Return of the Sorceress (26 page)

Maddoc gestured once more, and this time the infinity symbol displayed twin scenes of Maddoc with hair that was an equal blend of black and gray. He stood tall, straight, and steady. Clearly, in this future time he had recovered from the debilitating aftereffects of his familiar’s death.

“Excellent,” Maddoc said. “This should do nicely.”

Davyn peered closely at the image, trying to determine the location of the future Maddoc, and perhaps by so doing detect some clues as to precisely how far into the future they were gazing. The background was fuzzy but Davyn thought the older Maddoc was surrounded by crystalline structures of some sort. But as the ranger stared, he realized that those weren’t mere crystals. They were gigantic diamonds, the smallest of which was easily twice the size of an adult. The longer Davyn watched, the more clear the setting became, until he could make out several still forms lying near Maddoc’s feet. He recognized them—Catriona, Elidor, Sindri—but whether they were unconscious or dead, he couldn’t tell.

As the images continued to resolve, two other figures were revealed standing in front of Maddoc and confronting him. One was Davyn himself, sporting a close-cropped beard and holding a bow, arrow nocked and trained on Maddoc.

The other was Nearra. She wore a long white gown embroidered with intricate golden stitchery. Around her neck hung
a medallion, and in her hand she held a silver sword. Davyn remembered seeing both objects depicted in the tapestry of Asvoria.

“What’s happening?” Davyn asked.

“Pay the scene no mind,” Maddoc said, a bit too casually, Davyn thought.

“This is but one future, a potentiality that may or may not occur. But it shall nevertheless serve our purposes well enough.”

“And what purpose is that?” Davyn asked.

“I need strength for tonight,” Maddoc said. “Since I don’t have enough of my own, I’m forced to borrow some. And who better to take it from than myself?” Saying this, Maddoc reached out and plunged his hand into one of the images of his future self.

The Maddoc-to-be stiffened and opened his mouth in a soundless scream. He shuddered, as if gripped by a sudden blast of arctic wind. As Davyn watched, the last remnants of black faded from the hair of his father’s future self, and his skin grew wrinkled and seemed to draw tight against the bone, as if every ounce of life was being drained out of him.

The Maddoc-to-be slumped to the ground, and then with a final blinding burst of light, the infinity symbol vanished. When Davyn was able to open his eyes once more, he saw that the symbol was again engraved in the marble floor and its outline no longer glowed.

He turned to Maddoc, unable to believe what he had just witnessed.

“You killed yourself. The you of tomorrow, I mean. You drained all his energy until he died.”

Though the current Maddoc’s appearance had not returned to normal, his gaze was clearer, his voice stronger, his hands no longer shook, and he shrugged off Davyn’s grip. He no longer needed his aid to stand.

“As I said, that was but a potential future,” the wizard explained. “It may never come to pass, in which case, the Maddoc
I
shall someday become will never have to fear being preyed upon by his younger self.”

Davyn frowned. “But if that future never happens, then how can you—the Maddoc standing next to me right now—have restored yourself with the life energy of a man who will never exist?”

Maddoc smiled. “It’s far too complex to explain in detail. In fact, it even makes
my
head hurt trying to work out all the permutations and implications. Suffice it to say that I am now once more strong enough to conduct the Rite of Emergence.” The wizard paused. “And even if this future
does
come to pass and I do perish at the hands of my younger self, it will be worth it to finally acquire Asvoria’s secrets.”

“Worth your life?” Davyn asked.

Maddoc gazed intensely into Davyn’s eyes. “Power—true power—is worth any price.” Then the wizard clapped him on the back.

“Let us go. We need to finish a few more tasks before we can begin the Rite of Emergence.”

Maddoc started toward the chamber door, and Davyn followed, fully understanding him for the first time in his life.

    D
avyn stood atop the main tower of Cairngorn Keep. It was like a small courtyard. The surface was paved with smooth stone and was about thirty feet in diameter. In the center of the tower roof, four burning braziers, one for each point of the compass, surrounded a table that had been draped with black velvet. Slits had been made in the cloth so that leather straps could fit through. Looking at those straps and knowing they were intended to hold Nearra down during the ceremony made Davyn feel ill.

Maddoc stood a few feet away, examining the sky with an instrument that looked like a sailor’s astrolabe, but with more gears and eyepieces.

“The moons are in more favorable positions than I expected,” he said. “Not perfect, of course, but I think I can predict a successful outcome for tonight’s experiment.”

The excitement in Maddoc’s voice both angered and sickened Davyn, but he held his tongue. He’d spent the time since their little father-and-son chat helping Maddoc prepare for the rite of Emergence. A small wooden table held numerous mystical tools and spell ingredients. Davyn had no idea what most of them were
for, but he’d arranged them exactly to Maddoc’s specifications. Close to the head of the velvet-cloaked table rested a stand that held a large spellbook. This was Maddoc’s personal spellbook, the one where he recorded the enchantments that he developed. The book was open to the page that contained the instructions for the Rite of Emergence. When Maddoc finished taking his readings of the heavens, he placed the instrument back on the equipment table, then shuffled over to the book to review the rite, which he’d already done a half dozen times, at least.

