Realms of infamy a-2
Page 24
“Remember, Marnok-do it just like we practiced on that outcrop earlier. We have to be certain we’re always at the same height.” Ravendas could not see the mage to her left-the curve of the fortress blocked her line of sight. “If one of us makes a mistake, we’re both finished.”
“I understand,” she heard him call out.
“Then let’s do it.”
Ravendas sank her fingers deep into the age-old stone. She began hauling herself up. The rope at her belt uncoiled itself beneath her as she ascended.
‘Two fathoms!” she called out.
‘Two!” Marnok’s voice echoed back. Good. He was keeping pace. But the real test of her plan was yet to come.
“I’m at four fathoms!” she heard Marnok shout.
Quickly she checked her rope. The fourth knot had just uncoiled. Perfect. “Four fathoms!” she shouted back. Then it began.
‘The stone to my left is moving!” Marnok cried. There was an edge of panic in his voice.
“Hold steady!” she called back. She watched as the wall just to her right began roiling like an angry sea. Sleek and glistening, an obsidian-scaled dragon head rose from the wall and turned toward her, its ruby eyes opening.
“Don’t move, Marnok!” She dug her fingers as deeply into the wall as she could stretch them. The dragon fixed its gaze upon her, and a crimson shaft struck her in the chest. A feeling washed through her like warm pinpricks. She waited, holding her breath. But a second beam did not come from her left, from Marnok’s direction, to complete the deadly arc of magic.
“It’s working!” she heard Marnok’s jubilant shout. “I’m blocking the dragon’s gaze!”
Moments later, the dragon shut its eyes and sank back into the stone. Ravendas let out a cry of victory. Her hunch had proved right. As awesome as Gurthang’s defenses were, they were designed to destroy an intruder who climbed the tower alone, as a bold adventurer might. But the tower’s magic was not crafted to stop two who climbed stealthily in the same quadrant of the wall, always remaining at the exact same height. Though it meant they could not see each other, by keeping close to the columns of magic each could block the gaze of one of the dragons. The arc of crimson magic was never completed, and never erupted into terrible fire.
It was going to work. “Five fathoms!” she called out as she climbed on. “Six!” The mage’s voice echoed her.
Three times more as they climbed, the stone to Ravendas’s right undulated, and a dark, sinuous dragon head rose out to lock its eyes upon her. But each time, the mage blocked the gaze from the dragon of the eastern column of magic. The deadly arc of magic was never completed. The two climbers continued on. A dozen fathoms up, and the top of the wall was in sight.
Then Ravendas heard the mage scream in terror.
“Marnok!” she shouted desperately.
There was an agonizing silence. Finally she heard the mage’s voice, faint and quavering. “I… I slipped. But I managed to catch myself.”
Ravendas swore. Damn him. He had gotten careless. Suddenly a coldness gripped her gut. The stone to her right was moving, molding itself into a saurian shape. The dragon’s head. And this time the mage was not there to break the arc.
“What level are you at, Marnok?” she shouted.
“I’m not sure. My… my rope is tangled.”
“Then untangle it! Now!”
The dragon turned toward her. Its eyelids lifted, revealing two thin, blood-red slits.
“I’m at ten fathoms-no, nine!”
There was no time to make certain he was right. Swiftly, holding on to the wall with one hand, Ravendas hauled her rope up to the ninth knot and lashed it around her waist. Grabbing the end, she plunged her hand deep into the wall. She let go of the rope and withdrew her hand. The rope remained embedded in the stone. She could only hope it would hold.
The dragon’s eyes opened, and she felt a prickling against her chest. There was no more time. She let go of the wall. A second crimson beam raced around the wall from the east to complete the arc of magic, inches above her head. A sunburst of blazing fire singed her hair as she fell. Then the rope pulled taut, jerking her viciously.
“Ravendas!” she heard Marnok’s panicked cry. “There’s a dragon to my left-it’s turning toward me.”
“It’s all right-” she started to shout, but then she realized that was not so. The rope had slipped around her waist in the fall. She was too low. She could see another dragon head rising from the wall a dozen feet above her, turning to send its fiery gaze in Marnok’s direction.
