The Best of the Realms, Book I

V

The inside of the tower stirred Orlando's memories ofthe time when the Six of Swords had first explored it.

In those days, the surrounding lands had been defiledby the black dragon that made its home there. The entire area had been poisonedby the creature, with pools of acid, swarms of stinging insects, and tangles ofslashweed dominating the tortured remnants of the forest. From the moment they'dentered that fell region, the druid Jolind had become solemn and morose. Suchdestruction, she swore, could not go unpunished.

When they reached the tower-a ruined structure builtby an unknown hand centuries before any of the Six were born-Jolind had ledtheir attack against the dragon. Turning the very elements of nature againstthe creature, she had been instrumental in its destruction.

Eighteen months later, when the company disbanded, sheannounced her intention to return to that place and restore the forest to itspast glory. She had done an outstanding job.

Jolind had not, however, restored the tower. At least,she hadn't done so in the way that Orlando would have. The interior floors andwalls had been stripped out, a great glass dome placed atop the tower, and abubbling fountain set into the ground at its center. The combination of thefish-eye skylight and the dancing water of the fountain made the climate insidethe tower hot and sticky.

Under normal circumstances, this would have made theplace unbearable. With the careful hand of Jolind to shape the place, however,it had been transformed into a tropical paradise. Great tresses of ivy climbedgracefully up walls dotted with brilliantly colored flowers. Shafts of morninglight, shunted downward by the facets of the glass dome, illuminated a dozentrees and the colorful butterflies that flitted between them.

The horrors of the past had been completely banishedby the careful hand of the druid. Sadly, they had been replaced by the horrorsof the present. At the heart of all this splendor was a copper-smelling pool ofred. And at the center of that scarlet expanse lay the body of the druidJolind. Her head had been cleanly cut from her neck.

It took all the courage Orlando could muster toapproach the body. Jolind had been a friend, a companion, and more. For a time,the warrior and the druid had been lovers, seeking escape in each other's arms.Their relationship had lasted less than a year, but in that time, each hadlearned much about the other's philosophy and profession. For Orlando, that meant a keen appreciation of the ways of nature, the give-and-take of theenvironment, and an understanding of his place in it. Jolind had not feareddeath. In her mind, it was nothing more than the end of life. To Orlando, death had always been an enemy to be held at bay. In the end, he knew, deathwould triumph. For the present, however, he preferred to keep that most finalof foes as far away as possible.

"Horrible way to die," he said softly.

The same way Jaybel and Gwynn were killed, said a voice from nowhere.

Though the sound still irritated him, Orlando had already adjusted to the macabre intonations that came from empty air. It wasamazing to him how quickly the old ways of thinking returned. Indeed, even asthat thought crossed his mind, he realized he had subconsciously drawn Talonfrom its scabbard. Without the slightest thought, he had made ready to defendhimself from Jolind's attacker.

"A pretty fierce struggle," said Orlando, examining the disturbed earth around the pool of blood and beneath thedecapitated body. "But something doesn't make sense. All of thesefootprints were made by Jolind's sandals. Whomever she was fighting didn't makethe faintest impression as he moved about."

Perhaps we're dealing with a doppelganger or otherform-shifter. If her killer assumed Jolind's shape, you wouldn't be able totell one set of prints from another.

"I doubt it," responded the warrior. Hetilted his head to one side, then to the other. "No, the positioning ispretty clear. Only one person made these prints. What about the undead?Remember that vampire we tracked down near Dragonspear? He didn't leavefootprints, throw a shadow, or make any sound when he moved."

As soon as he mentioned that adventure, he wished hehadn't. It was in the ancient crypt where the vampire's coffin had been hiddenthat Lelanda found the mysterious shroud of shadows.

Possible, respondedthe enigmatic shadows of the garden, but unlikely. This place is prettyheavily warded against intrusion by the undead and other unnatural creatures.If the killer is something like that, he'd have to be extremely powerful toenter the tower. For our sakes I'd prefer to believe that isn't the answer.

Orlando said no morefor several minutes. Instead of allowing dark thoughts to dominate his mind, heforced his attention back to the matter at hand. With measured steps, he walkedto and fro around the area, using his experience in combat to piece togetherthe puzzle, whose pieces had been scattered in the darkness of the previousnight.

After a time, he noticed something and reached into abeautiful but painfully prickly shrub. Cursing and wriggling, he pulled backhis arm and drew out a slender, wooden rod some three feet long. Covered in agleaming white lacquer, it was painfully cold to the touch. From pastexperience, however, he knew that it was warmer than it should be.

What have you found? inquired the stillest part of the garden.

On some level, Orlando realized it wasn't the factthat he couldn't see Lelanda that bothered him most. It was the spectral natureof her voice while she wore the shroud. There was too much of death anddarkness in that place already.

Orlando could stand nomore of the one-sided conversation.

"Take off that damned shroud, and I'll showyou!" he hissed.

