Forgotten Realms - [Double Diamond Triangle Saga 07] - Uneasy Alliances Read online

  Entreri lifted his sword, the blade gleaming scarlet. He reached up and suddenly grasped the naked blade with his free hand, jerking the sword across it in a hard, sharp motion. He extended his hand, fist clenched tightly, over the stone.

  “It’s called the bloodforge. It needs blood. It feeds on blood.”

  There was a hiss as the assassin’s blood, squeezed from his slashed hand, dropped onto the stone’s surface. To Noph’s eyes, aching from the glow, the blood seemed to spread across the entire surface of the forge, shimmering, separating, and recombining in a series of ever more complex patterns. The humming that filled the cavern increased in volume, and from the forge stepped a man….

  UNEASY ALLIANCES

  © 1998 TSR, Inc.

  © 2013 Wizards of the Coast LLC

  All characters in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Published by Wizards of the Coast LLC.

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  All Wizards of the Coast characters and their distinctive likenesses are property of Wizards of the Coast LLC.

  Cover art by: Heather LeMay

  eISBN: 978-0-7869-0870-7

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  Contents

  Cover

  The Double Diamond Triangle Saga Series

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Map

  Chapter 1: Exposed Wounds

  Chapter 2: Love and Trust

  Chapter 3: Forged in Fire

  Chapter 4: Where Duty Lies

  Chapter 5: The Glory of Tyr

  Chapter 6: Emperor of Doegan

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Exposed Wounds

  The water rose waist-deep in the cell. A wave formed and broke against a dank stony wall. Silver drops fell like tears from the lichen-encrusted stones. Spray filled the fetid air. From dull metal wall brackets, torches sputtered and flared, their flickering light casting eerie shadows on the dungeon walls.

  The waves rolled and washed against a pair of shackles bolted against the far wall. The surface boiled and seethed, and then a struggling pair of figures erupted from its midst, limbs straining against each other.

  A youth, his yellow curls dripping, wrestled with a golden paladin, the latter streaming water from every seam of his resplendent plate mail. “Calm down, Kastonoph,” shouted the paladin angrily. “You’re safe now.”

  Kastonoph stopped his struggling and went limp on his supporter’s arm, rivulets of red cours­ing down his bare chest, spreading crimson stains on the water illuminated by the torches’ feeble light.

  “By Tyr!” The elder man seized the youth and lifted him above the turbulent waters onto a narrow wooden shelf that ran along one wall of the prison cell. Seizing a torch from its iron bracket, he brought it closer to the youth’s body. “Gods!”

  The golden knight staggered at the sight of the young man’s chest. It was rent by claw and tooth, scored with deep gashes, pink tendrils of muscle protruding damply in the dim light.

  “I’m going to bind your wounds, Noph. This will hurt a bit.” The knight tore a strip of cloth from the lad’s ragged shirt.

  Noph clutched at him. “Can’t you heal me, Kern?”

  “My power of healing is spent for today. The best I can do right now is to stop the bleeding.” Impatiently Kern jerked free another fragment of cloth, folding it into a soft pad to lay against the youth’s lacerated chest. As his hands touched the wound, Noph screamed, a thin, ragged cry.

  Dimly, from beyond the cell walls, the paladin, intent on his errand of mercy, could barely hear the distant din of battle. Steel clashed upon steel, someone—or something—wailed in agony, and above it all echoed the rumble of a drum. Kern stopped a moment to listen.

  “The fiends are coming closer,” he said. His fin­gers strained to work faster, flying furiously, pressing, binding, seeking to stanch the life’s blood that oozed from seemingly endless wounds.

  With a crash, the door to the cell flew open and a trio of fighters burst through. The first was an older man, his silvered hair pulled back over his shoulders in a slick ponytail bound with a leather thong. He bore a staff, its end shod in iron. Close behind him, a young man, sword drawn, groped the air before him blindly. His companion, who held the young man’s arm in one hand, a blade in the other, was more worthy of notice than any of the others in the cell. Long black hair fell thickly over her finely wrought shoulders. Her soaked linen shirt clung to soft, appealing curves.

