon reflected off a lake, and traced the edge of a mountain peak. Starmounts? he thought. Sword Mountains? Something farther afield?

Dahl dropped down the other side of the wall and quickly slipped into the darkened spaces between the squat, square huts. Woodsmoke hung on the air-scores of cookfires leaking out the twig-thatched roofs-but there were no lights hanging in the dark alleyways. Only the moon keeping watch over her wicked sister’s Shadovar followers and whatever they were up to. Dahl kept moving toward the edge of the settlement.

Beyond the last of the buildings the land rose to a steep hill scattered with rocks and low brush. Mountain sedge, frills of mauve orclar edging the rocks, clumps of snowstars shining bright in the moonlight against dark leaves-he was well north of Waterdeep. Dahl climbed, keeping to cover. A crater, he thought.

Near the peak of the slope he nearly crossed the path of a shadar-kai patrol. He crouched beneath a scraggly yew as the two women passed, jangling with blades and chains and spikes and arguing with one another in the tongue of the Netherese.

Dahl frowned. He’d seen more attentive guards patrolling Waterdeep’s sewer. He glanced back the way he’d come and marked the edge of a crater that went nearly all the way around the fortress and its settlement. Beyond the land dropped away into dark forest, blurred by clouds or maybe the thin air. Long scramble down, he thought.

Long scramble back, he thought, to get Farideh. Old worries, old thoughts surged up in him. Oghma, let that have been the right choice. The farther he got from her, the less sure he was.