There were still bits of dark, mummified flesh clinging to its bones. Its eyes were hollows laced with spiderwebs, and its mouth was open wide, as if it had died with a scream on its shriveled and petrified lips.
Glancing up, Ridley could see the remains of this monstrous creature hung from a rusty iron hook. Wrapped about its skeletal frame were the tattered shreds of a mage’s robe, and, clutched in its bony fist, was a dusty and ancient crimson rod.
“Now that’s how I like to see a mage,” Ridley said. “Doing something useful for a change.”
Stepping up to the swinging corpse, he boldly snatched the rod from its bony fist. The corpse promptly reached out and grabbed it back.
“You! Why do you disturb the Keeper of the Rod of Savrille?”
Ridley nearly jumped out of his skin. Something cold ran up his back.
“All right,” he said, determined not to pass out on the spot, “what’s the deal this time? You know the wraith. You fellows work together, right?”
“Quiet, boy!”
Ridley backed off. He could smell the things terrible breath. Still, it was simply hanging there. It wasn’t likely it could hop down and chase him through the door.
“I need the rod. I’m supposed to get it and save the Empire of Izmer. This wasn’t my idea, but I’ve come this far. I hate to turn back.”
“Do you know who I am?”
“No, of course not. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea.”
“I am Savrille, creator of the rod. I was cursed for attempting to control the red dragons. This is what happens when you push the gods too far. Remember that.”
“I think I’ve already got the idea. Listen, can we get back to my problem? I’ve got people waiting back there—”
“Do not interrupt me again!”
“Don’t breathe on me, all right? I can’t handle that.”
“I am sentenced to this purgatory until someone worthy of the rod’s power comes to take it. You are such a man.”
Ridley shrugged. “I don’t know about worthy, but I will find out.”
“Be warned. Anyone who dares to yield to the power of the rod will suffer a horrible fate. The evil the rod creates cannot be undone, not unless its spell is broken.”
“And how would you go about that?”
“That… you must discover.”
The dead mage lifted its rotted hand. Ridley reached out carefully, grasped the rod, and stepped back.
The rod began to glow and pulse with an eerie light. It rapidly began to change, shifting from one color to another. For an instant it was a brilliant emerald green, then red as a demon star. It was heavy with dazzling diamonds and rubies, yet cold to the touch. Red dragons, intricately carved by a long-dead master of the arts, twisted and turned about the instrument’s shaft.
Ridley felt the awesome power of the thing, felt its energy flow through every cell and every vein. He raised the rod high, filling the chamber with its unworldly light.
Ridley gasped, nearly dropping the thing right there. As the rod’s great power filled the room with a brilliance cold as any star, he saw that the wall beyond the hanging corpse was afire with an ancient fresco of dozens of red dragons in flight. It was truly an awesome, breathtaking sight, so real it seemed they might burst out of the painting and fill the treasure chamber with their might.
He couldn’t take his eyes off this marvel. It seemed as if he’d been frozen before these magnificent creatures forever, as if a thousand years had passed….
When he looked at the dead man again, its hooded skull had slumped against its hollow chest.
Its purgatory is over, Ridley thought with a shudder. I wonder if mine has just begun?
* * *
A shaft of sunlight filled with golden dust motes lit the rocky floor below the entryway. Ridley thought he’d never seen such a glorious sight. He hurried forward then pulled himself up into the blinding light of day.
“Marina! Elwood!” he shouted. “I’ve got it, I’ve—”
His words faded, and all his strength drained away. Damodar stood behind Marina, a thin silver blade pressed against her throat. Marina’s face was drained of color, and her eyes were bright with fear.
“Good work, little thief.” Damodar smiled. “I can’t thank you enough, but I know a thousand ways to try.”
CHAPTER
34
Elwood stood behind Damodar, his face as grim as death. Two uglies from the Crimson Brigade held their blades at his back. One of the guards moved aside, and Ridley was stunned to see Norda there as well.
He knew where we were, knew all along….
