The Soorenaran prince spread his hands in a shallow bow and withdrew, stepping into the impenetrable shadows that waited in the arched gallery. Again Aeron sensed some rippling motion in the darkness, a disturbance. "You have changed, Aeron," said the robed man. "When last I saw you, the fire for knowledge burned fiercely in your heart, and nothing could deter you from the pursuit of power."
"I've learned patience, Oriseus," Aeron said. "That's a lesson you taught me, whether you meant to or not."
The sorcerer raised his hands and pushed back his hood. If Aeron had not already known whom he was dealing with, he never would have mistaken him for Oriseus. The trimmed beard and oiled locks were shaved down to gleaming scalp and a bare, angular jaw. Even more startling than Oriseus's change in grooming was the severity of his bearing, the way he carried himself. The capering, self-deprecating exaggeration was gone, replaced by a regal aura. The old Oriseus had disarmed his foes with insincerity and biting humor; this man radiated confidence and capability.
"Timidity is not wisdom, Aeron. And indolence is not patience. While you have slept in your forest retreat, the world has passed you by."
"I see you haven't wasted the past five years," Aeron remarked. "What is the point, Oriseus? Do you know what you are doing to the world outside the college walls?"
The sorcerer's mouth twisted in a slight smile. "I should think the point of this is obvious. Through the Shadow Stone, I shall soon control magic."
"Your own command of the arts is insufficient?"
"You misunderstand me, Aeron. I shall control all magic. I am forging a conduit, a reservoir, into which the Weave of all Chessenta-indeed, of this entire world someday-shall flow. My power will be limitless, Aeron. And those who stand by my side shall share in it. We will be gods."
"How long have you worked on this?" Aeron asked quietly. "You must have studied the Shadow Stone for years to master the use of shadow-magic, to wield its power with impunity. When did this begin, and why?"
Oriseus smiled falsely. "I have sought the stone for years beyond your imagination, Aeron. This day is merely the culmination of a hundred lifetimes of work. I've dreamed of this since my people battled the gods of the Untheri on the Plains of Purple Dust, four thousand years ago."
Eriale could not contain her shock. "You are that old?"
"This body? No, not at all. But my mind, my spirit, has remained undiminished since five centuries before the death of Imaskar." Oriseus raised his hands, almost in benediction. "You have the good fortune to witness the culmination of this work, to see history unfold. I will finish what my brothers could not, all those years ago. And I will reclaim the place that was taken from us."
Aeron considered the master's words, fighting to remain calm. Reconstructing lessons and conversations from years before, his mind reeled in recognition. "You were one of the Imaskari archmages, the first sorcerers," he breathed. "Who are you, really?"
Oriseus laughed aloud. "In the land of my birth, I was once called Madryoch. They named me the Ebon Flame."
"And you've survived all this time."
"My essence did, trapped in the existence you know as the plane of shadow. I spent centuries wandering this barren place, a formless wraith, powerless and empty. Only through the force of my will did my intellect survive.
"Over the years, I occasionally encountered living travelers, drawn to them by their life, their vitality. Some I destroyed, ignorant of my new powers. Others I learned from, slowly mastering the art of claiming a life for my own by forcing my spirit, my will, into the body of another. The sorcerer known as Oriseus came to the Shadow seeking power almost ten years ago now. Instead, he found me." The ancient wizard smiled severely. "This is the key to immortality, Aeron. I shall teach you how to live forever, if you will join me."
"I don't want that," Aeron said. There'd been a time when he was willing to pay any price for knowledge, for the power to defeat those who threatened him, to teach them fear. That time was long past. "No, I'll take the life that's dealt to me."
"Consider carefully, Aeron," Oriseus said, a hint of warning in his voice. "Despite your failure five years ago, despite the fact that you came here to upset a design I have worked on for four millennia, I bear you no malice. You are intelligent and insightful, quick to grasp and wield power. It is your nature. I can use someone of your talents by my side. Wizards of your potential are hard to find."