  Barely noticing Kern ministering to his patient, she spoke first to the older man. “Come on, you—what’s your name? Trandon?—help me wedge this door shut.”

  Trandon shook his head. The blind youth pulled free from the female fighter’s clutch and wandered into the interior of the cell, feeling his way along one wall.

  “No. We can’t shut ourselves in here.” Trandon pushed a strand of hair back from his eyes. “Face it, we’ll have to try to fight our way back down the corridor. That’s the only way out of this gods-cursed labyrinth.”

  The female warrior turned to Kern, seeming for the first time to notice the object of his labors. “Well, paladin. How’s the patient?”

  Kern barely glanced up. “Hell live if we get him out of here to someplace he can rest. The crocodile mauled him badly.”

  The female warrior turned again to Trandon. “See? We can’t possibly get through those fiends carrying Noph. If we stay here and hold the door shut, they may pass us by.”

  Trandon looked admiringly at her shadow, its gentle curves wavering against the cell wall in the torchlight. “What’s your name, pirate?”

  The woman smiled easily at him. “Sharessa Stagwood. They call me the Shadow.”

  “Well, then, Shadow, you’re in serious danger of becoming no more than a shade. Do you want us to stay here until we drown or get torn apart by those… things? We need to keep a way open, not seal ourselves inside.” He glanced swiftly around the cells. “Hey, where’s Entreri?”

  “I don’t know, and I’m not sure I care,” growled Sharessa. “Last I saw of him was up above. He was fighting next to that big man—your friend,” she said, turning to Kern. She spun back to face Tran­don. “And don’t you presume to dictate battle strategy to me. I’ve fought more men than you’ve white hairs on your head. I’m in charge of this party now.”

  Kern turned from his place near Noph and splashed over to the female pirate. Trandon moved next to the youth and took up the paladin’s task of binding his
wounds.

  The golden knight spoke heatedly to Sharessa. “Since when are you in charge of anything? I claim leadership by virtue of my righteous service to Tyr Al—”

  “To the seven hells with Tyr, and you, too, pal­adin! I led my comrades out of the jungles around this cursed city. I fought the fiend that was stalk­ing—”

  “How dare you blaspheme, woman? On your knees and beg pardon, or—”

  “The water’s going down,” the blind man inter­rupted quietly from the corner. Paladin and pirate broke off their quarrel and looked about them.

  The level of water had indeed begun to fall sud­denly, as if the flood had found a draining passage­way elsewhere in the dungeons of the mage-king. The wavelets now lapped about their knees. Sharessa ignored the blind youth, turning her atten­tion back to Kern.

  “Come on, damn it. Artemis is gone. How d’you think he’d do against a whole army of fiends?”

  “Not badly, in fact,” said a quiet voice behind her. An olive-skinned man stepped from the shad­ows near the door into the light. There were a series of scratches along one side of his face, and his doublet was scored in half a dozen places by claw and sword, but he appeared otherwise unhurt.

  Shar spun about, throwing her arms about his neck. “Artemis! Thank the gods!”

  The little man reached up, breaking her em­brace. “You’d spend your time better guarding the door.”

  Her face—dark, mobile, beautiful even in this setting—froze for a moment, then went sullen. She returned her attention to the cell door, while Artemis spoke to Kern and Trandon, who had turned back to Noph. “How is he?” Artemis asked.

  Trandon shrugged. “He might make it if we can find someone to heal him. We’ve stopped most of the bleeding, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”

  Noph gasped for breath and struggled. Trandon clamped an arm around him. “Easy, lad. You’ll tear those bandages.”

  Noph closed his eyes. “Shar?”