“I can see what’s in your rather primitive mind,” Damodar said. “Do I need to remind you that sticking your nose into other people’s affairs got your other friend killed? Don’t be responsible for finishing off the ones you have left.”
Damodar grinned and slid the dagger across Marina’s neck. Marina gasped, and a thin line of red appeared at her throat.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I’m afraid I lost control of myself.”
“Don’t. Don’t hurt her!” Ridley took a step toward the mage, one hand tight around the hilt of his sword.
“You’re not that much a fool,” Damodar told him. “You know how to finish this business. Give me the rod and we’re done.”
“And you’ll let her go?”
“Of course. Why would I want to harm her? What kind of person do you think I am?”
“Don’t,” Marina cried. “Don’t do it, Ridley!”
Damodar looked pained. “You doubt my word. I’m truly offended, now.”
“Your word,” Ridley said, “is worth exactly half a mug of spit. Here, and be damned to you.”
Ridley tossed the heavy rod and watched it twirl and glitter in the sun. Damodar seized it in the air, grasping it tightly in his metal-clad hand. A smile of sheer pleasure, a near indecent glow of satisfaction crossed his ugly features. For an instant, the demon within him slithered from his ears and his nose and lashed its dark tendrils about, sharing, in its own bizarre way, its host’s moment of glory.
“There,” Damodar said, thrusting Marina roughly aside. “I said I would set her free, and you doubted my word. I’m very displeased with you, boy.”
It was all Ridley could do to hold himself back, to keep from drawing his blade and separating the mage from his head.
“Marina,” he said, without taking his eyes off Damodar, “come here beside me.”
Damodar laughed and spread his hands. “I said I’d let them go, and I will. For them!”
He swept about suddenly, facing his Crimson Brigade. “I’ve held them back long enough. Now they’ll have their day!”
Damodar clutched the precious rod in his fist, then waved it wildly above his head. “Kill them, all of them! Any man who doesn’t will answer to me!”
Ridley moved but not quickly enough. Damodar drew a pouch from his belt, grabbed a handful of dust, and tossed it in the air.
“A simple spell, indeed, is it not? Even a student mage can use it well.” He grinned at Marina. “A quick wit and a pretty face, for sure, but that’s not what we’re looking for, my dear.”
The space around him seemed to slide and melt away like cheap tallow wax. A blue, indistinct circle shimmered in the air, buzzing like a hive of angry bees.
“To Profion,” Damodar said. “Take me to him now!”
The mage leaped into the portal and vanished at once.
“Hurry!” Marina called out. “We can get through it, too!”
Kneeling quickly, she mumbled to herself, her eyes staring into the fading circle. For a moment, it held, blinked, and held again. A Crimson warrior shouted, leaped forward, and tossed Marina cruelly aside. Elwood cursed, ducked beneath the swords at his back, and ran at the warrior who had brought Marina down. The guard cried out as Elwood’s head rammed him squarely in the gut. The soldier’s helmet, the face of an angry swine, clattered across the bare ground.
Ridley leaped over t
he downed warrior, while Elwood pounded the man with his fists. Four more red-clad guards jumped on him, pummeling the dwarf with the flats of their swords. Elwood howled and sent two of them tumbling head over heels. Ridley faced the rest, his blade slashing the morning air. Three more swordsmen joined their comrades, eager for a kill.
“Anyone care to go one on one?” Ridley asked. “I know you louts don’t know the word fair, but it’s really more fun that way.”
All of the warriors disagreed and fell on Ridley at once, forcing him back against the high pinnacle of stone.
“All right, it was just an idea. We’ll do it your way.”
Ridley knew for certain the best way to get to the afterlife fast was to take on five men at once. With no warning at all, he let out a blood-curdling yell and lunged at the pair to his left, slashing out wildly at one and then the next.
The swordsmen did exactly what Ridley expected them to do—they stepped back quickly, raising their blades in the proper defensive stance and leaving a hole between them that gave Ridley room to dart free.
