“Something’s happened to the others? Delbin? The humans?”
Sardal looked as grim as an elf could, which was very grim indeed. “Only a barrier surrounding this keep, one of incredible magnitude, hardly the work of one such as Argaen. I was barely within its boundaries when it was cast. A second or two more and I would have been trapped in it.”
“And the others?”
“The Knights of Solamnia and those of my people who aid them are the better force, but the Dragonqueen’s former servants hold the more advantageous positions.
Even if there was no barrier, your companions and the knights would not be able to reach the keep’s outer walls before darkness, and in the night we are at a further disadvantage.”
“Why?”
“Nuitari rules among the moons now, my friend. Tonight the black moon will devour all but a trace of Solinari. I fear the sorcerers without will not be able to break the spell of the shield, which leaves it up to you and me, minotaur. And since I am hampered by the same difficulties as my brethren, I fear that my aid will be somewhat limited.”
“Which leaves most of it up to me,” Kaz muttered.
There were times, he reflected, when it would have been better to have been born a simplistic gully dwarf. At least no one expected them to save the world—or die trying.
CHAPTER 21
Argaen Ravenshadow raged at the object of his desire, the gleaming emerald sphere wrought by Galan Dracos.
“No more tricks! I know your power! I know what you can do! The minotaur did not lie, did he? Why else have I come up short each time I sought to bind the sphere to my bidding? Is it because it still follows the dictates of another master?”
Above the crystalline artifact, an indistinct form wavered almost haughtily. At the moment, it little resembled any human form. It was a mere misty outline, a gauzy shroud. There had been times when it had worn a more definite form, when Ravenshadow had found himself staring into the unsettling eyes of the renegade mage Galan Dracos. Argaen found he was more than happy to deal with the wraith in this less disturbing form.
There was no response. Sometimes there was; sometimes there was not. The magic thief could never be certain when he was going to receive an answer, and sometimes he even wondered if he had imagined the others, for when Dracos spoke, his voice was little more than a drawn-out breath.
When it became apparent that this time he was wasting his energy, the elf finally whirled away from the silent specter and turned his concerns to other matters. It had seemed as if everything was going his way for a change. The mostly human raiding bands in the south had answered his call with surprising speed, almost as if they had expected his summons. To the north, the ogre tribes were amassing again after lying low for most of the past five years. The elf had promised them a tool of great power in their seemingly hopeless struggle, for without the dragons of darkness the servants of Takhisis had no edge. Now they had Argaen Ravenshadow.
Through a stroke of astonishing luck, he had secured the artifact he needed to make him first and foremost among the Dark Queen’s servants, only to discover that there was more to the emerald sphere than even he had surmised.
Ravenshadow stalked to a window and stared out at the eerie tableau before him, the shimmering that represented the barrier keeping both his enemies and his allies from him.
There was a question he had asked himself more than once in the past day, even before the minotaur had made his unnerving remarks. The dreadwolves were further testimony that Dracos did need him—but for what? The wraith had more power than it would admit to, but it still needed him. Why? And how could the dark elf turn that need to his advantage?
A bitter smile briefly played over his lips as he watched the tiny figures in the distance waver like unstable puffs of smoke. Ravenshadow, at present, was only able to command the least of the object’s abilities, yet that had already given him a taste of incredible power. If he could only bind himself to the core, truly control the flow of magical power that the sphere only acted as a conduit for, he would be like a god.…
Or dead. A pawn of the creator of this amazing tool.
He needed to know more. He needed to know what his place was in the schemes of the vague figure floating above that which rightfully belonged to the elf. Then—then Ravenshadow would deal with the fool. Dead was dead, and Galan Dracos had had his chance. The future now belonged to Argaen Ravenshadow.
