Tristan began to thoroughly enjoy the sensation of flight. He felt a freedom of movement he had never known before.
Sure enough, Alexei soon pulled up to hover before them. “We don’t have much more time. The spell will only last for a few more minutes—I’d like to find the passage up before we’re grounded!”
“Maybe we should land now to be safe,” suggested Tristan.
But Alexei suddenly cried out in glee. “There—that’s what I was looking for!”
He dove through a narrow portion of cave, brandishing his light before him. Tristan and Daryth followed, pausing at the base of a long shaft. They might have been in the bottom of a gigantic well.
“Hurry!” urged Alexei. The mage immediately started to fly straight up.
Tristan and Daryth followed. They ascended a smooth-sided shaft, perhaps fifty feet in diameter. The cave that had given them access to the base of the shaft seemed, thus far, to be the only entrance. There was not even a ledge they could have landed on along the cylindrical sides.
If the spell wore off while they were here, there was nothing to prevent them from falling many hundreds of feet to the rocks below. Tristan hoped that Alexei knew what he was doing.
On the other hand, they climbed rapidly—far faster than they could have done on foot, and every inch they ascended took them closer to the world of sunlight.
“Here—we’re nearing the top,” said the mage. In a moment, he swerved to the side of the shaft and came to rest upon a broad shelf of smooth stone. The edge of the shelf was marked by hanging columns of stones; they looked like icicles, or, in a more sinister vein, like the drooling fangs of a supernatural beast.
Daryth and Tristan quickly came to rest beside Alexei.
“We made it just in time,” explained Alexei. “The spell could not have lasted much longer.”
“Where are we?” asked Tristan.
“Some distance outside the walls of Callidyrr, I should say,” ventured the wizard. “Though I don’t know exactly where. These caves up here should allow us to emerge somewhere in the countryside of Alaron.”
“We have a companion in Callidyrr!” objected Tristan. “We can’t leave him there!”
“I’m sorry,” responded Alexei, unmoved. “My objective was to get away from the city.”
“Pawldo will be all right,” said Daryth, apparently realizing there was no safe way back into the city.
Tristan was not convinced.
“The choice was not ours to make,” persisted the magic-user. “I never expected to find a community of duergar below the castle of the High King. They block our return via the underground route, anyway.”
“What did you call them?” asked the prince.
“Duergar—the dark dwarves. They are the bane of the underdark. They’re greedy and malicious, and they strive to enslave all the races that dwell beyond the reach of the sun. We are fortunate that we did not encounter a larger party of them, or we would not have escaped with our lives.”
“But why would they be under Callidyrr?” asked Daryth. “Does this have something to do with Cyndre?”
“I am certain it does. He draws his allies from all who are evil and brutal—even those who live underground, or underwater for that matter. Allied with him, the duergar can prevent any approach against the castle from below.”
“From below?” Tristan was incredulous. “Who would try to move an army around down here?”
“We would.”
The voice, from the shadows of the tunnel, caused all of them to jump. Tristan and Daryth whipped out their blades and crouched, while Alexei held the light high. A half-dozen stunted shapes were revealed in its glare, lined up to block their passage.
“They’re all over the place,” murmured Daryth, recognizing that these, too, were dwarves.
“Yes, but not duergar,” said the prince, straightening and sheathing his weapon. “Is that who I think it is?” he asked, staring at the central figure among the dwarves.
“I mighta known it would be you!” grumbled the dwarf, stepping into the light. The speaker was a female, though her bristling beard gave no clue as to her sex. She wore a shirt of nicked chain mail and carried a heavy battleaxe. Squinting up at the prince, she spit a long stream of tobacco juice from the side of her mouth.
“Finellen!” cried the prince, dropping to his knees and embracing the dwarf warmly.
“That’s enough!” she grumbled, though she managed to slap the prince an the back a couple of times.
Daryth, too, put his weapon away and allowed himself to smile. The other dwarves—they could see more than a dozen now—advanced from the darkness with expressions varying from amusement to distrust to boredom. They were all armed and armored, holding their weapons ready for combat.
