Palin watched fearfully, more than half-expecting to see the guardian appear, the kender drop dead on the staircase.
Nothing happened.
Tasslehoff reached the laboratory door safely. He rattled the handle, peered at the lock, gave the door a shove.
The door swung silently open.
Chill air flowed out, heavy with must and mildew and other, more unpleasant, odors. Usha gagged and covered her mouth and nose with her scarf. Steel grimaced and drew his sword.
“It smells of death,” he said.
Tasslehoff hovered on the stoop, staring inside.
“Wow!” they heard him say. And then the kender, with a hop, leapt over the stoop and vanished into the darkness.
Palin envisioned the jars of spell components, the magical artifacts, the spellbooks, the scrolls—all in easy reach of a kender’s deft fingers. Here was danger far greater than any spectral guardian ever given unholy life.
“Tas!” Palin shoved past Steel. Gathering up his robes, the mage raced up the stairs. “Tas! Come out of there! Don’t touch anything!”
He stood in the doorway, suddenly fearful, reluctant to enter. This was wrong, all wrong. Palin shone the staff’s light inside.
Tasslehoff had advanced to the middle of the room, was standing in front of an enormous table, staring at the objects on it in wide-eyed wonder.
“Tas!” Palin scolded, cross with relief. “Come out of there!”
He could hear, behind him, Steel mounting the staircase.
The staff’s light went out. Darkness engulfed them, roiled around them, crashed over them, drowned them.
Steel cursed. Usha gave a frightened cry.
“Don’t anyone move!” Palin warned, having terrible visions of them all falling off the spiral stairs, plummeting to the stone floor far, far below. “Shirak!”
The command failed. Either that, or the staff refused to obey. The darkness grew deeper, stronger.
“What is going on, Majere?” Steel demanded. “Light the damn staff!”
“I’m trying!” Palin said, frustrated and angry with himself. Again, the magic had failed him.
Armor scraped against stone. Booted feet came down heavily on the stairs. Steel was trying to find him.
“Palin!” Usha called out fearfully. “I’m coming up to you! Don’t move.”
“Usha, be careful!” Palin half-turned, to try to go back, to try to reach her.
“Palin!” Tas’s voice echoed shrilly. “I’ve got hold of something. Maybe this will help!”
“Tas! No!” Palin cried, turning back.
A crash came, the ominous sound of breaking glass.
Groping forward, tapping with the staff like a blind beggar in the market, Palin edged his way into the pitch-dark laboratory. Steel was right behind him. The knight stood poised on the threshold, then he stopped. He did not enter.
The door slammed shut.
23
Dalamar returns. A Message.
Usha’s magic.
ajere!” Steel Brightblade threw himself at the closed door in an attempt to break it down. “Damn you, Majere! Open the door!”
“Palin!” Usha was beside him, pounding on the door with her fists.
The knight heard faint cries and thumping from the other side of the door. It might have been Palin attempting to open the door … or it might have been the mage sealing it shut.
Steel assumed it was the latter. “Go back to the landing,” he ordered the woman.
“What are you going to do?”
“Try to break down the door. I thought I felt it give a moment before. Go on. You’re in my way.”
“But … it’s so dark!” Usha protested, her voice shaking. “I can’t see! What if … what if I fall?”
Steel didn’t give a damn whether she fell or not, but he curbed his impatience. “Feel your way down. Stay close to the wall. You’ll know when you reach the landing. Once you get there, don’t move.”
He heard her cautious footsteps, moving slowly down the stairs, then he forgot about her, focused on the door. He would have to run up the stairs to reach it, which did not provide him with the correct leverage …
The woman screamed. “Knight! Behind you!”
Steel turned, sword raised.
Two pale eyes shone in the darkness.
“Leave, Sir Knight. The way is forbidden.”
“You let the mage inside! And the kender,” Steel retorted.
“I did not let them in.”
“Then who did?”
“The Master of the Tower.”
“Lord Dalamar is returned? Then tell him to let me inside!” Steel demanded.