Turning from the window, Argaen glanced at the hourglass on one of the tables he used for his studies. The books and manuscripts he had stolen over the years were forgotten now and were piled to one side, for the timepiece now held precedence. It held roughly three hours’ worth of sand, approximately half of which had already fallen to the bottom. Three hours of safety. That was the barrier’s limit. It would cease to exist then. The sand in the hourglass fell too readily, he thought. By nightfall, his protection would be gone. Before then, he had to master the sphere. He had no more shadow boxes; the one he had used to carry the sphere had been nearly burned out by the time they had arrived here.
Without thinking, he tried to straighten up. Cursing suddenly, Argaen thought of his pain. Everything he had gained was a half-measure. By rights, the emerald sphere should have granted him sufficient power and control to heal himself. Yet he still couldn’t even stand straight without tremendous agony.…
He put his hands in his robe pockets and turned to once more face the emerald sphere and that other who floated vaguely above it. Briefly the fingertips of his right hands touched what he sought. Argaen did not smile, though he felt the urge to. Instead, he spoke to his “partner” of circumstance.
“Let us begin afresh.…”
The dark elf stepped toward the gleaming artifact, his eyes never leaving the specter.
So caught up was he in his new machinations that Argaen Ravenshadow failed to take notice of a small form watching from the alcoves.
Delbin, like Sardal, had gotten within the boundaries of the barrier spell at nearly the last moment. The kender had only become aware of what was happening when he turned around and saw a hapless human, one of the enemy, trapped in the essence of the barrier itself, frozen like a statue. While the idea of such a spell tickled his imagination, Delbin knew that it could only mean trouble for Kaz and the others. The kender had immediately picked up his pace.
Getting inside had turned out to be remarkably easy. Delbin was very proud of himself. As far as he knew, during his search through the upper floors of the main building, he had done none of the things that, for some reason, irked his minotaur companion. His only problem now was not knowing where to look next. Kaz was in this place somewhere, and Delbin had the feeling that something was going to happen very soon, and there might be no one to prevent it except him.
Looking down at the dark elf and the indistinct phantasm that Argaen insisted on addressing as Galan Dracos, a name Delbin knew from Kaz, the kender felt an odd, unfamiliar emotion stir within him. A member of any other race would have recognized it immediately, but not a kender. It was a rarity among his own kind, but Delbin had spent enough time among the other races so that he was finally able to put a name to it.
Fear.
* * * * *
Sardal had wanted to say more, and Kaz had certainly wanted to hear more, but such was not to be, for something chose that moment to come prowling through the corridors.
This was no dreadwolf. They had no inkling exactly what it was, save that it was a guardian, a watchdog of sorts. A watchdog on two feet, which was how they first became aware of it. Kaz heard the footfalls.
Whatever it was breathed heavily, so that they could hear it at all times. Sardal, with a shake of his head, indicated that it had not yet picked up their presence. That was a hopeful sign. A dreadwolf would have been hot on their trail by now. Nonetheless, it was heading in their direction.
With the unknown danger wandering toward them, Kaz and the elf had no choice but to retreat down the hall. Speed was of the essence,
but so was stealth.
For Sardal, moving silently was no problem. For a being of Kaz’s stature, built for strength and not for subtlety, it was next to impossible. His feet seemed to find every uneven portion of the floor, causing him to stumble several times. Naturally the battle-axe bounced against the wall more than once because of this. Each time, he expected creatures to come boiling out of the stone wails.
Their unseen pursuer moved ever closer, but it didn’t seem as if it had taken real notice of them, Kaz began to wonder if the thing was deaf. Even he would have known by now there were some intruders.
Sardal paused at one point, looking back in the direction they had come from. The footfalls of the creature behind them had finally faded to nothing. Kaz thought the elf looked rather pale.
“What’s wrong?” the minotaur asked.
“I scarcely can believe it, but I think I have been leading us in circles.”
A shriek caught them both by surprise. Something huge, furry, and two-legged threw itself on Sardal, who went down with a muffled cry. Kaz readied a strike at the rampaging attacker, but there was too much risk of hitting the elf instead. Abandoning his battle-axe, the minotaur took hold of the creature from the back and tried to pull it off the elf.
