Free The Abduction by J. Robert King

pile of books that were sprawled open atop each other.
    “It has been four minutes thirty-eight seconds.” the Open Lord noted dully.
    “I said five minutes.” Khelben repeated.
    Piergeiron said no more, still pressed against the cold stone wall.
    In the remaining twenty-two seconds, Khelben flipped me pages of several tomes, consulting charts and tables. When ten seconds were left, he looked up irately at his friend. With an off-handed flick of his wrist, Khelben cast a slow spell upon the water clock. Its constant gurgling slowed until it was nearly stopped. There was no reason to slow Piergeiron as well. The man could not be slower and still live.
    Khelben sighed, and worked another two hours. When he was done, he dispelled his enchantment.
    Piergeiron blinked. “Ah, five minutes.”
    “Here it is,” replied Khelben. “I’ve been searching ancient texts for references to spells or artifacts characterized by their dweomer draw. What crushed me to the ground was a sorcery of great magnitude.”
    “And?” Piergeiron asked listlessly.
    “I found three possible artifacts, two of which were unlikely due to the—”
    “And, which one?” Piergeiron asked.
    “A Bloodforge. It was a Bloodforge that created that army.”
    “What is a—”
    “It’s an artifact of great antiquity, a device that can form armies out of min air.”
    “Each candle was a Bloodforge?” asked Piergeiron.
    The mage shook his head in consideration. “No, but each was linked to a Bloodforge somehow. They allowed the forged warriors to gate into the palace and back out again.” He cleared his throat. “As far as I know, the only place where Bloodforges are found is the Utter East.”
    “The Utter East?”
    The mage nodded. “The candles confirm it. They were an engagement present sent to Eidola from an unknown benefactor, who suggested their use in the wedding. Though the giver is unknown, the crate in which the candles came is stamped with border seals that stretch from Waterdeep all the way down to the Utter East.”
    “Even if I have to travel the whole world, I will find her” said Piergeiron wearily.
    “And what of Waterdeep when you are gone? What of the trade route and all the other programs you have worked so hard to implement?” Khelben pointed out. “Running out across half the world is a job for the young, Piergeiron. For those with nothing better to do. Send someone else.”
    “How could I?” the Open Lord muttered. “How could I trust Eidola to anyone else?”
    “Are you so arrogant as to think you are the greatest warrior in Faerun?”
    Piergeiron looked chagrined.
    Khelben went on, “And isn’t trust something that has set you in good stead until now?”
    Piergeiron dropped his head toward his chest and slowly nodded.
    The Blackstaff stood at the door to Piergetron’s drawing room. His knuckles rapped lightly on the frame.
    “Open Lord, I have brought him, as you requested.”
    From the plush darkness of woolen carpets and velvet drapes came a faint summons. “Come in.”
    The wizard silently drew back the door and, with a smooth wave of a hand, gestured the lad forward.
    Noph had looked better, certainly. Both his eyes were black, his nose had been set with sticks and torn cloth, and his lip was split in two places. He favoured one leg as he came in, a crutch jammed under his arm. Though Noph had publicly abnegated his nobility and subsequently been disowned by his father, he still carried himself with the bearing of a nobleman as he bowed deeply before the Open Lord.
    No, not the bearing of a nobleman, but that of a hero.
    Piergeiron’s own wounds were in interior spaces. Though the body that slumped in the chair before Noph was the same well-dressed and athletic figure as before, Piergeiron’s eyes were as dark and empty as the burned out Eye of Ao.
    “Ahem,” Khelben said, standing there beside the lad. “Open Lord, remember, you wanted to see him?”
    “Yes,” replied Piergeiron. He offered no more