“I turn my back for one year, and you get yourself into trouble again!” muttered Finellen.
“I’m afraid so. But Caer Corwell is still safe, only because of your stand against the firbolgs at the gatehouse!
“Finellen and her company fought with us against the Beast, Kazgoroth,” explained Tristan, turning to Alexei. “They routed a band of firbolg giants and carried the day. A more courageous lot of soldiers we could not have found.”
“Yeah, well it doesn’t take a lot of brains to fight firbolgs,” grumbled the dwarf. “Not like the duergar. So you had a tussle with ’em?”
The prince explained the tale of their escape from the dungeon, while the dwarves listened intently. They chuckled grimly as he described their airborne escape.
“But what brings you here?” the prince finally asked. “This is a long way from Gwynneth, and I can’t imagine you taking a ship across to Alaron.”
“No need. These caverns you’ve been flying through are only a small part of the underworld of the Moonshaes. I marched here with two companies of my best troops when we heard of the duergar activity. We thought you were scouts for ’em, at first,” she admitted. “You almost got yer livers spitted, ’cept for the wisdom and patience of our leader—that is to say, me.”
“Thank you for waiting,” said Alexei. “It would appear that we are allies in the same cause.”
“After a fashion,” admitted Finellen. “Though I try not to worry too much about what happens on top of the world. We got enough problems down here.”
“Your mission is to attack the duergar?” asked the prince.
“That’s for me to decide. We don’t know what they’re up to yet—but it seems likely that it’s no good. Now, tell me, what got you tossed into the High King’s dungeon?”
“What are we going to do? Tell me!” King Carrathal’s voice rose a full octave as he paced in his chambers.
“The time to assert your control is now!” said Cyndre. “The prince is loose in the countryside. I tell you, he win return to Doncastle—where else can he go? If you move to crush that nest of outlaws you will catch him in your net as well.
“And if you do not,” concluded the wizard quietly, “I fear that you will soon have a force in that forest capable of causing you great difficulty.”
“Why—how do you know he will go to Doncastle?” whined the king.
“He was aided by O’Roarke’s agent. This I have learned from my mirror. His mission to confront you has failed, and he runs away now. The only place he can hope to find safety is Doncastle!”
“But why must we strike now, so quickly?”
“The bandits under O’Roarke have been content to cower in their woods, preying on passing merchants. I have seen this prince, now. And I suspect he will not let that situation persist. Think what those bandits could do if they were led by a man of ambition—such as the Prince of Corwell!”
“But how can I stop them?” asked the king.
Cyndre’s voice whispered persuasively. “With the Scarlet Guard, sire. Send the guard—all four brigades—against Doncastle. Think of it, Your Majesty—the prince, O’Roarke—all of your enemies slain with a single blow!”
“But …” The king
groped for an objection. The plan was tempting, but some vestige of responsibility tried to rise through the magical curtain that held him enthralled. Sending the mercenaries against his own people … was wrong! But he was so confused, and now Cyndre’s voice, soft and melodious, drew the curtain back across his conscience.
“I have my most trusted lieutenant approaching the town now. We can speak to him, have him work as our agent before the attack begins. Their defenses will be in a shambles by the time we strike!”
“Very well,” sighed the king, collapsing onto his huge bed. “Summon your man.”
Cyndre smiled, privately, and whispered a soft word. A moment passed, and suddenly another of the black wizards stood in the king’s chambers. The monarch sat upright, clapping a hand to his mouth in surprise.
The newcomer was cowled in a dark robe like Cyndre’s, but his hood was pushed back to reveal a narrow, bony face with a tight black mustache and beard. His fingers glittered with an array of diamond rings.
“Welcome, Kryphon!” said the wizard.
“Master, Your Highness.” The mage bowed to each.
“What news do you have?” demanded the king.
