Black Wizards (43 page)

“He desires to rule a large kingdom. The Realms of the Ffolk seemed to fit his needs, as best as I can guess—a weak ruler, divided peoples, but a large and rich land, ready for exploitation. The king fell prey to a simple charm spell long ago. Cyndre constantly tightens his hold on the pathetic worm, until it has reached the point where the king will not make a move without the wizard’s approval.”

“And your role …?”

Alexei’s eyes flashed anger. “I was his right hand, the first to be recruited from Thay, where Cyndre also passed his apprenticeship. I watched my master’s back, while he practiced his evil. He is in league with a powerful cleric—thinks he controls the cleric, though I have my doubts. But together they make a potent force.” Alexei did not add his knowledge of Hobarth’s mission—the capture of the druid who
loved this prince. It did not suit his purposes to distract Tristan from aiding his escape.

They made good time. The passage widened into a cave about thirty feet wide, still dropping steeply. After some time, Tristan guessed that they might have descended as much as a thousand feet underground. He wondered when they would begin going up.

“Here,” said the mage, suddenly pointing to a narrower cave that branched to the left. “I recognize this place!”

They allowed him to lead the way into the passage. He hurried forward for about a hundred yards and then stopped as the narrow passage opened into a huge chamber. Stalactites hung from the ceiling, and several pools of water, so clear as to be almost invisible, dotted the floor. The torchlight flickered and flared, creating moving shadows that gave the place a menacing look.

But the strangest feature of the room was at its center: A table and a dozen stone chairs rested upon a flat space in the floor. The obviously manmade furnishings looked completely out of place in a locale of such natural splendor.

Alexei noticed his companions’ looks of puzzlement. “This is a secret meeting place for the council,” he explained, “For when Cyndre wished to avoid gathering in the castle. It is used very rarely; I doubt the younger wizards even know of its existence.”

“Amazing,” murmured the prince, looking in wonder at the beauty of the cave.

“And the reason you brought us here?” asked Daryth.

“Oh, yes—here!” Alexei moved around the table, holding the torch high. “See that chest there?”

The other two joined him. He indicated a large wooden chest near the far wall of the cave. It sat in the center of a smooth circle of floor that was about thirty feet in diameter.

“If we can get into that chest, I will not be crippled any longer,” explained the mage.

“I’ll see what I can do,” offered Daryth, stepping forward.

“Wait!” Alexei grabbed Daryth’s collar with one of his clawlike hands, pulling the Calishite back before he stepped onto the smooth expanse of floor. “There are traps!”

“I might have known,” grumbled Daryth. “Just how important is
the stuff in that chest?”

“It could mean the difference between our escape and our deaths,” said the mage gravely.

“What do you know about the traps?”

“The floor is false, for one thing, a deep pit filled with soft dust. You would sink to the bottom and choke to death—a most horrible death.

“And the chest itself has a trap—something in the lock.”

“You’re sure we need these ‘treasures?’ ”

Alexei shrugged, not wanting to press the point. Tristan didn’t say anything. They all knew that Daryth was the only one with the skill necessary to pick the lock and, perhaps, to avoid the trap there. It would have to be his decision.

“Well, I’ll have a look at it, anyway,” muttered the Calishite. “How do I get over there?”

“We could stretch the table across the pit,” offered the prince. Indeed, the boards were just about the right length to extend from the edge of the pit to the chest in the center.

“Everyone’s got a way to get me killed,” grunted Daryth. Nevertheless, he turned to lift one end of the solid platform.

Alexei held the torch as Daryth and Tristan wrestled the heavy tabletop into position. At one point, they dipped a corner of it onto the surface of the floor. It met no more resistance than if it had touched water, and sent a cloud of fine dust into the air.

Daryth took the torch and carefully walked to the chest. He knelt and examined the mechanism of the lock for several minutes, Tristan was acutely conscious of the torch burning lower, but he didn’t dare say anything to break his friend’s concentration.

