by Bill Allen
But his glowing red eyes were what concerned Greg most. The way they peered out from the otherwise white image put Greg in mind of a short-tempered rat he’d had as a pet back in grade school. Every time Greg tried to feed it, the rat had lunged for his finger, and while it only bit him twice, Greg knew this was largely due to his own keen reactions. Still, at the moment he would have welcomed Mr. Binky back in place of this.
The others stood frozen in place, as if pinned to the spot by the light cast their way.
“All right, let’s have it,” said the glowing man, surveying the small gathering of robed figures before him. The calmness of his voice sounded more terrifying than if he’d shouted. “Who dares set foot on my island?”
“Actually, I’m not sure we ever set foot on the island,” said Melvin. “We were on a boat, then inside a dragon, and now we’re up here.”
“Shut up, Melvin,” warned Lucky.
Greg realized any negotiations with the dragon Tehrer were going to have to start with this man. “You’re Dolzowt Deth, I assume?”
“You will find I ask the questions here. You are?”
“Greg Hart,” Greg said. “You may have heard of the prophecies involving me.”
Dolzowt smiled, his mouth forming a sliver of black within his glimmering face. “I’m afraid not. We don’t get much news here in the Netherworld. But there was a time when I enjoyed interfering with a good prophecy. What is it you said you were called?”
“Greg Hart.”
“He’s the Greg Hart,” said Melvin, “so you better do as he says.”
Dolzowt laughed, a haunting sound that echoed throughout the chamber. “The name means nothing to me. It matters little anyway, as he will do fine for my purposes. I have an urgent need for a femur for a spell I’m working on.”
“What’s a femur?” asked Melvin.
“Just a bone in your leg. Don’t worry,” he said to Greg. “You have two.”
Greg’s face paled. “But . . . the prophecy . . .”
Dolzowt waved him to silence. “I have little time or interest in prophecies today. As I said, I’m working on a most important spell.”
“Well, we don’t want to keep you,” said Lucky. “If you could just show us the way out . . .”
Dolzowt fixed him with a stare that made Lucky’s voice trail off to nothing. “Step forward, boy. Let me see your legs.”
“Oh, Nathan,” Priscilla said in a low voice. “If there was ever a time when we needed you . . .”
Dolzowt’s glowing eyes turned her way. “You wouldn’t be referring to Nathaniel Caine, by chance? Because if you are, you’ll be disappointed to know he can’t rescue you. He’s in one of my many cells. Such a good find. You’d be amazed at the power to be unleashed from even the expendable bits of a sorcerer of Mr. Caine’s merit.”
“What are you going to do with us?” Greg asked.
“Have you already forgotten I ask the questions?” Dolzowt said, fixing his horrible red eyes on Greg. Mr. Binky never stared like that, even when he was about to bite. “From those robes, I am guessing you, too, are sorcerers? Am I right?”
Greg didn’t answer.
“I might be inclined to relate your size and youth to your abilities,” continued Dolzowt, “but I have been fooled in the past. It is of little matter anyway, for regardless of how powerful you are in your own domain, you are no match for me here. As I said, I will need one of your femurs right away, but don’t worry. You will all get to donate to my cause in time. I can always find a use for your . . . assets.”
“What a horrible man,” said Kristin.
“That’s hardly fair. I was just about to say I would let you decide which of you donates first. And I was going to move the rest of you out of this dreadful place and into a cell. I would think you’d be grateful. Just moments ago my dragon made it quite clear he was tired of waiting for his supper.”
A whimper from one corner of the chamber reminded Greg of the old woman who shared Tehrer’s storage locker.
“Come along, all of you. I must get back to my work.” Dolzowt’s glowing form glided toward the opening to the lair and stopped just ahead of the crack in the rock. He turned back to observe them all still frozen in place. “It was not a suggestion.”
The children exchanged concerned glances, but otherwise, no one moved. Finally Greg took a few jerky steps toward the lair, and the others followed.
