“Yes,” cried Zerto with obvious glee. “Let them face that! And all that you have seen is nothing. Prepare yourself, lost apprentice. I will show you my greatest wonder…”
The mad old wizard cleared his throat, adjusted his grip on the staff, and prepared to utter a final spell. Mithris forestalled him, holding up his hands and smiling graciously. “Please, Master Zerto,” he said. “I am awe-struck. Save the rest of the demonstration for another time, I beg you.”
Zerto hesitated, frowning at Mithris. “You don’t want to see my greatest wonder?”
“Surely the greatest wonder is your magnificent tower,” said Mithris, holding his smile tight. “I have seen enough of your defensive spells to know you for a formidable wizard indeed. I can’t believe any other would dare stand against you.”
“All I want is to be left alone,” said Zerto petulantly.
“I know what you mean,” said Mithris, and he meant it. Ever since the day Deinre sent him running, it seemed Mithris had been in constant danger. All of it came from wizards, though not always directly. He wished they would all just leave him alone. Mithris looked out at the grotto and shook his head. “How long has it been?” he asked.
“Yours is the first human face I’ve seen in over a century,” admitted Zerto.
“A hundred years without being bothered by another wizard,” Mithris said, whistling in appreciation. “Master Zerto, you don’t know how envious I am.”
“Envious, is it?” A dark look crept across the mad wizard’s face, and he bared his teeth in an angry snarl. “You want what I have! You all do, and you think you can just take it from me! Well, I knew it was only a matter of time. We’ll see about you!” Mithris’ eyes jerked open in surprise.
“No! I didn’t mean—”
Jabbing his staff sharply into Mithris’ chest, Zerto spoke his most powerful spell.
Chapter 31
Mithris staggered back, knocked off balance by the surprising strength behind Zerto’s thrust. His back caught against the smooth, glass-like railing and he pitched over backwards. As Mithris fell from the balcony, the wizard’s powerful spell resolved.
Mithris tumbled end over end, plummeting toward the moat below. He hoped the water, placid once more, was deep. Then he saw what Zerto had summoned and opened his mouth in dismay. He hit the water, plunging instantly to its cold depths.
Water rushed into his open mouth, choking him. Mithris clamped his mouth shut and resisted the urge to suck in breath as he kicked madly for the surface. Stars burst in his eyes. His chest burned. Despite all this, Mithris was not at all sure he wanted to break the surface.
He did so, splashing and hacking and coughing as he treaded water. Tears streamed from his eyes, mixing with the salty moat-water Mithris wiped at his eyes and then struck out for shore. He searched the grotto and his eyes caught on the terrifying abomination he had glimpsed on his way down.
The towering creature of stone and flame stood waiting for him ten paces further down the bank. Built of boulders and scree and held together by living magma summoned from the fourth foundation, the elemental stood fifteen paces tall and eight across at the shoulders.
Striking out away from the monster, Mithris found himself fighting against a current that had not existed a moment before. High above, Zerto stood at the rail of his balcony and directed the flowing water against the struggling apprentice.
“I could use your help!” Mithris shouted, spluttering as water splashed over his lips.
Depths needs to know if you have any water spells, said Vapor. Mithris did not appreciate how calm the foundation crystal sounded.
“I don’t need my laundry done, and boiling the water hardly seems helpful!”
Didn’t Master Deinre used to have you wash out the owl cages?
Mithris started. Of course! Deinre had given him a spell to direct plumes of water under pressure to hose out the cages. If he could adapt the spell…Reaching beneath the water, he felt in his pocket for Depths. With the silent foundation crystal in his grip, he uttered a modified incantation.
A spume of water immediately lifted Mithris up and tossed him over the edge of the bank. Mithris tucked and rolled over the ground. He came up sodden and soaked, his robe clinging to him wetly. The earth elemental took a ground-shaking step toward him. Mithris scrambled to his feet.
Depths says water always wins, whatever that means.