Slowly, the Calishite drew the narrowest of the wire probes from his glove. Clenching his jaws in concentration, he stuck it into the keyhole, holding it at a sharp angle instead of pushing straight in.

The tiny click was barely audible to Tristan, but in the torchlight he saw a gleaming silver needle stick suddenly forth from the lock. It stopped, less than an inch from Daryth’s hand. Even at this distance, the prince could see a greenish substance smeared on the end of the needle.

Daryth bent over the lock again, and it was only a matter of moments before the clasp released and he threw back the lid of the chest.

“These are supposed to save our lives?” he asked, incredulous. He pulled forth three tubes of rolled parchment, wrapped in smooth leather cases. Puzzled, he brought them to Alexei.

“Yes!” the mage said. “I am no longer powerless! Though my hands prevent me from casting spells, there is nothing wrong with my eyes! I have but to read a spell from one of these scrolls, and it will be as if I had cast it myself.”

“How did you know they were there?” asked the Calishite.

“Cyndre told me. They were supposed to be for an emergency.” His gaunt face twisted into a cold smile. “I would call this an emergency.”

“Now, we should move on,” urged the prince. “We don’t have a lot of light left. Besides, if Cyndre remembers that you know about this place, we might have some unwelcome company before long.”

“You are very right,” agreed Alexei. “Come—this way!”

The mage, obviously filled with fresh confidence, led them from the chamber back to the original cavern. Here they continued to descend, moving much more rapidly than before. But the torch had burned to a tiny stub, and soon even that would be consumed.

“It’s going to get dark soon,” said the prince, indicating the fading brand.

“Perhaps I can take care of that,” said the mage, unwrapping one of the scrolls. He looked it over quickly, setting it aside to reach for another. He apparently found what he wanted, for he began to read to himself, whispering strange words. As he read, a small portion of the scroll in his hands appeared to burst into flames. The bluish fire flickered across the page, burning the letters of each word as it was read, though the parchment itself was unaffected. When he finished, one section of the scroll was blank.

But the stub of the torch glowed with a cool, white light that was far more brilliant than the fading names had been.

“That’s nice, for a start,” admitted the Calishite.

Alexei nodded and tucked the scrolls under his arm. They started down the cave, and their progress improved even more, since now they had adequate illumination for the path.

But still they went down. Several times they even had to scale small cliffs as the cave began to drop even more steeply. Tristan grew more and more concerned about their distance from the surface; they had to
be a half-mile below Caer Callidyrr, not to mention a similar distance under the surrounding sea. Was there any safe way out?

Only when his companions stopped in amazement did Tristan notice that they had entered a large chamber. He could not suppress a low whistle of surprise.

This vast cavern dwarfed the room with the chest. The rays of illumination from the light spell could not hope to reach the far corners.

But they didn’t have to, for this chamber was filled with its own source of illumination. The floor of the area was covered with huge mushrooms, some towering higher than Tristan’s head. Several of these fungi shed a pale green luminescence. Close to the men, it was almost invisible, but across the chamber the area was lit in a ghostly green glow.

A mist of water hung in the air, and they could hear—and faintly see—the plume of a cataract spilling into the cavern. It fell hundreds of feet, splashing down the far wall from an unseen source to an invisible destination. Mosses and molds lined much of the cavern walls, giving the place the look of a dark jungle.

“This is amazing,” said Daryth, awestruck.

“I can’t believe all these plants can live this far underground,” added the prince. “With no sunlight.”

Alexei turned to them, concerned. “This was not here, years ago, when I last saw this place. I do not believe a lush garden such as this could have sprung into being without some kind of help.”

“You mean gardeners?” asked Tristan.

“Precisely. And we would do well to avoid them. They must be here with Cyndre’s knowledge and approval.”

They found wide avenues laid, as if by plan, among the huge fungi. They followed the straightest of these across the center of the chamber, moving as silently as possible. The eerie green glow began to seem sinister, but that was their only illumination now, as Alexei had quickly stuck the glowing brand under his robe.

