"What do you mean?"
Dalrioc laughed, a particularly unpleasant sound. "You're clever. You'll figure it out." Still chuckling, he turned and walked away, trailed by the gray soldiers. "I'll be back in a while to see how your new accommodations suit you."
Aeron squirmed away from the pervasive chill of the wall behind him, panic welling in his heart. Every time he slumped against the stone, he could feel the heat, the warmth, draining from his body, a diabolically slow process. It's taking more than my warmth, he realized after a time. It's absorbing the magical spark of my life-force. He shuddered in fear.
In the silence, he could hear faint sounds, some distant, some near. Chains clanking on stone, voices whispering and moaning, so soft that he could almost mistake it for the sound of the wind. But there was no wind in this place, no light, only a ruddy red glow that colored the blank walls of stone the hue of old blood. He groaned in despair.
"Who's there?"
Aeron looked up. It was a woman's voice, tired and faint. He wondered if he'd imagined it. "Hello?" he called.
"Hello," the woman answered. She was somewhere to his right, down the stone hallway. "Did they shackle you to the wall?"
"Yes. I can't move."
"Are you certain?" she replied. "Your life depends on it."
Aeron craned his neck out to examine his fetters. He tested them against the wall, but he couldn't budge them at all; he'd never been strong of limb. Frowning, he tried to narrow his hands and pull them free, but after a valiant effort he gave up.
"No, I'm chained," he said. "What happens now?"
"You'll die," the woman replied, her voice heavy with resignation. "It may take weeks, even months, but this place will slowly kill you, just like the rest of us."
Aeron listened closely. Beneath the exhaustion, there was a familiarity to her voice, a hint of a burring Reach accent. "Melisanda? Is that you?"
"Who wants to know?"
"It's Aeron, Aeron Morieth."
"Aeron?" It was Melisanda's voice, sadder and somehow more distant than Aeron remembered. He could read a long tale of sorrow and hopelessness in the way her voice cracked and rasped. There was a long silence then, and Aeron strained to hear what she might say. Finally she spoke again. "It's good to hear your voice."
"And yours. Although I wish it were under better circumstances."
Melisanda laughed bitterly. "Indeed. A year or two ago I heard that you'd returned to the Maerchwood. What are you doing here?"
"I tried to put a stop to Oriseus's work. I'm afraid I did not succeed."
"We're all part of his spell, Aeron," Melisanda said. "We hold the pyramid together, and that draws the magic to this place."
"I don't understand."
"Rebuilding the monument is insignificant. It looks impressive, but it means nothing. Magic is drawn to this place because he's enslaved the souls of wizards here."
Aeron leaned back, ignoring the cold. "But we're not in the tower," he replied. "What is this place?"
She hesitated a moment before replying. "It's one point of a ritual diagram, I think. I don't know if you noticed, but this structure is nothing more than an open corridor or hallway. It takes seven turns around its circumference, so there's seven walls. Each of us is chained to one wall."
"I saw Baldon," Aeron said quietly. He thought on Melisanda's words for a time. Seven wizards, chained in a seven-sided figure. . but they weren't near the tower. "I wager there's six other places like this, all spaced at an equal distance around the Shadow Stone," Aeron said. "Seven times seven wizards, all dying to power Oriseus's spell, focused by the structure he raised at the College of Sorcery. That's the centerpiece."
"How far apart are they?" she wondered aloud.
"Who knows? The shadow doors in the chamber of the stone might be portals to each of these places. A hundred miles? A thousand? We have no way of knowing."
"I think you may be right," Melisanda replied. "Dalrioc told me there were other places like this." She fell silent again for a long time. Aeron made another attempt to extract his wrists from the shackles that held him, giving up in exhaustion. "Aeron? Why is Oriseus doing this? What is this all about?"
"Oriseus is not our concern," Aeron told her. "It's Madryoch." He went on to tell her what Oriseus-or Madryoch-had told him, and what he'd observed of the effects of the ancient sorcerer's spell. He ended up backtracking all the way to the awful night when he'd fled into the Shadow, out of his mind with the loathing and fear engendered by his first encounter with the stone, and recounting the years that had passed since that day.
