“It looks like an oil slick,” Berthold said. “Wait a minute.”
The pool of black shimmered and sent a ripple away from it. The ripple coursed through the stone, as if the granite of the floor were liquid, and the ripple stretched to the magical fire. The light dimmed again and the cavern trembled.
Then Pobe grew still, his surface a black mirror that reflected the flashing crystals in the nearest stalactites and stalagmites. The flashes grew brighter then arced to Pobe. Miniature lightning bolts of rose, green, and blue crackled along the black pool’s edges.
“We are doomed,” Jalafar-rula said, “lest we find Pobe’s device. He’ll not harm us if we hold it. Look quickly.” This he directed to
Berthold and Naile. He gestured with a hand to Yevele. “Stand with me, battle maid, and together we will try to keep the Darkness at bay”
Milo was only halfway paying attention to what was going on with his companions. He’d widened the hole by breaking away more crystals and discovered a large niche. He thought perhaps these smoky crystals had grown over the niche to hide and protect what was inside.
He reached his hands in and gently slid the crystal out. The light had dimmed from Jalafar-rula’s fire, but the crystal itself was lighted, and so Milo could make out all the incredible detail. The base was as large as a serving platter and made of a single clear stone. Along the outside other crystals grew in blocks, a formation vaguely familiar to him. There were more crystals placed along the tops of these blocks, making "T” shapes and Pi symbols, and there was a miniature castle in the middle.
The crystal was smooth, yet faceted, looking like a solid diamond that had been carved into this image.
“It made itself,” Milo whispered. He thought it possible — given everything he’d seen since coming to this realm. He’d spotted a few of the crystals on the wall near him moving almost barely. So why couldn’t they have shaped themselves into something so exquisite?
Was this the device the villain Pobe was using to siphon Earth’s magic? The device Jalafar-rula had bid them search for?
There was magic in it, Milo didn’t need a wizard to tell him that. The crystal felt like no other crystal—like nothing else —he’d touched before. Warm, like natural stone, but warmer than he’d expected it to be. It wasn’t hurtfully hot, but it wasn’t comfortable to the touch. And the surface of it tingled, like some of the other crystals had. But this . . . tingling . . . was different. It felt electric, like the air charged by lightning during a summer storm. And it felt powerful.
The thing took his breath away, in its simple beauty and with the strength he felt running beneath his fingertips. Milo was mesmerized by it, and in a faceted section he saw himself—shattered. There was
Milo the warrior, muscular and newly dressed in the chainmail shirt and wool cloak Ludlow Jade had provided, and there was Martin Jefferson, smaller and with a shock of unkempt mud-brown hair and wire-rim glasses — and wearing a crookedly printed Death Dealer T-shirt.
He blinked and turned the crystal so he couldn’t see himself. Is this what Pobe uses? he wondered. “Is this what Jalafar-rula says we should be looking for?” Still he kept staring at the facets, sometimes seeing his eyes reflected, sometimes seeing sparks of light, sometimes seeing shadows pass over it, the shadow fey scampering around on the walls.
Milo inhaled sharply. "Stonehenge.” That’s what was familiar about the image. The row of crystal blocks around the outside of the sculpture resembled pictures he’d seen of Stonehenge. Except the pieces didn’t look as ruined as the real thing. And in the center was a castle. Had the castle once existed? Had this been Jalafar-rula’s castle?
He forced himself to look away, wrapped his fingers around the edge of the base and stood. He slowly walked toward the others, careful to keep his eyes from resting on the crystal and becoming hypnotized again. Milo didn ’t notice that the walls of the cavern were drawing in, and that the great cavern was slowly getting smaller.
"Jalafar-rula!” Milo had to call the wizard’s name twice more before the wizard turned. “Is this it?”
The wizard spun around, mouth open, eyes wide. “The device!’’ There was urgency and fire in his old voice. “Flee with it, Mulo Jagon! Run from this cavern. Up with you. Don’t stop! And whatever you do, Milo Jagon, do not drop that precious device! ’’
“We’ll hold off this dark thing!’’ Yevele called. “Hurry, Milo!” Milo cradled the crystal device to his chest and started running, up the sloping floor and around an outcropping, through the row of stalactites and stalagmites that he thought resembled teeth. He saw the pool of black, with its colorful lightning bolts. It was growing thicker, and he sensed the incredible magic flowing in the thing. It started oozing toward him, but Yevele and Naile intervened. Naile slammed the scepter down onto the pool, and colorful sparks flew.
