Eaganar swept into his Arcanium, the uppermost chamber of the tower he’d seized from Deinre. The dark wizard’s face was a thunderhead of frustrated rage. His eyes raked over the room, noting the absence of Tempus from its case.
So, the whelp had come and sprung the trap. And yet the course of events remained unchanged.
This Mithris continued to surprise and impress. Eaganar was big enough to admit that. But he would crush the upstart, of that he was certain. The boy had evaded this trap, but he would not be so fortunate a second time.
The loss of the timestone was a blow, certainly, but it had been the necessary bait in his trap. The risk had been calculated, the potential reward great. So the boy had slipped his grasp once more. Eaganar shrugged it off. He would recover Tempus when he recovered the other four.
Eaganar stroked his jet-black goatee and smiled to himself. Yes, he would recover the foundation crystals. The boy had been lucky so far, but that luck would only carry him so far. After the disastrous duel at Mount Wileth, Eaganar had vowed not to underestimate Deinre’s apprentice again.
“I know his next move,” the dark wizard mused, going to his scrying bowl and summoning up the same image he had studied every evening for a fortnight.
The fluid shivered in its basin, and as the rippling subsided the image cleared. Eaganar studied his target, chuckling to himself.
Ileera was dead, her modest four-storied tower in Avington deserted. Mithris did not know what had become of her many apprentices, and he did not particularly care.
The citizens of Avington gave the deserted tower a wide berth. Common folk mistrusted wizards at the best of times. After what had happened the first time he came to Avington, Mithris doubted anyone would approach Ileera’s tower for years.
True, the decisive moments of that duel had taken place hundreds of leagues away. He had battled Ileera in mid-air over a turbulent sea. That same deep ocean was Ileera’s grave. But the fight had started here, and the locals knew something had happened. When Ileera never returned, and her students abandoned their home, the people of Avington must have guessed some of what happened.
They would leave him alone, and that was all Mithris wanted.
Her tower is beginning to leave you alone as well, noted Vapor when Mithris entered the room which had been Ileera’s private study without incident.
The young wizard had appropriated the tower when he found it deserted upon returning to Avington after his duel with Eaganar. But a wizard’s tower was more than stone and mortar. Corridors had seemed to shift, rooms changing places. Solid stonework that had stood firm for a thousand years crumbled, dropping massive blocks of marble that nearly smashed him. Many other dangers presented themselves.
Lately, though, the tower seemed to have settled in to its new master.
You could stay here, suggested Vapor. Be this tower’s master in truth.
Mithris considered. But no, he thought. The memories he had of this place were unpleasant. He still shuddered when he thought of the fate which awaited Ileera’s most promising students. He would not stay here. For now, however, it made an acceptable base of operations. At least Eaganar had never thought to come looking for him here.
“After I’ve collected Absence, and defeated Eaganar for good,” said Mithris, “I will find a tower of my own. Probably I’ll build it myself.”
Only fitting, for such a powerful wizard.
Mithris paused at that. Powerful wizard. Was that what he was? He felt wretched; he felt weak. His master was dead because of him. What kind of powerful wizard was he, really?
There was nothing you could do, Mithris. Vapor’s tone was consoling. The foundation crystal worried about him. Mithris brushed that off.
“You keep saying that. It doesn’t change the fact that Deinre is dead.”
He was just as dead before you went back in time, Mithris.
“The only difference is that I didn’t know I’d killed him.”
You didn’t kill him. Eaganar did that.
That was true, but Mithris didn’t feel like taking any comfort from Vapor’s words just then. Shrugging uncomfortably, he went to the large, stone scrying bowl in the corner. “Let’s just find Absence,” he said. “Then we can get this over with.”
The voidstone is far to the south and west, Vapor advised him. It is a part of this world the rest of us have never visited. Perhaps an island.
Mithris nodded. With a low muttered incantation, he activated the scrying bowl. “How far?” he asked.
Ten thousand leagues or so.