A door just like the one leading to the Passageway of Shifting Dimensions opened as they approached. Dolzowt led them through it and down a set of stone steps that eventually melded into a gradual slope, threading itself between the rough stone walls. Everything about the place reminded Greg of the similar passageway within Ruuan’s spire. But just about the time Greg expected to see the alcove where the spirelings stored their section of the Amulet of Ruuan, he found something else entirely.
The only light in the tunnel radiated from Dolzowt himself, so it was difficult to see much, but that didn’t keep Greg from seeing more than he wanted. Cut into the face of the rock was a shallow cave, empty but for a small boy seated on a worn rock. The child was clothed in soiled rags, his face black with filth, his eyes cast toward his feet—or in this case foot, as he had but one.
“Greg,” Kristin said, squeezing Greg’s arm.
But the boy never looked up, and Dolzowt kept leading them silently past dozens more cells cut into the rock, each home to a child mutilated in one fashion or another. None of the imprisoned children seemed to notice their presence, even those with two good eyes and ears.
“What is this place?” Greg gasped.
“Aup, I ask the questions, remember?” Dolzowt turned a corner and led them down a side passage lined with cells. Again he turned, and again, revealing a catacomb of passageways filled with hundreds of compartments, each home to another desolate soul.
About halfway through the trip, they reached a cell that held not a child but a man. Although his face was shadowed by an unshaven beard, he wasn’t dirty like the others. He wore a magician’s robe, similar to the one Greg wore now, and sat not on the rock that had been provided for him, but cross-legged on the floor in meditation.
“Nathan?” Priscilla moaned.
“Your friend cannot hear you,” Dolzowt said matter-of-factly. “Come, we have far to go to find an empty cell.”
Reluctantly, Greg left Nathan behind, and with him, all hope of ever leaving the Netherworld alive. They seemed to walk forever. Finally they reached an empty cell. Dolzowt motioned them inside, and with very little enthusiasm, Greg stepped forward. He turned to argue with Dolzowt, but to his horror, ran face-first into stone. Much like the shifting trails through the Enchanted Forest, the opening he’d just passed through was already gone.
The wall looked solid, but then the other children shuffled through the rock to stand before him, and Greg had doubts. He touched the surface of the stone. It was just as solid as it appeared.
“Whoa,” said Melvin. “What happened to the passage?”
A brilliant white light squeezed through the wall, and Dolzowt Deth’s glowing form once again took up a spot at the center of their group.
“I hope you find these accommodations satisfactory. Sorry I don’t have more room, but it’s been a very good year for careless children. Now, I’ll only be gone a short while. I suggest you not waste the time. You need to decide among yourselves who should be first to contribute to my work.”
He turned then without waiting for a response and disappeared through the wall in an instant, along with all light. Greg tried ineffectually to blink away the blackness that pressed against his eyes.
“I’m scared,” he heard Kristin say.
“Me too,” Greg admitted, but the full extent of his fear didn’t hit him until he heard Lucky say, “Ditto.”
“How are we supposed to get out of here?” asked Melvin. His tone suggested that nothing in his dragonslayer training had trained him for this.
“I’m not even sure how we got in,�
� said Greg. He began to shuffle about the floor, feeling along the walls for any means of escape. Nothing, not even a hairline crack in the surface of the stone.
“Anything’s possible with magic,” said Kristin. Greg stared at the blackness where the sound originated, remembering how a few weeks ago Kristin thought he was crazy just insinuating there could be a world other than Earth.
“What are we going to do?” asked Priscilla.
“There’s nothing we can do,” said Greg, “but wait.”
“That’s not true,” said Melvin. “Remember what Dolzowt said? We have a decision to make.”
Welcome Party
“No,” Greg insisted. “We are not going to vote on which of us offers up a leg for Dolzowt’s spell.”
“But we should at least have someone in mind,” Melvin insisted, “just in case we can’t escape.”
Greg frowned at him. “We’re not voting.”
“I say we do.”