Jalafar-ruia was weaving his fingers in the air, forming a gold and silver globe that he hurled at the Darkness. Pobe howled when the globe hit. It was a mournful, high-pitched cry that caused rocks and stone dust to rain down from the ceiling.
“Careful with that device, Milo!” Jalafar-rula called.
"Fool,” Pobe rumbled. “A mere man should not have such a thing. You will die, man, then your friends.”
“All of us will die,” Milo returned. “Every single one of us.” Then he was nearly to the entrance of the cavern. He whirled, seeing his friends fighting the viscous pool of black. The wizard’s green fire was fading, and shadows and shadow fey were claiming the cavern. “Won’t be able to see.” He looked around for the torch he’d dropped, not finding it, and knowing the light from the device he held wouldn’t be enough to show him the way. Milo knew the other chambers would be as black as pitch, and he’d have to feel his way out of here. And then what of Yevele and Naile and Berthold?
And what of Jalafar-rula?
“Why must I protect this?” Milo stopped, his feet rooted to the cavern floor. “Why not destroy it?”
Somehow Jalafar-rula heard him. “It is precious and priceless, Milo Jagon. You must take care with it. You must save it for. . . .” Then the wizard was casting another globe at Pobe.
The Darkness had started to ooze up Yevele’s boots.
“And why is it shaped like Stonehenge?” Milo risked another glance at it and saw his warrior-self reflected back.
Overhead, the shadow fey spun nervously. The cavern continued to shrink. Rocks and stone dust filtered down like a constant rain, and the granite started to groan.
“The cavern’s getting smaller!” This came from Naile, who was frantically pounding on the black pool. The scepter was breaking, and he tossed it away, stomping on the pool now. “Get out of here, Milo!”
“Why does Jalafar-rula want this?” Then Milo was racing back toward his companions, gaze darting to the edge of the treasure mound. He couldn’t see all of it from his vantage point, but he could see Al-freeta sitting on a bed of coins. The little dragon was exhausted. "Because Jalafar-rula drained her. Just as Pobe is draining our world.”
Milo looked to the wizard. “You’d use this, too, wouldn’t you?” Mlo was shouting to be heard above the protesting stone and the battle shouts of his companions. “You’d drain our world just like Pobe is! Maybe you were draining our world, Jalafar-rula! Maybe Pobe stole this from you."
Milo raised the crystal sculpture above his head, and Jalafar-rula screamed.
“No! it is precious, Milo Jagon. I did not bring you here to destroy it! ”
“You brought us here to save you, and to help you get this back.” Milo didn’t know if he’d guessed correctly. It was possible Jalafar-rula was on their side. But he didn’t like the looks of Alfreeta, and it troubled him that the wizard could drain magical energies . . . could do just what the wizard claimed Pobe was doing.
“Save that device!” Jalafar-rula cried. The wizard backed away from Pobe, leaving Yevele and Naile to contend with the malevolent pool, and heading toward Milo.
The Darkness had ooz
ed up to Yevele’s waist, and pain was etched on her face. Naile was covered with the blackness, too.
“It is precious, Milo Jagon. You must protect it. You must give it to me.”
“Oh, now I know you shouldn’t have it,” Milo answered. He slammed the crystal down hard on the granite floor, watching as it shattered into a thousand pieces, shards of light fragmenting.
The cavern started shaking, as if it was caught in the throes of an earthquake. The shadow fey fled the place, swimming across the face of the jarring granite to chambers higher up.
Pobe screamed in anger, a hollow, haunting voice that bounced off the trembling walls. Then he was retreating, too, sliding into a crack that was growing in the wall.
Jalafar-rula’s eyes were daggers aimed at Milo. “You have no idea what you have done!” Spittle flew from the wizard’s cracked lips. “You are the basest of men, Milo Jagon. You have denied me power, and now you have denied yourself life!” The wizard gestured to the ceiling, chunks of which were raining down.
