Part 22 (1/2)

BOUND AND TOSSED among the captive Quel, the Gryphon felt the terrible change in the air. The fog began to move with more violence, at times becoming a veritable maelstrom. A chill ran down his spine. He stared at his fellow captives who, as one, looked up and then at each other.

The lionbird studied the other prisoners closely. They almost seemed to be antic.i.p.ating something. The Quel were excited, almost . . . hopeful?

He renewed his efforts to free himself. The collar he wore around his throat prevented him from conceiving any spells, but that did not mean he did not try. Whatever was happening, the Gryphon did not want to be bound and gagged when it reached its climax. What could possibly make them so- The Gryphon let loose a m.u.f.fled squawk. There could be only one thing that so interested his fellow prisoners, but . . . could it be true? Was there a chance that the spell had been broken?

Had the wolf raiders, in their arrogant ignorance, woken the sleepers?

He struggled even harder. Dawn was fast approaching and the Gryphon had a suspicion that this was to be a day of reckoning.

For everyone.

THEY WOKE.

There was no preamble, no slow stirring. Eyes simply opened and took in the dark. Stiffened forms slowly s.h.i.+fted, trying to make muscles work after thousands of years of ensorcelled sleep.

None of the sleepers were aware of how much time had pa.s.sed. They only knew that they were all awake. They only knew that being awake meant it was time to reclaim what had once been theirs.

It was time to reclaim their world.

IN THE TUNNELS, a weary Cabe came to a halt as the first sensations of change washed over him. The warlock gasped at both the intensity and the source of those emanations. By now, he recognized the touch of Nimth too well. Something had caused a resurgence in the fog, a terrible growth. It was as if Nimth were trying to intrude farther upon the Dragonrealm.

The wolf raiders! It had to be them. They had control of the sorcerous mist. The Crystal Dragon would not have dared try opening a new doorway to foul Nimth. The Aramites, experimenting, must have done so themselves. Perhaps they had tried to discover the source or perhaps they had hoped to strengthen the fog's power.

What the reason was did not truly matter. What did was that everyone-everything-might be in danger. This felt almost uncontrolled. The Aramites, even if they had a sorcerer of their own, might not understand what it was they played with.

Cabe could sense in what direction the magical ripples originated from, but he was still hesistant to try to teleport. It was because of that hesitation that he had spent so much valuable time wandering in what he hoped was the right direction. Teleportation had not worked the first time he had tried it in the fog and even if it succeeded now, he might find himself far from his intended destination. Yet there was no way of telling whether it would be possible to trace a path through the tunnels. For all he knew, they might lead him away from the danger.

The last was a tempting thought, but the dour mage knew he could not avoid the threat any more than he had avoided the rest of his mission. The magic was growing wilder by the moment. It could not possibly be under the guidance of anyone with the skill and knowledge needed. Cabe was not certain that even he had such knowledge, but there was no one else. The Crystal Dragon had made it emphatically clear that he wanted nothing more to do with the outside world.

”I've got to try,” Cabe finally muttered. There seemed to be times between the ripples of newly released power when things almost became normal. If he attempted a spell, then . . .

He cringed as the next wave of sorcerous energy washed over him. So far, nothing had changed. No hands grew out of the walls. No creatures materialized from the ether. It appeared that Nimth did not immediately affect its surroundings, but that bit of good fortune could not last much longer.

The wave pa.s.sed and an area of calm surrounded him.

Cabe teleported . . .

. . . and found himself staring into the dead eyes of a soldier who had been pinned to the wall like some gruesome decoration. Cabe bit back a yell and turned his gaze away, only to confront a similar grisly sight. He surveyed the walls in morbid fascination. There was no doubt in his mind who was responsible for this. Even the wolf raiders would not tolerate such insanity from their commanders. The Quel would not have killed in such a way; the damage to the chamber was extensive.

Plool had left his mark here. Only the Vraad would kill in such a manner.

Belatedly, the warlock saw the hole.

A black, oval s.p.a.ce surrounded by a halo of wild light, the hole floated high in the center of the chamber. It was a small thing, but its simple presence here was danger enough. Cabe could sense the same malevolent power that permeated the fog, the power of ancient Nimth. As the hole pulsated, that power seeped into the Dragonrealm, adding to the foulness already admitted by the Crystal Dragon. There was a faint hint of mist in the chamber, but nothing approaching conditions on the surface.

He did not have to ask how it had come to be here. Cabe recognized the thing in the center as a creation of the Quel. It was a new creation, for he could not recall it being here during a previous encounter with the subterranean race. What its original purpose had been was impossible to say, although the warlock had some suspicions. The wolf raiders had usurped it for their own desires, obviously recognizing the potential power but not respecting the likely danger of trying to use the device.

By its side lay another body, but this one was different from the rest.

Cabe had never seen a blue man, although they had been mentioned briefly in one or two of the Gryphon's dispatches. Moving to the corpse's side, he inspected the body. The hood of the man's outfit had fallen away, revealing the silver mark of the warlock in his hair. His one hand was a burnt and ravaged horror that made Cabe greatly desire to look elsewhere. Shock and blood loss had likely killed him. Judging by the trail he saw, the foreign sorcerer had walked toward one of the tunnel mouths and then back again, as if he had not even noticed his life ebbing from him. Evidently, his dead counterpart had overestimated his skill in manipulating the power and had paid with his life . . . or perhaps Plool had overestimated it. Glancing up at the hole again, he began to have some idea of what the Vraad might have wanted and what the blue man might have been offered.

Where was the Vraad? Cabe could not sense him nearby, but with Plool that did not mean much. Plool was like nothing he had ever come across before; it might be that the Nimthian sorcerer was invisible to his senses most of the time.

