Thomas Reid - The Emerald Scepter

Pilos started. "Before me?" he asked, shocked. "He served Mikolos?"

Perolin nodded. "Actually, two before you," he said. "And Lavant was as devoted to Mikolos as you were."

Pilos tried to wrap his mind around the notion of Lavant being a devoted ally of the Grand Syndar. It was nearly impossible. "What happened?" he asked, not sure he wanted to hear the answer.

"Mikolos championed a business deal that was beneficial to the temple but hurt Lavant's own House. I don't even remember what it involved," Perolin said, stroking his chin in thought. "Something to do with grain shipments from Estagund or Var the Golden, far to the south and east of here." The older man shrugged. "Whatever the case, Lavant wanted Mikolos to look at another deal, something that would hurt his own family businesses far less, but Mikolos would not. He had already promised three other high priests to set it up a particular way, because it was in their personal interests, and he needed those high priests' support for a pet project of his own. Something to do with granting land and titles to a mercenary outfit his brother was part of." He shrugged again. "Lavant never forgave him and began building his own faction within the temple to thwart everything Mikolos did after that."

Pilos sagged in his seat. "I never knew," he said. "I always disliked Lavant, but I thought it was because he seemed so manipulative. I wonder now how much of that was Mikolos's subtle manipulations?"

"It was probably a bit of both," Perolin replied. "I'm sure Mikolos recognized your pure but somewhat naive piety and took advantage of it to turn you against a conniving man like Lavant. I tell you, he was very good at it, better than Lavant, because he kept it all under the table. No one had much cause to feel slighted by Mikolos Midelli, not often, anyway."

Pilos looked up at Grand Trabbar Perolin. "And how much are you manipulating me now, telling me these things?" Perolin looked at the young priest, but there was no anger in his expression. More like appreciation, Pilos thought.

"You say you don't have a taste for politics," the older man said, "but you are shrewd to them." He paused for a moment, as if trying to find the right words to use. "There will be a new Grand Syndar," he said, "and the high priest who claims the high seat will need many allies backing him or her. I could use the hero of Lavant's ousting, and the power of House Darowdryn, on my side." When Pilos didn't answer right away, Perolin continued. "After the damage Lavant has done, the temple will need to rebuild some relationships. If I succeed to the high seat, I will need able young priests to serve as diplomats to other power groups, like the Houses of Arrabar and the Emerald Enclave. How does the thought of becoming one of my envoys sound to you, Trabbar Pilos?"

It took Pilos a moment to register the new appellation Perolin used to address him. A bribe for his loyalty. "I will think about it," he told the Grand Trabbar.

"There will be others who seek you out," Perolin warned. "Now that you have made a name for yourself, you wield power within the temple, whether you like it or not."

Pilos swallowed, nodding in understanding. Inextricably linked, he thought. Can I stomach it?

Emriana could not breathe. She wanted to stand, to chase after the dreadful duplicate of herself, but she could only gasp for air. Precious time slipped away before the girl could right herself and rise to her feet. Fearing for the safety of her aunt, she somehow found the strength to begin walking, moving deeper into the house, chasing after the shapeshifter. As she stumbled along, Emriana reached for her opal pendant, ready to call to Xaphira and warn her of the double.

The necklace was not there.

No! Emriana thought, realizing she had lost it. She stopped for a moment, thinking to turn back and find it in the hallway where she had fought with the shapeshifter. Then her eyes narrowed. It took it, she realized, understanding. When it hit me, it must have snapped it free. It knew I could use it to warn her. Damn!

"Xaphira," Emriana called out, desperate to find the woman before harm came to her. "Xaphira, it's me! You're in danger!"

There was no answer.

Near to panic, Emriana roamed the house, calling to her aunt. In the kitchen, she found a stairwell leading down. Remembering the earlier discussion with her aunt, the girl began to descend, listening. She thought she heard a conversation, low and indistinct. Conflicted between running blindly into danger and the need to reach her aunt and prove that she was the true Emriana, the girl galloped down the steps two at a time. At the bottom, she found a partially open door with light streaming from behind it. She threw herself at the door and went into a roll as she passed through the portal. She came up on one knee, her two throwing daggers in her hands, surveying the room.

Grozier Talricci stood with his back to a pantry shelf, his arm wrapped around Obiron, a knife in his other hand. Bartimus stood next to his employer, looking as befuddled as ever, with that embarrassed smile he always seemed to be wearing. He held Quindy by her shoulders, though his grip was less constrictive than Grozier's, and the wizard was not holding a blade. Xaphira had her back to the two men, no weapons in her hands, a dagger at her feet. Her arms were out to her sides, as if she were showing the pair that she was not a threat.

Behind Xaphira, out of the older woman's field of vision, Emriana's double was standing as though her aunt were protecting her. The thing held a dagger, poised to strike at Xaphira's back.

When Emriana burst through the door, everyone in the room turned in surprise to see her. Even as Xaphira's eyes grew wide, the shapeshifter smiled and raised the dagger for a killing blow.

Emriana never hesitated, though time slowed to a crawl as she reacted. Cocking both arms back, she snapped her elbows and flicked her wrists just as Xaphira had taught her. Two blades sailed from her hands, tumbling as they crossed the room. The girl watched them both, praying to Tymora, to Waukeen, to any god she thought would listen. Everyone else in the pantry stood rooted to the floor, watching the spinning blades.

And the two weapons reached their startled targets.

One struck Grozier Talricci in the face.

One struck the false Emriana in the face.

Only then did Emriana let out a breath.

The changeling staggered back, shrieking and clawing at its eye where the dagger had embedded itself, destroying the orb. The creature fell to the floor, still looking like Emriana. It thrashed and screamed, making a horrible sound that echoed through the entire room.

Grozier died much more peacefully. He stood for a moment, his knife hand going limp at his side, and tried to focus his eyes on the hilt of the weapon that protruded from his forehead. Then he twitched, dropping the knife from his grasp, and sagged to his knees. Obiron, feeling the grip around his chest loosen, squirmed free. Grozier toppled over, sprawled on the hard stone floor.

Obiron, startled by Grozier's fall, threw his arms around Xaphira's waist. He clung for a few moments, then his mouth opened and he began to sob vigorously. A glance down at the dead man who had recently held him captive brought terror to the frightened boy's sobs.

Xaphira turned and stared at Emriana for a moment, then looked down at her false niece, watching it transform into a gray humanoid with a large, bulbous head as it stopped twitching and screaming and lay still. The room was silent except for Obiron's sobbing.

Sympathetic to her twin, Quindy screamed, and Emriana regretted not having another dagger to throw at Bartimus. Lucky for him, the girl was unharmed. Quindy kicked backward with the heel of her boot, catching Bartimus on the shin.