As they marched down the passage, Selana noticed a faint illumination that grew slowly until she and her escorts reached the entrance to another chamber. This one was a far cry from Blu's squalid, unfinished cavern. The walls of the egg-shaped chamber were polished rosy granite. Spiraling pillars, apparently natural features of the cavern, reached from floor to ceiling around the perimeter; a torch flickered in a sconce on each. The ceiling was highest in the center and sloped down at all ends of the "egg." At the farthest point of the room an elaborate pedestal table had been chiseled from the mountain granite.
The golem carried her to the center of the chamber and set her on her feet.
"Hello, my magical little mouse."
The dreaded deep baritone was oily with conceit. Selana closed her eyes in defeat for a moment before she followed the voice to the right.
The mage stepped out from behind a pillar. He wore black robes now instead of red, and the ram's-skull cap was missing from his head. A black silk patch covered his hideously scarred eye socket.
"Welcome to my—hmm," he paused, searching for the right word.
"Lair?" she spat, struggling to control the quiver in her voice. "I see you've decided to stop mocking the red robes. At last you're wearing a color more suited to your vile nature."
His laughter was throaty and staccato as he walked up to her slowly. The heels of his boots clicked against the cold, smooth stone floor and echoed in the rigid chamber. "I would think a woman in your tenuous position might speak a little more deferentially," he said smoothly. His thumbless hand reached out to touch her tattered clothing; his fingers lingered on the pulse that throbbed in the hollow of her pale neck. Aghast, the sea elf princess pulled away. Balcombe only smiled.
"You might almost be presentable, with some soap and water and a decent gown," he said, eyeing her slight form in the torn clothing. "Actually, the rags are almost alluring, in a primitive sort of way."
Selana shrank back but could not evade his sight or his probing hands.
"You have not thanked me for healing your wound," the mage said, his fingertips trying to trace the outline of the new pink scar on the inside of her left upper arm. She wrenched away, but the motion was clumsy and painful because of the weight of the short lengths of chain still dangling from her wrists. Balcombe only laughed again, which made Selana shake with silent fury.
He paced before her, his shaved head bent in thought, his hands tucked into the bell-shaped sleeves of his black robe. "Of great curiosity to me is the fact that I still do not know the identity or the fate of your friend and fellow mouse, the little kender." He watched her closely. "Or your name . . . Princess." He was greatly satisfied to see her jump.
His thick red lips pulled back into a smile. "An educated guess on my part, one I'm gratified to see is true. The spell I cast to analyze your bracelet told me much about it and, by inference, about you. Most interesting was its elven origin, though at that time I could not identify the kingdom. That, of course, became more clear as soon as I saw you without your scarf and cloak."
Balcombe stood just out of her reach and pushed back the sleeve of his right hand, revealing the copper bracelet. He tilted it toward the low flames. "Lovely, the way the amber gems catch the firelight, isn't it? It is only a bauble to me, really, but I shall enjoy owning such a beautiful piece of work—the gray-haired dwarf's, I presume? It's unfortunate that such a skilled artisan won't be crafting any more." Balcombe's sleek pate shook slowly in mock mourning.
With the fury of the conquered, Selana tried to grab the bracelet, but her reach fell far short. Gazing close up, for the very first time, at the bracelet created for Semunel, frustration thickened in Selana's throat. Balcombe's outline wavered in her sight as she struggled futilely to keep from crying.
You were right, Sem, she said to herself. I was not made for this. I am not strong enough. In that instance, at least, you could predict the future. . . .
"Come now, Princess," Balcombe's unwelcome baritone cut into her thoughts. "Recent hardships have not caused you to grow soft and weepy, have they? I so admired your spirit. For instance, the spells you used in our fight beneath Castle Tantallon, though limited in power, were ingeniously chosen. I have not met someone so unexpectedly challenging in a very long time."
He let out a huge sigh and shook his head. "Again, 'tis a pity you will never cast another spell. If I didn't need you so immediately and so irrevocably for something else, I might apprentice you in my new position." Again Balcombe watched for her reaction, but Selana registered only confusion.
