But not as long as it had taken to get accustomed to looking at one's own body through the eyes of another. Lyim had never noticed the small ring of moles at the nape of his own neck, or that his chin in profile receded slightly. Maybe he'd just been too consumed in recent years with the monstrosity at the end of his right arm to notice anything else. Unconsciously, Ezius's dark eves were turned by Lyim's darker mind to the diamond stone piercing Lyim's left lobe.
The magic jar spell that made all this possible could not have worked more flawlessly. In Villa Nova, before his final attack upon Bastion, Lyim had chosen the diamond ear stud to be the receptacle, briefly, for his life- force, because he felt certain a small earring was likely to remain with his body, unlike a larger, more ostentatious piece of jewelry. Besides, he doubted the mages at Bastion were looters.
It had been a relatively simple thing, then-a matter of timing in the heat of the battle Lyim had forced-to transfer his essence to the diamond ear stud. His body had collapsed as if slain, while his life-force went into the gem.
It had been Ezius's bad luck that brought him first to inspect Lyim's body. Seizing the moment, Lyim jumped his life-force from the gem into Ezius's body, simultaneously forcing Ezius's body into imprisonment in the diamond. The spell had been instantaneous and seamless; no one else could have detected the process.
That was why there had been no reason to question the white mage's offer to carry the body of the "slain" red mage into the white wing of Bastion for burial. As Lyim had hoped, Guerrand had been too overwrought by the battle to question Ezius's offer. The Black Robe obviously hadn't cared to deal with the body of a mage not from her order, which was just as well, from Lyim's perspective, though it might have been interesting to inhabit the body of a woman.
It had all worked so smoothly that Lyim had struggled to keep from smiling when, with the Black Robe and Rand, he had carried his own body up the stairs and into the sacred halls of Bastion. As Ezius, he fought
against gaping in wonder, since none of it would have seemed new to the White Robe. Fortunately, they'd left him at the door to his wing, which allowed him to familiarize himself in private. Lyim's first task had been to place protections on the door.
Only later had Lyim learned from Dagamier that Rand had left Bastion to battle the medusa plague. Rand's absence had been the greatest gift, giving Lyim precious time to lay the groundwork for recreating the events that had mutated his hand. He had hoped to be done with the preparations sooner, but of course everything took longer when you were working in someone else's laboratory, not to mention body.
The magic jar gave Lyim the option of keeping Ezius's body, with its two good hands, but he had no interest in living very long in anyone's body but his own. Ezius's was stiffened with age and a level of inactivity to which Lyim was unused, and his eyesight was good only through the use of thick lenses. Still, Lyim needed to keep himself locked within Ezius's form now for one very important reason: two hands were needed to make the complex motions required by the spell that would cure his hand.
Soon, he told himself, the hideous snake would be gone, and he would have his own form again. Lyim used the thoughts to give himself energy for the tasks that still lay ahead.
There were no moons at Bastion to worry about aligning, nor did he need to anchor a cross-dimensional bridge. Thanks to the meddling of the Conclave of Wizards, Bastion was at a dimensional crossroads, the only one that gave access to the Lost Citadel. But, unlike his master before him, Lyim had no intention of entering the Lost Citadel; he wished only to open exactly the same sequence of pathways unlocked by Belize, then insert his arm so that it crossed the snake-creature's plane. Only upon seeing its home would the reptile flee from Lyim's body, allowing the limb to return to its natural form.
Lyim thought he heard Guerrand howl Ezius's name outside the wing's entrance. He turned his mind to casting the most important spell of his life.
Ezius's hands summoned a swirling sphere of flame. The ball writhed between his fingers, twisting, flickering, contained only by Lyim's will. With intense concentration the mage turned and extended his arms so that the ball of energy hovered over his physical body on the marble slab.
The flickering globe flared angrily and swelled to twice its previous size. Its eerie light shimmered on the clean surfaces in the all-white laboratory.