“I shall be in Doncastle shortly. I have a guide who has promised to show me the interesting features of his town. He will also point out the important citizens—the magic-user and the high cleric, in particular.”
“And the defenses?” prodded Cyndre.
“I can prepare a map and bring it to you by tomorrow. Do you wish me to eliminate the outlaw O’Roarke?”
The king looked at Cyndre for advice.
“No,” said the master of the council. “It is best that he be left in command for awhile. His removal would open opportunities for someone with more vision to take control.”
“Very well, master. I must return quickly, so that my … friend does not discover my absence.”
“Make haste then, but report to us tomorrow.”
Kryphon nodded silently and pulled his robe over his head. He said a word softly and quickly faded from sight. It seemed to the king that the image of his diamonds remained in the air for several seconds after the mage had gone.
“Sire, this is splendid,” said Cyndre. “With this information and Kryphon’s sabotage our success is assured!”
“Very well,” said King Carrathal, nervously looking away. “We shall send the Scarlet Guard against Doncastle.”
“This time,” whispered the sorcerer, “there will not be a tree standing when we are through!”
The muscles in Robyn’s wings were weak with fatigue, and she found herself gliding often to preserve her strength. Still, her progress was steady. They had passed over much of the farm country of Alaron, and before her now stretched a vast expanse of green leaves—it could only be Dernall Forest.
“Look at all of those lakes! Wouldn’t a swim feel good? I think we should land and rest for awhile, and go swimming. Come on, Robyn—we’ve done enough flying for today!” Newt, who had been silent for nearly a full minute, began chattering again. In answer, Robyn dipped her wings and glided into a shallow dive.
Suddenly the sound of raucous cawing attracted her attention, and she saw hundreds of crows spring into the air from trees around the clearing. Screeching in rage, the black birds darted toward her.
With her druid’s knowledge of wild things, she understood their anger. They saw only an eagle, soaring into their nesting grounds—and, like crows everywhere, they took to the air as a flock to chase the interloper away.
Robyn would have to land somewhere else. Wearily, she flapped her wings, trying to climb out of the clearing. She had not fully appreciated her exhaustion, and now she felt the strain as she struggled for height.
With a rising sense of panic, she saw the crows closing rapidly. In moments they swarmed around her, striking with their sharp beaks to pluck feathers from her tail and wings. Twisting desperately, she found that the large body of the eagle was no match for the nimble crows. She shrieked in confusion and pain as the beaks drew blood, and more feathers flew.
Newt and Yazilliclick struggled to protect the druid. The faerie dragon dove among the crows, slashing with his sharp teeth and claws. Yazilliclick darted through the flock, striking with his tiny dagger. But there were too many for them to chase away.
Robyn twisted this way and that, but felt herself slowly driven to the ground. She sensed no escape, and then a sharp beak struck her in the eye.
With a shrill cry of pain, she plummeted to the ground and crashed, motionless, in a meadow full of bright red flowers.
“This is the outer perimeter,” Evan explained, though Kryphon could see nothing other than the natural forest around them.
“I see.” He was amazed at the subtlety of the camouflage.
“Ranks of archers line up all along here,” he said proudly, gesturing to a long series of sturdy limbs. “That’s my post.”
“And here’s the town?” asked the mage, as they saw a number of wooden buildings before them. His initial impression was of a small woodland village.
“Just a small part. See the barriers up there in the trees? We can drop those all over to make instant ramparts—hold up an attacker for hours that way.”
Kryphon paused, studying the defenses carefully. He began to understand how the king’s mercenaries had been repulsed before. The town stretched into the distance all around him. Small blocks of rough wooden buildings stood among a forest of huge oaks.
Doric sidled up behind him as he concentrated, surprising him with an intimate caress. He whirled in rage, but then forced his body to calm. “Why don’t you find us a room—two rooms,” he said, taking her firmly by the arms. “I want to look around some more. We’ll find you later.”
“Why don’t you come with me?” she whispered, pouting.
“There is work to be done!” he snarled. “Now, go!”