Sarim had been intelligent, confident, and strong of will, Aeron thought. But the stone devoured him anyway. He paced around the perimeter of the room, keeping his gaze on Oriseus and the stone before him. The rune-marked iron that banded the relic's waist seemed important, as if it contained or focused the artifact's power. Telemachon had said that he could not direct any magic at the stone, since it would be absorbed, but maybe the frame was a vulnerability?
Oriseus watched him as he took the measure of the chamber and its enchantments, an amused smile on his face. "Admiring my handiwork?" he asked in a sharp tone.
"Every object, every creature in this world creates magic," Aeron remarked. "The Weave is a great river, fed by innumerable streams and tributaries. But this stone seems to consume magic instead of create it. It absorbs magic, twists it into something else. Has it always been like this?"
It didn't seem likely that he could get Oriseus to show him how the spell might be undone, but it couldn't hurt to keep him talking. The longer Aeron studied the Shadow Stone and the complex enchantments that buffered the chamber, the more likely it was that he'd see something he could use.
"That was the secret of the Imaskari strength," Oriseus said. "In the beginning of things, the world was made from nothingness, an act of will and purpose. Magic, as you call it, is the echo of this purpose. But this purpose is not unopposed, Aeron. It is, in a sense, an abrogation of something older than creation, an accident of sorts. We live in a single bright flicker of existence, framed by oblivion before and after. That oblivion presses in on us. To put it another way, in the absence of a conscious purpose to exist, the world begins to not exist. This can be harnessed by an adept of strength and skill."
Aeron realized that Oriseus believed that he posed no threat at all. Some vestige of the intellectual conjuror remained in this hollow shell of a man, a master architect who greatly desired his work to be appreciated. "When I encountered this five years ago, I called it shadow-magic. I found that it existed in everything, just as the Weave itself flowed through the natural world and the living hearts of animals and men." Aeron turned a hard stare at Oriseus. "I read how you and your peers found a way to transcend the human limitation against making use of this power, binding evil spirits to your very souls in order to perceive and wield shadow-magic. Is that what you've done to Dalrioc, Sarim, and the others?"
"Not quite. The Shadow Stone changed that. It opened their eyes to the existence of the shadow-magic, just as it opened yours." Oriseus made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "They're fortunate. The compact with which I gained the ability to wield magic came at a much higher price."
Aeron finished his circuit of the room. He glanced at Eriale, who watched him with a pale face. She held an arrow across her bow, but pointed it at the ground- although Aeron knew she could aim and release the missile in the blink of an eye. He could read the unspoken question in her eyes as she flicked her glance toward the tall sorcerer standing before him. He offered the slightest shake of his head as he turned back to Oriseus; he was certain that the sorcerer would have taken steps to defend himself. Then, to Aeron's surprise, Eriale stepped forward.
"So you intend to rule the world by ruining it," she said. "Don't you realize that the world you're making won't be worth ruling? It's pointless, insane. What will be left?"
"What will be left?" Oriseus repeated. "Why, my dear girl, whatever that I decree shall be left. I shall hold the magic of the world in my right fist, and with my left I shall mold the world into whatever shape I fancy."
"What gives you the right?" she demanded.
Oriseus's eyes flashed. "Nothing gives me the right, woman. I claim it. I was the First of the Imaskari, the Ebon Flame. My name struck terror in the hearts of our enemies. At my brothers' side I drove all before me and dragged your barbaric forebears to this world to be our slaves. For forty centuries I have been denied the prize I sought. Now I take it with my own hand!" He raised his hand to cast a spell, and even as Aeron reacted with a counterspell to protect Eriale, Oriseus spat out a word of magical power.
Overhead, a great lambent cyclone of magical energy became visible, trapped and altered by the Shadow Stone's power. "All the Weave for hundreds of miles around flows to this point," Oriseus said. "With each heartbeat, the Shadow Stone takes an ever-growing portion of the world's magic and makes it mine to command!" He batted away Aeron's barrier as if it did not exist.
Aeron gambled on distracting the conjuror. "So why did you seek the Sceptanar's throne and involve yourself in the conflict between Cimbar and Akanax? Those are secondary goals. This is the only matter of importance."