Next, Lyim drew a succession of vials and containers he had placed for this purpose upon the shelves. He tossed each into the swirling inferno, just as Belize had done those years ago next to the stone plinths. He muttered arcane phrases and completed the specified hand gestures-one short slice with the right hand, both hands slowly circling thrice. The fiery globe grew steadily larger until its shape began to change, to flatten and stretch into an oval. The swirling mass yawned open with an unbearable, purplish light.
Lyim looked through Ezius's bespectacled eyes at the hated appendage covered in scales of brown, red, and gold, patterned symmetrically in rings and swirls. Without hesitation, he commanded Ezius's hand to raise the silent snake arm and plunge it toward the wall of whirling hues.
There was no soul within Lyim's body to scream this time, or to writhe in pain. But through Ezius's hands Lyirri could feel the limb thrashing, could sense the unworldly energy blazing through it. The memory of the flood of agony, undimmed by the intervening tbe CDcdusA plague
decade, surged to life again. But now he was steeled by years of striving, and he would let no scream pass his lips.
Lyim recalled his master's words as if they'd been spoken just yesterday: "These portals frequently contain the undead remains of centuries' worth of unsuccessful adventurers. They jump like starving fleas upon the first fresh traveler they meet."
Lyim knew there would be no new creatures waiting in the passage, since Bastion had blocked this dimensional portal almost since the disaster at Stonecliff. A decade of curiosity about what happened beyond prompted Lyim to bring Ezius's head nearer the opening he'd created in the plane.
The mage was astonished when the incandescent curtain of swirling light parted for him like an opening eye. Beyond it lay a passage, a tunnel bored through the dimensions. The walls, floor, and ceiling pulsed with electrical energy and twisted and writhed like a living thing.
A creature thrashed below him. Lyim immediately recognized the snakelike head next to a pale, limp arm. But the snake's thick, fur-covered body supported by thousands of red-veined fingers made Lyim gasp. It was impossible to tell how long the creature was, with its coils lapped one atop another in thoughtless loops. Rather than slithering, the monster wound its bulk sideways as if rolling down an incline, and disappeared through the tunnel wall into whatever unknown dimension lay outside, leaving behind a faintly glowing trail.
Lyim was watching the glow recede when the undulating tunnel erupted in brightness more blinding than a thousand candles. He clamped his eyes shut, but the light burned through his lids. Without moving, Lyim was physically drawn through the portal. Next to him he could feel his own, unconscious body being lifted off the marble slab and dragged into the maelstrom by the restored arm, as if some power were drawn by the mages' magical emanations. The pull was overwhelming. Though he had not come for this, Lyim, once exposed to the citadel's power, didn't even want to resist. The bodies of both mages glided through the pulsating confines of the tunnel toward the distance source of the brilliance.
Though Lyim's eyes were still closed, the light etched upon his lids a multisensory image. He witnessed the birth of the world, the origins of the races, the calamities and triumphs that marked thousands of years of Krynn's history. He saw magical forces being molded and applied in ways he had never dreamt possible, as well as magical disasters that altered the shape of the world.
The force that pulled the mages' bodies stopped as abruptly as it began. Lyim commanded Ezius's eyes to open.
Radiant gates of spider-spun gold rose up from a knee-high fog. A jagged range of polished minerals and semiprecious rock encircled the c
itadel. Three immense diamond spires sliced through the billowing rog and gold and silver foothills to penetrate the blackness of space. The triangle of glittering spires was set upon a pentagon of polished gold, the source of the vellow radiance that sent blinding light up through the faceted diamond spires. The whole effect reminded Lvim of an enormous jeweled pendant.
No windows or balconies marred the crystalline surface of the spires, nor doors the gold base, to mark it as a habitable place. Yet the citadel pulsed with magical energy, with the essence of life. The contrast of stark, cold minerals and hot golden light seemed to symbolize the complexities of magic itself.
An understanding of what he saw came unbidden to Lyim, as if any mage who looked upon the forbidden Lost Citadel could not but realize these things about the most magical of places. The faceted surfaces reflected the foundation upon which all earthly things were built-a mirror held to the universe to reveal a skeleton complex beyond compare. The citadel's min- eraled walls had risen naturally millennia ago from the mire of Krynn to house three novice mages. When those first wizards unleashed far more magic than they could control, setting off floods and fires and earthquakes, they were transported in their tower to a place beyond the circles of the universe. Ever after, the tower was known as the Lost Citadel. The mages became the founders of the Orders of High Sorcery.