Mithris whistled. That was far away indeed. He concentrated, holding the distance and direction in his mind as he cast his awareness wide. In the bowl before his eyes, an image formed of the trackless ocean.
The view skimmed rapidly over the choppy, white-capped waters. Soon an island hove into view, a rocky promontory jutting up from the turbulent sea. It was not a large chunk of land, no larger than Avington itself.
The rocky island was ringed by a narrow, white sand beach. Palm trees leaned and swayed. Thick jungle rose from the edge of the beach. The ground rose higher the closer to the center, but all was covered by the impenetrable jungle. In the center of the island, shooting up from amidst the palms, rose a slender column of black stone.
A wizard’s tower. Mithris groaned. He should have known.
Here we go again, said Vapor, not without sympathy.
Chapter 50
The Black Tower
What appeared to be a free-floating soap bubble formed in empty air over the hot white sand. The bubble grew and expanded and then filled in with the image of another place far, far away. The portal finished resolving, and Mithris stepped through onto the beach.
Tropical heat and humidity assailed him as he dismissed his portal. Sweat broke out on his forehead. A cooling breeze blew in over the crashing waves, rustling in the palm fronds, but it was not enough to counter the heat. Mithris shook his head. Who would live in such a climate?
“Only a madman,” the young wizard muttered to himself.
You think all wizards are mad, Vapor pointed out.
“They are.”
Mithris studied the thick, lush vegetation that grew nearby. He had examined the island through his scrying bowl, hunting for any clear path through that jungle to the black tower. He had found none. Well, that was no problem. He was a wizard, after all.
Taking Ember in his hand, Mithris uttered a fire-spell. Raising his other hand, palm facing the dense jungle, Mithris completed the incantation. A stream of ghostly fire burst from his palm, shooting out toward the thick vegetation.
Where the fire struck, trees and shrubs boiled away in a heartbeat. The heat of the magical fire was much greater than any natural fire. It left nothing in its wake but fine ash which drifted in the air and settled slowly to the baked earth below.
Mithris started out along the path he had made, magical flames still shooting from his outstretched hand.
You’re going to draw attention to yourself, cautioned Vapor. Also, Ember wonders if perhaps you rely too much on us.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Mithris, though he did dismiss the spell. Instantly, the flames winked out of existence. The charred path ended abruptly twenty paces ahead, the nearest fronds and leaves singed but intact.
Can you not cast fire spells without Ember’s help?
“Of course I can, but they’re far more powerful when I use the firestone. And besides, why should I limit myself when I don’t have to?”
You’re the wizard, I suppose, came the vague reply. Mithris frowned, thinking.
He supposed Vapor was right, at least the part about attracting attention. The spell he’d been using was particularly powerful. It drew a lot of energy. Whoever dwelt in that black tower might have been able to sense it.
“Well, if they’ve seen me then they’ve seen me,” he decided.
They may not have seen you yet. Vapor’s tone was suspiciously reasonable, the way it often was w
hen the crystal particularly wanted to convince him of something. Even if they have, they may still be formulating an opinion…
Mithris frowned again, not sure what the crystal meant. “What opinion?”
Whether or not you come peacefully. I have to say, incinerating everything in sight is hardly-
“I wasn’t incinerating everything in sight,” Mithris cut the crystal off brusquely. “I was only clearing a path.” Throwing up his hands in a gesture of surrender, he hurriedly added: “You may be right. I’ll fly instead.”
He released Ember and moved his hand to Vapor. Mithris hesitated a moment, fingers hovering over the crystal. Then he shook his head; he didn’t believe he was relying too much on the foundation crystals. They were far more than tools, of course, but they were that too. Why shouldn’t he use them?
Speaking the incantation, Mithris felt himself lifting off the ground. Soon he soared over the tree-tops. Turning toward the black tower near the center of the island, he willed himself in that direction.