Oriseus halted, allowing the magical energy he'd gathered in his hands to dissipate unused. "As you might imagine, there are those who would not wish to see me complete my work here. The Sceptanar was one of them, an old and weak fool who commanded the misguided allegiance of this powerful city. I needed to make sure that he would not interfere. As for the war with Akanax … it is a shield for me, a cloak to distract any who would oppose me." He allowed a sly smile to spread across his face. "To be perfectly honest, it doesn't matter to me who calls himself the Over-king of Chessenta. Within a day, perhaps two, this spell will be complete. And all of the Old Empires will be mine to rule as I please. I may even allow petty kings such as Dalrioc's father to govern their cities and launch the great wars of conquest and expansion they dream of. It will be of no more consequence than the affairs of insects at my feet."
"And Prince Dalrioc accepts this?"
"He knows where the true power is," Oriseus replied. "As do you, Aeron. Will you stand by my side? You have come to master both the bright and the dark magic, guided by nothing more than your own skill and strength of will-quite a rare feat. You have nothing to fear in accepting my offer, and the world to gain."
"Master Crow made the same offer," Aeron observed. "He tried to kill me when I refused his bargain. Why do you need my help? It seems that you're satisfied with events."
"I don't need your help, Aeron. I merely extend you the opportunity to join the winning side. You could be very useful to me, and I have not forgotten our friendship."
"Crow also hinted that there was a far less pleasant way for me to be of use to you."
"That is true, Aeron. I won't bore you with the details." Oriseus stepped closer, his benevolence vanishing. "You really have only one alternative. Swear you'll serve me. You and your friend shall weather the coming storm unscathed, and stand at my right hand in the world to come."
Is there any way to play along, to deceive him? Aeron wondered. Then his eye fell on the Shadow Stone, its radiance forming a black halo behind Oriseus's form. No, he decided. I barely survived the last time I was here. Acceding to Oriseus's demand might preserve my life, but I'd be dead and lost. Steeling himself, he readied his staff. "I can't do that, Oriseus. If it lies within my power, I mean to put a stop to this."
"Trust me, Aeron. It doesn't." Oriseus made a small gesture, and Dalrioc Corynian emerged from the shadows that flickered in the chamber's periphery, followed by other masters: Eidos, the Lord Necromancer; a stout woman Aeron recognized as a former student of illusions; a stooped, sickly Mulhorandi who was once a Master of Abjuration. Aeron realized that the shadows that danced and undulated under each stone arch were portals, doorways back to the real world. "Join us. You have no choice."
Aeron glanced at Eriale. "Get out of here," he said.
The archer shook her head. "Not without you."
"Well, Aeron? I won't repeat my offer," Oriseus said. His smile faded. "You'll help me, one way or another."
With a roar of defiance, Aeron dashed forward and swung his staff at the iron stand supporting the Shadow Stone, invoking its power. The spell failed with a flash of blue light and a stink of ozone, but the impact toppled the tripod and sent the stone crashing to the floor. "No!" shrieked Oriseus. "Dalrioc! Eidos! Subdue him!"
Aeron danced back, half expecting the gem to shatter like glass, but it struck the ground and rattled away, unharmed. Several of the mages hesitated. He used the reprieve to hurl a battery of glowing missiles at each wizard in Oriseus's circle. Dalrioc and the illusionist failed to parry the missiles; with booming thunderclaps they detonated, hammering them with brutal force. The illusionist's outstretched hand was incinerated by Aeron's spell, and she collapsed screaming. Dalrioc grunted and somehow kept his feet.
In the center of the room, Oriseus ignored Aeron's attack. It seemed to almost splash against an unseen shield, vanishing with nothing more than a brief sparkle of light. "You fool," he hissed. Crouching, the ancient warlock shouted a word of power that blasted Aeron to his knees, leaving him deaf and stunned, blood flowing from his ears and nose.
Behind him, Eriale whirled and loosed an arrow at the old High Necromancer as Eidos worked at a spell of holding. With a curse, the vulpine sorcerer abandoned his enchantment and raised a defensive ward. His wattled hands flickered in a spell of defense that would have deflected any mundane threat, but Eriale's arrow carried a powerful elven enchantment. The shaft sank into Master Eidos's heart, crumpling him like brittle paper.