The elemental bent down and scooped up a heavy boulder that was nearly as large as the elemental itself. The elemental lifted it with one arm effortlessly, then hurled it toward the soaked apprentice.
Without thinking, Mithris threw up his hand and shouted his makeshift incantation once more. This time, he altered the wording to direct the flow away from him. Water shot up over the bank in a narrow spout that surged through the air and struck the hurtling boulder. The stone was barely knocked off course, crashing to earth a scant five paces from Mithris. The water splashed harmlessly to the ground.
The earth elemental took another rumbling step forward. Mithris stared up at it, but his terror had been broken. He thought he knew how to beat the thing. Depths had given him the answer. “Water always wins,” he muttered.
A massive arm of granite and limestone held together by smoldering, otherworldly lava stretched out toward Mithris. He had no time for finesse. Tugging Depths from his pocket and holding the crystal aloft, Mithris crafted another variant spell.
This time, he shaped the magic with words used for scouring floors. Ordinarily with those syllables he concentrated on the smell of wet stone and the smooth cleanliness of well-swept flagstones. However, now he summoned the odor of forged iron being quenched in oil and the sizzle of water thrown over hot coals.
The moat responded sluggishly to his command. Zerto must be casting some counterspell. But Mithris stood at the edge of the moat, and held the powerful Depths. Whatever Zerto was trying, it could not overcome Mithris’’s hastily crafted spell. A jet of water shot up and over the bank, striking the lumbering elemental square in its massive, solid chest.
Steam exploded from every joint of the monster as the moat water struck the seething magma that pumped through its rocky body. Mithris, guiding the spell through, could feel the scalding heat of it against his soul. He gritted his teeth and poured more magical energy into his incantation, driving ever more water through the streaming jet he had shaped.
A blast of humid air struck Mithris with the force of a hurricane. He fought to stand his ground, channeling the water all the while. The elemental roared and struggled against the onslaught of rushing water. It reached for him.
The heat and steam reminded Mithris of a time he had broken one of Master Deinre’s scrying bowls. Deinre had given it him to practice with, but admonished him to clean it thoroughly first. He’d done so using superheated water, but when he cooled the bowl it became brittle and shattered.
Still holding Depths aloft in one hand, Mithris reached into his pocket and drew forth Vapor as well. He stood with both foundation crystals upraised. Distantly, he heard a startled and frankly disbelieving exclamation from Zerto.
The elemental lumbered over toward Mithris, trapping him against the cave wall. Mithris couldn’t move in time, nor could he risk losing his concentration. With a deep rumble, the elemental grabbed Mithris by his legs and lifted him upward.
Holding to his water spell with a corner of his attention, Mithris uttered one of the few spells tailored to the airy foundation crystal which he had managed to memorize. Few spells for the crystals were simple cantrips, and those that were lacked power or subtlety. He’d need to be quick.
The spell resolved, sucking heat from the air. The moist wind buffeting Mithris chilled in an instant, and steam became a cool mist. Mithris reached out magically, speaking another simple cantrip he had learned, and drove a spike of super-chilled air at the elemental like an invisible spear.
Mithris’ legs cooled to the bone as the heat was sucked out of the stone arms of the elemental.
Mithris lay panting against the palm tree, grinning stupidly. He had just defeated an elemental!
There’s no time to sit here congratulating yourself, said Vapor. That was very nicely done, Mithris, but you still have to deal with Zerto.
Groaning, Mithris hauled himself to his feet. He cast his eyes upward toward the balcony. It stood empty. Of the wizard Zerto, he saw no sign.
Chapter 32
The wooden drawbridge lifted ponderously, chains taut as they hauled the slab of wood up and in. High above, those vicious shards of topaz rattled and shook loose, preparing to spear down at Mithris. The apprentice wizard ignored them, squeezing Vapor in one sweaty hand and trying to remember how he had flown after his duel with Mistress Ileera. If only he could remember.