As he flew, Mithris examined the island below. The jungle was virtually unbroken, save for the occasional rocky cliff or waterfall. The whole island gave the impression of having never been stepped upon by man, except for the black tower. Likely the wizard who lived there had been the first to discover this deserted place.
Mithris did not have to wonder why the mage had chosen to dwell here, however. He could sense the ley lines converging beneath the island. There were not so many as he had found in Zerto’s enchanted grotto, not even as many as lay beneath Deinre’s tower. There were enough.
He had nearly reached the tower now. It rose from the jungle before him, a windowless cylinder of black volcanic rock. Mithris slowed his flight and examined the tower. It was extremely tall, he saw, the tallest wizard’s tower he’d ever seen. Its entire height was devoid of windows or other openings. It must be a sweltering furnace inside!
At the pinnacle, six evenly spaced columns supported a thick roof above an otherwise open platform. Mithris saw a small chest of drawers, a low table, a scrying basin, and various other magical implements stored there. To his magical eyes, thin wards flickered all around this platform. Mithris supposed they were there to prevent the wind from blowing the wizard’s scrolls and notes away rather than protection from any real threats.
Who would ever come here in the first place? This wizard, whoever it was, probably hadn’t seen another person for decades if not centuries.
Eyeing the open platform, Mithris deliberated. He could see the trapdoor which led down into the tower. But it seemed rude to enter that way. Looking down, he saw a small area of clear land around the base of the tower. Hoping the place had a front door, where he could knock, Mithris allowed himself to float down.
Descending, he spotted the door. Barred only by the same shimmering wards that protected the open platform up top, the door was an otherwise empty arch carved in the rock. And, as Mithris alighted gently on the ground, a robed figure appeared in that arched doorway and stepped out into the hot sun.
Chapter 51
Ranyegar
The wizard who emerged from the black tower was tall and slender. He wore flowing robes of silver and black. A narrow beard of coarse, curling gray hair spilled down his chest and hung below his waist. Metal glittered from within the beard; charms of silver and brass and gold were woven into the hairs. His face was wrinkled with great age, but his almost colorless eyes twinkled sharply.
“Hello,” said the wizard, looking Mithris up and down speculatively.
“Greetings, Master Wizard,” Mithris answered cautiously. The ancient mage did not seem hostile, but Mithris had learned from experience to take nothing for granted when it came to wizards. Ileera had not seemed dangerous either — she had been delightful, in fact, right up until she sold him to Yuric.
“You’ve come a long way,” the wizard said.
“I have,” agreed Mithris. “My name is Mithris.”
“Welcome, Mithris. I am Ranyegar.” The wizard took another step out into the sunlight. “What brings you to this distant isle, Mithris?”
Mithris hesitated. If this wizard thought Absence belonged to him, he would hardly be likely to hand the crystal over. Moreover, if he thought Mithris came to take from him he might attack. Ranyegar was clearly very, very old; the oldest wizards tended to be the most powerful.
Besides, Mithris didn’t want a fight. He wanted only to collect the final crystal and be on his way.
“I’ve come seeking a friend,” he said. That was true enough, he supposed. Vapor, at least, he thought of as a friend. He was not entirely sure the other foundation crystals counted as the same, but why not? Just because he couldn’t hear them? Each had helped him just as Vapor had done. He expected the voidstone would help him too.
Assuming he found it.
“A friend?” echoed Ranyegar. The ancient wizard laughed. The sound was dry and reedy like a rustling of parchment, emphasizing how incredibly old the man was. He seemed genuinely amused. “Any friend in particular, or have you come seeking new acquaintance?”
Again, Mithris hesitated. He didn’t see any other way around it. “I’ve come looking for Absence,” he told Ranyegar.
The ancient wizard nodded as though he had been expecting this. “I see,” he wheezed. “I think you’d better come inside.”
Not waiting for any reply, Ranyegar turned around and headed back through the arched doorway. He moved with a spry grace which belied his advanced years. As the black tower swallowed him up, Mithris had little choice but to follow.