Ezius's old fingers curled around the delicate gold filigree of the gate. As he did so, the craggy, cold foothills surrounding the citadel began to quake, sending boulders of gold and silver tumbling toward the gate. The quake continued, unabated, until the tunnel beneath Ezius's sandaled feet and Lyim's prone, true body trembled. Lyim grasped the gate tighter to steady himself, but the move only increased the intensity of the tremors. Lyim felt himself thrown to Ezius's knees.
The power of the collapsing portal began to drag both mages back through the tunnel in much the same way as they'd been pulled toward the gate. Ezius's hands futilely stretched toward the gates of the citadel, even as Lyim's mind reached out to the wonders beyond them. Ezius's body slipped from the tunnel, through the portal's purple whorl, heartbeats after Lyim's. He fell upon his own unconscious body, slumped on the marble slab, then tumbled like a fish to the cold floor of Bastion's white wing.
Lyim was only barely aware that above the slab, the portal spiraled slowly inward and began to darken and shrink. The vibrant colors that had been almost too bright to look at quickly faded to dark red-orange, then disappeared.
Lyim was dazed and incredulous. He had looked upon the source of all magic, witnessed the wrath of the gods. Almost everything he had ever done seemed trivial compared to that.
Except for one thing. Lyim's gaze traveled up to his own body, beautifully restored and dangling from the slab above him. There was no need for loathing anymore. Lyim examined all five fingers of his right hand with a child's joy.
It came to him in a flash that he had no more need tor Ezius's old and tired frame. He quickly closed Ezius's eyes to concentrate on the gem in his own ear. Instantly his entire consciousness was altered. His senses were completely stripped away; he was suspended, numb, in a blackness that no light, sound, or heat could penetrate. Instinctively he homed in on the slow, thin pulse of his own body. Slowly, like fog slipping over the sea, his essence drifted from the gem. Lyim found himself draped across the marble table, staring at the vaulted ceiling far above. He had been out of his body for perhaps two days, but still it felt strange to Lyim. In moments the feeling passed, and a thrill ran through him as he realized he was whole again.
Lyim gathered up his red robe and rolled stiffly into a sitting position atop the cold white slab. His body felt strong and right, as if he'd slipped on a familiar, butter- soft glove. The mage flexed the fingers of his right hand before wide, disbelieving eyes, until he couldn't contain his elation. He leaped from the slab into the air. Coming down, he crashed into Ezius, slumped against the marble base.
Lyim blinked at the white-robed mage. Ezius raised a trembling hand, as if about to cast a spell. At least that's what Lyim presumed when he reached out with his own right hand and touched Ezius's temple. The older man's face went slack, and all comprehension left his eyes. Ezius stared around the room like an idiot child, bewildered by everything he saw. Lyim reached out his hand once more, poising it above the mage's head. "Take a little rest, Ezius. You've earned it." Fine amber dust drifted down from Lyim's hand. The dust clouded Ezius's already vague eyes, and then his head slipped gently to the porcelain floor.
"Lyim!"
The mage looked up at the sound of a familiar voice cursing his name. Lyim spun about to face his most hated foe, his handsome face spread in a wolfish smile of anticipation.
Chapter Eighteen
Bastion's high defender stared at tbe pulsing, purple glow around the door, and the meaning of King Weador's warning came clear to him. Guerrand had witnessed light like that only once before: during the triple eclipse on Stonecliff. Lyim Rhistadt had lost his hand that night. There could be no mistaking the danger now.
Guerrand called Dagamier from the scrying sphere and sent her to collect all the wands, cloaks, and components she could lay her hands on. He sized up the magical protections on the door and settled upon the likeliest spell to break them. From his ever-present pack, the mage pulled a stringed chime-a small, silvery tube-and waited impatiently for the black wizard to return.