Feathers tickling the inner flesh of his nose. A smell of freshness like a dew-speckled spring meadow at dawn. Air rushing over his skin. Mithris spoke the words that rose in his mind. He felt his feet lifting from the ground.
When Mithris opened his eyes, he was halfway across the moat and fifteen paces above it. He floated uneasily on the air, flying a bit too fast toward the narrowing space between the drawbridge and the wall. He shot through at the last second, settling down to the glassy floor within just as the massive portal creaked shut.
Mithris was on his guard immediately. There was no telling what Zerto might throw at him next, but one thing was sure. That paranoid old fool would do something. He wouldn’t assume the bridge had closed in time. He wouldn’t feel safe until Mithris was dead at his feet.
Mmm, said Vapor.
“What?”
Nothing.
“No, what?”
Later.
Mithris shook his head and started down the curving blue corridor. The hallway seemed darker than before, murkier, though if anything the lights in the walls and ceiling were brighter and more vibrant. The shimmering waves of luminescence flicked through the darkened corridor and Mithris squinted against them.
He quickly retraced their steps from earlier. There was nowhere Zerto could have gone from that balcony but the Arcanium, and Mithris doubted the mad old wizard would have left that sanctum. It was where Zerto wielded whatever magics that had kept him occupied through the long years of his isolation. The wizard would be most comfortable there.
Unfortunately, that was because he would also be least vulnerable there. With all of his tools and implements to hand, Zerto could bring the full weight of his power against Mithris.
Approaching the bend in the corridor that would lead to Zerto’s Arcanium, Mithris slowed his pace. Hunkering down into a stooping crouch, he crept forward concentrating to catch any sound from around the curve of the hallway.
Mad, cackling laughter was all he heard.
“Great,” Mithris said under his breath. “All right, guys. I’m open to suggestions.”
You’re speaking to us?
“Who else?”
I see. No, it’s only that Depths was just explaining something to me about madness and…
“I am not insane,” Mithris hissed.
I didn’t say you were. Zerto certainly is, would you agree with that?
“He’s mad as a bag of snakes,” said Mithris without hesitation. A thought struck him. “I think I know what Depths is getting at. Maybe. So perhaps I should try to use his madness against him?”
It would seem to be his greatest weakness, yes.
“All right.” Mithris considered. He didn’t have much experience with crazy people beyond the handful who’d tried to kill him. Actually, he supposed that was probably more—and more personal—experience than most people probably had.
But he didn’t think Zerto was like Ileera, and the mad old gnome was certainly nothing like Eaganar. Eaganar hadn’t cowered in a secret fortress, buried at the heart of a mountain. He came and took what he wanted. And Ileera. She surrounded herself with apprentices—Mithris still did not want to dwell on the reason why—and did business with mercenaries. Mithris couldn’t imagine Zerto doing either of those things. He was too paranoid.
“Oh,” said Mithris. Zerto was paranoid, and what he feared most of all was other wizards. Mithris could relate to that. He could understand it. He could even agree with it. Suddenly, the young apprentice saw himself in Master Zerto’s madness. He did not like the comparison.
Don’t start brooding on us, said Vapor. Not now, Mithris.
The foundation crystal was right. Clenching his fists and wishing he could strengthen his resolve as easily, Mithris lifted his eyes to the bend in the corridor. Old Zerto was afraid of other wizards. He eyed everything through the lens of that constant suspicion.
“Who sent you,” Mithris whispered to himself. It was the question Zerto had asked him. Mad as the millennia-old wizard might be, he had still known Mithris too young to be anything but an apprentice. He hadn’t believed the truth about Master Deinre, probably dismissing it as some trick. No, Zerto would assume Mithris’ master had simply told him to say that.
Mithris rubbed his chin in thought. It might work. Scooting backward along the corridor until he could no longer hear Zerto’s mad laughter, the young apprentice sat down on the crystalline floor and pulled Deinre’s spellbook from the oversized pocket of his robe.
What are you doing?
“I have an idea,” Mithris said.
We hate it when you say that.