Close to the edge of the tower’s roof, just beyond the braziers’ light, crouched the collection of bones, wire, and leather that made up the skeletal griffin. The creature was completely still, but Davyn knew that it would spring to undead life at a single word from Maddoc.

Drefan, Fyren, and Gifre sat cross-legged on the roof close to the entrance to the stairs leading down into the tower. The goblins were playing grue bones and laughing and cursing as they won or lost.

Tucked beneath Davyn’s belt was the Dagger of Ulthus, the crystalline knife that Maddoc had given him, the one he was supposed to stab Nearra with at the proper moment during the rite. Though Maddoc had assured him that the mystic blade wouldn’t harm Nearra physically, he couldn’t stop thinking about how the dagger was supposed to wound her spiritually. That seemed just as bad to him, if not worse.

As he watched Maddoc consult his spell book, Davyn debated what he should do. He could try to grab the book and throw it into one of the braziers. But while there was a good chance Maddoc would be distracted enough by his preparations for Davyn to take him by surprise, he doubted the goblins or the griffin would be caught unawares. He wouldn’t be able to get hold of the book before they stopped him. When the ceremony was well underway,
Davyn could stab Maddoc with the Dagger of Ulthus. He didn’t know if the blade would deliver a physical wound or a spiritual one, but either way, Maddoc would be finished.

Maddoc looked up from his spell book and turned to the goblins.

“Go tell Oddvar to bring the girl. It’s time.”

The goblins grumbled at having their game interrupted, but they collected their grue bones and headed down the stairs. Davyn’s fingers stroked the hilt of the crystalline blade as he continued to struggle with his confusion and doubts.

There was a knock at the door, making Oddvar jump. He cursed himself for a fool and was glad that no one had been around to see him. He glanced at Nearra’s sleeping form.

“It’s us,” Drefan said. “Maddoc told us to tell you that it’s time to bring the girl.”

Though the goblin’s voice was muffled by the closed door, it was still too loud. Oddvar knew that Maddoc’s sleep spell would hold Nearra in slumber until someone shook her or the wizard lifted it, but Drefan’s volume bothered him just the same.

Oddvar walked to the door, opened it, and put a stubby finger to his lips.

“Quiet!” he hissed. “Maddoc wants her to stay asleep throughout the ceremony.”

Drefan peered past Oddvar’s shoulder. “Looks like she’s still asleep to me.”

Oddvar sighed. “Just do your best to be silent, all right?”

The three goblins nodded, but Oddvar knew they’d forget within moments.

“Have the three of you remained together since last I saw you?”

The shapechanger hasn’t replaced any of us, if that’s what you’re asking,” Drefan said.

Oddvar examined the three goblins. None had blue eyes.

“Very well. Let us proceed.”

Drefan nodded toward Maddoc’s bed. “Do you want us to carry her?”

Oddvar could’ve managed the job himself, even though Theiwar were not as strong as other dwarf clans. Still, carrying the girl was a servant’s task, and while Oddvar was Maddoc’s servant, the goblins were his.

“You three do it. But see that you don’t jostle her.”

Drefan nodded in that vague way of his. The three goblins approached the bed carefully and working in unison lifted Nearra without so much as causing her to stir. They slowly walked her over to Oddvar, and he nodded his approval. Perhaps these three idiots were going to get something right for a change.

“Let’s go. And keep a sharp lookout for the shapeshifter. It’s bound to try and rescue Asvoria before this is all over.”

And then, with Oddvar leading, they began a slow procession down the halls of Cairngorn Keep. If anyone had been present, they might’ve thought they were witnessing a funeral march, so still and quiet was Nearra.

Someone
was
present, clinging to the ceiling in the form of a tiny mite. As Oddvar and the goblins passed beneath it, the mite released its grip on the ceiling and drifted down through the air like a mote of dust to land on Nearra’s shoulder. The mite then scuttled quickly up her neck, over her face, and burrowed into her blonde hair. There, it would wait until the time came to act.

Elidor opened his eyes and found himself staring at a painting. It was an image of the Pit, bandits and mercenaries cheering around
the edges, and down inside, the split-open carcass of the hybrid monstrosity. Not far from the beast’s corpse lay three other bodies—a black-robed kender, a shaggy centaur, and a red-haired warrior with an eye patch. Standing in the midst of all this death was an elf wearing a white robe with a blue sash around the waist. His rapier dangled useless at his side, and his head was bowed in defeat.

As Elidor watched, the image faded until the painting was nothing but a blank canvas. He turned to see Catriona, Sindri, and Ayanti standing before similar paintings, each one just as blank as his. But he knew that moments ago they’d all depicted the same scene.

“Is everyone all right?” Elidor asked.

Catriona nodded. “Other than feeling a little fuzzy-headed, I’m fine.”

“Same here,” Ayanti echoed. “Though I doubt I’ll ever forget this experience.” She shuddered. “What a nightmare!”