They struggled at a stalemate for several seconds. Then the head of the creature slowly bent back as Kaz pulled at it. He slipped one arm around its neck, further strengthening his hold. The head swiveled to look at him, and the minotaur caught a glimpse of the only face he had ever seen that would make an ogre or a goblin look handsome by comparison—not to mention the face of the biggest vermin he could possibly imagine.
The ratman released its hold on Sardal and twisted around, trying to get its sharp teeth and claws on the minotaur’s bare skin. Kaz would have none of that, however. Strong though it was, the monstrosity was at a disadvantageous angle, and Kaz slowly tightened his grip on his adversary’s larynx. Jaws snapped a few inches from his face and claws scratched his chest and arms. He refused to budge.
With a gurgle, the creature suddenly convulsed in his arms and went limp. Kaz saw blood running down its back. Sardal had stabbed it from behind.
“I would recommend haste, minotaur. I sincerely doubt that this poor misfit is alone.”
Kaz found himself scanning each dark corner thoroughly, as if ratmen were about to come leaping out of every corner now. “Agreed. I just have to retrieve my—”
After a moment of waiting for Kaz to finish his sentence, Sardal finally asked, “Your what?”
The minotaur did not reply at first, instead gazing around the hallway. In frustration, he kicked the dead ratman.
Sardal watched him impatiently. “Is there something amiss?”
“Honor’s Face! I can’t find the battle-axe you gave me!”
“Perhaps it was thrown during battle.…”
“I put it down here.” Kaz pointed at a spot no more than a couple yards from the site of the struggle. “I was afraid I might chop your head off instead of his.”
“Then it is lost, minotaur, and we had best depart before those who took it return. They might be some of his brethren.” The elf indicated the corpse and shivered slightly. There was something disgusting about such a creature. He doubted whether the beast had been born like that. More likely, it was something that Argaen had stolen from some Black Robe. Sardal hoped it had never been human.
“Let me try something first.” Kaz, now smiling, closed his eyes. Whoever had stolen his battle-axe was in for a surprise. How could they know that he could summon it back to him? He pictured the weapon, the mirrorlike axe head gleaming, and called it to him as he had done before.
“What is it you are doing?” Sardal asked, his tone hinting of annoyance.
Kaz opened his eyes and stared at his hands—an empty pair of hands. “It’s not here!”
The elf looked at him worriedly.
“The axe! It comes to me when I call it, when we’re separated!”
“It does?”
Leaning toward the elf, Kaz looked into his eyes. “You didn’t know that?”
“No … but it might explain things a bit. I always thought there was some secret about that axe. The dwarf would never explain. Said I should just keep it ready. He wanted it kept away from those who would misuse it, but he saw that someone would eventually have need of it. I think he was almost as confused as I am now. It is quite possible that Reorx worked through him. I often wondered about that. The battle-axe sounds like a product of his mischievous mind. Anyone who would forge a thing like the Graystone of Gargath …”
Kaz was completely ignoring the elf. He stared grimly at his empty hands. With the battle-axe, he had stood some chance, however little, against Argaen and Dracos. He had even come to believe that the twibil was the key to destroying the emerald sphere—didn’t Magius’s wizard’s staff shatter it the last time?
“We have to move on,” Sardal was concluding, “with or without your axe.”
The minotaur nodded. “We must be on guard for traps.”
“Those are aptly timed words, minotaur! They will make an appropriate epitaph for you!”
Argaen Ravenshadow was suddenly there before them, his left hand stretched back as he prepared to hurl something at the two stunned figures.
* * * * *
Only moments before, Delbin had watched wide-eyed as the dark elf, face alight with obsession, seemed about to achieve what he had failed to do before. Ravenshadow had one arm raised high and the other pointed toward the emerald sphere. His outstretched hand barely skimmed the surface of the artifact. The elf’s body trembled.
