Standing in front of them was Count Besois-Giron and a small, skinny man, stooped with years. A gold band held his long gray hair, which was carefully gathered in a complicated braid that lay across his right shoulder. He was dressed in an elegant white robe with a repeating pattern of the purple hundred-eyed peacock. It perfectly matched his white and purple sandals.
“By all the demons of Limbo!” the man roared, as his hands lit up with a dangerous purple glow. “How did you scum manage to get free?”
As the astonished count looked on, Glul Buglul proudly stepped forward, heedless of the danger.
“We do not fear you, Prince Bandiou, and will never obey you again! Our friends have enough power to protect us. Face the fury of the powerful Tara’tylanhnem Duncan!”
“The powerful who?” murmured Tara. What is he saying? He’s crazy!
Fabrice shot a dark look at the gnome, signaling to Tara that he agreed with her.
“You aren’t Magister!” she said to the wizard, putting her finger on what had been bothering her since the beginning. “You don’t have his stature, or his style.”
“And you’re the little girl spellbinder who managed to stand up to him,” cackled the prince. “You should have seen him! I thought he was going to blow a gasket. I practically died laughing.” Bandiou paused. “And speaking of dying, I’m sorry to be doing him this favor, but your time has come.” With a lightning-quick gesture he fired a Destructus at them.
Tara and the living stone were ready, raising a shield that brutally deflected the spell, sending it to shatter the rose garden greenhouse.
The count started to complain, but suddenly realized he was in the middle of a spellbinder duel and dove behind the edge of the well.
The prince screamed with fury. While keeping pressure on Tara’s shield, he raised one of his hands above his head.
Down in the well a powerful glow began to pulsate. Suddenly something burst out of it, in a kind of black halo: a hideous statue representing a demon that had seen too many science-fiction movies about unnatural mutations. It was a monstrous mix of hyena, octopus, and moray eel. The friends shuddered just to look at it.
“The artifactum!” murmured Buglul. “The repository of his power. We must destroy it!”
“Leave that to me,” whispered Fafnir, hefting her axe. “Try to distract him, Tara.”
Tara was finding it hard to maintain the shield protecting everyone. She merely nodded, as she drew power from the depths of her being.
Seeing that the girl was struggling, Buglul yelled to his people: “Gnomes, into the earth! Dig your way clear!”
Within seconds, the gnomes had dug themselves out of sight. This relieved Tara of some of the effort she was expending. It greatly displeased Bandiou, who saw his prey escaping.
Suddenly, he tottered. A huge hole had just opened beneath his feet, pulling him off balance. Dozens of gnomes emerged from it and grabbed at his clothes.
Grimacing at the contact with the little creatures, he tried to brush them off, but without stopping his assault on Tara.
Suddenly, she had a brilliant idea of how to unnerve him.
“Vomit!” she yelled to the gnomes. “Vomit dirt onto him, quick!”
The gnomes obeyed. All together, they spat up what they had swallowed in digging. Howling with indignation, the wizard was submerged by a flood of sticky mud and rocks. His attack faltered. Quick as lightning, Tara dissipated her protective shield, and Fafnir rushed forward. She reached the artifactum in a few steps and raised her axe. Bandiou looked over just as Fafnir was bringing her axe down, and his scream mixed with the thonk! of the blade hitting the statue.
To the dwarf’s great surprise, the artifactum didn’t shatter. Instead, Fafnir felt as if she had struck a steel anvil, as the vibrations shook her from head to foot. Then the black light climbed up along her axe and enveloped her hand. In a few moments it covered her completely, and Fafnir disappeared from her anguished friends’ sight. Meanwhile, the gnomes were facing bolts flashing from the wizard’s fingers and had to let go and seek refuge underground.
Tara seized the opportunity to attack savagely, casting a paralyzing Pocus at Bandiou. But the black light surged forward, and her sparkling spell was stopped and dissipated.
The wizard’s mud-spattered face then emerged from the black cloud, looking jubilant. “You and your friends don’t measure up against my power. Yield or die!”
