Return of the Sorceress (21 page)

“I told you what you wanted to know,” Nearra said. “Now I have a request of my own.”

Maddoc raised an eyebrow. It seemed there was no end to the surprises this evening.

“I promise that I won’t resist when you cast the spell to give Asvoria control over my body …
if
you release my friends from the Gallery of Despair and allow them to depart the keep unharmed.”

Maddoc laughed. “How noble of you! But I’ll have to decline your generous offer. As long as your companions are in the grip of the Gallery’s enchantment, they cannot interfere with my plans. And I have other ways of ensuring your cooperation. Grab hold of her, Oddvar.”

The dark dwarf did as his master commanded, and though Nearra struggled, the Theiwar was stronger than he looked and she couldn’t break free.

Maddoc reached over to his nightstand, grimacing as his frail body protested the maneuver. He removed a small leather satchel from a drawer and settled back onto the bed with a weary sigh. Inside the satchel were a number of ingredients necessary for casting spells. No mage beyond the first year of his apprenticeship was ever far from the materials necessary to ply his trade. Maddoc removed the physical components for a sleep spell: a pinch of white sand mixed with powdered nightshade. He sprinkled the mixture into the air and moved his hand in a mystic pattern, chanting liquid syllables of power that escaped his memory the moment they were spoken.

The sand-and-nightshade powder vanished before it could fall onto the wizard’s sheets and the spell was cast. Nearra’s eyes closed and her chin drooped to her chest. She would have slumped to the floor if Oddvar hadn’t been holding her.

Maddoc felt suddenly dizzy, and he lay his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes for a moment. Even a simple sleep
spell took so much out of him since the demise of his beloved familiar.

“My lord?” Oddvar asked. “Are you all right?”

The concern in the dwarf’s voice infuriated Maddoc. He was a master wizard. He didn’t need sympathy from a mere underling!

He opened his eyes and forced himself to sit up. He took a deep breath and then put his feet on the floor and stood. He was pleased and more than a bit surprised that he hadn’t fallen back onto the bed.

“She should sleep until it is time to perform the ritual. I have already made most of the preparations. Nearra can remain here in my bedchamber until all is ready. I placed the wardspells on this room myself and I doubt Ophion will be able to bypass them. But in case he tries, I want the goblins to stand guard outside, and I want you to remain inside the room and not take your eyes off Nearra until I call for her. Do you understand?”

Oddvar inclined his head. “Yes, my lord.”

“Good. Well, don’t just stand there. Bring her over to the bed. After all, we want to make sure that Asvoria’s new body will be rested and ready for her when she takes control of it.”

Maddoc shuffled over to his wardrobe closet while Oddvar placed Nearra on the bed. The wizard slipped off his nightshirt and donned a fresh black robe.

Oddvar said, “If I might ask, what will you be doing until it’s time to work the spell?”

Maddoc wanted to slap Oddvar. But he was too close to obtaining his ultimate goal, and he didn’t want to risk angering Oddvar. He needed the Theiwar’s full cooperation, at least for the next few hours.

“I plan to check on the final preparations and then have a little something to eat.” He smiled. “I dislike working major enchantments on an empty stomach.”

Oddvar nodded. “Very well. I shall keep watch on the girl and await your summons.”

“One last thing,” Maddoc said. “If anyone enters the room and approaches you—including myself—before midnight, assume that it is Ophion and kill the creature.”

Oddvar drew a poison-coated dagger and smiled grimly. “I shall not hesitate, my lord.”

“Good.” Maddoc turned and then shuffled toward the chamber’s door. He hadn’t told Oddvar the complete truth about what he planned to do until midnight. He was going to make a stop first—at the Gallery of Despair. Now that Davyn had returned, Maddoc intended to give his adopted son a proper welcome home.

    R
aedon soared through the night. The sky was free of clouds, and the stars above looked like finely wrought crystals set into rich black velvet. The crimson moon Lunitari was half full, while Solinari was a mere crescent hanging close to the horizon. Something about the moons’ configuration bothered the copper dragon, but he couldn’t say what it was.

Normally Raedon enjoyed flying at night. It was quiet and peaceful, and he always felt as if he were the only being in the world and all of creation existed for him alone. But he felt no such joy this night. Nearra needed his help and while he knew he was in the vicinity of where she had been when she’d contacted him, he was having a terrible time pinpointing the exact location. The image in his mind was clear enough: a grove of twisted, bare trees. He had flown in the direction he sensed the grove lay and had passed near a large stone keep. He’d seen the structure once of twice before but only from a distance. He had no idea who lived there. Besides, dragons—both Good and Evil—hadn’t been back in Ansalon very long, and even good dragons could inspire enough fear in humans to provoke them into attacking. And as
far as Raedon was concerned, anyone who lived in a keep was probably of a warlike turn of mind and best avoided.

But this time when he’d flown past the keep, he’d felt a powerful tug, as if the stone structure were calling to him. A keep had been one of the two images that had accompanied Nearra’s cry for help, a keep like this one.