Yevele and Naile were scrambling away from the growing crack and calling to Berthold, who’d with one hand snatched up the makeshift sack Naile had filled with treasure, and with the other grabbed Alfreeta by the tail. The three were racing toward Milo, who was grinding the shards of crystal sculpture beneath his boot heels.
“We won’t make it!” Berthold called to them.
Milo narrowly dodged a melon-sized rock that dropped from the ceiling and watched as smaller stones pelted Naile. Cracks were widening in the floor, and it was difficult to stand. He looked to the tunnel that they’d traveled to reach this cavern. Already it had been filled in with rocks.
“I should kill you!” Jalafar-rula shouted. “Kill all of you for this affront!”
The old wizard shook his fist at Milo then whirled his fingers. For a moment Milo thought the wizard would cast some foul spell at him, but the magic had a different purpose. Jalafar-rula shimmered and turned liquid, looking like Pobe, though gray instead. He oozed into one of the spreading cracks on the floor.
“There’s no way out of here,” Milo said. The quartet stood together now. Alfreeta was again on Naile’s shoulder, tail wrapped around his thick neck. “Not unless we can turn into ooze and escape with Pobe and Jalafar-rula.”
Yevele defiantly shook her head. “I’d not run with the likes of them, Milo. I’ll die here with you!" Her face was angles and planes, beautiful in its determination. Her eyes sparkled in the scant light. “We’ll all die together!"
“It has been an honor, Yevele — ” Milo’s words were cut off as the cavern shook more fiercely. Falling rocks pummeled him and drove him down. As he fell, the ring on his left thumb, the featureless one that he’d never discovered a use for, shattered.
And in its breaking, a burst of magic was released.
Epilogue
Milo’s head throbbed, and he held it with both hands. He was stretched out on the sand, the coarse grains well entrenched in the links of his armor and rubbing against his neck and the backs of his arms. The sand was damp and cold, and the wind that blew across him birthed goosebumps.
He propped himself up and stared in disbelief. He was at the edge of a lake, gray m the early morning light and cut through with flecks of white on the waves. A few gulls were dipping to the surface, feeding. On the shore, a few yards away, a pair of Canadian geese returned his stare.
“Where are we?" Yevele was near him, sitting cross-legged and holding her head in her hands. Her hands were bleeding, from fending off the falling rocks, and there was a gash on her forehead.
“Yes, indeed,’’ Naile cut in. “Where in the name of all that’s holy are we?" The big man was a little farther up on the beach, standing and rubbing at his right shoulder. He, too, was a mass of cuts from the rocks in the cave-in. Berthold was sitting in Naile’s shadow, arms clutched around the makeshift sack that still bulged with loot.
“Lake Geneva,” Milo said, as he forced himself to his feet. A wave of dizziness threatened to send him back down. “Wisconsin.” His memories rushed back, crowding his thoughts and making him shiver.
“Wisconsin?” Yevele looked at him incredulously. “Wisconsin? What happened to the cavern and the wizard and Quag Keep?”
Milo looked at his left hand, where a gold band still clung to his thumb. The stone was missing. He held his hand up. “The magic in this ring. It took us home. Maybe it could have taken us home all along. Just like Dorothy’s ruby slippers.”
“Why Wisconsin?” Naile made a growling sound from deep in his throat. “Why not Brooklyn?” He looked at Berthold and then Yevele. “Why not Kentucky or Australia? Why Wisconsin?”
Milo shrugged. “I don’t know. I ... I think because there’s still magic here. It was the brightest spot on Jalafar-rula’s globe. The magic that’s left on Earth is strongest here." He held his hands in front of his face, let his fingers run down the chainmail shirt. Then he smiled. He much preferred Milo Jagon’s body to Martin Jefferson's.
They’d all somehow kept the bodies the magic had given them. They were all their heroic selves . . . save Berthold who looked small and sneaky.
“Wisconsin,” Naile grumbled. “Wis-kaaaahn-sen."
“The magic’s strong here," Milo repeated. “You know the game started here. That role-playing game we all played, the one that caused us to pick up those little miniatures and that ultimately sent us to Quag Keep. The guy who created the game, supposedly he doesn’t live too far from here. Gary something or other.”