The eyes drifted closer. The deadly chill of the netherworld struck through to the marrow of the knight’s bones. He gritted his teeth to keep them from clicking together, gripped his sword more tightly.
“I do not refer to Dalamar,” said the specter. “Leave this place now, Sir Knight, or you will never leave it at all.”
“Help!” Usha cried. “Someone, please help us!”
Her voice echoed eerily through the darkness, circling round and round the tower’s inner walls, falling like a stone dropped in a well. The sound was so strange and terrifying that she didn’t repeat her call.
Help could come or not, as it chose. Steel’s prisoner was on the other side of the door. Steel’s duty lay on the other side of that door. He had failed once. He had hesitated on the threshold instead of entering. This realm of wizards was unsettling, unnerving. The very air was clogged and fouled with sorcery, the darkness alive with unquiet spirits. He longed for an enemy he could see, feel. He longed to breathe fresh air, hear the clean clash of sword against sword. He longed to leave this mage’s keep, but he could not abandon his duty, not even in death.
He struck at the specter. His sword whistled in the air, clanged against the stone wall with a shower of sparks.
The pale, gleaming eyes grew enormous, swelled and bulged. Hands reached out, their cruel touch lethal.
Steel slashed at it again. “Takhisis,” he shouted, “be with me!”
“Your prayers are in vain, Sir Knight,” said a voice. “Our queen has no jurisdiction here.”
A globe of warm yellow light, held in the hands of a red-robed wizardess, drove the darkness back. Beside her, standing on the landing, was a sorcerer—an elf wearing black robes. At first amazed, Steel then realized that the man must be a dark elf, one who had turned against the light, gone against the precepts of his people. This must be Dalamar the Dark, Master of the Tower of High Sorcery.
Or was he merely subletting it?
Dalamar looked upward, to the knight standing at bay on the stairs. “I heard intruders had broken in, that a knight and a white-robed mage had passed safely through the Shoikan Grove. I could not believe it at first. Now I understand. A Knight of Takhisis. But where is the White Robe who accompanied you? Where is Palin Majere?”
“In there!” Usha answered, pointing at the laboratory. “He went into that … that room. The kender went with him. And then the door slammed shut and we haven’t been able …”
Her voice sank. Dalamar’s face was livid. The infuriated sorcerer turned to the guardian, who continued to hover near.
“You failed in your duty! I gave you orders to allow no one to enter!”
“Your orders were countermanded, my lord Dalamar,” the hollow voice returned, “by the true Master of the Tower.”
Dalamar did not reply. His face was set and cold, colder than if the chill hands of the undead had touched him.
Steel felt the power of the dark elf, felt the heat of his rage. The knight would not have been surprised to see the tower walls start to melt from it. Usha shrank away, hugging the stone wall. Even the elf’s companion, the wizardess, took an involuntary step backward. Steel held his ground only because he could not in honor do anything else.
And then, Dalamar relaxed. The flame in the burning eyes died, their gaze abstracted. He had turned inward, was
communing with himself.
“Perhaps this is for the best after all. He may know something …”
Dalamar’s mouth twisted in an ironic smile. “This is out of our hands, apparently, Jenna. For the moment, at least.”
“So it would seem,” the wizardess agreed, her gaze going to the sealed door, to the knight standing before it, and the woman crouched against the wall. “What will you do with these two?”
Dalamar’s gaze returned to the knight, and the dark elf seemed to see him for the first time. “Are you, by chance, Steel Brightblade?”
Steel concealed his astonishment, reminded himself that he was in the presence of a powerful sorcerer. “I am,” he said proudly.
“Kitiara’s son!” Dalamar exclaimed. “I should have seen the resemblance. I knew your mother,” he added wryly.
“You murdered my mother,” Steel returned in dire tones.