  Sharessa moved next to him, keeping one eye on the door while stroking the fine down that cov­ered one of the lad’s cheeks. “Relax, Noph. You’re safe now. I’m here.”

  “Shar, she wasn’t… wasn’t…” Noph’s eyes opened wide and his breath came in short gasps. “I thought she was Eidola… but she turned into… teeth… claws…” Noph’s voice began to shake, then faded into nothing. There was a moment of silence.

  Sharessa turned to Kern. “What’s he talking about? What’s going on?”

  She spun and glared at Artemis, the man who’d led the former crew members of the Kissing Shark from the Tavern of the Masques in Tharkaar to this dank prison cell beneath the palace of Aetheric III, mage-king, insane ruler of Doegan.

  “You hired us to kill a woman. That’s all. Not to fight fiends, not to battle paladins, and not to break Aetheric the squid king out of a fish tank. But so far we’ve done all those things, and we’ve never even caught a glimpse of this woman.” She looked at Noph. “Eidola. You told us that was her name, Entreri. Now, what’s the lad talking about?”

  Artemis looked at Kern, who cleared his throat. “Noph found Lady Eidola in this cell. Apparently she was chained. When he released her, however, he must have broken some sort of restraint, because she showed her true form as a greater doppelgänger. The shapeshifter turned into a croc­odile and attacked Noph. I suppose it must have thought he was dead, because it swam out of the cell just as we were coming in.”

  He turned to Trandon for confirmation. The fighter nodded. “Obviously there’s a lot more to this affair than any of us suspected. We probably won’t know exactly what’s going on until Miltiades and the others catch Eidola—that is, catch the doppelgänger who looks like Eidola.”

  Sharessa grunted. “So now what?”

  Artemis stepped nearer to the beautiful merce­nary. It seemed to her that his voice took on a peculiar intensity, as if he wished her, and her alone, to understand some hidden meaning in his words. “This city is infested with an army of fiends bent on killing everything human in it. We’re caught between them and the mad king Aetheric, who has ruled this city from a fish tank and whose armies are in total disarray. If we’re to survive, we need his source of power. We need the bloodforge.”

  He stopped. Sharessa felt a shiver run down her spine. Artemis had some plan for the bloodforge beyond saving Eldrinpar, of that she was sure. But she’d learned enough of this secretive man to know that he would keep his plans to himself.

  The diminutive master assassin broke the silence himself, stepping nearer Noph and assess­ing the youth’s condition with the practiced glance of one who has seen many wounded men. “He’ll not last long. We’d best leave while we can.” He drew a dagger from his belt and moved closer.

  Kern stepped in front of him. “What d’you think you’re doing, Entreri?”

  The slender man shrugged slim shoulders. “As I said. He’s dead already. It’s kinder to let his body know now.”

  Kern’s eyes blazed. “You’ll not murder him—not while I’m in charge of this party.”

  Entreri looked calmly at the golden paladin, whose armor sparkled in the flaring torchlight. “Be reasonable. I’ve seen what the fiends that inhabit this place can do. Ask them”—he waved at the mercenaries—”what happened to Brindra at the bridge. I’d rather spare the lad that agony.” His eyes glittered suddenly, hard and dry. “And by the way, who says it’s you who’s in charge? I led my employees here through the jungle. I pulled them out of a scrape in Tharkaar. And I understand exactly what we’re after.”

  “We’re after…” Kern started to reply, then clamped down on the words. Gaining control of his temper, he spoke slowly and distinctly. “We have to care for this lad, even if you’ve abandoned him. And while I’m here, I’ll not let you harm him.”

  Trandon moved next to Kern, their bodies shielding Noph from Entreri. “Nor I, assassin.”

  Entreri glanced at them contemptuously. “Shar, let’s get this over with quickly.” His sword was in his hand, the point toward the paladin. Shar also drew her sword, but its blade dipped to the floor. She stared hard at the little assassin, then shook her head and stepped away from him.