He turned at once, pressing the weakest of the two. The man was tall, but awkward and slow. The open-jawed lion on his helmet was an awesome sight to see, but the man underneath was scarcely frightening at all.
Ridley feinted, lured the man in, and cut him down with a blow to the knees. The soldier cried out and collapsed. Just as the blow was struck, Ridley saw the man’s partner dashing in from the right, an enormous blade raised over his shoulder in a two-handed grip designed to neatly part a man from his head. Ridley ducked, let the blade hum by, then thrust his sword in a quick, deadly jab. The warrior grabbed his belly, staggered drunkenly about, then fell and went still.
Two down and three to go, Ridley thought, and none of them friendly as near as I can see. Time for another plan.
Ridley ran. He met another pair head on, side-stepped the two, and ran full out again.
“Ridley!”
Ridley leaped across a small ravine. Marina stood with her back to the shimmering portal, a snake-nosed ugly bearing down on her fast. Ridley knew he couldn’t do it, couldn’t reach her in time. Desperate, he drew a small dagger from his belt and tossed it swiftly through the air. The weapon clanged against the soldier’s helmet and fell to the ground. The warrior stopped, turned, and looked at Ridley.
Norda came out of nowhere, a good-sized rock in her hand, and smashed it soundly against the soldier’s iron-clad head. The man turned, mildly annoyed. He looked at Norda and laughed.
“Big mistake,” Ridley muttered, and he struck the man with the side of his blade.
The soldier made a pained sound and sank to the ground.
“Ridley, it’s fading!” Marina shouted. “Hurry!”
Ridley went quickly to her side, held her close, and watched in dismay as the portal shimmered and died.
Marina closed her eyes. “That was our only chance out of this place. Now what?”
“Now we don’t do that. Now we do something else!”
The crimson-clad trooper was nearly upon him before he could parry his blow. Three more crowded behind the first, swords cutting the air. Ridley didn’t waste a moment’s time. He bent low, lashed out, and slashed the soldier across his thigh.
“Come on! We’re out of here!”
Norda stared. “Out to where?”
“I don’t have the foggiest idea. Anywhere.”
He glanced across the shallow ravine. “First, I’d better help that dwarf, though I’m sure he won’t thank me for butting in.”
Elwood, his short, powerful legs rooted firmly to the ground, stood in the center of a swarm of crimson warriors. His features were dark, nearly black with rage. His axe was a blur, cutting down hapless warriors with every murderous swing. No one noticed Ridley stalking up from behind. In an instant, two more of Damodar’s uglies were writhing on the ground.
A moment later, it was over. A few soldiers moaned and tried to crawl away, but none of them were looking for a fight.
Elwood spat on the broad blade of his axe. “There’s none of ’em pretty, but a couple of them could fight. Not that it did ’em any good against Elwood Gutworthy. Did I tell you ’bout the time—”
“No. And don’t.”
Elwood gave him a menacing frown. “What’s got your hackles up, lad? You not havin’ any fun?”
Ridley didn’t answer. Marina was back across the ravine, waving frantically in his direction.
“It’s not gone yet!” she said, a look of fierce determination on her face. “Watch this!”
Elwood, Ridley, and Norda stood aside as Marina tossed a handful of dust where the portal had disappeared. A pale blue circle blinked into life then vanished at once.
“Don’t look like much to me,” Elwood said.
“It’s not. It’s weak, but it’s there. I think it’ll work the way it should.”
“The way it should?” Ridley looked pained. “What are some of the other ways, Marina? I don’t believe you mentioned that.”
“That’s because you don’t want to know, Ridley. What I mean is, it could take us where Damodar went, or possibly somewhere else.”
“You folks go on ahead,” Elwood said. “A dwarf’s got more sense than to step into something like that.”
“Elven lore tells us there is an infinite number of planes of existence,” Norda said solemnly. “Some of these would be much like our own. Others would be places where we couldn’t exist at all, much less comprehend.”
“Like I said, I’ll see you people sometime. It’s been real fun.”
“Elwood, get back here right now.” Marina set her hands on her hips and glared. “I’ll go first,” she said. “Ridley?”