Balcombe was annoyed. He thrust out his chest and in stentorian tones announced, "As you overheard with your mouse ears, tonight I take LaDonna's place in the Conclave of Wizards."
The sea elf laughed.
Balcombe struck her.
Selana fell against a pillar and slid to the floor, wiping a thin trickle of blood from her lip with the back of her hand. Though stunned, the sea elf princess felt invigorated. She had discovered a chink in Balcombe's armor.
"Oh, that," she said lightly. "It seems to me, if I recall correctly, Hiddukel promised you nothing, except to consider your proposal." She smiled condescendingly. "Face it, Balcombe. It will never happen. Hiddukel is not going to disrupt the entire conclave for one petty squire's soul, no matter how pure."
Balcombe's repulsive face turned dark and stormy, and he looked about to strike Selana again. He stopped with his hand poised above her cheek and suddenly broke into an eerie grin. "Perhaps not, Princess. That is why he will be receiving another, more valuable soul."
Almost tenderly, Balcombe reached out and caught a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. Watching Selana's horrified expression with obvious pleasure, he licked his finger, savoring the taste. "Blood is most toothsome, don't you think? I believe I enjoy its saltiness the most.
"But, I dally." Sighing as if bored, he took her slight arm in a grip as strong as iron and dragged her, stumbling and sobbing, to the pedestal table. She kicked at him, but he dodged her half-hearted blow easily. "Try to maintain some of your royal bearing and dignity, Princess," he taunted.
"Speaking of which, we cannot let you meet Hiddukel, broker of souls, looking like a street urchin." Balcombe muttered a word, and Selana's tattered clothing was replaced by an elegant gossamer gown of the same unusual blue-green shade as her eyes. Her white hair, magically washed and straightened, curled about her pale face in soft, radiant clouds. She shivered in the damp air.
Balcombe regarded her new appearance and smiled, clucking his tongue sadly. "Such a pity. You were a fetching princess."
Closing her eyes, the frightened sea elf tried one last time to remember a spell—any spell—that might help her escape, but her magical resources were exhausted.
Balcombe reached into the depths of his black robe and withdrew a large ruby. Looking among the facets, Selana thought she could almost make out the fair face of the young squire, Rostrevor.
The mage placed the sizable gem on the pedestal table. He looked up to a hole in the ceiling, about six feet around, through which muted moonlight poured into an oval-shaped, gem-sized cradle carved into the granite. "You cannot see Nuitari, Princess, but soon it will converge with Lunitari directly overhead. When that happens, you will be encased in this magnificent ruby, just as Rostrevor is trapped in his. I imagine it must be a pleasant prison—everything bathed in countless shades of crimson. Far more pleasant, certainly, than what awaits you in Hiddukel's tender embrace."
He moved his hand toward his robe again, then paused and regarded the wrist wearing the bracelet. The skin beneath the copper jewelry suddenly grew uncomfortably warm. He rubbed his wrist, but the skin did not feel hot to the touch. Still the sensation of heat was unmistakable.
Balcombe was about to remove the bracelet when something struck him softly on the back of the head. He reeled momentarily, then whirled on the attacker. Instead of seeing someone behind him, he saw several people, including the kender, the dwarf, and the half-
elf who had traveled with Selana, stepping from the doorway to his magical laboratory. As they rushed toward him, three more people dropped down the opening above the altar and attacked him from behind.
Pulse pounding at his temples, Balcombe nearly cast a spell in his defense before he realized that there were no attackers. He blinked repeatedly. The room was empty except for himself, Selana, and his golems. The others had been figments of his mind, just a . . . vision.
He realized almost instantly that this was indeed a prescient dream triggered by the bracelet; he had seen a forecast of the future.
Watching his face, Selana grew afraid. "What is it? What did you see?"
Quickly he cast a simple spell of holding on the sea elf. "Thanks to your bracelet, Princess," he said, "I've been alerted to an imminent event that I will easily prevent. Although I am at a loss to explain their escape from Tantallon, it seems your friends have decided to launch a rescue."