Almost at once, the shadow of a pear tree lightenedand the elegant sorceress was standing beside him. She quickly complied withhis request, making the hostility in his voice seem suddenly unnecessary.

"I'm sorry," Orlando said softly, "butyou have no idea how quickly that thing gets on your nerves."

He expected her to argue the point, just as she wouldhave in the past. To his surprise, her response was quite civil.

"No," she answered, "I suppose I don't.You see, it's been a very long time since I've had a traveling companion. I'vegotten rather used to wearing the shroud all the time. I'll try not to use itunless it's an emergency."

There was a brief pause, a moment of still contrast tothe violence that had unfolded around them. Orlando searched for something tosay, but failed.

Lelanda seemed only slightly more at ease, picking upthe frayed threads of conversation.

"I asked you what you had found," shereminded him.

"Looks like a piece of that staff Jolind used tocarry with her; feels like it too, almost as cold as those blizzards it couldsummon up."

Lelanda tilted her head and looked at the brokenstaff. Her lips pursed as she considered the broken end and several placesalong its length where something had cut deeply into it.

"There was some pretty powerful magic woven intothis thing," she said. "It wouldn't be easy to break. The weapon thathacked these notches out of it and finally broke it must have been every bit aspowerful. That doesn't bode well for our future."

Silence fell upon the garden again. Orlando went backto fishing through the shrubs, eventually finding the other section of Jolind'sstaff.

Lelanda examined the head, looking into the druid'seyes as if she might read the woman's dying thoughts. Then she walked adistance toward Orlando and called to him. He met her halfway between theshrubs and the fallen body.

"We've learned a little bit from an examinationof the area and the body, but Jolind can tell us more."

"Necromancy?" asked Orlando, the wordsounding just as bitter as it tasted in his mouth. She nodded. He growled."I suppose there's no choice. Get it over with."

"I'll have to …"

"I know," he said.

Two steps brought the witch to the edge of the bloodypool, another to the place where Jolind's severed head had come to land. Shelooked back at Orlando, flashed him an uncomfortable smile, and raised the hoodof the shroud above her head. Instantly, it became difficult for the warriorto focus his eyes on her. Even knowing where she had been standing only a fewseconds earlier, he could discern nothing but the faintest impression of the shroudedfigure.

The magical energies of death and darkness answeredLelanda's urging. She spoke words of power whose sounds had no meaning to Orlando's untrained ears. He felt the strange tugging of death at his spirit and knew thatsomething stood nearby, hungering for the taste of his soul, contained only bythe power of Lelanda's will. If her concentration failed, the consequencescould well be disastrous. Then, with a cry of agony from the unseen mage, thespell was completed.

Orlando steeled hisnerve as the eyes on Jolind's severed head snapped open. The thin-lipped mouthdid likewise, and a hissing, hollow scream filled the garden. Unable to standthe sight, Orlando turned his head away. He felt the need to vomit, butretained control of his traumatized body by remembering that a deadly enemymight lurk nearby.

Jolind, saidthe spectral necromancer, can you hear me?

"Yesss," responded an empty, lifeless voice."Who are you? Your voice is familiar … but distant."

Jolind, this is Lelanda. I'm here with Orlando. We've come to help you.

At that, the disembodied head released a humorless,rasping laugh and said, "You're a little late for that, old friend."

Orlando's nervebuckled, but did not fail him.

I know. We're sorry. But we want to find the personwho did this to you. He murdered Jaybel and Gwynn, too. Can you help us? Didyou recognize your killer?

"Yes, I know who killed me," whisperedJolind.

Then tell me, Jolind. Be quick; the spell is failingfast, urged Lelanda.

Orlando couldn'tdecide which was more macabre, the living but unseen spirit of the wizard orthe dead, but substantial head of the druid.

"Kesmarex," hissed the head as the eyes slippedquietly shut and the jaw went slack.

The spell had ended, and the spirit of the druid hadgone to rest with those of her ancestors.

Orlando hoped shewould find peace there. In his heart, he said a last farewell to the woman whohad meant so much to him so long ago. It seemed a crime to have drifted awayfrom her. He wondered what mysteries had died with her. A single tear slippeddown his bronze cheek.

Kesmarex? saidthe witch, slipping the hood of the shroud from around her locks and emergingbeside the fallen druid. "Who is that?"

"It's not a who," said Orlando. "It's awhat. That was the name given to Shandt's battle-axe by the dwarves who forgedit. It mean's something like 'Vengeance of the King,' but the words don'ttranslate perfectly into our language."

"But Shandt is dead…" said the witch, hervoice trailing off into a haunting silence.

"I know." Orlando exhaled. "He couldn'thave survived." After a moment of reflection, he continued, "Tell memore about the wards around this place. Just how certain are you an undeadcreature couldn't have gotten in here?"

An hour or so later, Orlando still hadn't made senseof Jolind's warning.

"If it was Shandt, he'll be back to get us,"said Orlando. "He wasn't one to leave a job undone."

Rather than answer, Lelanda merely poked at thecampfire they'd lit at the heart of Jolind's tower.