Raedon had almost flown closer, but then the image of the grove of twisted trees flashed through his mind and the keep’s pull lessened, though it didn’t completely diminish. Raedon had continued on toward the grove, but now he was beginning to have second thoughts. Both the keep and the grove called to him equally, but how could that be possible? Nearra couldn’t be in two places at once. He didn’t fully understand the mystic power that dwelled within her or how it worked. But regardless, it was hardly unheard of for a telepathic message to be vague, unclear, or difficult to interpret. But this indecision was driving him mad! The longer he hesitated, trying to decide where he should go—the keep, the grove, the keep, the grove—the longer Nearra was in danger.

The copper dragon growled in frustration. Instead of wasting time trying to decide, he should just check both locations and be done with it. With that much decided at least, he felt a little better. Now he had only to choose which location to investigate first.

He looked down and spotted a grove of bare, twisted trees surrounded by normal, healthy forestland, exactly like in his vision.

He grinned. It seemed this latest choice had been made for him.

Raedon lowered his head, stopped flapping his wings, and angled his body downward. As he glided toward the grove, he scanned the area for signs of human life but saw none. He sniffed
the air, but he was still too high up and the breeze was too strong for him to pick up any scent trails.

He began to think the grove wasn’t the place he was supposed to go after all. But then again, just because no one appeared to be here didn’t mean they
hadn’t
been. Perhaps Nearra had sent her message from here, and then for some reason had to move on. He’d know for sure once he was on the ground and could sniff around for Nearra’s scent. If he couldn’t find it, that would mean she hadn’t been here and he’d be free to head to the keep. But if he did find her scent trail, then he could follow it to wherever she was now.

As Raedon drew closer to the ground, he saw that the trees weren’t completely bare. While it was true that they had no leaves, strands of thin silvery thread stretched between the branches and from tree to tree. The strands glistened, tinged red by Lunitari’s light, and swayed gently in the night breeze. It was a beautiful sight, and even if Raedon hadn’t come here in search of Nearra, he would’ve dipped down to get a closer look.

The threads were like nothing he’d ever seen before, and he wondered if they were some manner of strange and wonderful plant growth. But as lovely as the strands were, they were going to make it difficult for him to find a place to land. The forest surrounding the grove was thick, and even the most powerful dragons were careful where and how they landed, lest they risk injuring a wing. He supposed he could always try clawing through the silvery threads, but he hated to ruin their beauty, and since he didn’t know exactly what they were, he was reluctant to touch them.

If he could use his acid spray to burn through a few carefully selected threads, he might be able to clear a space large enough to land without having to damage too many of the strands.

As he circled low over the twisted trees, he was gripped by
a sudden feeling that he was in danger. Dragons are intelligent creatures, yet like animals, they remained in touch with their instincts in a way other thinking beings on Krynn did not. Raedon didn’t pause to question whether his instinct was accurate or what had prompted it. He arced his head toward the sky, beat the air with his wings, and began to ascend as fast as he could.

But before he could gain much altitude, he felt something sticky adhere to his tail. He felt the sensation a second time, then a third, and now the sticky things—he knew without looking that they were threads of glistening silver—began to strike his legs, abdomen, and wings.

Raedon flapped his wings furiously, trying to break free, but the strands held fast. He looked down and now saw that the trees were filled with hundreds of ivory-colored spiders, each the size of a large melon. They were spraying sticky strands from their mouths, and while individually none of the spiders would’ve been a match for a creature of his size and strength, together they had him trapped.

Raedon kept flapping, but he couldn’t rise any higher. As soon as the spiders hit him with their webbing, they secured the strand to a tree branch and fired again. When the spiders had enough lines attached to him, they stopped spinning their silver threads. They grabbed hold of the lines with segmented legs and began to pull their prize downward.

Davyn opened his eyes to walls of gray stone. He felt dizzy and disoriented. He had no idea where he was, couldn’t remember how he’d gotten here.

He looked around and was relieved to see that he wasn’t alone. His friends were here, too—wherever
here
was.

“What is this place?” Catriona asked.

The companions stood upon a stone floor discolored by dark, unidentifiable stains. In the middle of the floor was a round, rusted metal grate. There was something about the grate that struck Davyn as familiar, but couldn’t say what.

“It appears we’re in a large chamber of some sort,” Elidor said.

“No, we’re not,” Sindri countered. From his seat upon Ayanti’s back, he pointed up. “Look.”

They did and saw that there was no roof above them, only sky. Sharp-tipped iron spikes jutted from the tops of the walls, and they too seemed familiar, but though Davyn struggled to remember, he couldn’t.

“This is the Pit,” Ayanti said in a confused, frightened voice. “We’re in Bolthor’s Pit.”

And then, as if the centaur’s words had summoned them, dozens of faces peered over the metal spikes, rough, cruel faces with hungry grins and bloodlust in their eyes.

“I’m not sure how we got here,” Elidor said, looking up at the raucous crowd. “But it’s obvious
why
we’re here—to fight.”

Davyn wished he could remember how they had come to return to the Pit. The last thing he remembered was being in Cairngorn Keep, chasing after Nearra.

They could sort out the whys and wherefores of their situation later. Right now, they needed to find an exit.

“Ayanti, what’s the best way to get out of here?” he asked.

“There isn’t a way out,” she said. “Not unless someone lowers a ramp for us.”

“We have an elf who can climb a wall as easily as the rest of can walk,” Catriona said.

Elidor grinned. “I have a rope in my pack. Once I reach one of the spikes, I can tie the rope off and throw it down, and then the rest of you can use it to climb out.”