“I guess I’d better hold your hand, in case you get in trouble somewhere.”
“How nice for you both,” Norda said. “We’re wasting valuable time.”
Without another look at the others, Norda stepped into the portal and disappeared.
Marina looked at Ridley. Ridley nodded back, reached for her hand, and followed Norda somewhere, or nowhere at all.
Elwood stood alone in the shade of the rocky spire. He looked past the scattered bodies, past the thicket of woods, past the stony plain. He hesitated, took another look as if he meant to capture the scene in the event there was nothing else he ever got to see.
“Anyways, if an elf and a couple of humans can do it, it’s somethin’ a dwarf can do, too. Though I’m double bedamned to figure how I got into this kinda mess at all.”
CHAPTER
35
The scent of war was in the air, and war itself not far away. Rage, fear, and dread anticipation were the odors of the day, as men prepared to live or die. Dark clouds gathered in the east, and boiled across the sky, casting bleak shadows on the hapless figures down below.
On the high battlements of the school of magic, the rebellious mages of Izmer waited. They were clad in armor now, their robes of piety cast aside this day, as seers and prophets readied their arsenal of spells and earthly engines of war.
Ballistae, mangonel, and trebuchet appeared, as well as iron pots of liquid fire. Every man was armed with deadly weapons—swords of great value and renown for mage and noble born, pikes, bows, axes, and spears for the hands of lesser men—all sharpened for the kill.
Rigid in their heavy armor were the troops of Damodar, men who hid their features under frightful masks of iron. Far across the city on another height waited the Empress’ loyal men. Every man who followed Savina was there, commoner and royal, old and young alike, for her ranks today were most pitifully thin.
For the moment, all was silent across the great city. The air bore down upon the armies from a hot, oppressive sky. Time itself appeared to pause and catch its breath.
Then, against the lowering clouds, with scarcely a warning at all, a clash of thunder rolled across the heavens, a sound of such power that great buildings trembled, men hid their faces, and children cried. Even the soldiers clad in iron, men who had never p
rayed to any god, pled for mercy now.
Of a sudden, against the blackened skies, a tiny star appeared, a star as bright and pure as liquid gold. One soldier saw it and pointed it out to a friend. The friend told another, and another after that.
A solemn murmur of awe and wonder spread through the gathered crowds. They watched and waited as the star grew closer still. An instant after that, those with a practiced eye drew in a frightful breath as the bright star exploded into a great horde of dragons, massive beasts with wings that ate the air, and hides of golden scales.
Fear, like a swift and deadly plague, like winter wind across a barren plain, touched every man. At that very moment, the tall and daunting figure of Profion appeared, his features a mask of twisted rage, his voice a challenge to the thunder overhead.
“Stop! I command you!” he bellowed against the wind. “Stop and fight, you cowards, or every man of you will perish by my hand this day!”
Profion’s eyes flashed fire, and a jeweled finger stabbed into the crowd, settling on one man, then the next, until there were ten. One by one, these warriors shrieked and writhed as their flesh turned to tallow and blood filled their eyes.
“I’ll do it again, burn the first man who flees!” Profion warned them. “Now destroy these things, blast them from the sky!”
Stones and balls of iron flew from a hundred trebuchet. Mages spread their arms and loosed fiery spells into the skies. Lancers tossed their weapons, and archers fired their arrows, though none came close to the golden demons overhead.
On the great horde came, one golden dragon, then another, shrieking down on their human foes. One roared and veered away as a fireball singed its wings. The others hurtled down on the army gathered below, so close now that mage and warrior alike could see their ruby eyes, their wicked teeth and claws, the pulsing veins in wings that beat the heated air.
Then, as if from a prophecy of old, rage begat rage, and fire begat fire as tongues of flames roared from the dragons’ great jaws to smother the humans below. Men screamed and flailed the air, waving blackened limbs about. The horror was over in seconds, but it seemed to last forever for the hapless soldiers caught in the dragons’ charge.
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