In the past few hours, her beauty had begun to lookworn and haggard. Orlando studied her face, which was still delicate andgentle, with innocent features that belied the cunning viper that lurkedwithin. Still, there was something human showing through the facade shemaintained.

"How did you ever become a wanderingadventurer?" Orlando asked.

"I don't really know," said the witch."It just happened, I guess. I was studying in Waterdeep, the usual coursesthey force on a child of a merchant prince, but they just weren't enough tokeep my attention. One of the other students said he was being tutored in magicby an old woman on the outskirts of town. I followed him one day and learnedwhere his teacher lived. When he left, I paid her a visit and demanded sheteach me magic. She looked me over carefully and refused.

"I was furious. I guess I was more than a littlespoiled in those days. When I tried to pay her for the lessons, she wouldn'ttake my gold. I'd never met anyone like her before, anyone that gold couldn'tbuy. It took me tendays of pestering her, but she finally agreed. I guess shewanted proof of my devotion.

"About a year later, I showed up for my lessonand found her dead. She had been murdered by a pack of thieves-assassins,really, in the service of a dark priest. I vowed to avenge her death. That tookme another year. By then, I'd gotten used to life on the road, and returning toWaterdeep just didn't seem very palatable to me. I never went back to school orto see my family. I suppose they assumed I'd been killed while trying to avengemy mentor. Somehow, it just didn't matter anymore."

A gust of wind swirled through the tower, twisting theflames that danced above the hearth and lifting a cloud of glowing embers intothe air. Lelanda gazed silently at them as if there might be some hiddenmeaning in their traces.

"How about you?" she asked.

"Ever been a farmer?" he asked in answer.

"No," she said.

"Well, if you had been, you'd understandperfectly."

Lelanda laughed, a clear and sweet sound that Orlando never would have expected from her. There, in the garden where they had once slaina black dragon and had recently buried an old friend, he saw a side of her hehad never thought existed. His hand, as if it had a will of its own, reachedout and rested atop hers. Her laugh faded away, and her green eyes shifted tomeet his.

"Orlando," she said, and a shock wentthrough her body.

Every muscle was rigid for a second, and her eyesbulged. As suddenly as the spasm had struck her, it passed. She went limp andtoppled forward, the blade of the great axe Kesmarex buried in her back.

The warrior, his rekindled reflexes already in action, sprang back.Without conscious thought, he brought the enchanted sword Talon into play,interposing it between himself and whoever might wield the ancient battle-axe.

"Shandt," he cried, "is that you?"

There was no answer, but in a second Orlando knew nonewould be forthcoming. With a swift and sudden motion, the axe Kesmarex liftedinto the air. Lelanda's blood dripped from the blade, but no living hand wieldedthe weapon.

At last, Orlando understood. He had always knownShandt's blade was enchanted, but had never realized the full extent of itspower. But years after the death of its owner, the weapon had tracked down thepeople it blamed for Shandt's death.

Describing a great arc in the air, Kesmarex swepttoward the warrior. He fell back, uncertain how to attack a weapon that had nowielder. He jabbed feebly with Talon, but found that the axe was every bit asmaneuverable as it had been in Shandt's hand.

"You don't understand," Orlando cried."We had no choice!"

The battle-axe chopped at his legs, causing him toleap backward. When his feet touched the ground, he felt the soft earth shiftand give way. He had landed squarely on Jolind's grave. Unable to retain hisbalance, Orlando toppled over and thudded hard on his back. The blade of theaxe flashed through the air inches above his nose. Had he still been standing,it would certainly have severed his leg at the knee.

"Shandt was buying us time to escape!" heyelled.

The axe, unheeding, swept upward as if it was beingheld aloft by its departed master. For a brief second, it hung there. Then,like the blade of a headsman at the block, Kesmarex plunged downward. Orlando tried to roll aside, but the enchanted blade sensed his intention and twisted to followhim. With a metallic crash, it smashed into the warrior's bronze breastplate,tearing through the amber metal and biting into the soft flesh beneath.

Pain burned through Orlando's body as clouds of redrolled across his vision. Talon fell from a nerveless hand, making no soundas it landed atop Jolind's newly dug grave. As the vengeful weapon drew backfor its fatal strike, Orlando's hands clutched at the searing wound. Hisfingers touched jagged metal, exposed flesh, and warm, flowing blood.

And something else. Something smooth and warm andcomforting: the amulet of Clanggedin Silverbeard. His fingers closed upon themedallion, and he snatched it clear of his neck. The silver chain upon which ithung stretched and snapped. As the great weapon began to sweep downward, Orlando held the holy symbol high.

"Shandt was my friend!" he cried. "Iwould have died to save him!"

Moonlight, sifting down from the cloudless sky, struckthe glass dome and streamed down into the garden. It fell upon the fallen bodyof Lelanda, the druid's fresh grave, and the silver axe that sought to avengeits owner's death. Two pinpoints glinted brightly in the shaft of moonlight,one the blade edge and the other the pendant.