Cal answered him with a gesture. It wasn’t an especially elegant one, but it meant the same thing on all worlds. The wizard cursed and his black light rolled over the little group like a monstrous cloud.
Tara and her friends battled with all their might. They created a terrible thunderstorm that lashed the cloud, but couldn’t dissipate it. They conjured rain and hail that pounded the ground, but the wizard was able to protect himself. Neither fire nor lightning seemed to affect him.
The evil cloud approached and touched them, ripping through their shield with a sharp screech. In spite of her beast strength, Sparrow was the first to succumb, smothered as she tried to protect Sheeba. Cal collapsed in turn, followed by Manitou and Blondin. Fabrice clung to Barune, who was unable to fight. The cloud slammed into Gallant, who crashed in a cloud of feathers. Robin was the last to yield.
Seeing her friends fall one after the other, Tara unleashed all her power. Her eyes turned completely blue and she rose majestically into the air, calling on the living stone to help her. Speechless, Prince Bandiou felt a spasm of fear. This wasn’t some girl spellbinder facing him, but power, raw power. And when she spoke, her voice hummed with magic: “Stop this instant, wizard! Our patience is at an end. We won’t allow you to hurt our friends.”
“Give up! Give up, or I’ll kill your allies right now!” he screamed. “I have their hearts in the palm of my hand. Look!”
Like unconscious puppets, Manitou, Robin, Sparrow, Sheeba, Cal, Blondin, Fabrice, and Barune emerged from the cloud, carried by its black tendrils. A black filament was stuck in each of their chests, right over their hearts. The wizard wasn’t lying. He literally held the life of Tara’s friends in his immaterial hands.
Tara hesitated, and Bandiou used the chance. His cloud struck like a snake, swallowing her. When it retreated, seemingly with regret, Tara lay on the ground, defeated.
A deathly silence permeated the battlefield. It was over.
CHAPTER 10
THE SPIRIT OF THE BLACK ROSES
In the shadowy depths of the black cloud, Fafnir was struggling, desperately trying to hit the artifactum with her axe. The cloud was seeping into her skin, gradually suffocating her. But then something in her body suddenly changed. The Ravager of Souls sensed that another power was trying to invade his host—and wasn’t going to stand for it. I can’t let the Ravager possess my body, she thought at first. I’ve got to resist. But that wasn’t right . . . No, she actually was going to help her ravaging enemy . . . So she surrendered to the Ravager. When she did, her skin turned purple and her green eyes black, and she erupted from the black cloud like a missile.
“Bow before my power!” she screamed. “I am the Ravager of Souls! Kneel and worship your god!”
For a moment, Prince Bandiou was speechless. Having just overcome the young spellbinders, he was about to take their lives when the curiously transformed dwarf burst in front of him. Then he recovered.
“What god?” he sneered. “All I see is a dwarf, in an interesting shade of purple!”
“I am the Ravager, the master of the cursed island!” roared Fafnir. “I am the god of destruction, rapine, and death!”
“I beg your pardon, but that is a role I reserve for myself,” said the wizard very politely.
“I am alpha and omega, the beginning and the end,” thundered Fafnir, ignoring him. “I am terror, I am horror. Only those who worship me will be spared. Kneel, you wretch! Kneel before your god!”
“You’re really hung up on that, aren’t you?” said the prince, who found all this quite amusing. “I�
��m sorry, but my knees are a little stiff. I’ve forgotten how to kneel. Maybe you could show me how.”
He pointed at the dwarf and the black cloud obediently settled on Fafnir’s broad shoulders. She suddenly felt as if hundreds of pounds had been loaded on her back, forcing her down. Enraged, she resisted. The prince frowned and doubled the weight. Drops of sweat were now coursing down her face, but she continued to struggle. Suddenly the Ravager burst out of her body in a red mist. It confronted the black cloud, and the two powers clashed in an apocalyptic collision.
Now free, Fafnir immediately rushed at the prince and punched him in the face. Unprepared for a physical attack, Bandiou was caught completely by surprise. The punch snapped his head back. He slammed against the edge of the well and toppled in, screaming with rage. The well wasn’t very deep, and Bandiou had no time to cast a spell to break his fall.