Ravendas threw her body up the wall, her salve-covered fingers digging furrows into the ancient stone. She couldn’t let the foolish mage die. She needed him to reach the top. Just as the dragon opened its eyes, she gripped the wall with one hand and thrust the other upward to block the monster’s gaze. She clenched her teeth in effort. Then, after what seemed a lifetime, the dragon shut its eyes and melted back into the stone. With a gasp, Ravendas dug a second hand into the wall, clinging tightly.
“Marnok?” she called out.
The wind whistled as it whipped past the fortress. Finally she heard his voice. “I’m… I’m all right.”
Ravendas squeezed her eyes shut. “You’d better be, you bastard,” she whispered. “After that, you’d better be.”
The sun was just setting as warrior and mage trod where no other had in a thousand years. Like the spokes of a great wheel, eight bridges led from the top of the wall to Gurthang’s central tower, arching over the murky abyss below. Despite their grueling climb, Ravendas and Marnok moved swiftly across the northeast span. They reached a portal hewn of dark, gold-flecked marble. Quickly they discovered it was locked. However, there was a small scraping of magical salve left at the bottom of Marnok’s jar. He spread the last of it on his hand. Then, with a grunt, he plunged his entire fist into the door. His brow furrowed in concentration as he moved his fingers inside the thick stone.
Ravendas heard a faint click.
Marnok grinned at her, pulling out his hand. “I think that should do it.”
She leaned hard against the marble slab. There was a hiss of cold, dry air, and the door swung inward. The two stepped inside. An acrid tinge stung her nose, the smell of old magic. Marnok conjured a purple sphere of magelight in his hand. After a few dozen paces, Ravendas realized the passage was tracing a spiral, leading them gradually toward the center of the tower.
‘The spiral is a symbol of power,” Marnok said softly as they went.
“How so?” Ravendas whispered back.
“The labyrinthine shape of the spiral attracts magic, even as it entraps it,” the mage explained.
“Entraps it?” She did not like the sound of that.
Marnok nodded. “Yes. And the stronger the magic, the stronger the spiral’s bonds become.” His eyes glowed strangely in the eerie light. “Power can be a prison, Ravendas.”
“You’re wrong, mage,” she countered harshly. “Power is what sets one free.”
Marnok gave her a curious, almost sorrowful look, but said nothing.
Abruptly the corridor ended. The two found themselves standing on the edge of a circular shaft. A staircase hovered in the middle of the shaft without any apparent means of support, spiraling up into the shadows above. The intruders paused, sitting for a moment to gather their strength before the final ascent.
“So, mage, why the Zhentarim?” Ravendas asked then.
He looked at her in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious? We’re both going to a great deal of trouble to join the Zhentarim. You know my reasons. But it occurred to me that I don’t know yours. And I think you owe me that by now.”
He licked his lips slowly. “Power,” he said quickly. Almost too quickly. “What other reason is there?”
Ravendas frowned. “Somehow that isn’t the answer I would have expected from you, mage. I would have thought that you-” Abruptly she halted. She could see it clearly in his green eyes. He was lying. “B
loody abyss,” she swore softly. “You don’t want to join the Zhentarim. That’s not it. That’s not it at all!”
He hung his head, his shoulders slumping.
‘Tell me!” she whispered harshly.
Slowly, he drew something from one of his pouches. The deck of cards. “Yours isn’t the first destiny I’ve read,” he said quietly. “You see, for the last year, I’ve been following the cards, frying to find my own destiny. First the cards led me to the ruins of a wizard’s tower, where I discovered the jar of salve, and then to the library where I found the history of these mountains. After that, the cards led me to Darkhold. Always they led me on, as if I were caught in some great spiral myself. And now…” He pulled a single card from the deck.
“What is it?” Ravendas asked intently.
“You didn’t want to see your fate.” He handed her the card. “Well, this is mine.”
She turned it over. Blue magic sparked along the outlines of a dark, knife-edged spire. The Tower.
“I came here hoping to find my fate, Ravendas.” He reached out and gently touched her hand. “And perhaps I have.”