  “No, Artemis.” She sheathed her blade. “The lad might live if we can find a way out of these damned cellars. Until then I won’t give him up.” She gazed at the assassin steadily. “And I won’t let you hurt him.”

  Entreri’s usually impassive face showed no emotion, but his knuckles whitened on his sword. He looked at the golden paladin. “Ready?”

  “More than ready,” snapped Kern, raising his blade.

  Behind the little man, the door suddenly rattled. Through the barred window in the cell door shot an elongated three-jointed arm ending in a rounded claw. Quick as death, it seized Entreri round the neck, dragging him backward against the door, choking him. From the corridor came a maniacal shriek of laughter.

  The little man tried to twist around, slashing at the arm with his sword, but before the blow could fall, a second jointed arm thrust through the window, effortlessly slapping his stroke and sword aside. He tugged in vain at the choking arm, his face now bright scarlet and shining with sweat.

  Kern started forward. His paladin’s blade rose and swept down in a mighty arc, shearing off the arm that clutched Entreri. A spray of ichor be­fouled the paladin’s armor. From beyond the door came a scream that ended in sobs, rising into another crescendo of insane merriment. The other arm was withdrawn, but the door began to creak open. Trandon hurled himself against it. Sharessa added her strength to that of the fighter. Between them, they forced the door shut and wedged sev­eral flat stones beneath it. Entreri rose from where he’d fallen, breathing hard.

  That won’t hold long. If there’s another way out of here, we’d better find it.” He glanced at Kern. “Any ideas, paladin?”

  “Right now, no,” snapped the knight. “I did think we might go out that door, but you’ve man­aged to take care of that.”

  The little assassin gestured eloquently to
the door, which was beginning to bulge ominously inward. “As a matter of fact, your friend here”—he waved at Trandon—”sealed it off. But if you’d like to go that way, unblock it and be my guest. You shouldn’t have to fight more than twenty or thirty of those fiends. Perhaps if you pray hard enough to Tyr, they’ll part before you.”

  “Blasphemy!” Kern started forward, furious.

  A voice from the corner interrupted the dis­agreement. “Say,” said the blind youth, “has anyone tried the passageway over here?”

  The effect of Ingrar’s query was similar to drop­ping a ten-foot stack of dishes in the middle of a quiet library. Shar gave a loud whoop, while Tran­don lunged toward the blind pirate and Kern gasped in amazement. Only Entreri remained silent and watchful.

  Ingrar stood in the darkest corner of the cell, his blind face to the wall, his hands outstretched, as if molding the air with his fingers. To Kern, it seemed almost as if he watched the delicate quiver­ing of the antennae attached to some exotic insect.

  “There’s a draft coming from around this stone,” said Ingrar, gesturing. “And the air here smells different from the air in the rest of the cell. Besides, I can hear wind coming down a tunnel on the other side of the stone.”

  Entreri recovered his aplomb. “All right. Kern, let’s get the stone loose. Shar, guard the door. Ingrar, keep your ears peeled for anything waiting for us at the other end of that passageway.” He glanced at Trandon, still leaning on his staff before the recumbent Kastonoph. “Get the boy ready to be moved.” He turned to help the paladin in the corner. “What are you staring at?” he snarled at Shar, who chose wisely not to reply.

  Kern already had the point of his dagger wedged between two of the heavy stone blocks from which the dungeon was constructed. He chipped away at the mortar, which fell in a steady white stream into the mud around his ankles. Entreri was simi­larly occupied on the other side of the stone. In a few minutes, Kern reached his fingers into the gap he’d created and pulled. The stone wobbled slightly. Now Entreri joined him, and between the two of them, they managed, with agonizing slow­ness, to pull back the stone, revealing a dark cavity behind it. The hole was about three feet high and equally broad. Ingrar immediately crouched and moved into it, holding a torch to illu­minate the way for the others. Once in the hole, he straightened up.