More than a hundred of the inhuman tormenters of dreams were gathered around the pit. Myrmeen saw beings with mouths covering their entire bodies, creatures that shook uncontrollably, and men and women with skin of every color—including one woman whose flesh changed color whenever she moved or laughed. Colors rippled through the voluptuous frame of the naked rainbow woman as she kissed a tall man’s arm. His flesh was covered with eyes that his black leather and armor were designed to protect with crystal coverings woven into his suit.
Lord Sixx was extremely relaxed and seemed only mildly interested when Myrmeen and Krystin were led into the room. Imperator Zeal’s entourage remained in the corridor’s shadows, then spread out to block every avenue of escape other than the shaft at the center of the large chamber.
Finally Sixx looked over and smiled, his arching brows and widow’s peak pointing at the three sets of eyes peering out from his skull. Zeal approached Lord Sixx with the prisoners, the fiery-haired man bowing as he reached the dark man who held dominion over them all. “Lord Sixx, may I present—”
“You may not,” Sixx said as he dismissed the rainbow woman with a gentle pat to her bottom and approached Myrmeen. “I know who this is, you idiot.”
Myrmeen noticed that not all of his eyes moved at the same time, and she was unnerved by the sight.
Imperator Zeal lowered his gaze and backed away. “Of course, milord,” he said.
“Myrmeen Lhal,” Lord Sixx declared in his rich voice, “ruler of Arabel, a fine city. Who sits upon your throne, Myrmeen? One of yours? Or one of ours, perhaps?”
The implication caused her heart to leap into her throat as she thought of Elyn, the Harper who had masqueraded as Myrmeen, ruling the city in her stead.
“Ah,” Sixx said softly as he tasted her fear, “sweet.”
Myrmeen understood her mistake.
“Don’t worry,” Sixx muttered assuredly, “your friend is safe. But you might be surprised to learn how many of our kind have replaced humans in positions of power throughout this world. I’ll give you a hint: Zhentil Keep is more for us than an excellent hunting ground.”
The Zhentarim, Myrmeen thought, the Harpers’ blood enemies. If the shadow people could infiltrate ranks such as those, then no agency in the world was safe from their spies. She considered that even the Harpers could be compromised.
“He’s lying,” Krystin said. “He always lies.”
Lord Sixx turned his gaze to Krystin in amusement. “Have we met?”
“That’s what Alden said,” she muttered.
Sixx shrugged happily. “Alden is a confused child. You can’t take his rambling to heart. It may prove fatal not only to you.”
Krystin looked away, something in Lord Sixx’s words seeming to strike home.
“Where are the others?” Myrmeen asked.
“Bring them,” Lord Sixx said as he raised his hand, slapping his fingers against his palm as if he were summoning a waiter in an expensive dining establishment. The crowd of monstrosities parted and the two remaining Harpers were brought forth. Myrmeen could tell from the fresh cuts and contusions lining their bodies that they had struggled bravely before they were subdued, but they were only flesh, and the members of the Night Parade were much more. Ord refused to walk of his own accord and had to be dragged. Reisz held himself with a quiet dignity, despite the roughness of the talons and claws that shoved him forward. Both men had been gagged with sashes of black silk.
“Let them speak,” Myrmeen commanded.
“No,” Sixx said lazily, “I’m tired of their ranting.”
Myrmeen looked at him, stunned to have been refused.
“Let me explain,” Lord Sixx said as he lowered his head like a snake inspecting its latest kill. “You are not in control here. You breathe because I wish it and for no other reason.”
“Do not anger him,” a voice said from behind Myrmeen, “It will only make it worse.”
The fighter turned, recognizing the voice of the mage she had presumed dead. When she saw his pallid skin, drawn lips, and blood-drenched smock, she knew something was terribly wrong with him. “Lucius?”
“Shandower is dead,” the mage said, his voice appearing to have emerged from the base of a tunnel, as if he were speaking from a nearly unreachable distance. “I helped them kill him, Myrmeen. They threw his gauntlet into the pit, with his bones.” He turned to Lord Sixx. “Please release me. My time is done.”