Before she could say anything, he stood and moved toward the spiral staircase. Shivering, she followed. For a heartbeat, the card glimmered on the floor where she had left it. Then it lay dark.
“Let’s finish this,” Marnok said. He leapt off the edge of the shaft, his cloak billowing behind him, and landed on the staircase. Lithely, Ravendas did the same. She drew her sword as they ascended, but nothing assailed them from the surrounding darkness. The stairway ended, and the two stepped into a circular chamber. Silver moonlight spilled from crystalline windows high in the domed ceiling above. A basalt pedestal stood in the center of the chamber. On it lay a small, pale object. Eagerly, Ravendas moved forward, but the mage grabbed her arm.
“Careful,” he hissed. “There is magic here.”
She nodded, halting a half-dozen paces from the pedestal. Leaning forward, she peered more closely at the object that rested upon it.
“That’s it?” she said in disgust, her voice reverberating off cold stone. “That’s the wondrous Finger of Ckai-el-Ckaan?”
“It can’t be!” Marnok shook his head in disbelief.
Rage blossomed hotly in Ravendas’s chest. Was this to be the final joke, then? “By all the blackest gods,” she spat furiously, “it’s nothing but an old knuckle bone!”
No, it is much more than that, a voice spoke in their minds.
Ravendas and Marnok looked up in shock. A man stood-no, he hovered-behind the pedestal. His long crimson robes drifted slowly on the air, as if feeling the touch of a distant wind. A gold skull-cap covered his head, and his yellow eyes glowed eerily in the angular landscape of his face.
“Ckai-el-Ckaan!” Ravendas whispered in dread.
No, I am but an image he conjured in his likeness long ago, when he raised this fortress to protect his most precious relic.
“Precious?” Ravendas snarled, braver now that she knew she was not facing the ancient sorcerer himself. “What’s so precious about an old bone?”
Ah, but it is not any bone, the image said. You see, as great as Ckai-el-Ckaan’s magic was, all his sorcery could not reveal to him the time or place he would meet his demise. So he forged this tower, and here within he cut off his littlest finger, and laid it on the pedestal.
“But why?” Ravendas demanded in confusion.
“I think I understand,” Marnok whispered. He was trembling. “The book told how Ckai-el-Ckaan was obsessed with living forever. So he must have left a finger here, knowing that, one day, the bone could be used in a spell that would forge a new body for him, and bring his spirit back from the Realm of the Dead.”
Ravendas stared at Marnok in amazement.
The image of the sorcerer nodded serenely. That is so. He created this fortress so that only one who was strong, and powerful, and clever enough to see him returned from the dead could gain the relic. Climbing the walls was the first test, the test of strength. Now begins the second. The ghostly wizard gestured toward the relic. Take it. But know that only one who has magic to match that of Ckai-el-Ckaan’s may attempt to leave once he has done so.
“What… what If he does not?” Marnok asked tentatively.
Then he will be imprisoned forever. The image of the ancient sorcerer bowed. Fate be with you. Like mist before a wind, the image was gone.
Marnok drew a handful of glistening powder from a pouch and threw it toward the relic. A crimson sphere appeared, surrounding the pedestal. His magic had revealed the ancient trap. They could go no farther.
“So close.” Ravendas clenched her hands into fists. “We can almost reach it. Almost.” She knew now that the relic was indeed priceless. Certainly the Zhentarim would have the power to resurrect Ckai-el-Ckaan-and to bind the legendary sorcerer as their slave in the process. For that opportunity, the Zhentarim would pay dearly. If only…
“Let’s go, Ravendas,” Marnok said gently, reaching for her hand. “It’s no use.”
But that wasn’t true. Suddenly she knew it. There was a way, after all.
Time turned to ice. For a crystalline moment, Ravendas could see a future. Not the future, but one future, one of many. She and Marnok stood in the doorway of a country house, his arms encircling her. Golden sunlight spilled through the windows, and small children laughed as they ran on the green grass outside. Marnok whispered something gently in her ear-she could almost hear his words. But then the thread of that future unraveled, and another, darker tapestry was woven to take its place. She had made her choice. Time melted to flow once more.