“If so, we’ll probably weigh the votes higher in accordance with our ages,” Lucky joined in.
Melvin’s brow creased. “What does that mean?”
“You’ll lose.”
“Oh,” said Melvin. “I say we don’t.”
As he suffered the agonizing wait, Greg thought about all the horrors they’d faced so far: the countless griffins and harpies and basilisks that attacked them along the trail, the scattered bands of organ-hunters determined to relieve them of their limbs, the mad non-troll who guarded the bridge near Edmonton. And those poor insurance agents swinging by their ankles. No one deserved such a fate.
What about when Tehrer nearly incinerated them when they first stepped over the border from the Styx? Or when that probing tentacle crashed into their boat and seized Greg by the ankle?
Poor Rake. Launched up and over the edge of the boat into blackness. For what? So they could all end up locked in a cell waiting for Dolzowt Deth to come and take them away in pieces?
Time barely dragged by, until Greg could hardly believe a day had not yet passed. He knew, as did the others, that any second now Dolzowt would reappear to claim his first victim, which is why they all moaned when they heard what sounded like scratching at the door. Of course, this would have been impossible, since there was no door to be scratched, but perhaps that fact alone made it all the more terrifying.
Greg froze and listened to the silence, hoping he’d imagined the sound. He groped in the dark for the others, and they all waited in a huddle, staring wide-eyed into the blackness.
The tension mounted, and Greg was not ashamed to scream when something soft brushed against his leg. He recognized a familiar chatter.
“Rake?”
“What on Myrth are you kids doing here?”
Greg’s head jerked up just as a bright light flashed, leaving huge dots in front of his vision no matter which way he looked. For a moment he thought Dolzowt Deth had returned to claim his first donor, but then he recognized the face bathed in the light cast by the glowing staff.
“Nathan?”
The man’s blue eyes smiled back at him. “Don’t even try to say you weren’t expecting me.”
As if a drain had been opened, Greg felt his anxiety wash away. The others must have felt it too. With a cry, they rushed forward to greet the magician, and Nathan graciously accepted hugs from each of them, though he did seem a bit confused about the one he received from Kristin.
“Who’s that?” he asked as he hugged Greg.
“Kristin Wenslow,” Kristin answered for herself. “I’m a friend of Greg’s from Earth.”
Rake looked on impatiently at first, but then spotted an opening and managed to jump into Greg’s arms and bang his cheek into Greg’s chest, crushing back his whiskers. Greg was so happy he couldn’t speak. Perhaps he’d have found it easier if he’d remembered that no matter whether he escaped this room or not, the prophecy clearly spelled out his doom—or at least it did until Brandon wrote it down.
“We thought Dolzowt was holding you captive,” Greg finally said. “We saw you in a cell when he was leading us here.”
“Well, I’m sure Dolzowt thought he was holding me captive too, but when this little shadowcat of yours came wandering past my cell a short time ago, I had an idea you wouldn’t be far off, and I thought I better come find you.”
“But why were you here in the first place?” Lucky asked.
“To see the dragon Tehrer. We can’t hope to win against Hazel without him.”
“So did you see him?”
“Oh, yes. And negotiations have been going quite well—at least now that he’s quit shooting flames at me so much. Why, the last time I tried talking to him, he hit me with just three or four half-hearted blasts.”
“Oh, Nathan,” said Priscilla. “We were so worried. We thought Dolzowt was using you for spare parts.”
Nathan grinned faintly. “You needn’t have concerned yourselves over me. I’ve dealt with far worse sorcerers than Dolzowt Deth.” He observed her doubtful expression. “Don’t get me wrong. Dolzowt’s not someone to be taken lightly, but as powerful as he is, he’s not studied magic to nearly the depths I have. He couldn’t possibly hold me here against my will.”
“But then why didn’t you come home?” asked Priscilla. “Brandon’s note said you’d be back before nightfall.”
“What’s this?” said Nathan. “I didn’t come back?”