“Wisconsin,” Naile repeated. “Wis-kaaaahn-sen. Wis-kaaaahn-sen. Friggin’ Wis-kaaaahn-sen.” He rubbed his stomach and looked across the lake, watching a gull dip low, then fly off. “Kind of pretty here, I have to admit. And kind of cold.”
“It is fall, after all, ” Milo said.
“Do they have food around here?”
Yevele and Berthold seconded that notion.
“Yeah, up the street from here.” Milo gestured up the beach, where parked cars lined a street, only a few of them had Illinois plates. “There’s a little T-shirt shop. And next to it is a diner. Chocolate-blueberry coffee. Hamburgers. Their pancakes are pretty good.” He started walking that way. “I think we’ll stand out a bit. But most of the tourists are gone for the season. Shouldn’t have any trouble getting a table.”
They followed him, Berthold clutching the bag tightly with one hand, sheathing his dagger and scratching his side where the fur had spread.
Yevele caught up to Milo and touched his shoulder. “You know, Milo Jagon . . . Martin Jefferson . . . if there is some magic in this little town of yours, maybe we should go look for it.”
Milo grinned wide. “A wonderful idea. I figure we’ll need magic to get back to that world. ”
Berthold groaned. “Why would you ever want to go back there?” "For Ingrge,” Yevele answered.
“And Deav Dyne and Gulth. Have to go get them,” Milo said. “Can’t leave them there. So we have to find the magic here and figure out how to use it.”
“After some pancakes,” Naile said. “After a very big plate of them.”
Ingrge drank the last of the water from Alfreeta’s bowl. It had been three days since he’d lost his arm, and the pain was still strong, but he was managing it better and knew now that he was going to live. No one had come to check on the animals in the menagerie in all that time, but he discovered the food and water bowls inside the cages refilled themselves, and the cages cleaned themselves.
His course took him around the room, stopping at each bank of cages. He yanked on the doors of each one, as he’d done the day before. He wanted some of the food and water, but more — he wanted to free the unusual animals inside.
“I can’t help you, ’’ he said. ‘‘I can’t help myself." He made another circuit, tugging repeatedly on the cage with the horned rabbit. Then he slammed his heel against the floor and stormed to the door.
The elf kept his ear to the crack for several minutes, hearing nothing. He hadn’t heard the
trolls or the giant yesterday, either. They’d stopped their regular patrol the evening before that. It was that night that he’d felt the floor rumble and watched the animals panic. The rumbling went on for some time, like an earthquake. Then it stopped abruptly, no aftershocks like he’d heard accompanied quakes.
Ingrge thought he’d heard at least one of the trolls leave that evening, after everything had settled. Maybe a second one left shortly thereafter — he’d been dozing and wasn’t certain. But he knew he’d heard nothing since. Twice he’d opened the door and looked out into the main room, seeing only an empty room with the big carpet pulled back to reveal a trapdoor.
Yesterday, he guessed it was in the evening, he crept out and looked down the hole in the floor. It didn’t go very far. There were a few feet of spiral stairs and then a solid mass of dirt and rocks. He looked up the staircase that led to the higher levels of Quag Keep. He, Yevele, Milo, Naile, Wymarc, Gulth, and Deav Dyne had ventured there long months before. This time he knew that Yevele and Berthold had gone down. And he knew they wouldn’t be coming back up —at least not this way.
So Ingrge returned to the menagerie room and waited, praying there'd been another way out of Quag Keep’s basement and that they would be coming back for him. But thered been no sound, save that of his feet sliding across the floor and opening and closing the door to the menagerie room.
“Gone,” he told the horned rabbit. “Dead. Yevele and Berthold aren’t going to come back. I’m kidding myself that they got out of there. But I’m going to get out of here. And maybe I'll return to Quag Keep. Just for you.” He thought the animals had a spark of intelligence and just might understand him. The rabbit especially intently watched him. "I’m going to look for Ludlow Jade’s caravan. Maybe I’ll find it back in the city. I’ll find Milo and Naile somewhere . . .
they leave quite the impression, and someone will have seen them. Maybe I'll talk them into coming back here and helping me break these cages. Get all of you out of here. Maybe all of us find a way to dig below and ...” He let the thought hang for a moment. “We should find Yevele and Berthold and bury them.”
Greyhawk - [Quag Keep 02] - Return to Quag Keep Page 27
