When Jak attacked, all of the Nine Hells would break loose.
"And don't dally, Fleet," Riven growled.
"Piss off," Jak said, but was not sure the Zhent heard him.
They continued up the road. Jak considered scouting ahead, but decided against it—he couldn't be sure that Vraggen and Azriim wouldn't see through his invisibility, and he didn't want to prematurely alert them. Instead, he stayed in position above Cale and Riven. The rain continued, soaking the ground. Soon blood would join it.
A long bowshot ahead, the Twisted Elm materialized out of the dusk. The huge, magisterial tree could not be missed. It dominated the otherwise flat plain. Its canopy was wide enough to shade a hamlet. Lines in the bark of its trunk spiraled up the bole in an unusual pattern that gave the tree its name. It looked like the threads of a giant carpenter's screw, as though a god had reached down from the heavens and twisted the tree as it grew.
Below those stately eaves, Jak saw four figures. He could not make out features, but from their respective clothing, size, and bare weapons, Jak marked them as Vraggen, Dolgan, the easterner, and a woman. Probably the woman who had led the attack on Stormweather Towers. Behind them, perhaps ten strides farther up the road, stood two other figures: one bound and standing perfectly upright and rigid—an enspelled Ren, Jak figured—with the other, Azriim no doubt, guarding him with a bare long sword.
Jak quietly reported all that to Cale and Riven. Cale nodded. He and Riven picked up the their pace. Jak followed suit, going high and praying to the Trickster that any divination spells Vraggen or the half-drow might have in effect would not penetrate his non-detection spell.
When Cale and Riven neared the tree, the woman, the easterner, and Dolgan stepped a few paces out in front of Vraggen. Dolgan's axe was longer than Jak was tall. The easterner said something to Vraggen and the wizard began to cast. Jak knew why. They saw only Cale and Riven. They were looking for Jak.
Jak whispered another prayer to the Trickster, tried to will himself undetectable to Vraggen, and circled around behind them. Closer, he could see that the wizard's outline was shifting and blurred, the result of an illusion that made it difficult to determine where the wizard ended and the spell began. Jak didn't need a spell to know that other magic, without visible effects, probably also protected the wizard.
After Vraggen completed his divination, his gaze swept the area around the elm, though not the air. Dolgan and the woman did likewise, though they had no spell to assist them. They showed no sign that they noticed Jak.
Jak could not contain a fierce smile. He descended a bit and hovered in the area between Azriim and the tree. From there, he had a good view of the entire field of battle.
Cale and Riven stopped ten strides from the Twisted Elm. Cale set the half-sphere on the ground and rested the edge of his blade against it. Riven stared at the easterner. The rain continued to fall. For a few heartbeats, no one spoke. Each side simply evaluated the other.
Cale broke the silence.
"You begin to cast a spell, and I destroy it," he said.
"Where is the halfling, Cale? I instructed you not to trifle with me."
Riven spat and sneered.
Jak couldn't see Cale's face from behind the mask but could imagine his scowl.
"I don't take instructions from you, mage," Cale said. "And the halfling is out of this." He tapped the half-sphere with his blade. "Now, bring forward Ren and you'll have the other half of your sphere."
Vraggen smiled. "The fact that you refer to him by name tells me all I need to know. Toss the rest of the globe to me, then you'll have your ... Ren."
"No," Cale said. "You have a five count." He raised his blade a handswidth above the half-sphere. "One."
"I'll kill him where he stands, Cale. Then you. Do not—"
"Two."
Even in profile, Jak could see Vraggen's narrow face twist in frustration. His hands clenched into fists.
"Very well, Cale."
When he turned his head to call back to Azriim, Jak's breath caught. The mage looked right through him to the half-drow. He showed no sign of having noticed Jak.
"Azriim," he said. "Proceed."
Jak exhaled.
Without hesitation, the half-drow took Ren's left hand, already missing three fingers, and rapidly sliced off the rest, one by one. The careless manner in which the half-drow performed the mutilation, like a butcher with a beef shank, made Jak's stomach churn. Blood poured from the fingers. Ren said nothing, moved nothing. To Jak, the silence was worse than screams.
Azriim stepped on the fingers and ground them into the grass with his boot toe. He looked at Cale with his mismatched eyes and grinned.
Jak turned to see Cale's body go rigid with tension.
Just give him the sphere, Jak silently pleaded. Give it to him.
Cale's plan called for Jak to kill Vraggen after Ren was safe, but Jak feared Vraggen would take the lad apart piece by piece first.
"He is held immobile by my spell, Cale," Vraggen said, "but I assure you, he sees, hears, and feels all that is transpiring. Imagine the agony he felt when his fingers were severed, the pain only compounded by his inability to scream."
"Three," Cale said. He gripped his blade tightly and stared holes into Vraggen.
The mage stuttered in surprise, but managed to recover quickly.
"V-Very well." He called over his shoulder, "Again, Azriim. His hand."
Jak didn't want to watch but found himself transfixed. Dolgan, Serrin, and the woman also seemed enthralled by the war of wills in which Ren's flesh was the battlefield.
The half-drow grabbed Ren by the wrist and extended his arm, as though he meant to chop it off at the elbow. Ren remained exactly as Azriim posed him. His appearance brought tears of sympathy and rage to Jak's eyes. His face was bruised and swollen. He had been badly beaten and the stumps of his fingers pointed accusingly at Jak, seeping blood.
Azriim raised his blade high. His mismatched eyes looked through Jak and asked the question of Vraggen.
Just as the mage was about to nod, just as Azriim's shadowed eyes glowed bright with the thought of doing violence, Cale, as calm as the Dragon Sea doldrums, stated above the rain, "Four." He raised his blade.
Vraggen blinked and froze. In that instant, Jak knew that Cale had won. Jak wondered how far Cale would have let it go.
The mage whirled to face Cale squarely.
Cale's expression was veiled by his mask, but Jak suspected it was tortured. Ren had paid the price for Cale's victory. Jak knew why Cale had donned the mask in the first place.
"Don't you dare do it, Cale," Vraggen commanded, and he signaled Azriim to stand down.
With a disappointed sigh, the half-drow lowered his blade. Jak exhaled—he had not realized that he'd been holding his breath—but softly, so that the sound of his breathing would not give him away.
Cale too lowered his blade, though he set its edge on the sphere. Shadows danced between the crystal and the steel.
"Now that we understand each other, mage, bring me Ren. Now!"
"Bring him," Vraggen said to Azriim, his voice tight.
With surprising strength, the half-drow wrapped his arm around Ren and dragged him forward. Jak scrambled aside, eyeing him as he passed. He could have buried his short sword in the half-drow's neck.