The radiance beneath the door flared up, streaming
through the cracks so that Guerrand was bathed in an ultraviolet glow. The high defender knew he could wait no longer.
Setting aside the chime momentarily, Guerrand searched through his pouch again and withdrew a small glass bead. As he whispered an incantation, he used the bead to trace magical symbols on his forehead, the backs of his hands and arms, his chest, and finally, in the air surrounding him. With the final phrase of the spell, Guerrand released the bead. It shattered like a fine crystal glass, and the mage was surrounded in soft, shimmering light. As long as it lasted, he would be protected against all but the most powerful magic.
Guerrand retrieved the chime and held it up by the string. He struck it slowly once, twice, thrice with a small, rubber-tipped mallet. With the third tone, the double doors burst inward. Guerrand leaped one step inside the door, discarding the chime.
The high defender had been inside Bastion's white wing only on those few occasions when Ezius had invited him. The area near the door was dim with murky blue-violet light. But the purple, incandescent portal throbbed and swirled with energy at the far right corner of the wing's vast, open room. It glowed so brightly at its center that Guerrand could not bear to look directly at it.
The mage glanced away, eyes burning as if he'd stared at the sun. A pair of luminescent eyes, unblinking and motionless, rose before him. They were feline in shape, but far too large to belong to any cat Guerrand had ever seen.
With a wave of his hand and a muttered word, Guerrand filled his end of the vast chamber with light. There was no sign of Ezius or Lyim, dead or alive, anywhere in the wing. But he found the source of the odd, luminous eyes. No past experience could keep him from starting backward. The creature that blocked his path to the portal resembled a snake or an eel in form, but its proportions were monstrous. It was coiled into a loop, but Guerrand guessed the creature's body must have been at least twice as long as his own frame, possibly more. The body appeared black, but where light reflected from the tiny, glossy scales, they flashed a dark, subterranean blue.
Most unsettling was the creature's human-shaped head. The dark, slanted eyes had vertical irises, like a cat's. The ears were pointed and too far back on the head to look human, though, and its teeth resembled needles.
At the other end of the body, held straight up in the air with great menace, was a bony stinger as long as Guerrand's forearm. Venom glistened on its tip. Guerrand shuddered; Lyim had chosen his guardian with irony.
The two adversaries eyed each other warily. Guerrand had heard about nagas, fiendish and int
elligent monsters with a hunger for magical knowledge. They were known to offer their services to powerful mages in exchange for spell formulae. Even when Guerrand was an apprentice, Justarius had warned him against dealing with such beings. If Belize had done the same tor his apprentice, Lyim had obviously ignored him.
The wizard was greatly relieved to hear Dagamier's footsteps as she returned across the nave. The black- robed mage stepped into the white wing and slung a heavy cloak across Guerrand's shoulders that would protect the wearer like a suit of armor.
The naga's eyes followed Dagamier, the first movement Guerrand had seen the monster make. He raised his hands before him. Sparks raced across Guerrand's flesh, ready to leap forward as a bolt of lightning.
Nagas were highly susceptible to bribes, so before attacking, Guerrand thought to offer one. "We want your master, and have no quarrel with you," he began, searching his memory of Bastion's collected magical items for an artifact of use to a limbless creature. "Stand aside, and I will give you a magical circlet after I'm assured we've passed freely."
"My master is not here," the naga replied in a dark voice that held no trace of an accent. "He has entered the portal. I will accept your offer and let you pass." With silken grace the naga's coils slid off one another. The creature backed away warily, but its unblinking eyes remained riveted on Guerrand.
Dagamier tossed a disbelieving glance at Guerrand. He, too, was surprised at the monster's easy acquiescence, and did not entirely trust it. With the spell sdll ready to cast, he advanced into the white wing, balancing caution against the immediate imperative of drawing Lyim from the portal. Dagamier followed three steps behind him.
A scream set Guerrand's heart hammering. Looking back over his shoulder he cursed. Silhouetted by the doorway, Dagamier had her arms thrown wide, and a look of horror and pain was frozen on her death-pale face. With great effort, as if pulling against a harness, she tipped her dark head back to peer up into the rafters above.
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