Troy Denning - The Summoning

Malik's face was not the only one that went pale, and even Jhingleshod's lidless eyes seemed to bulge. The dust coalesced into a skeletal figure clothed in rotting silks.

"That is not Wulgreth," Jhingleshod said. "Wulgreth wore no such robes." Jhingleshod stepped toward Galaeron, but stopped when the demilich cut him off. The creature flailed at the knight's skeletal face, prompting him to step away and heft his axe. "Don't!" Galaeron yelled.

Jhingleshod checked his swing, and the demilich's claws burst into harmless clouds of dust as they struck. Fiery points of light began to burn in its empty eye sockets, then it held the stumps of its arms before its face, let out a powdery snort, and whirled on Galaeron. He lowered his sword, and the creature stepped to within a hand's breadth of him, a handful of brown-crusted gems glimmering dully in the place of several teeth. It smelled of musty dirt and stale air, and the hiss of alien winds whispered on its breath. Though Galaeron's whole body went cold and clammy, he forced himself to meet its burning gaze and show no fear.

The demilich raised an arm, where a dusty hand was forming anew, and pressed a fingertip to Galaeron's face. Though the claw did not cut, the otherworldly cold of its touch traced a line of numbness down his cheek. The elf willed himself to stand fast, and though he knew it would anger Melegaunt, readied the necessary spell. The thing opened its mouth and spewed a plume of dust into his face. Caught by surprise, he began to cough and choke, stumbling back as he tried to spit the powdery stuff from his mouth. "Poison!" Malik started for the exit.

Vala dropped an arm to block his way. "We may have need of that holy water you're carrying."

Galaeron snorted the dust from his nose, then felt his gorge rise as the reek of decay filled the room. A fringe of red, straw-coarse hair sprouted from the lich's head, then a mask of shriveled skin began to creep over its face. The open nasal cavities did nothing to improve the thing's appearance, but with a rounded forehead, overhanging brows, and hideously-skewed jaw, it would have been grotesque even with a nose.

A terrible aura of cold filled the room, and Galaeron knew the demilich's spirit had finally returned to its body He stepped forward and circled his palm before its face.

"Forget." He spoke in the ancient language of magic, calling upon Melegaunt's coldmagic to empower the spell. "Return to your rest."

The demilich lashed out, catching Galaeron by his chain mail and ripping a handful of magic-forged loops from over his breast. Vala leaped forward to attack, but the links were already falling through the creature's hand. Galaeron raised a hand to check her attack, then watched as the thing's body dissolved back into dust. When the skull sank to the floor, he motioned her forward. "Now, Vala-before the spirit flees. Cleave it in one blow."

Vala's sword descended in a black flash, splitting the skull lengthwise and dividing both sides again before they toppled to the floor. A crimson flamelight shot from the bones and streaked through Vala's body, then circled the room with a blood-curdling keen. Her jaw dropped and she looked as though she might collapse of shock, then a cold wind ripped through the room and the whirling flamelight faded from view. Galaeron glanced around the room. "Where's Malik?"

The little man stepped out of a shadowy corner, dagger clutched in his trembling hand. "Have no fear on my account."

Galaeron motioned at the skull fragments. "Douse them well-and hold your breath."

Malik did as he was asked, and the blessed water began to eat through the skull fragments, filling the room with an evil-smelling fume that troubled the little man not in the least. Everyone else withdrew to the tunnel and took turns gulping down fresh air. The bone fragments dissolved, mixing with the dust in a single muddy heap. Malik continued to pour, but no matter how much he stirred, the whole mess adhered together like bread dough. Finally, when no chips of the skull remained visible, Galaeron returned and prepared another spell. Melegaunt caught his arm. "Allow me."

"If you're not too weary, old man." Galaeron was surprised to feel his lip curl into a disparaging sneer. "All you need do is dispel the magic."

Melegaunt glowered at him. "I can manage. And 1 could have handled the forgetting magic as well."

The archwizard muttered a few syllables and waved his hand. A purple shadow fell over the doughy mass, then the mud lost its cohesiveness and spread across the floor. Malik dropped the waterskin, and on the pretext of stooping to pick it up, deftly swept up the six brown-crusted gems that had been in the demilich's mouth. Having no interest in the stones himself, Galaeron pretended not to notice.

Jhingleshod came to their side, then propped his axe on the floor and looked at his iron palm. When the gauntlet showed no sign of flaking or disintegrating, he turned to Galaeron. "What next?"

"I don't know." Galaeron glanced around the chamber, searching in vain for some hint of a forgotten step. "The lich is gone."

"What of its phylactery?" Malik quietly pocketed the gems. "I have heard it said that liches hide their life-forces in repositories-usually an item of great worth?"

"They do," said Galaeron. "But not so with a demilich. They have abandoned their repositories for worlds beyond, and remain connected to Toril only through their remains."

"Liar! Do you think your excuses can fool me?" There was a note of desperation in Jhingleshod's voice. "Had you destroyed the lich, I would not be here now."

"Unless we destroyed the wrong one," said Galaeron, recalling the argument between Melegaunt and Jhingleshod over the lich's true identity. "Malik, let me see those gems you took." "Gems?" asked the little man. "What gems are those?" "These."

Vala slipped an arm around Malik's throat and used the other to pluck the brown nuggets from his pocket. Galaeron took them and carefully scraped the brown crust from their faces. He was down to the sixth, a deep ruby, before he found the inner light for which he had been searching. Returning the others to Malik, he displayed this one to his companions.

"The chronicles suggest that this will be an imprisoned spirit," he said. "If we free it, perhaps it can help us."

Melegaunt cast an impatient eye toward the tunnel. "How long?"

"Not as long as trying to defend yourself from my axe," warned Jhingleshod.

"It will need a body," said Galaeron. "Perhaps one of the undead?"

"1 can make a body for it," said Melegaunt. "One that will be safer for it-and us."

The archwizard took a piece of shadow silk from his cloak and laid it on Vala's shoulder. Repeating a long incantation over and over, he began to knead the stuff with his fingers, spreading the dark substance over her, carefully covering her flanks, limbs, even her head and face. When he finally finished, Vala resembled a living, breathing sculpture of the blackest basalt.

Melegaunt took her hand and pulled. She emerged from the shadow as though from a dark corner, leaving a dark likeness as perfectly shaped as one of Aris's sculptures.

"If the spirit is troublesome, we can dismiss it with a little light."

Galaeron laid the gem next to the figure, then waved Jhingleshod over. "If you would smash it." "If this is one of your tricks…"

"By the shadow deep!" Melegaunt cursed. "We haven't time for trickery."

Melegaunt brought his heel down and ground the gem to powder. A crimson radiance flowed out from beneath his heel and began to climb his leg. "Oh no, my friend!"

The archwizard plunged his foot into the body he had created, then sighed in relief as the luminescence melded into the shadow. A glossy sheen spread over the figure's black flesh, then the eyes opened and stared at the ceiling. It raised a leg, and twisting it around at an impossible angle, studied its heel. Then, seemingly unaware of the arms hanging motionless at its side, did the same with the other leg-and crashed to the floor.