With those words, the warlock began to spin. Cabe gasped and tried to stop, but was helpless. He spun faster and faster, a frantic, living top. The cavern became first a bright blur and then a murky nothing. Cabe tried to concentrate, but the constant twirling threatened to make him black out. It was all he could do to keep conscious.
All at once, he simply stopped.
With a grunt, the stunned mage fell to the floor, but a floor that was hard and, strangely enough, very uneven. Cabe shook his head, then regretted the action as vertigo set in again. He settled with putting his head in his hands and waiting for the world to come to a halt on its own. Only when it finally did was he willing to look up.
Cabe first saw nothing. Wherever he had landed, it was pitch-black. Cabe summoned a dim sphere of blue light, then grimaced at what the illumination revealed. He was in another tunnel, but unlike the ones leading to the drake lord’s lair, the malignant fog held sway here. That meant that Cabe must be closer to the surface. Closer to the surface and, he suspected, almost beneath the Aramite encampment.
With the Crystal Dragon’s aid no longer a hope, the warlock was on his own. The surface was where he now needed to go, but which was better, he wondered, journeying in the direction he was already facing or turning around and seeing where the other end of the tunnel led? Did he really want to continue to the surface or would it benefit him to descend farther into the earth? At this point, it was impossible to tell which path led to the surface and which did not. One thing was certain: no matter which direction he chose, the mage would have to walk. As long as the tendrils of Nimth had hold of Legar above and below ground, the warlock dared not try teleporting save as a last desperate venture. There was too much chance of something going wrong with the spell.
Grumbling, Cabe at last chose the direction he was facing and started walking. What he hoped to accomplish without the aid of the Crystal Dragon, he could not say. Yet, even without the Dragon King’s might behind him, the warlock knew he had to attempt something.
By the time he did reach the surface, Cabe hoped he would know exactly what that something was supposed to be.
One hour ’til dawn, yes? thought the blue man. It was hard to be certain in this godforsaken place, but that seemed a good estimate. Kanaan D’Rance estimated he had two hours at most to accomplish his task before Lord D’Farany rose. If all went as his grotesque visitor said, that would perhaps be an hour more than he needed.
D’Rance did not at all trust the macabre creature who had visited his tent, but Plool did indeed know things about sorcery that the northerner had never come across before. What especially interested him, however, was the stranger’s knowledge of the magic that was the fog. With that to add to his own growing skills, the blue man would have need of no one. He could leave the mongrels to their own end.
The blue man entered the tunnel mouth and hurried down the deep, descending path. The guards in the passages would think nothing of him returning since his other work was down here, but those who kept watch in and around the chamber would be suspicious if he entered without Lord D’Farany. None of the Aramites trusted him that far. His skills were still not sufficient enough to deal with so many, otherwise he might have been able to do this without Plool’s aid.
One thing he pondered about was why his bizarre ally could not work the Quel device himself. Plool refused to enter the chamber, not because he did not want to, no, but because he could not do so without endangering himself somehow. That, at least, was Kanaan D’Rance’s humble opinion, yes. The creature needed D’Rance for that reason alone and that reason alone was why the blue man knew that the advantage was his. He was familiar enough with the magical device to know some of the things he could do with it, enough that he would be prepared when his ally turned on him.
Plool was still an enigma to him in most other ways and D’Rance was willing to admit that he had perhaps been a bit too hasty in joining forces with the ghastly, deformed mage. Yet, when Plool had spoken of the power to be obtained by working together, it had been too enticing. More than enough power, horrid Plool had hinted, to make the dangers negligible.
He was a part of the mist, that much the blue man had gathered despite his ally’s confusing manner of speech. Plool had come from somewhere, drawn to this place at the same time as the fog had been. Plool had originally wanted to go home, but he could not. To open that doorway would require more effort than both he and D’Rance combined could summon. Searching for such power had brought the sorcerer to the camp and the caverns, where he had observed enough to know that somewhere below the surface there was a thing of great potential. Yet, it was a creation of a foreign sorcery. Plool did not understand that sorcery and so had sought out someone who might. Someone who also would have an interest in aiding him. In return, he could show that someone how to manipulate the magic of his world. Then, his part of the bargain kept, he would return to that other place-Nimth, was it?-and leave the spoils to his temporary ally.
The skill and knowledge to control two very different types of magic. The blue man had taken the bait . . . but was careful only to hold the hook, not bite it. From studying the efforts of Lord D’Farany and devising a few secret theories of his own, he was certain that he knew more than enough to ensure that this partnership would end in his favor. D’Rance even suspected he knew almost all he needed to know about Plool’s magic. In his own grand opinion, he certainly knew enough about the Quel’s creation to guarantee that whatever else happened Plool would not be able to betray him.
Still none of the scattered sentries questioned his presence in the passages. Likewise, he crossed the abandoned city of the diggers without any trouble, save that the damnable mist, which somehow remained strong even down here, made walking a matter of stumbling every few yards. At least it was thin enough here that he could see the men just ahead of him. It would not do to walk into one of the guards. Some of them might be tempted to attack first and question afterward.