The woman stalked away toward a row of buildings bearing the signs of inns: The Green Meadow, The Raging Boar, and several others.
“Now, this wizard of Doncastle?” Kryphon asked Evan. “Annuwynn, you called him? Where can we find him?”
“He lives in a fine manor near here,” said the outlaw. “I shall take you to him.”
Several minutes later, they stood before a high thorned hedge. The bushes were entwined about a fence of stout green saplings that created a sturdy and solid barrier. They could not even see through it.
“Meet us at the Raging Boar,” said the magic-user, dismissing Evan. The bandit stopped, surprised and dejected, but saw that the wizard had already turned his back. Head hanging, Evan trudged toward the inn.
The wizard and Razfallow stepped into the shelter of a small aspen grove beside Annuwynn’s abode.
“Vanyss—Dwyre,” said Kryphon, quickly fading from view. His voice repeated the phrase, for he had not moved, and Razfallow also became invisible.
The assassin looked around nervously. It disturbed him to hold his hand up and see nothing there. He fought a sickening sense of disorientation as he heard the wizard step past him and saw the branches of the hedge rustle where Kryphon examined them.
“Ariath dupius, cancyck!” chanted the mage, and the trees and thornbushes before him curled out of the way, creating an opening several feet wide. The hedge was thick, but a skilled gardener could not have opened a neater arch.
Kryphon took Razfallow’s arm. The two could not see each other, and he wished to remain in silent communication with the assassin.
They stepped through the hole in the hedge and immediately felt warm, humid air press around them. The sun now beamed with a stark intensity. Kryphon noticed a variety of plants. Palm trees bore coconuts high above their heads, and spike-leaved jungle bushes sprouted all around them. Vines hung in thick tendrils from the trees, and brilliant wildflowers blazed everywhere. He heard the chattering of many birds—all tropical varieties that were not indigenous to the Moonshaes. The man had created for himself a complete tropical habitat. Smooth stone walkways pas
sed among the wealth of leafy plants. By following one of these, the pair was able to move in absolute silence.
In spite of himself, Kryphon was impressed. It took a great deal of power to control a climate, as this mage had obviously done. He had magically created this tropical garden in the middle of a temperate forest.
A splash of water rose over the bushes before them, and they rounded a curve in the trail to see the wizard, Annuwynn. The mage of Doncastle was a trim, handsome man. His face was thin, but his jaw was squared and powerful, and clean-shaven. He emerged from a wide pool of water to shake himself dry upon the smooth flagstones. His body was tanned to a dark brown, and he was naked.
Annuwynn shook his long black hair and wiped the water from his face. He walked gracefully beside the pool, moving like a stalking wolf, when he suddenly turning to sit on—something. An invisible chair caught the wizard as he fell, supporting him easily.
“Glynnis!” he called. “I desire wine.”
“Coming, my lord,” responded a musical voice. Kryphon discerned the large outline of the wizard’s manor, almost concealed by the thick foliage beyond the pool.
Kryphon squeezed Razfallow’s elbow. There was no mistaking the gesture. The wizard felt Razfallow slip away, but he could hear no sign of the half-orc’s movement.
A pretty young maid, no more clothed than her lord, emerged from the building, carrying a glass that had begun to gather frost in the humid air. She approached the reclining figure of Annuwynn.
But Razfallow got there first. The wizard might have detected some sign of his enemy’s approach, but it was too late. Annuwynn’s eyes widened, but then his throat suddenly fell open. A wide red wound suddenly sprouted below his chin.
The dying wizard thrashed in his chair. The wizard’s fingers twisted desperately—but he would cast no more spells.
The serving maid screamed and dropped the glass. Annuwynn fell backward, his lifesblood spurting onto the flagstones—and onto the assassin.
Razfallow crouched and snarled as the blood marked his invisible form. He saw Glynnis’s eyes widen, and his instincts took over. With a growl, he thrust the blade into her heart.
Black Wizards Page 28