“In a just world, perhaps,” Lord Sixx said. “When you reach such a place, you will have stories to share with the other complainers, those who suffered unnatural ends. Now be quiet or I’ll kill them all.”
Lucius felt a trace of his old strength flow into him as he said, “You promised to spare them if I cooperated.”
“True,” Sixx said and laughed, “but your involvement is not yet finished and their lives are still in the balance.”
Myrmeen could not believe what she was hearing. “Lucius, you must not help them. If you give them what they want, they’ll have no reason to keep any of us alive. What happened to you, that you could betray us like this?”
The mage hesitated. “I am dead.”
The fighter drew a sharp breath and suddenly identified the smell of rotting flesh among the putrid odors of the monstrosities gathered near the pit.
“They have trapped me here between this world and the next,” Lucius said. “Cyric’s emissaries call to me, screaming curses because I will not come, but I cannot, though I am dead.”
Myrmeen spun on Lord Sixx. “What do you want of him?”
The Night Parade’s leader glanced at her as if her intelligence had suffered an instant, rapid decline. “He must retrieve the apparatus, of course. Shandower was not a powerful mage. He merely employed them. His skills would have been useless in sorting through the puzzle box of wards surrounding the apparatus.”
Lucius shook his head. “You have denied me use of my spells. There is nothing I can do.”
“What I made you forget, I can make you remember,” Sixx promised.
Krystin hugged herself so tightly at these words that she forced blood to leak from the wound in her arm. A figure burst through the crowd of abominations, a flaxen-haired youth who leapt to her feet and licked her blood from the floor.
“Alden,” she whispered. When he looked up in response, she saw that he was no longer human. His eyes gleamed bright red and his teeth had become wolflike canines. The lower half of his face had lengthened, jutting straight outward to accommodate his snapping jaws. Alden’s features had shortened, his brow becoming considerably more brutish. His hair stood out in wild patterns, matted in tangled clots near his sopping mouth. He latched onto her leg with a single hairy claw, and Krystin screamed.
“Child!” Lord Sixx shouted.
Alden’s head snapped around, his eyes wide with fear. He panted like a frightened dog.
“Do not embarrass me before our guests,” Lord Sixx said as he struck Alden on the back of the head, causing him to release Krystin and scamper into the recesses of the crowd. “You must forgive him. He was just happy to see you.”
“What have you done to him?” she whispered.
“He is becoming,” Sixx said with a touch of pride.
Krystin waited for him to finish the statement. When it was clear that Sixx felt he had answered sufficiently, she asked exactly what Alden was becoming.
Lord Sixx opened his hands. “Who knows? Perhaps his father, Dymas, will have an idea when he arrives. For now, we have other matters to consider.” He looked at the mage. “What is your decision, Cardoc?”
Lucius whispered, “I am weak. I cannot help you.”
“Then everyone dies and we are delayed slightly longer until we find someone who can.” Sixx shrugged. “I’ve only chosen this tack because I am impatient.”
“You said you did not want me to use my magic against you,” Lucius said.
“I would still prefer that to be the case,” Sixx said honestly. “I am the only one who ca
n release you from your torments, and the lives of all you care about are in my grasp. The decision, however, is yours.”
Myrmeen touched the dead mage’s arm and immediately drew her hand back in disgust at the cold flesh her fingers encountered. Lucius looked at her sadly.
“I must do as he asks,” he said.
“I know,” she said, trying to clear her mind of the idea that was forming. “But you said it yourself, you’re weak. You’re going to need help. Let me help you.”
He nodded and trained his gaze on Lord Sixx.
“I don’t care how you do it, just get on with it,” Sixx said, annoyed. He gestured, and Krystin was thrown to the creatures guarding Ord and Reisz. “Try to betray me, and their deaths will be works of art that we will talk about far into the future.”