The ground was spongy underfoot, and they realized that the floor of the cavern was lined with thick loam and covered with moss. Someone had put a lot of work into creating this wealth of underground plantlife.

They were near the center of the cavern when they saw them: a dozen
small, dark-skinned figures that swaggered into the path before them. Each was about four feet tall with a scraggly beard and evil, glittering eyes. They looked much like ordinary dwarves, except for their dark skin and wide, staring eyes.

As the companions stopped suddenly, another band of the creatures moved from among the mushrooms to block their route to the rear. They were surrounded, since their size made passage among the fungi impossible.

Tristan stepped forward, taking care to make no overt gesture. “Hello,” he said. “We were … admiring your garden.”

One of the dark dwarves spit onto the ground and pulled a sturdy axe from his belt. The others, he saw, all held weapons ranging from hammers and shortswords to a number of hefty axes. The creatures moved in, muttering in a tongue the prince didn’t understand.

Still, Tristan was reluctant to draw his sword. For one thing, they were badly outnumbered.

The decision was taken out of his hands, however, when one of the dwarves threw his axe, aiming for the prince’s head. Tristan ducked quickly, and the weapon sailed harmlessly by. But the rest of the band howled in rage, and charged—a furious mass of little people, brandishing their weapons with bloodthirsty intent.

The prince whipped the Sword of Cymrych Hugh from its scabbard, and the dwarves paused, momentarily dazzled by the gleaming weapon. And then he heard Alexei.

“Sorax, Frigius Newll—Ariith!”

He felt a blast of something to his left, and the air grew suddenly frigid. A dull blue light flashed in the cavern. It was not bright, but it etched expressions of terror into the faces of the dark dwarves. Most of the dwarves before him gasped or shrieked for a split second, and then collapsed, stiff as icicles. Their flesh turned a pale blue, and frost instantly began to condense on their exposed skin and the metal fittings of their weapons and clothes. A cone-shaped explosion of magic had frozen everything in its path, clearing the way for the men’s escape.

Tristan heard howls of anger behind him, followed by the clash of steel—Daryth was protecting the rear of the party. Several of the dwarves before him had avoided the effect of the spell, and instead of running in terror at the awesome display, they charged with even greater
intensity.

Tristan’s sword split the first one nearly in two, as the prince danced to the side to avoid a hammer blow aimed at his kneecap. He whirled to stab the hammer-wielder in the throat, continuing his motion through a full circle. The whistling arc of his sword lifted the head of a third dark dwarf, and the path before them lay open.

“Run!” he cried, urging Alexei forward as he ran to Daryth’s side. The mage hesitated, and then did as he was told while the two men with sword and scimitar slashed and stabbed at the angry attackers.

“Let’s go,” grunted Tristan as the dwarves fell back to regroup. The two men turned and sprinted after Alexei as the howling mob of their enemies burst into pursuit.

“There’s gotta be a hundred of ’em back there now!” panted Daryth as they caught up to Alexei. The three men soon reached the far side of the cavern where, true to the mage’s memory, the cave continued on.

“There’s a bridge a little way up here,” gasped the wizard, slowing slightly. “If we can cross it, I have a spell that might be able to knock it down.”

“Good,” grunted the prince, turning to look behind. Their pursuers were not in sight; their stumpy legs had left them far behind the running humans.

“Here,” said the mage, stopping to wheeze for breath as the tunnel widened into a broad ledge. A deep canyon blocked their path, and they could hear the thunder of racing water far below. The ceiling still pressed above, and an occasional fungus growing from the walls shed the familiar green light.

It was not bright, but even so they saw the end of the bridge. But that was all that they saw, for the rest of the span was gone. From the looks of the decayed anchor posts, the bridge had simply rotted away.

They were trapped on the narrow ledge, as a hundred bloodthirsty dwarves came charging down the cavern behind them.