Easy Betrayals by Richard Baker Read Free Book Online Page B

I used quite often. It takes only a moment of concentration to shape the familiar features, the hawklike gaze, the handsome face. My mind takes the shape of his, and knowledge floods into my brain. I’ve forgotten how to disarm a swordsman with a twist of my wrist, I’ve
    forgotten how to mend damaged mail and how to kill with blows of my bare human fists—but I remember now the Art, and a dozen languages long forgotten, and the sensation of Mystra’s weave gliding beneath the touch of my fingers and the force of my will. It might be the next best thing to my true self.
    As Jarin, the faded hieroglyphs suddenly take on meaning. Myth Drannor. Cormanthyr. Menzoberrazan. Oh, if only I’d known of this place years ago! The Netherese must have scattered tombs across all of Faerun and perhaps even farther, to judge by these names I don’t know. What cult or sect went to this trouble? Who did they inter in this fashion, and why? And how—Enough. That’s the curiosity of Jarin. I need an answer, not a history lesson. The paladin and his ally will track me soon enough. I could probably defeat them now, but Miltiades has a nasty habit of surviving. Better to leave him here if I can, or to face him on familiar territory if he still follows.
    Here. The Hall of Swords. A portal leading to the heart of Undermountain! Who could have guessed that even in the depths of the Mad Mage’s domain a Netherese lord sleeps? It’s amazing that Faerun holds together, considering how it’s been riddled with gates and conduits, portals and doorways from a dozen lost peoples. If I had anything like a sense of wonder, I might be impressed.
    Instead, I search for the portal’s key. Jarin has spells to reveal such things. Best to move swiftly, before the paladin returns.
    Raising Jarin’s hands, I begin to weave a spell.

Chapter 4
Masks and Machinations
    “Eidola’s gone!” Miltiades halted in the lee of an old wall, dropping to one knee. Before him, lying half-buried in the sand, he saw the pale outline of Noph’s lasso. In frustration the tall paladin slammed one armored fist against the wall and turned his face away from the stinging sand. “How could she have freed herself from the rope?”
    Belgin crouched next to him, taking what shelter he could from the weathered stones. The sharper rubbed at bis jaw, frowning at the gritty coating of sand that came away with his hand. He ran his fingers through his hair and realized that he’d been thoroughly covered in dust and grit. How about a long holiday when this is all over, my boy? he thought ruefully. “Did you know Eidola to work magic?”
    “No, as Eidola she has no such skill,” Miltiades replied. “I saw her fight against Aetheric’s minions when she was abducted. The sword, not the spell, was her weapon.”
    “Then the only thing I can think of is that she somehow found someone or something to command the lasso to release her. Damn the luck!” He paused, then added, “Can you shift the target of your seeking spell?”
    “No, I can only perceive the first object that I decide to seek.”
    “She could be anywhere,” Belgin muttered. He reached down and picked up the lasso, coiling it at his belt. “I guess I’ll give this back to Noph if—damn!”
    “What? What is it?” Miltiades asked.
    “We’ve got another problem, Miltiades,” the sharper said. “Why would Eidola abandon the lasso once she’d escaped from it? Magic of this sort is too valuable and rare to leave lying about, after all.”
    “She left it here because we were using it to track her movements.”
    “And how could she have known that?” Belgin asked bitterly.
    The paladin stared at the sharper blankly for a long moment, and then sighed. “Jacob or Rings. She must have defeated one or both of them.” He worked his fists together, slamming metal into metal as he thought furiously.
    “Which way now?” Belgin asked quietly.
    “Back to the palace,” Miltiades said. “If I were her, I’d double back