Myrmeen looked to Krystin, who was trying to control her fear, then turned her gaze to Sixx. “I understand.”
Lucius stared into the pit and said, “Let us begin.”
The mage gave a short list of objects he would need, stressing that the most important items were a silver mirror, a box that Sixx felt was large enough to contain the apparatus, and two lengths of extremely strong rope, so that he and Myrmeen could be lowered into the pit, where the apparatus waited. In the time it took to fulfill the mage’s requirements, Lord Sixx had released the dampers he had installed in the sorcerer’s mind, allowing Lucius full memory of the battery of spells he had memorized over the years and constantly replenished. The mage considered the spells he could use to gain vengeance on Lord Sixx and the creatures near the pit: he could rain acid upon them, draw their breath from them, or use a spell of wilting—but all these evocations would harm those he was trying to protect as well.
Soon a pair of makeshift harnesses was fashioned with the ropes. Several of the Night Parade’s strongest members held the ropes as Myrmeen and Lucius crept backward, yanking as hard as they could to test their protectors’ mettle. The ropes might as well have been secured to boulders. Lucius backed to the edge, then leapt into the darkness, his boots catching the upper rim as he tugged on the rope and was gradually fed enough line to make his descent. Myrmeen quickly followed him, disturbed by the leer of the first monster that held her rope. She restrained herself from making an impolite gesture and quickly vanished into the pit.
“Zeal, you simpleton, don’t just stand there. Give them some light,” Lord Sixx roared. The fiery-haired man flinched at the insult, then proceeded to follow his master’s command, crouching at the lip of the pit and allowing his hands to be consumed by twin suns of flame that lighted the shaft for a depth of nearly thirty yards.
“They’re fifty feet down, but I don’t see any niche,” Zeal said.
“We don’t need a commentary. Let the humans accomplish their task,” Lord Sixx chided.
Within the pit, Lucius and Myrmeen descended another twenty feet before the mage motioned for the fighter to stop.
“It is here,” he called as he clapped three times, indicating that no further rope should be given.
Myrmeen saw a section of smooth rock that looked no different from the rest of the shaft. Suddenly she realized what was different about this patch of stone: On its surface were the mummified remains of several dozen insects, a few roaches, and even a butterfly that might have been pinned in the album of a collector.
“Do not touch the stone,” Lucius warned.
“Have no worries,” she responded.
Lucius appeared to be no longer listening; he was casting a spell. Suddenly a glowing, silver ball of light materialized over their heads. A cloud of blue flame burst from the surface of the stone and was absorbed by the spell trap, which also provided all the illumination they required.
Above, Imperator Zeal allowed the fires consuming his hands to fade and he returned to the crowd, standing well apart from Lord Sixx.
In the pit, Lucius touched the newly polished rock surface and spread his fingers upon the stone. Uttering a few simple words, he dispelled the magic holding the small section of wall in place. The burned umber stretch of rock disappeared and was replaced by the niche Shandower had mentioned. The box containing the apparatus was in plain view, three feet inside the hole into which a man could comfortably fit, provided he remained in a crouch. Myrmeen resisted the urge to reach inside and snatch the box, which was large enough to house a crossbow. The box they had brought with them was black and plain, the steel container used to protect maps and scrolls in the event of a fire. Myrmeen found it strangely comforting that these unnatural creatures could get lost as easily as any human.
The box housing the apparatus was bright gold, with arcane runes etched upon its surface. The grooves were filled in with tiny, crushed rubies. Representations of men and women suffering the torments of the damned rose from its slightly dull surface, and, when viewed from a distance, the figures meshed together to create a face that was screaming in terror. One of the eyes looked as if it had been put out. A sky-blue marble flecked with crimson had been placed in the remaining socket. The box’s sides had strange figures that gave the overall impression of hands that had been fused to the metal by touching a red-hot surface.
Her instincts told her that this was far too easy. Lucius looked over at her and nodded, as if confirming her thoughts.