Also, he had dried the well, the better to store his artifactum—a mistake that would cost him dearly.
No splash was heard, just an awful crack!
The black cloud dissipated instantly, sweeping back into the artifactum, which also fell into the well.
Now greatly weakened, the red mist flowed back toward Fafnir. Despite her efforts to keep clear, it managed to touch her again. But the mist had lost its power. Struggling mightily, Fafnir was able to reject the attempt at possession. Gradually her skin regained its deep tan, and her eyes once again shone emerald green. She grunted with satisfaction.
Then, without a glance at her friends, she drew a rope from her jerkin and lowered herself down the well.
As Tara was coming to, she first heard a terrible crack, followed by a scream of rage. She felt bone-weary and didn’t quite know where she was. Then it all came back to her: the prince, the cloud, the attack. Around her, Manitou, Gallant, Sparrow, Sheeba, Cal, Blondin, Fabrice, Barune, and Robin were all regaining consciousness too.
Fafnir climbed out of the well holding two things: the artifactum, now broken and powerless, and the equally broken body of the empress’s uncle.
“Is . . . is he dead?” asked Sparrow.
“Dead as a doornail,” answered the dwarf with satisfaction.
“And were you the one who—?” Cal made the gesture of drawing his hand across his throat.
“Nope, it wasn’t me. He fell into the well and broke his neck. No more wicked wizard. Just good for the scrap heap!”
“Would someone kindly tell me what happened?” asked Manitou, who was having trouble gathering his wits.
“The Ravager picked a great time to manifest himself,” Fafnir explained succinctly. “He and the prince fought over who would conquer the universe, they had a little spat, I took advantage of it, and that’s all she wrote.”
“You mean the Ravager possessed you?” exclaimed Tara. “And you’re all right?”
“I managed to control him,” answered the dwarf with a bright smile. “He was weakened from fighting the artifactum. So he’s lying low for now. But that’s enough talk. What we do now?”
“There’s been an accident,” said Count Besois-Giron, stepping from behind the well and dusting off his pants. “An accident that resulted in an unfortunate death. It also wrecked my greenhouse and my roses.”
He sounded more upset about his rosebushes than about the dead prince.
“A storm came up unexpectedly while Prince Bandiou was fishing,” the count declared firmly. “He slipped off the dock, fell on a boat, and broke his neck. That’s the story I’ll tell the empress and the rest of OtherWorld. And to think I welcomed that piece of garbage as a friend!”
The count looked bitterly at the prince’s corpse, and Tara felt he was itching to kick it in the ribs. Tara rolled her eyes, thinking, Adult politics are just too complicated!
She cupped her hands and shouted: “King Glul Buglul!”
His small blue head popped out of the ground.
“Yes?”
“Everything’s all right, you can come out now. Fafnir did a number on Prince Bandiou, so you have nothing to fear anymore.”
The gnomes emerged shouting with joy and did a frenetic dance around the wizard’s body.
With blue tears in his eyes, the king bowed to Tara’s group. “My people owe you a great debt. We will give you whatever you desire. Just ask, and we will obey.”
“Obeying that monster Bandiou didn’t work out very well for you,” remarked Manitou severely. “So just cure Cal, give us The Forbidden Book, and return the magic objects you stole. Then we’ll be even.”
“And if you feel like tossing in a few jewels, that would be perfect!” said the smiling thief.
“Cal!” shouted Tara and Sparrow.
“Hey, what? I deserve them, don’t I?”
They left the count to handle any remaining problems—including facing an empress who certainly wouldn’t be pleased that someone had killed her favorite uncle—and raced upstairs to the Transfer Portal before he started asking too many questions. They activated the scepter, and in a few seconds they were back in Smallcountry.
News of the rescue had preceded them, and an honor guard escorted them to the Throne Room. The hall’s floor was strewn with luminous confetti, the beams were laden with flowers and hanging lamps, and fairies and imps scampered around celebrating their friends, the gnomes.