Rising, he studied the damage to the device. Crystal sorcery was not Cabe Bedlam's forte, but he understood the basics. Much to his regret, however, what he knew in no way aided him in deciphering the scattered array before him. In his death throes the blue sorcerer had pushed almost everything aside. Cabe had no idea how to even begin re-creating the original design.

Yet, as he touched some of the crystals, certain images played in his mind. He picked up one piece, wincing briefly in pain when he raised his arm too high, and positioned it. Once that was done, the warlock chose another piece and placed that in a position on an angle from the first. Around him, blue lightning crackled to life, but as it was high above him, he paid it little mind. After a.s.suring himself that the piece was in its proper place, Cabe searched the pile again. It almost seemed logical that the next two crystals that he chose went where they did. So did the two after them.

Before his eyes, he watched the arrangement take place. Everything he picked up had its niche. There were some crystals that interested him not at all, no matter how many times Cabe tried to find a spot for them. He felt as if his hands were being guided, but not by any source without. Rather, the sorcerer felt he was being guided by some force within.

Had his grandfather, Nathan, known crystal sorcery? Was that what guided the warlock's hands? The thought that he might be drawing upon Nathan's past did not at all surprise Cabe. Nathan Bedlam had known something about everything and had tried to pa.s.s on as much of himself to his grandson as was magically possible. There seemed no end to the skills the elder Bedlam had possessed. If he lived to be three hundred, the warlock wondered if he would ever feel he had lived up to his grandfather's legacy.

As Cabe re-created the pattern, he noticed that the hole's pulsations decreased. The lightning, which had played about the chamber throughout his work, now ceased. Encouraged, Cabe worked faster, trying to align everything. He soon depleted his supply of usable crystals, but still the array was not complete. Searching the floor, the warlock located several pieces around the body of the blue man. He reached down to gather them up, then paused. Just noticeable under the body and arm of the corpse was something that was not a crystal but still cried out to him to be used. Cabe gingerly moved the body to one side.

It was a carved object. A talisman. Whoever had carved it had fas.h.i.+oned it into the shape of a jagged tooth reminiscent of a hound's or a . . . a wolf's.

An Aramite talisman. To be more precise, a keeper's talisman. The thing radiated such power that he almost pulled his hand away. Yet, a feeling inside insisted that the warlock add it to his collection. The pattern would not be complete without it.

Cabe reached forward and started to wrap his fingers around the carving.

It flew backward from his grasp, heading in the direction of one of the cavern mouths behind him. Cabe turned, intending to give chase.

A hand caught the talisman. An elegant figure clad in the black armor of the wolf raider empire stepped forward. Despite his aristocratic features, there was a definite hint of insanity in his eyes. Sometimes the eyes focused, more times they did not. It almost seemed as if the newcomer were uncertain about which direction in life he preferred. Cold sanity or even colder madness. Cabe recognized the scarred visage from glimpses in the Crystal Dragon's sanctum during the battle of wills. Here was the victor of that battle.

”My precious . . . prize! My treasure! What . . . have . . . you done . . . to my . . . prize?”

He pointed the talisman at Cabe.

With but a thought, the warlock s.h.i.+elded himself. Tendrils sought to snare his arms and legs in a viselike grip, but his own spell held. The tendrils could find no grip on his person and slipped off. They tried again with the same result, then faded away.

The Aramite sorcerer did not even pause before striking with a quick, swordlike slash. Cabe parried a long, gleaming blade that formed from nothing with a magical blade of his own. The two traded blows for several seconds before the wolf raider withdrew. Cabe, his head and heart pounding and his arm in agony, did not try to seize the advantage. There was too knowing a look on the raider's marred face. He wanted Cabe to come to him.

The Aramite caressed the carving. ”Who are you, warlock? I felt the tooth call to me, for we are bound together as two halves of a soul. Did you think that I would not notice? Kanaan should have known better, but I see that does not matter any longer. A pity for him.”

He did not bother to answer the wolf raider. Cabe debated his chances of teleporting safely while continuing to fend off the attacks of the Aramite. From their brief exchange of spells, he could already see that his opponent was quick and a master of power. Cabe doubted his chances of simultaneously escaping and defending himself against the sorcerer. That meant it was to his benefit to take the offensive.

A shower of rock struck the Aramite sorcerer from behind. As he moved to defend himself, Cabe unleashed the second half of his a.s.sault. It materialized above his adversary's head, a leathery thing as large as a s.h.i.+eld and resembling nothing more than a sheet. The wolf raider, engaged in repelling the rock storm, did not notice the danger above him until his head was suddenly covered. He reached up to pull the sheet off, but the covering would not be removed. It wrapped itself tight around the face and helmet of the raider, cutting off his air supply.

Then it dissolved.

Cabe stepped back. The eerie eyes turned his way again. In the Aramite's grasp, the talisman fairly glowed. ”I ask again, warlock. Who are you? I think you must know the Gryphon, our friend. I think that is why you are here. That would make you one mage in particular. What was the name? Yes . . . Cabe Bedlam.”

From behind the raider came the sound of many armored men running. The first of the soldiers reached the entrance, but when he sought to enter, the Aramite sorcerer waved him back. From the soldier's quick obedience, it was obvious who was in command of the invaders.

”Your chance to yield has forever pa.s.sed, Cabe Bedlam.”

The talisman flared.

Cabe tensed, but there was no attack against him. He glanced back and forth around the chamber, never letting his eyes completely s.h.i.+ft from the raiders. Still he saw and sensed nothing.

Then, from all around him, there came horrible, wrenching noises. He could not place the sounds save that they reminded him of metal sc.r.a.ping against rock. The warlock took a step back and tilted his head enough so that he could see more of the right side of the room while still keeping an eye on his foe.