“Which, of course, you consider a debt of honor, one that must be repaid with my blood.” Dalamar shrugged. “Very well. You challenge me. I accept. You attack me. I kill you. A waste of a good soldier. Takhisis would not be pleased with either of us. I slew your mother in battle, Steel Brightblade. It was self-defense. She struck first. I can show you that scar. Unfortunately, I cannot show you the other scars she left on me.”
The last words were spoken low. Steel could not be certain he heard them, and chose to ignore them anyway. He was consulting the Vision, as did all the Knights of Takhisis when faced with a dilemma. Was it Her will that he fight this dark elf and very probably lose his life in the attempt? Was it Her will that he make a futile stand at this laboratory door? Or did She have other plans for him?
He looked into the Vision. An image of his mother entered his mind. She bore her sword, carried it unsheathed, in her hand, as if she would use it herself. But behind his mother he saw another figure—a five-headed dragon. His mother stood in the dragon’s shadow. It was still confusing …
“Sir Knight!” Dalamar was calling to him, had been calling to him for some time now, apparently, trying to regain Steel’s attention.
“What did you say, my lord?” Steel asked, frowning, still attempting to read his Dark Queen’s will.
“I said that someone has been attempting to contact you,” Dalamar repeated patiently. “Your commander, I believe.”
“How is that possible, my lord?” Steel was suspicious. “No one knows I am here. What does he say?”
“I have no idea,” Dalamar said, with a touch of irritation. “I am not a messenger boy. As for how he knew you were here, I presume someone told him. Possibly the same someone who guided you safely through the Shoikan Grove. If you will abandon your post, Brightblade, I will take you to where you may commune with your officer. I assure you,” Dalamar added, “your quest here is futile. Not even I could enter that laboratory. The uncle has sent for his nephew. We must leave it to the two of them.”
“Palin Majere was my prisoner,” Steel said, still hesitating. “I accepted his parole.”
“Ah,” said Dalamar, instantly understanding. “Then you do indeed have a difficult decision to make.”
Steel took only a moment to make it. His commander knew he was here. It must be Takhisis’s will that her knight turn his footsteps in a different direction. It must also be her will that he remain alive. Steel sheathed his sword, descended the stairs.
Immediately, the two pale eyes resumed their place, guarding the door.
“I will take you to the Pool of Seeing,” Dalamar said as the knight joined him on the landing. “There you may communicate with your commander. We will travel the corridors of magic. Much faster and far less strenuous than these stairs.” The dark elf laid his hand on Steel’s arm. “You may experience a dizzy sensation—”
“What about me?” Usha, who might have been a solid stone statue, came suddenly to life. “What will you do with me? And what has happened to Palin? I want to go with him!”
“Jenna, attend to her,” Dalamar ordered.
The wizardess nodded, smiled.
Dalamar spoke words of magic.
The darkness opened in front of Steel. He remembered wanting to flee, but the sorcerer propelled him forward.
Then his feet touched solid ground. He stood at the edge of a pool, saw himself reflected in the still, dark water.
Usha had gone along with the others mainly because she didn’t want to be left alone in the room. And also, she admitted to herself now, because she found the young mage very attractive. He was the first male she’d met who hadn’t been stupid and boorish, like the thugs who’d attacked her, or cunning and frightening, like the wizard, or cold and cruel, like the dark knight.
Palin was different. He reminded her in many ways of her Protector. He was gentle, vulnerable; she sensed the fear in him, akin to her own. The shadow of some great grief, some secret sorrow hung over him. And yet he was strong, both in will and in courage. She called his face to mind and experienced a wrenching, twisting sensation in her heart that was uncomfortable, painful, exquisitely delightful.
“I want to go with Palin,” Usha said.
“Go ahead.” Jenna gestured at the laboratory door, at the disembodied eyes of the guardians.
Usha had second thoughts.
“I want to leave,” she stated. “Everyone else has gone. You can’t keep me here against my will.”
“No, I can’t,” Jenna replied coolly. “Such a powerful sorceress as you could go wherever she wanted.”