“The easier it looks, …” he said, his voice trailing off sorrowfully. He cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps you should go back.”
“My place is with you,” she said.
Lucius turned away and said, “What will you tell my children of how I met my end?”
“That you died to save others.”
He nodded, then completed another spell. Myrmeen shuddered in surprise as her field of vision took on a crimson hue. She looked down to see a glowing field of energy surrounding her body, an aura of protection.
“Spirit armor,” she said angrily. “This spell steals some of my life’s essence!”
“It may be worthwhile if it saves your life later.”
“Or you may have just taken a few precious days, a month, or more, for no reason. Next time, ask me first.”
“You would have refused,” he said dryly.
“I notice you didn’t cast this spell on yourself.”
Lucius shook his head. “I have no life essence to utilize. I am a dead man walking.”
Myrmeen had no reply. The damage was done. All they could do was get on with the task at hand.
The gaunt mage took a handful of loose stone from the edge of the niche and threw them at the box. The stones crackled, and a blinding flash of light consumed them as the rocks were vaporized against an invisible wall of force.
“Get back!” Lucius shouted as he shoved at Myrmeen, forcing her to swing out of the niche as the spell trap’s small, glowing orb rushed in and collided with the unseen wall. The explosion sent each of them hurtling toward the opposite wall of the shaft, where they groaned with the impact, then found the area once again wreathed in darkness. Myrmeen could no longer see her red aura, and wondered if the spell had saved her already. Her body drifted in a pendulous motion, swinging back to the alcove where the box had been stored. A hand gripped her arm and she allowed herself to be dragged into the small niche.
“Hold out your hand. This won’t hurt you,” Lucius said.
Myrmeen did as the sorcerer asked. She heard him whisper in the darkness, then jumped as a flaming sphere appeared in her hand. Her head struck the hard ceiling. Lucius had kept a tight grip on her arm, and she quickly calmed herself, realizing that the flames were not harming her. “Whatever you do, keep away from the box.”
Myrmeen nodded. The mystical blast from the destruction of the spell trap had left the mage shaken, his flesh burned, lacerations visible beneath his shredded white smock. Myrmeen could see the wounds that had killed him, and turned away in disgust from the sight. She once had desired this man, but she did not want him now.
A part of her hated herself for these thoughts, but she knew that Lucius was already gone.
She had to adjust to his death, even if that meant distancing herself from him while his soul was still trapped within his rotting shell.
“The signs are there,” Lucius said, admiring the craftsmanship of the mages who had preceded him.
“What signs?” Myrmeen asked. “What do they indicate?”
“The sleep of ages. If we are not especially careful, we could be enveloped in a stasis field, frozen forever, eternally aware, damned for all time—similar to what Lord Sixx has done to me, only much worse. The art of what has been done here is that Phezult’s spell is only the first page in a long tome. Dispelling this bit of magic will act to trigger several worse spells. Brilliant.”
“What other spells?”
“There is no way to tell. I would guess a mindkiller spell, tentacle walls, fear contagion—anything is possible.”
“So what do we do?”
A weak smile crossed his features as he told Myrmeen what to shout upward, to the night people. Soon they heard the sound of heels slamming against the stone above and grunts of exertion as one of the creatures was lowered to where Myrmeen dangled, just outside of the niche. The creature appeared to be human, which bothered Myrmeen, until it started scratching the side of its head and peeled back a section of human flesh to reveal scales. She ushered it into the pit, where Lucius politely asked the monster to help them, as they were not strong enough to lift the box containing the apparatus. The monster laughed at their human frailty and clutched the hand rests at either side of the box. The creature then stumbled back, where it collapsed into an eternal sleep.
“We made a mistake,” Myrmeen shouted. “Lift him back.” She looked into the niche and grinned at Lucius. “We have more work to do.”
As the night people hauled up their fallen comrade, Myrmeen crawled back inside the niche, holding her flaming hand before her. “Could you have restored him?”
The Night Parade Page 24