When he finished, Melisanda described what had befallen her after she'd left the college. She had returned to her home in Arrabar, choosing to study in private, away from the intrigues of Cimbar's college. Just as Aeron had become a formidable mage with years of practice and study, Melisanda had become competent too. She used her talents to help her family defend their lands and keep peace in their home, gaining a reputation as a sorceress not to be crossed.
"How did you end up here?" Aeron asked.
"Dalrioc and a handful of his allies," Melisanda spat. "They lured me into an ambush, sending me an urgent plea for help from one of the merchant lords who lives near my home. He'd always been an ally of our house, so I went to his aid and found them waiting for me instead. Dalrioc tried to convince me to join him in his work, but I wanted no part of it. So they brought me here." Aeron heard her chains clinking as she struggled with them. "Damn it!"
"We'll think of something," he told her.
"I hope so." Melisanda's struggles subsided. There was a soft sob. "Aeron, it's cold."
"I know," he said. He closed his eyes, wishing he could at least see her from where he was trapped. "I know." They waited together in silence for a long time, until he lapsed into a restless, tortured sleep.
Something breathed warm, damp air into his face, rooting at his loose collar with an animal cough. Padded claws pressed into his shoulders as the creature leaned close, its heavy breathing filling his ears, the smell of wet fur cloying in his nostrils. Aeron awoke with an inarticulate moan of panic, struggling wildly, his hands and feet anchored in the stone.
A wet tongue licked his face, and the animal whined softly. Aeron opened his eyes, and caught a glimpse of silver-gray fur and dark, intelligent eyes. "Baillegh!" he cried. The elven hound barked once and nuzzled his face, her tail wagging in delight. "Assuran's shield! Where did you come from?"
"Aeron? What's happening?" Worry strained Melisanda's voice. "Are you all right?"
"Yes, I'm fine," he called back. "I've just been surprised by a friend, though." He looked back to the dog. She seemed thin and weak, as if she'd been lost a long time. Frowning, he tried to recall what had happened to her. She was with us outside the tower. . but I don't recall that she followed us inside. Could she have tracked us through the shadow doors? Or did she come cross-country all the way from Cimbar?
"Aeron?" Melisanda called. "What's going on?"
"Wait a moment," he answered. "I hope I'll be able to show you." He glanced up at the iron band that clasped his right wrist. Dalrioc hadn't welded the band shut; instead, it was a crude ratchetlike device that was secured by a short pin. He couldn't bend his hand back far enough to reach the pin; it was too close to the manacle.
"All right, Baillegh. Let's see if you're as smart as I think you are," he breathed. Staring into the hound's dark eyes, he bent his will to creating a clear image of the hound pulling the locking pin free. She barked once and turned to the shackle, stretching to her full length to reach it. Aeron grimaced as the hound's mouth closed over his wrist, but in a moment Baillegh dropped back with a sharp grunt.
The pin was clenched in her teeth.
Aeron pulled on the manacle, twisting it open and jerking his hand free. Ignoring the stinging abrasion on his wrist, he turned and undid the other manacle, lowering himself to the ground. The shackle that held his left ankle was jammed shut, but with his hands free and his body away fr
om the dark stone wall, he was able to cast a minor alteration that caused the rusty iron to snap open, falling away from his legs. Impulsively, he reached over and hugged Baillegh, ruffling the hound's coat, and then stood and stretched.
"Come on. Let's see if we can help the others," he said to her. The hound licked his hand and followed behind him.
He stepped out of the alcove, turned right, and rounded the odd angle in the corridor. About thirty feet down the wall, Melisanda was pinned in another alcove. She'd been dressed in the layered skirts and blouse of a Chondathan noblewoman, but her dress was in tatters, revealing her white shift beneath. She was pale and thin, a cold and frightened waif, but the old light in her face returned with her smile, as she looked up and saw Aeron standing before her. "I knew they wouldn't keep you chained," she said.
Aeron reached up and undid her bonds, helping her down. He was shocked at how cold her skin felt when his hand brushed hers; she must have waited in this place for a long time. Her knees buckled when she stepped free of the wall, and Aeron barely managed to catch her before she fell. He half-carried her a few feet away, supporting her with his shoulder.