He removed the bracelet so as not to be distracted from his spellcasting, and set it on the altar.
"I must prepare a welcome for some uninvited guests."
Chapter 18
A Gem of a Solution
A grimacing Flint scratched at his beard. "I'll Never get all these bugs out of it," he grumbled to Tanis. "It's no wonder birds don't have hair."
"And no wonder you don't have wings," responded the half-elf. "You'd never use them for the sake of that precious beard. Watch your step on these loose rocks."
Just as Tanis uttered his warning, a melon-sized stone skidded under his foot and tumbled away down the scree-covered slope. Flint avoided it by leaning to the side. Just past his position, it struck a boulder with a solid whack and caromed clear over the heads of Tasslehoff and three phaethons, who brought up the rear of the group. It disappeared into the darkness below them, but the series of cracks signaled clearly each impact as it bounded to the base of the slope, three hundred yards below.
"Missed me again, Tanis. That's twice," said Tasslehoff, resuming his climb.
"Third time's the charm," Flint muttered.
Nanda Lokir, at the head of the string of climbers, turned back to the group. "We are nearing the crest. Everyone be quiet now, and be careful. The slope is steeper near the top."
They had flown as close to Balcombe's cave as the phaethons dared. Unfortunately, their flaming wings were like beacons in the fading light, and they thought it best to land behind a ridge that screened them from the entrance to the lair. The slope they climbed now was treacherous.
Nanda, Hoto, Cele, and the four other phaethons accompanying the group were accustomed to the terrain and the altitude. Their stiff-soled boots were well suited for scrambling over scree. Tasslehoff, Flint, and Tanis panted from the exertion, struggling to draw enough oxygen out of the thin air. Flint, at least, wore hobnailed boots. Tanis and Tas winced and stumbled over the sharp rocks poking through their thin-soled moccasins, which were more appropriate to grassy plains and dusty roads.
Everyone breathed easier as, one by one, they topped the ridge and paused just below the crest. It was much less steep on the opposite side. Ten faces peered across the crest.
Perhaps four hundred yards away, a cave opening could be seen in the opposite slope. A light shone invitingly from inside, casting a warm glow on the scrub trees outside the entrance. A coulee—an enormous gully—separated the intruders from the cave. The slopes on both sides were gradual and covered with scrub: thorny bushes and stunted trees.
"I can hardly believe it, but the entrance appears to be unguarded," observed Tanis.
Flint was skeptical. "Then don't you believe it, lad. You met Balcombe. He's a wizard of substantial ability and a tricky bastard to boot. He wouldn't just leave the front door open."
"He knows we're on his tail," added Tasslehoff. "We don't know what sort of information he's wrung out of Selana." Tanis shuddered, recalling his own interrogation.
Nanda peered toward the sky. Stars now twinkled in the darkness. Rising in the east, where the mountains fell away to the Newsea, was Lunitari, the fleet moon, streaking through the sky in its unending race. Above it was Nuitari, the unseen moon. Only wizards who adopted the black robes of evil could actually see the body of this satellite. To extremely perceptive others, on nights like this, it appeared as an ominous black disk occulting the stars behind it. "Look up, friends. Within the hour Lunitari will overtake Nuitari. Hoto tells us that when they align, this Balcombe will work his magic. We have little time."
"Is there any other way in?" asked Tanis.
All eyes turned toward Hoto, who had been silent since leaving the phaethon village of spires. As usual, he paused for several moments before replying. "There is another opening, though it is not a good entrance. It is a chimney of sorts, chiseled through the rock. I have spied for many years and seen that this chimney opens into the chamber where your wizard performs his rite. It lets him see the moons during the ceremony."
"Is it wide enough to climb down?" asked Tanis.
"Too wide," replied Hoto. "The walls are smooth and steep and more than an arm's span apart. You could not descend that way without ropes."
Tanis sensed that Hoto was hinting at something. "But could a phaethon, with wings, fly down?"
"Yes, if he were careful and not heavily burdened."