The narrow corridor of black stone never branched and curved or deviated in any way. It ran straight and true. After several minutes of following Ranyegar, Mithris was certain they had walked further than should have been possible in the narrow tower.
All things were possible with sorcery, he reminded himself.
In time, the corridor emptied out into a massive banquet hall. Frayed and faded tapestries adorned the porous black walls. A long, sturdy table dominated the center of the chamber. The table was laden with dishes. Whole roast duckling, turkey legs, a fatted pig with an apple in its open mouth. Bowls of soup, salad, pudding. Platters of meat. Pitchers of wine and ale and water and tea. Steam and delicious aromas rose from the feast.
Reaching the table, Ranyegar turned and smiled knowingly at Mithris. “You must be hungry after such a long journey,” he said, pulling out a chair and gesturing the much younger wizard to take a seat.
Mithris came forward cautiously, examining the cavernous room and the resplendent feast. “All this for the two of us?” he asked.
Ranyegar chuckled. “The food never spoils, my boy, and the platters never empty. I dine when I am hungry, and leave the rest for the next time. It saves me time, you see. I never have to worry about my next meal, because it is always waiting for me here.”
Mithris nodded, but still he did not sit down.
Ranyegar, still chuckling, moved around the table. He moved quickly for one so old. Soon enough he had gone completely around the table. He pulled out a chair on the other side, opposite the one he’d pulled out for Mithris. Sitting down, he grabbed up a shank of lamb and sank his teeth into the steaming, succulent meat.
With a shrug, Mithris joined him at the table. He did not reach for any of the dishes.
“Eat, boy, eat!” Ranyegar spoke around a mouthful of meat. Hot juice spilled over his lips and ran down his chin in a greasy brown trail. “Surely the Absence you seek is not the emptiness of your belly, eh?” With that, he laughed uproariously and slapped one long-fingered hand on the table several times to punctuate his mirth.
“I ate before I left home,” said Mithris, patting his belly with an apologetic smile.
You’ve not eaten since last night, said Vapor silently. You think this wizard would try to poison you? It seems like an awful lot of effort. Surely there are easier ways he could dispose of you, if he wished it.
Mithris was not so sure of that. He had seen Ranyegar
’s twinkling eyes linger on the faintly glowing stones affixed to his robes. Mithris carried five foundation crystals. It hardly mattered how powerful the ancient wizard might be; with five crystals, Mithris could probably defeat him without breaking a sweat.
No, direct confrontation was not the way to deal with Mithris.
You may be right, Vapor conceded. Then again, you may just be paranoid.
“A shame,” said Ranyegar meanwhile. The white-haired wizard shrugged, though, as if it were no concern. “As for myself, I’m famished. I do hope you’ll excuse me if I dine. We can speak of your…friend. Absence, did you say? A peculiar name.”
“All my friends have strange names,” countered Mithris, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the edge of the long table. “You say you don’t know Absence, then?”
“Oh, heh heh,” answered Ranyegar, spearing a cut of beef with a long fork and lifting it over to his plate. He began to cut the meat with obvious zeal, still chattering away. “I must say I know of no one by that name, my boy. But perhaps I know your friend by another name? You should describe this friend to me. I might recognize him.”
Vapor responded immediately. Absence is perfectly round and smooth and has no color or light. It is blackness, like a hole in reality that you can hold in your hand.
“I know my friend is on this island,” Mithris said, ignoring Vapor for the moment. “Are you sure you don’t know Absence?”
Ranyegar shrugged, slurping wine from a goblet. Setting the drink down on the table, he spread his hands in innocence.
“I fear not, young friend. But perhaps you and I together can get to the bottom of this mystery. Yes, yes. Together. But in the morning. Dining always makes me sleepy, and the hour grows late. Enjoy my hospitality this night, and we will find your friend on the morrow. Yes?”
“I’m really quite anxious,” Mithris began, but Ranyegar waved off this protest.
Bond of Magic Page 20