"Careful, now. You're not at your best."
Melisanda nodded and let him help her down the hallway. As she'd told him, it turned right at a sharp angle every fifty feet or so. The first alcove they passed was nothing but blank stone, with the manacles disappearing into the rock as if the hapless soul trapped there had sunk beyond recovery. Despite their best efforts, neither Aeron nor Melisanda could manage to free the wizard entombed within. They found that the rest imprisoned there were in little better shape. Even Baldon was beyond their aid.
"I think the only way to free them is to break or reverse Oriseus's spell," Aeron finally said. "We can't help them now."
"I'm afraid you may be right," Melisanda replied. "Well, what's next?"
"We've got to undo what Oriseus's done," he said slowly. "We have to go back."
"Overland, or do we risk the shadow door?"
"The shadow door's the only way. We might be able to scramble over that wall easily enough, but that leaves us stranded in some unknown place in the demiplane of shadow, without any idea of which way Cimbar might lie." Aeron scratched at his chin. "Yes, I think we have to risk the door that Dalrioc and Oriseus use to come and go."
Melisanda gave him a long look but did not argue. "We'll be walking right into their nest," she said. "Are you ready for a fight?"
He turned his attention inward, mentally cataloging the spells held in his memory. The touch of the wall had drained several spells from his mind, devouring the patterns of word and rune, but most remained intact. "I have enough spells to get us past one or two of Oriseus's minions, but I wouldn't want to take them all on."
"I've a few spells, but I'm struggling to remember them. I think it might take me longer to recover from being chained here." They turned the last corner and stood facing the dark doorway. It was framed against the outer wall by an arch of polished obsidian. "Do you have any idea what we can do if we do go back?"
"No. But I think I know where we might find out."
"The library?"
"If there's any help to be had, we'll find it there," Aeron said. He was going to continue, when suddenly Baillegh barked in warning. He wheeled, facing the shadow door.
It seemed to ripple and flow, like oil on water, and then Dalrioc Corynian stepped into the hallway. The prince halted in mid-stride, open amazement on his face. "How did you get free?" he snarled, raising his hands to hurl a spell.
"Dalrioc!" cried Aeron.
He shouted a dire word, unleashing one of the swiftest spells he knew. The force of his cry was amplified a hundredfold by the magic of the spell, striking Dalrioc like a physical blow and cracking the stone archway behind him. Caught in the middle of his spell, the prince fell heavily to the stone, ruining his enchantment. Aeron slumped against the wall, gasping for breath; the word of power was a taxing spell, and he'd been forced to draw upon his own life-force to power it.
Dalrioc shook his head groggily, blood trickling from his ears. Instead of rising, the prince rolled to his knees, snatched a short iron scepter from his belt, and shouted a trigger word. A white ray of intense cold sprang from the scepter, grazing Aeron's hip and burning like fire. Dalrioc swung the beam at Melisanda and caught her across the knees, sending her to the ground with a cry of pain, and then pointed it directly at Baillegh as the hound sprung at him. She crumpled in mid-spring without a sound, crashing to the ground.
"You'll wish you'd stayed where I left you," Dalrioc snapped.
Aeron replied by slapping one hand on the frozen stone and creating a thunderous crack that raced toward Dalrioc and dropped the floor from under him. With a grinding of torn rock, the prince slid feet-first into the crevasse, disappearing from sight. Quick as he could, Aeron released the spell, allowing the wound in the stone to grind shut-but Dalrioc suddenly leaped free, soaring into the air with a simple jumping spell and alighting on the wall top. His fine tunic was torn and bloody, but he seemed unhurt.
"You'll have to do better than that," he shouted, raising the iron scepter again. Its tip gleamed white with frost.
Melisanda pronounced a liquid string of words and gestured, pulling the iron scepter from Dalrioc's hand with a sharp wrench. The magical weapon arced high into the air and clattered to the ground a short way down the hall. Dalrioc cursed and started another spell, a dire enchantment that sent chills down Aeron's spine. Aeron began a spell of his own, but Dalrioc finished first this time, reaching out with his hand as if to crush Aeron's heart. Cold, strong fingers sank into his chest, ripping away his breath.