Flint tossed a sly look to Tanis. "Are you thinking what I think you're thinking?"
The half-elf nodded. "Seven of us go in the front door. That's where the resistance is likely to be the heaviest, and we'll need some strength there. Nanda, three of your people find that chimney and wait. When we reach Balcombe's ceremonial chamber, he's bound to turn his attention on us.
"That's when the surprise comes down the chimney. With luck, someone should catch him from behind."
Nanda considered the proposal. He glanced toward Hoto. "You are not our leader, Great-grandfather, but you are our wisest adviser. Can Tanis's plan succeed?"
"It has as good a chance as any, I suspect." Hoto turned his gaze directly on Tanis, who noticed for the first time how the man's eyes blazed in the darkness. "Even success will not come cheaply. As the dwarf said, your enemy is a powerful wizard. He will kill more than one of us tonight. Is this elf woman worth that price, Nanda Lokir?"
Nanda had known this question would come, and his answer was ready. "No, Great-grandfather, the woman alone is nothing to us, but eventually this man's evil will threaten our families. That is what we must prevent."
The elder seemed satisfied with that answer.
Nanda turned to the other phaethons with the group. "Cele, take Jito and Satba to the chimney mouth. Hoto will tell you where it is. Wait there for our arrival.
"The rest of us will go in the main entrance. I will lead, with Hoto following me, then Kelu, Tanis, Tasslehoff, and Flint, and then Bajhi in the rear. We move as quickly and quietly as possible."
Suddenly Tasslehoff was next to Nanda. "Let me go first, Nanda. I'm the smallest, and I've done this sort of thing before."
"No. Take your place between Tanis and Flint. Everyone follow me." Immediately the leader of the phaethons was on his feet, creeping across the ridge. He blended into the scrub and picked his way carefully through the tangled brush. Crossing the coulee took the group nearly twenty minutes, but they arrived, scratched and sweating, before the cave entrance.
"Can anyone read these markings?" asked Nanda.
Tanis scanned the white rock around the cave mouth and noticed for the first time that there was indeed writing of some sort chiseled into the stone. He had no idea what it said or even in what language it was.
Again Tasslehoff sidled his way to the front. "It's religious script, some sort of ritual prayer. I saw the same thing over a temple door south of Shalost, on the Silvanesti border, just before the elves burned it. I don't know what it says, but these are the same markings. This one here, at the apex," he said, pointing with his hoopak, "is Hiddukel's sigil."
Flint, handling his axe uneasily, asked, "What sort of a t
emple was the one near Shalost?"
"It was a cult of soul cannibals."
The group fell silent for a moment, until Tanis said, "Well, that fits in with what you and Selana overheard in Balcombe's laboratory. Let's get inside."
Crouching as if walking into a stiff wind, Nanda pressed into the cave mouth. The rest of the group followed in single file.
As Bajhi, the last of the phaethons, entered, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder. Satisfied that they were not being followed, he turned back and caught up with Flint.
If he had watched the entrance a bit longer, he might have seen two white, stone bodies, shaped like minotaurs and laced with pulsing red veins, flowing out of the rock face flanking the cave, slowly turn toward the entrance, and follow the line of intruders inside.
Nanda led the group slowly along the passage. Although it was a natural cavern, it showed signs of alteration—the walls and floor were partially smoothed and leveled. Dim illumination filtered down the tunnel from somewhere ahead, casting long shadows back toward the entrance.
The leader stepped cautiously and probed the ground ahead with his quarterstaff. Within seconds there was a telltale snap-whoosh! and Nanda collapsed to the floor. Everyone in the group froze momentarily, then Kelu and Tanis rushed to the stricken man.
Two inches of an iron dart protruded from his thigh, surrounded by a spreading red blossom. Kelu grasped it lightly between his thumb and forefinger and tried, very gently, to pull it from the wound. Immediately Nanda's neck muscles knotted up as he struggled not to cry out.
Kelu shook his head. "It is embedded in the bone, Nanda."
[Meetings 02] - Wanderlust Page 25