She drew Marnok close to her. He did not resist. She brushed her lips softly against his.
“I… I’m sorry,” she whispered.
His clear green eyes widened in surprise, but before he could react, she shoved him with all her strength. He carened backward, falling hard against the pedestal. Ruby magic flared brilliantly as the basalt cylinder crashed to the floor Asmall white object rolled away. Quickly Ravendas moved to snatch it up. The Finger of Ckai-el-Ckaan.
She stood in victory, but when she turned around, her heart caught in her throat. Marnok floated above the fallen pedestal imprisoned in a sphere of crimson fire. His limbs were contorted in frozen agony, as if he were dead. But his eyes were alive. They watched her with a strange look that was part anguish, part understanding. She could not look away. Without warning the floor lurched violently beneath her feet and thunder cleaved the air. The crystal windows high above shattered, shards falling like glittering rain. The floor shook again, sending her to her knees. Just as the mage’s book had foretold, the tower was collapsing.
«You must… go,” a voice croaked. It was Marnok. His facewas twisted with the terrible effort of speaking. “Remember the book…” Blood flecked the corners of his lips. “The third… test. Face the sunset… give yourself to… darkness’” The tower shook again in its death throes, but Ravendas could not seem to move.
“Go…” Marnok gasped in agony. “Go… Kela.” It was like being freed from a spell. Ravendas turned awayy and dashed toward the stairway. She did not look back. Chunks of stone streaked wildly past her as she leapt off the stairway and sprinted down the spiral corridor. She bounded across the bridge to the top of the wall. A heartbeat later the fortress shook again, and the bridge collapsed into the abyss.
Ravendas did not stop to watch. Marnok’s words echoed in her mind. Face the sunset. She picked her way precariously along the jagged top of the wall, clutching the stone each time Gurthang convulsed, until she reached the western edge. She peered down but could see nothing in the gloom. The moon had set behind the mountains. There was no hope in light.
Give yourself to darkness. Yes, she thought. Wasn’t that the choice she had made? Sounding a thunderous death knell, Gurthang’s central tower began its slow, ponderous collapse behind her. Ravendas did not turn toward the grim spectacle. Closing her eyes, she drew in a deep breath. And stepped off the wall.
Ravendas huddled by a small fire in the scant protection of a wind-twisted cedar, wrapped in the woolen blanket she had retrieved from her pack. The Finger of Ckai-el-Ckaan lay on a stone beside her. She grinned, the glow of victory far warmer than the fire. She had done the impossible. The Zhentarim could not refuse her now. Her path to power was clear before her.
She spread her clothes by the fire, drying them of the tarn’s cold water. As she did, she noticed something in the pocket of her leather jerkin. She pulled it out. A card. Though wet and torn, azure magic still shimmered on its surface, tracing an intricate outline, the outline of a spiral. Below it was written, The Cage. Words echoed eerily in her mind. Power can be a prison.
“No,” Ravendas whispered fiercely. “I make my own fate.”
Shivering, she tossed the card onto the fire.
And Wringing of Hands
Jane Cooper Hong
I hate my hands. The fingers are long-too long. And sickly thin. They look as if they’d splinter if someone applied the least bit of pressure between the knuckles. And the knuckles bulge like the knobby growths you sometimes see on trees. I’ve often thought I’d like to chop off my hands and grow new ones, replace the mealy things with the ruddy, powerful hands of a smith or a sword master. I’ve looked into the possibility, actually. A wizard in Thay, one of the Reds, said it could be done. But he wouldn’t guarantee the results. Oh, I’d have working hands. But when I asked if I’d be able to perform the intricate work I do now, he hesitated before nodding and saying, “Sure, I think so.” That wasn’t good enough, so here they are.
I feel as if I’m someone else, watching from a few feet away as I use my hands to fletch the veins in the correct pattern on the arrow shaft. You see, the master counts on me to get these right. It makes a difference, you know, where I put the feathers, how far apart they are, how tightly they are bound, whether or not they are exactly the right size and shape.