"Do you like my new spell, Aeron?" Dalrioc called. "You're not the only one who learned a few tricks over the past five years."
Melisanda started to call out another enchantment, but her voice faltered-she hadn't yet recovered from her long bondage, and the magic she sought was too difficult for her.
Aeron choked back a scream as he struggled, impaled on the intangible talons of Dalrioc's spell. He couldn't begin to develop any kind of counterspell, not while his mind was filled with the icy pain that shredded his chest. With a fierce effort of will, he pushed the pain to a distant part of his awareness and spoke a simple fetching spell. Down the hall, Dalrioc's iron scepter clattered across the floor and then flew up to Aeron's hand. In one smooth motion, he raised the weapon and barked out the word he'd heard Dalrioc use to trigger its powers.
The white beam of frost erupted from the rod's end, striking Dalrioc full in the torso. The Soorenaran wizard doubled over as his skin paled and gleaming ice coated his body. He teetered for a moment on the wall top before he lost his balance and fell awkwardly to the ground. Aeron sobbed in relief as the icy claw released his heart and faded, leaving a deep, cold ache in the center of his body.
Melisanda approached Dalrioc cautiously, ready to strike with a spell if necessary. The prince lay motionless on the ground. She turned him over carefully and stood a moment later, a fierce look on her face. "The frost or the fall killed him," she said.
Aeron nodded in acknowledgment and knelt by Baillegh. The hound stirred slowly. In a moment she shook herself and scrambled to her feet, moving gingerly. Aeron reached out to stroke her fur, ignoring the frost that covered her.
"Thanks, Baillegh. I'm sorry he hurt you." He looked to where Dalrioc sprawled on the ground. "He was never that strong back at the college," he said.
"It must be the Shadow Stone," Melisanda replied.
Aeron thought of Oriseus, waiting somewhere on the other side of the shadow door. "What do you suppose it can do for an archmage?" he asked bitterly. The effort of speaking brought a coarse, bloody cough to his tortured chest. He pushed himself to his feet. "Come on. We have to settle this."
Melisanda closed her eyes and nodded. "You're right. Lead the way, Aeron."
He studied the shadow door for a long moment, wondering if there was any way to find out what lay beyond. Well, the
re's always one way, he thought. Steeling himself, he squared his shoulders and stepped into the darkness.
Nineteen
Aeron emerged from the shadow door with Dalrioc's scepter held at the ready, but to his relief the chamber of the Shadow Stone was empty. The hateful artifact flickered and pulsated, illuminating the room with its eerie lambent glow. Keeping a wary eye on the umber archways ringing the vault, Aeron advanced to confront the stone.
Behind him, the shadows rippled once more, and Melisanda and Baillegh entered. The Vilhonese wizardess stood beside Aeron, gazing at the Stone. "I hate that thing," she whispered. "Can't you feel the way it pulls at you?"
"I came very close to succumbing to it the first time Oriseus led me to this room," Aeron said. "I had to draw on some of its power, its shadow-magic, to escape, and I've been marked by it ever since. It frightens me, too."
"Can you think of a way to destroy it?"
"I tried to attack the iron bands that frame it, but my spell failed. The stone absorbs magic, and even my most destructive enchantment simply drained away." Aeron crouched down, studying the inscription on the metal frame. "Telemachon told me that physical destruction was unlikely to prove effective, either. The moment I touch the stone, it will have me."
"So we can't destroy it by magic, and we can't destroy it by physical means," Melisanda said. "What does that leave?"
"I may have an idea," Aeron said. "Keep watch for a moment while I make a copy of this inscription." From a pouch at his side he produced a sheet of parchment and a quill pen. Carefully, he recorded the pattern of runes. It was not a lengthy inscription, probably no more than thirty or so words. "I'm done," he announced.
"What do you hope to do with that?" Melisanda asked.
"I think that the frame is the stone's vulnerability. If I can figure out what the inscription says, I'll have an idea of the purpose of the iron bands. And that might suggest a means to attack them."
The Vilhonese sorceress studied the dark archways lining the chamber. "Which of these leads back to the college, I wonder?" She turned in a slow circle, examining each. "I count ten portals, including the one we just stepped out of."
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