Each time, the sentries straightened as he passed, strictly because of his position as aide to their leader, D’Rance understood, and did nothing to slow him. He nodded to each man. With luck, this would be the last time he saw their ugly, pink faces.
Then, almost before he realized it, the blue man was at his destination. The entrance to the chamber stood before him. He saw two guards standing there, seemingly oblivious to him. That, D’Rance was certain, would change with a few more steps. He was puzzled, though, that nothing looked different. Where are you, my misshapen friend? Something should have happened by now, yes?
“Enter you may, whenever you like,” a familiar voice whispered from his right. “You may enter whenever you like.”
Although it took all his will, D’Rance neither jumped at the sudden sound nor did he turn in the direction it had originated from. The northerner already knew that there was no one to see. If Plool had been visible, the sentries would have been able to see him from this distance, if only as a strange shadow demanding investigation.
“The sentries are dealt with, yes?”
“Will be bothering you not; you will not be bothered.”
The blue man grimaced. If the Aramites thought his manner of speech was strange, they should listen to this clownish figure.
Standing straighter, Kanaan D’Rance walked toward the two silent guards. Even with the mist, his identity should have become apparent to them, yet they did not move to bar his way. At the very least, they should have been calling out, asking what business he had here alone.
It was only when he stood face-to-face with one of them that he saw that the man looked somehow different. His eyes had a glassy, blank look and his skin was smooth and bright pink, almost as if it had been carved from wood and painted over.
The mouth . . . was it actually cut like-
The sentry suddenly bent over in a comic bow, one arm flopping loosely, and said in a familiar singsong voice, “Enter, O seeker of knowledge!”
D’Rance nearly choked. He stepped back from the horrific mo
nstrosity. The guard straightened again. D’Rance could almost imagine strings holding the dead figure up and making it move.
The lower jaw of the macabre puppet slid down and Plool’s chuckle filled the tunnel.
He cannot enter the chamber! Remember that, yes! A bit more shaken than he would have cared to admit, the would-be sorcerer walked toward the entrance. To the opposite side, the second guard slowly turned his head so that he was staring at the newcomer. D’Rance shivered as the man’s head continued to turn beyond normal limitations. The sentry’s countenance was a monstrous copy of the first man.
What of the guards inside? Had they heard nothing? Had Plool somehow dealt with them, too? How?
There was only one way to find out, of course. He stepped into the chamber.
Gods! What sort of creature had he aligned himself with? The blue man surveyed the carnage with growing horror. He had braced himself for the worst once he had seen what had become of the two guards outside, but it was Plool’s playfulness that daunted him. The two sentries had been twisted into marionettes, puppets. Here, where the madcap monster could not physically go, Plool had chosen a different but still effective manner of mayhem.
As with the sentries outside, each soldier appeared to be standing ready. They would stand ready forever, or until someone had the nerve to remove them, for from head to toe they had been pierced by long, thin needlelike projectiles of metal. So great had been the velocity of the deadly needles that the guards must have barely had time to realize what was happening, for several still held their weapons. Glazed eyes stared ahead, eyes that might have barely acknowledged the flying death before it struck. Strangely enough, there was hardly any blood, which only served to make the scene that much more frightening for it gave the tableau an unreal quality. Recalling what little damage Orril D’Marr’s scepter had done to this place, D’Rance swore under his breath. Plool’s lances had penetrated armor and rock with little effort.
Plool himself might not be able to enter, but his power reached easily enough. D’Rance steadied his nerves. He would have to be on guard.
“Admiration later,” whispered the peculiar voice from behind him. The blue man could feel those terrible, lopsided eyes on his backside.
“You should not have done this, yes? By damaging the walls, you may have ruined everything!”
“It will function; function it will. To your task.”
Avoiding the accusing eyes around him, the blue man made his way to the Quel’s great toy. Here was where he had the malformed spellcaster at a disadvantage, the blue man reminded himself again. Plool might be able to kill a dozen or so men with a single strike, but he dared not use his sorcery on the magical construct. Without the understanding of how it worked, Plool was more likely to destroy it. This was a thing requiring careful, physical manipulation of the patterns and crystals.
Thinking of crystals, D’Rance glanced quickly around the array. The Aramite talisman was still there, ready to be used as his key to unlocking the secrets of sorcery. He had been mildly worried that the Pack Leader might have decided to take it with him when he retired, but D’Farany had apparently assumed it was secure here. Kanaan D’Rance smiled at such egotistical naivete.
As he bent over the platform, the blue man shifted so as to obscure one side of the array from his companion’s sight. There were some adjustments to be made that he did not want Plool to know of. They would be of value when the time of betrayal came.
It took several minutes to organize the crystals to the pattern he wanted. So far, he had not had to summon much power to aid him in the binding of the new array, only enough to make the pattern stable. Still, even as little as he called made the chamber take on a reddish gleam. The blue man could feel the forces stirring above and around him, growing stronger with each passing second. Soon, he would have to move to the next stage . . . which meant including Plool in the spell.
How much of a fool had he been to go along with this insane scheme? A truly great fool, but it was often the fools, he knew, that became the masters.