Usha wanted, more than anything else she had ever wanted in her life, to be far from this evil tower. She wanted to have nothing more to do with it or the people inside it … with the possible exception of Palin Majere.
She glanced up at the door through which he’d vanished. The eyes of the specter stared down at her.
“I will leave, then,” Usha said, and she opened her pouch.
She stared in perplexity at the various objects inside. She knew that they were magic, but that was all she knew about them. She bitterly regretted that she had not paid more attention to the instructions. There were several rings; an amulet made of milk quartz, one of garnet, and another of obsidian; two scrolls tied up with purple ribbons; a small bag containing some sort of sweet-smelling herbs; a short length of rope, useless, as far as she could tell; several tiny, carved animal figures; and a small glass vial.
She shut her eyes, concentrated, tried to bring back the image and words of her people.
The images came, comforting, warm, and forever lost.
Tears burned her eyes. She’d been so cold, so selfish. She longed to take back that moment, replace it with another in which she told them how grateful she was to them, how much she loved them, how much—how very much—she would miss them.
“If you’re ever in danger and you want to escape, use this …”
She could see the Protector clearly, hear his counsel, feel him press an object into her hand.
What object? Which?
“If you don’t want to be trapped alone on the stairs in the dark, I suggest you come with me,” Jenna advised, adding dryly, “unless you are leaving us.”
“I am leaving,” Usha answered.
It was either the obsidian amulet or the glass vial, one or the other. One had something to do with shadows, which wouldn’t likely be of much help to her. This foul place already had more shadows than it knew what to do with. The other would take her out of danger. How? Usha couldn’t recall, but anything was better than this.
Obsidian was black and so were shadows. Logic rejected the amulet, told her to try the vial.
Usha had lived around magic all her life, but only magic that was used for good and practical purposes. She had never seen evil or harmful magic—until she had come to this dread tower. And so she wasn’t particularly frightened about trying an unknown magic. Her Protector had given it to her; she trusted him.
Usha plucked the vial from her pouch, cracked open the wax seal that covered it.
Jenna sprang at her, but i
t was too late.
A thin sliver of whitish yellow smoke rose from the vial. It smelled sweet, like newly mown grass, and banished the stench of death and decay that seemed to linger in the air.
Usha held the vial to her nose. She inhaled the smoke …
She became smoke.
24
The chamber of seeing.
here are we now?” Steel asked.
“We stand in the Chamber of Seeing,” said Dalamar. “It was created by my shalafi, Raistlin Majere.”
They stood in a circular room in the center of which, taking up almost the entire area, with the exception of a small walkway, was a pool of dark water. A blue flame spurted from the pool’s center. The flame gave off no smoke, and what it used for fuel—unless it burned the water—could not be told. And though the flame was bright, it provided little light. The chamber remained dark.
“And what does this Chamber of Seeing do,” Steel inquired, glancing around in disgust, “besides give off a foul smell?”
His gaze caught movement around the edge of the pool; his hand went to his sword’s hilt.
“Relax, Sir Knight,” Dalamar said quietly. “They cannot hurt you.”
Steel, not exactly trusting the Black Robe, did not let loose his sword. He stared hard in the direction of the movement, sucked in a hissing breath.
“What in the Queen’s name is that?”
“At one point in his notorious career, my shalafi attempted to create life. These were the result. They are known as the Live Ones.”
Bleeding, larvalike masses, the Live Ones crawled, writhed, or pulled themselves along the side of the pool. They made noises, but whether they were speaking or merely bleating in pain-filled distress, Steel could not tell. The knight had seen many horrible sights, seen his comrades hacked to death in battle, seen dying dragons plummet from the skies. For the first time in his life, he was forced to avert his gaze, forced to sternly calm the quaking of his stomach.
“Sacrilege,” he said, wishing the creatures would cease their pitiable wailings.
“True,” Dalamar agreed. “My shalafi had no great respect for the gods—any gods. But do not waste your sympathy on these. The Live Ones are better off, and they know it.”
Dragons of Summer Flame Page 30