“According to Brandon you were only supposed to be gone a day,” Greg said. “We waited as long as we could, but when we got back from the Greathearts’ and you still weren’t home . . . well, we thought we better come find you.”
“Yeah, the spirelings were due any time,” added Lucky, “and we didn’t think it would be easy to convince Queen Gnarla to sit around and wait when there was a good fight to be had.”
Nathan’s smile had vanished, and the eyes that had so easily reassured Greg a moment ago looked truly worried. Greg couldn’t say he liked the change. “What’s wrong, Nathan?”
“If what you say is true, then Dolzowt must have found a way to restrain me. This is serious. We must get out of here right away.”
He motioned for the kids to gather round, urged them to take up hands, and waved his staff through an intricate pattern only he understood. Greg felt a familiar charge of electricity, but that was all. Nathan’s eyes went from worried to disbelieving.
“What’s wrong?” Greg asked again. “Why are we still here?”
“The spell failed,” said Nathan. “I’ve never encountered such resistance. It’s as if my own power is working against me.”
“Does this mean . . . ?” Kristin asked.
Nathan’s face glowed eerily in the light cast from his staff. “Yes, young lady, it does. It’s true. Now I understand why you claim I never returned from here.”
“This is terrible,” said Greg.
“I thought you said Dolzowt Deth couldn’t possibly hold you,” Melvin said. “What was all that? Just boasting?”
“I don’t know how he’s managed it, but he has,” said Nathan, and before he’d even finished his sentence the air began to prickle and hum. All eyes jumped to the wall where Nathan had appeared as Dolzowt Deth’s image slowly slipped into view.
The sorcerer barely glanced at them when he first arrived, deep in thought on some unrelated matter. “You’re in luck. I found a femur in my cupboard and was able to complete my spell without you. Odd, that’s been happening a lot lately.” But then his eye caught sight of someone taller than expected in the room, and his glowing red eyes shot toward Nathan. “You escaped.”
Nathan nodded. “You didn’t seriously think you could hold me.”
The fear on Dolzowt’s face lasted only a second. Then it changed to doubt, and finally transformed into a confidence equal to Nathan’s own. “Something doesn’t add up. If I can’t hold you, then why are you still here?”
Nathan simply stared back with a confident smile he had no business using. Dolzowt smiled too. Greg might have even said he was
glowing, but that seemed redundant.
“You’ve already tried, haven’t you?” said Dolzowt. “I’m betting you escaped your own cell some time ago. But now you find you cannot escape from here. My spell must have worked.”
Nathan waved his staff again. Greg felt his hair stand on end, but little else happened. Yet to Greg’s surprise, Nathan didn’t look disappointed. His smile relaxed, and he stared at Dolzowt as if expecting him to make the next move.
“What was that about?” Dolzowt asked.
Perhaps it was just Greg’s imagination, but he could swear the sorcerer’s glow weakened. Dolzowt noticed too. His glowing red eyes faded to black like cooling embers and took on a worried look. He watched his own radiance diminish, until his image had turned completely solid, and the only light in the room was the soft glow cast by the tip of Nathan’s staff.
“What manner of magic is this?” Dolzowt stammered. “What have you done to me, wizard?”
“Thank you for joining us,” Nathan told him. “I hope for your sake your spell is not so powerful that even you cannot escape it.”
Dolzowt’s eyes filled with rage. “What have you done?” He thrust out one hand, and a ball of blue fire erupted in his palm.
“Ah, ah, think about what you’re about to do,” Nathan warned. “If anything happens to me, I suspect you’ll find yourself here for a very long time.”
Dolzowt stared helplessly for but a moment. His gaze settled on the children cowering by the wall. “Then I’ll kill them, one by one, until you release the spell you hold over me.”
He made as if to throw the ball of fire Kristin’s way, but Nathan’s staff came up just as quickly, and the flame never left Dolzowt’s palm. The sorcerer shrieked as the ball increased in brilliance. He shook and shook his hand, but couldn’t release the fire.
“Enough,” said Nathan, waving his staff again.