Eriale nocked a second arrow, but a green ray sizzled across the chamber as the Mulhorandi abjurer whispered a spell of fatigue. The archer's muscles turned to water and she sank to the floor. With all her effort, she drew her bow to half its length and managed to stick an arrow two inches into the abjurer's knee before the spell overcame her. The emaciated sorcerer howled and hopped back, one hand clamped over the arrow.
Aeron staggered to his feet and started to work a spell, but Oriseus brushed his effort aside and lashed out with a crackling black ray that shattered Fineghal's staff in his hands, scorching him badly. With a gasp of shock, Aeron reeled backward. Relentlessly, Oriseus declaimed another spell, this one a binding that created a gossamer web of razor-sharp strands. The bone-white threads sprayed from his fingertips, winding around Aeron and sinking into his flesh until blood flowed freely from a dozen wounds. With one last word, Oriseus jerked his hand back, dropping Aeron heavily to the stone floor.
"A valiant effort, Aeron. How I wish you'd reconsidered my offer; mages of your caliber are hard to find." The sorcerer straightened and snapped his fingers. Several gray-faced soldiers in the livery of the Sceptanar's Guard appeared from another of the dark archways, moving with a blank, mechanical torpor. "Take him to his place," Oriseus ordered them.
"What of the girl?" Dalrioc asked. He cradled one damaged arm, and a wide trickle of blood marked one side of his head.
Oriseus turned and looked her over with a cold smile. "We can always use another archer," he remarked. "Leave her here with me."
Dalrioc Corynian and the silent soldiers dragged Aeron into one of the shadow portals framing the room, emerging in a cold maze of stone walls. To his surprise, it was open to the sky, and a lurid red overcast seemed to twist and churn sluggishly above him. We're not in the tower anymore, Aeron realized. After a moment, he amended that thought. We're not even in Cimbar anymore! Despite the change in his surroundings, he was still conscious of the ever-present chill of the shadow-plane and the jarring sense of wrongness that grated on his nerves until his head ached and nausea rose in his stomach.
"You can't imagine how long I've dreamed about this moment, Aeron," Dalrioc said smugly as he led the way. "I don't know what Oriseus ever saw in you, but I've known for years that this day would come."
They passed an alcove, where Dalrioc instructed the soldiers to halt and turn Aeron to see inside. In the shallow depression, a strange statue or relief seemed graven on the stone wall. It was the si
ze and shape of a man, a carving of immaculate detail. Its wrists and ankles were encircled with old iron chains that were anchored in the flanking walls and sunk into the stone. Aeron peered closer, detecting something familiar in the statue's face and stance. It seemed an excellent likeness of Baldon, his former hallmate. The cold eyes stared sightlessly into the sky, and a grimace of inhuman pain was captured on the carving's face.
"This will be your fate, Aeron," Dalrioc hissed into his ear, relishing Aeron's helplessness. "Baldon is still alive, of course. We need his power, his will, to channel magic to the pyramid. But I wouldn't care to trade places with him." He indicated the dark passageway ahead. "Bring him this way."
The soldiers complied. They turned a corner and carried Aeron to a blank alcove, with iron chains waiting.
"Bind him," Dalrioc commanded.
Although Aeron attempted to struggle, he only cut his hands and face with his effort. The dead soldiers made no sound or protest as the gauzy strands covering Aeron slashed their hands and arms as well. . nor did they bleed. When they finished, Aeron was suspended on the wall by the chains, unable to move.
Aeron noticed that the stone behind him felt unusually cold, like a great block of ice. In moments he began to shiver, feeling the warmth draining out of his body. He glanced down and saw that the tough strands of razor-gauze that held him were dissipating, vanishing like water as they were absorbed by the wall behind him. In a few heartbeats he was free, but his arms and legs were pinioned by the chains.
"What is this, Dalrioc?" he grunted, struggling against his bonds.
"You should have listened to Oriseus," the prince said. "You might have been a ruler, a lord. Now you are nothing more than a slave, to be wrung dry and thrown away."
The Shadow Stone ta-1 Page 31