D’Rance straightened. “I am ready, yes?”
“Do it, then,” came the voice from the corridor. “All was explained to you.”
The fog itself would be the key. Lord D’Farany had bound the deadly fog to the Quel creation. He did not know the specifics of how the Aramite commander had done that fantastic deed, but that did not matter. All he needed was to seize control of the magical cloud, spread its might to this chamber, which had somehow been neglected by the fog, and use it to open the way. He would have his power and the monster would have his path home.
The would-be mage touched the shimmering keeper talisman. In the process of combining the two sorceries, he would also make certain that Plool would not steal all that power from him. The blue man had seen D’Farany use the talisman enough to know that redirecting all those forces away from where his mishapen companion expected them to go would be simplicity itself. D’Rance smiled, his uncertainty giving way to confidence as he saw how everything was under his direction.
His fingers gently played across the array of crystals. Every movement that Lord D’Farany had performed was etched into his mind. Now, all that careful observation was going to profit him.
I will be the greatest mage to ever live, yes! What other mage had ever held in his figurative grasp two distinct and deadly variations of sorcery? What other spellcaster could lay claim to such power?
He traced the last pattern.
A bluish glow surrounded the Quel artifact, burning away the reddish light and bathing the entire room in its own magnificent color. Yes, very appropriate!
“Mind yourself!” Plool called. “You should mind!”
The blue man ignored the warning. He knew what he was doing! As the glow strengthened, he glanced up at the macabre legion surrounding him. The eyes of the dead guards watched him, he thought. The greatest moment and all there is to see my victory are a score of blue-tinted ghosts and a monstrous jester from beyond!
Kanaan D’Rance reached down to again touch the Aramite talisman. It would be the receptacle of all that combined might. A receptacle that only he would wield.
A second later he snarled and pulled back blackened fingers. There was blood where the skin had cracked the worst.
“This should not be hot,” the northerner muttered, fighting back the pain. Lord D’Farany had touched the talisman time and time again during his experiments and never had there been any visible sign of such terrible heat. The keeper was no god; his fingers should burn as easily as D’Rance’s had. What was wrong?
He spat on his injured fingertips and carefully wiped away the blood. He would cure the wound when the power was bound to him. The pain was not so much that he could not make use of those fingers. A slight adjustment of the Aramite artifact was all that was needed. A simple mistake was all it was.
Kanaan D’Rance reached for the talisman again.
This time, the blue man shrieked.
The hand he pulled free was burnt, torn, and twisted. Still screaming, Kanaan D’Rance fell forward. His arm was a wave that knocked aside crystal after crystal from the delicate arrangement. Blue light darted forth from the device to the walls and back again. The northerner stumbled away from the wreckage, only partially aware of what he had done.
“Plool!” he managed to croak. Through blurred eyes, the blue man sought out the ungodly form of his ally in this venture. Waves of agony coursed through his body. His lower arm was not only burnt, it was also cut to ribbons. The blue man did not wonder how the second had occurred; sorcery was just that way. All he knew was that he needed help quickly and there was only one who could provide that help.
No response. It was as if Plool had fled . . .
There was a sound like a crack of thunder, thunder that was in this very chamber. Even maimed and in agony as he was, D’Rance turned in curiosity.
A hole had formed above the battered array of crystals. Within that hole he could see another world, a
dark, violent, misty world smelling of decay.
“I have d-done it, yes!” he hissed, the pain fading for a time. “Yesss!”
It was beautiful in its own way. Beautiful and seductive. Kanaan D’Rance stumbled back to the battered crystals, a trail of blood forming behind him, and looked up. A smile spread across his sweat-soaked face. “Y-yesss!”
The smile remained on his face even as he collapsed backward to the floor.
XV
Bound and tossed among the captive Quel, the Gryphon felt the terrible change in the air. The fog began to move with more violence, at times becoming a veritable maelstrom. A chill ran down his spine. He stared at his fellow captives who, as one, looked up and then at each other.
The lionbird studied the other prisoners closely. They almost seemed to be anticipating something. The Quel were excited, almost . . . hopeful?
He renewed his efforts to free himself. The collar he wore around his throat prevented him from conceiving any spells, but that did not mean he did not try. Whatever was happening, the Gryphon did not want to be bound and gagged when it reached its climax. What could possibly make them so-
The Gryphon let loose a muffled squawk. There could be only one thing that so interested his fellow prisoners, but . . . could it be true? Was there a chance that the spell had been broken?
Had the wolf raiders, in their arrogant ignorance, woken the sleepers?
He struggled even harder. Dawn was fast approaching and the Gryphon had a suspicion that this was to be a day of reckoning.
For everyone.
They woke.
There was no preamble, no slow stirring. Eyes simply opened and took in the dark. Stiffened forms slowly shifted, trying to make muscles work after thousands of years of ensorcelled sleep.
None of the sleepers were aware of how much time had passed. They only knew that they were all awake. They only knew that being awake meant it was time to reclaim what had once been theirs.
Legends of the Dragonrealm, Vol. III Page 28