Above the sphere, the misty form of Galan Dracos seemed to intensify. Delbin got the odd impression that the wraith was waiting for something, something that had as yet not manifested itself. The form shifted and twitched in what the kender guessed was growing impatience.
Suddenly the phantom straightened, solidifying to the point where its features became truly distinct. The almost reptilian visage twisted into a look of savage madness. Dead eyes stared off into space, and a soundless cry issued from the specter’s lips. At the same time, Argaen Ravenshadow fell back from the crystalline sphere with a scream of both pain and astonishment.
“Free! The minotaur free! And Sardal here as well!” the dark elf snarled at the air. His words made only partial sense to the eavesdropping kender. Ravenshadow locked eyes with the ghostly Dracos. “Show me where they are!”
The wraith faded, turning almost nonexistent. Some silent communication passed between mage and elf. Ravenshadow nodded, then suddenly vanished. One second he was there, reaching into his robe pockets, and the next second he had disappeared. There was no puff of smoke, like the magic of illusionists. Ravenshadow simply ceased to be there.
The kender marveled at this for quite some time before realizing that this was his chance to do something—but what? Galan Dracos no longer floated half-seen above the emerald sphere, either having decided to follow the elf or to return to some otherworldly domain. Either way, it meant that Delbin was completely alone. His only excuse for not attempting something was his own bewilderment. Perhaps if he climbed down and got a better view of the place, he might be able to think of something.
Delbin waited three or four dozen breaths before he decided it was safe to climb out of his hiding place. No human could have fit into the space he had watched from. With ease, he stretched out, got a hold on the wall beneath him, and scurried down like a spider, jumping the last three feet. Where a human would have made noise, he landed as silently as an autumn leaf falling from a tree. Delbin turned around. There were all sorts of neat things that he would have been eager to look over if the situation had been different, but concern for Kaz was paramount.
His eyes focused on the scarred surface of the sphere. Were there eyes there looking back at him? Delbin waited, but no figment of Galan Dracos rose to crush him. It was only a trick of his own mind. During their months together, Kaz had more than once chided the kende
r for letting his overactive imagination get the best of him. Delbin had never been able to make him understand that an overactive imagination was a normal kender trait.
His eyes trailed back to the emerald sphere. It was the cause of everything, he decided suddenly. Argaen had used it to drive the knights mad—or had the emerald sphere used the elf? Delbin shook his head. That didn’t matter. He knew only that Argaen was planning to use it again, and that Kaz thought a lot more people would get hurt if that happened.
It was what Delbin had to deal with. If he could destroy it—the sphere was too large to fit into his pouch, so he couldn’t just wander off with it—then everything would be wonderful again. People would be happy once more, which was the proper way to be.
How to shatter it, though, was the question. Delbin looked around the room. There were lots of shelves and tables with all sorts of interesting stuff on them. He looked at the spellbooks that Ravenshadow had shoved aside on one table, massive tomes, possibly centuries old. They looked pretty heavy. Maybe one of them would do the trick. There was also the hourglass.
While the kender pondered what would work best, a mist slowly rose from the emerald sphere.
“Why … not … try … the … battle-axe?” a voice like a drawn-out breath whispered mockingly in his ear.
The battle-axe—Kaz’s battle-axe, he realized—was suddenly there next to the table. Delbin caught only a glimpse of the weapon, for he was already turning toward the origin of the voice.
The wraith that was Galan Dracos looked down at him with eyes that made the kender shiver and turn away.
“There is … nowhere … to go … and I have need … of you!”
An invisible hand took hold of Delbin and began to drag him back toward the emerald sphere. He struggled in vain.
“No,” continued Dracos. “I think … I need … you … a little more … pliable.”
A great shock surged through every inch of Delbin’s body and he slumped, but his body was moved by a force other than its own ever nearer to the sphere and its creator.
Kaz the Minotaur Page 25