When she saw that the two arachnes were still carefully guarding The Forbidden Book, Tara heaved a sigh of relief.
“It’s not that I don’t like worms,” said Cal nervously, “but it would be nice if I could take the antidote right now.”
Sitting on his pink metal throne, the king smiled. “Of course. I will have it brought immediately.”
He gestured to one of the arachnes. The giant arachnid squeezed a glittering crystal vial up out of its gizzard and handed it to the king.
“Here you are,” he said. “Drink it, and the t’sil eggs will be immediately destroyed.”
Cal reached out to take the vial. But just then Barune, who’d been frightened by a huge arachne, tripped on his trunk and bumped into Fabrice, who stumbled into Cal. The little thief dropped the vial, which shattered against the base of the throne, its precious contents soaking into the thick grass.
King Buglul instantly went from blue to an unusual color somewhere between white and green.
“By my ancestors,” he muttered, “the vial is broken!”
“No big deal,” said Cal with a smile. “Just give me another one.”
“You don’t understand. That is the only one we had!”
Now it was Cal’s turn to turn pale. Very quickly he recited: “By Repairus, take these shattered bits and assemble them so each one fits.”
The crystal vial reformed and hovered obediently in front of them, but it was empty! The liquid had soaked into the grassy floor, and they had no way to retrieve it.
Buglul stared at Cal in dismay. “You are doomed. You only have a few more hours to live. There is no more t’sil antidote.”
Though emotions were running high, Manitou was thinking hard.
“How long ago did you infect Cal?” he asked.
“Three days and twelve hours. Which means the t’sil will become active in eight hours. And he absolutely must take the antidote two hours beforehand, otherwise it won’t do any good. So, he only has six hours left.”
Tara could feel herself starting to panic.
“Where can we find it?” she cried. “You must have bought that critter and the antidote from someone. Where is he?”
“It was a Salterian merchant,” said Buglul quickly, his voice thick with tension. “We ordered a shipment of birds from him, and he threw in the t’sil as a bonus. The only way to find him is to go to Sala, the capital of Salterens. Our ambassador there, Tul Tultul, will help you. I will immediately dispatch a messenger to alert him.”
“Don’t bother,” said Manitou firmly. “You’re coming with us. We don’t know what this merchant looks like. And since your people do business with the Salterians, you’ll be our safe-con
duct in case they get any weird ideas, like turning us into slaves.”
“But—” began the king.
“No buts!” snapped Sparrow angrily. “You’ve manipulated us, lied to us, and infected our friend, who might die because of your scheming! You don’t have any choice in the matter.”
The king’s pretty fiancée Mul Mulmul had been watching the exchange and was floored to see these strangers talking to her future royal husband this way. Suddenly, she frowned.
“Just a second, Glul,” she said in her melodious voice. “What did you do to this boy that he should be in danger of dying? I thought you engaged him to help free us. You have been talking about t’sil worms and an antidote. Why?”
The gnome king suddenly looked very ill at ease.
“You were in danger, darling,” he said very quickly. “Helping you escape called for somewhat expeditious methods. I will explain everything later.”
It didn’t work. Mul Mulmul was no fool, and she quickly understood what steps her future husband had taken to force Cal to free them. When she let Buglul know what she thought of that, the gloves came off.
The discussion quickly rose to a distinctly higher decibel level.
“Her voice is very . . .” commented Manitou, who wasn’t able to put his paws over his ears.
“Yes, very . . .” agreed Robin, who was following the discussion with rapt attention. “Now there’s an expression I didn’t know!”
Buglul soon realized that it was wiser not to argue. His “But I’s” very quickly became, “I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry.” Which eventually did the trick, but only after he had sworn to the furious little gnome that he would personally do his utmost to cure the boy.
With a sigh of resignation, King Buglul stepped down from his throne and headed to the Transfer Portal Room. Tara and her friends followed him in total silence. There was no chuckling, no comments. Even Fafnir behaved herself.
Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book Page 17