***
Master Zerto bustled about his magical altar, lighting the candles and throwing incense onto the glowing coals in the braziers. They thought they could take from him. He would show them.
He gathered up the implements he would need. The apprentice who came first was certainly well trained. Zerto had underestimated the boy. That had surely been part of the plan. The wizard who sent the boy was a keen-minded foe. But Zerto knew that, now. He wouldn’t be fooled again.
Brushing aside spellbooks and ancient, dusty scrolls, Zerto slammed an iron pot down on the surface of his altar. He began dumping ingredients into the miniature cauldron. As he worked, he chanted an incantation to heat the iron and cook the potion he concocted. Zerto worked quickly. Steam rose from the cauldron. In one motion, he grabbed it up and tipped it back. He swallowed the vile concoction in one draught.
He felt it working instantly, seeping through his body, carried by his blood. It invigorated him. It attuned him. Zerto’s awareness of the spheres opened up. He could see in new dimensions, discern different horizons. These were the hazy boundaries of foundation itself.
He had chosen this location for his enchanted grotto for its ley lines. The lines of power that marked where the lower foundations brushed against this one were key to a wizard’s strength. Dozens of the leys crossed here, in this spot, directly beneath his tower.
Master Zerto stood in his Arcanium, his feet planted directly above the largest nexus of otherworldly power he had ever seen. His potion worked through him, heightening his awareness of the energies he could harness and increasing his affinity for them.
When he was like this, he could simply reach out and pull the invisible strings that held the world together. Oh yes. He would show this wizard what it meant to try and steal from Zerto!
Such power! What should he do with it? The spell he delivered with such authority must be suitably grand. Zerto flipped through his most precious grimoire, looking for the ideal way to utterly destroy his foe.
The sound of footsteps alerted him. Zerto looked up, and gasped in shock. The wizard had come, but he was not alone.
There were three of them. Their long, flowing robes were silk embroidered with fine lace and golden tassel. One wore crimson. One wore jade. One wore amethyst.
They were old ones, fifteen centuries at least. Their beards hung white and straight and long. Their eyes were cold and saw far. Their lips were set in grim lines of condemnation.
Each of the wizards held a wand in one hand, raised and ready. Zerto licked his lips. He had not expected this! He had known wizards to collaborate for brief times before, but they always turned on one another. The more valued the prize, the sooner the betrayal. Yet here they were, three wizards united against him in his inner sanctum.
And they were powerful, so powerful. They could not embrace the leys the way Zerto could with his potion, but they would sense the proximity of the fault lines and be able to draw power from them. Zerto’s eyes flicked from angry face to angry face. He wondered if they would attack together, or separately.
“Master Zerto,” said the one in the middle, the ancient wizard in crimson robes. “We have come to claim our prize.”
Zerto clutched at the pouch hanging from his neck. He’d known it could be nothing else. Prized though his many possessions were, and as rare as his tower, they were nothing beside the foundation crystal. He tugged at the pouch. The leather dug tight into the back of his neck and then snapped. He held the pouch tightly in his hand.
“You cannot have it,” he cried, and then he attacked.
Chapter 33
Mithris crept along the floor against one wall of Zerto’s Arcanium. He moved in a low crouch and kept darting glances at the paranoid wizard before his smoking altar. So far, the plan seemed to be working.
Mithris was hidden by a version of the same spell that made the three angry wizards. There weren’t really three wizards, of course. It was an illusion. Mithris hadn’t been able to get the spell right on the first try, and there were still elements of it he could not grasp, but he believed the images of the wizards were made of nothing but air and water. Fortunately, with the help of Vapor and Depths, air and water were his playthings.
Whereas the three illusion spells brought those elements together to make an image, the one shrouding Mithris used them to conceal. It was a hiding spell, but it was not meant to be used when moving. If Zerto looked directly at him when he moved, Mithris would be visible—if indistinct and blurry. Paranoid as Zerto was, the old fool would probably blast him to pieces without a second’s thought.
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