Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2 (40 page)

“An apt comparison, my friend,” Solus said.

“So this place … is where you were born?”

The psi-forged nodded. “That is the creation forge where I was imbued with life, or at least an image of it. I believe Galharath is standing within the true forge, using its power to boost his psionic abilities to create this illusion, as well as those that our friends are currently experiencing.”

“Galharath?”

“The kalashtar who repaired the psi-forge for Aldarik Cathmore. My full memories—such as they are—have returned. I believe exposure to the forge’s energies has restored my mind to its previous state, completing the repairs Tresslar began.”

“That’s wonderful!” Hinto said. “Is your vision restored as well?”

“No. I will need to continue to rely on you as my eyes.”

“But you remember everything about how to use your powers, right?” the halfling asked. “That means you can fight Galharath!”

“It’s not that simple, my friend. Galharath attacked before my mind was restored, and I was unable to shield us from his assault. I am trapped within his illusions as surely as the rest of you.”

“But you can fight your way free … can’t you?”

“Perhaps with time, but Galharath isn’t going to give me the chance.”

“Too true.”

Hinto turned to see that they were no longer alone in the cavern. Four people stood shoulder to shoulder, glaring at Hinto and Solus with dead-white eyes: a human and three kalashtar. Though the halfling pirate had never seen any of them before, he knew who they were. Perhaps Solus had psionically shared the knowledge with him, or perhaps it was Galharath’s doing. Either way, Hinto recognized Banain, Evalina, Turi, and Karnil—the telekineticist, artificer, psionicist, and House Cannith overseer who had been responsible for the creation of the psi-forge and Solus’s birth. It was they whose minds Solus had accidentally absorbed in the first confusing moments after he emerged from the psi-forge.

It was Karnil who had responded to Solus’s statement, and the short human—not much taller than Hinto, really—took a half step forward, as if to differentiate himself from the others and make clear he was their leader. “None of you will succeed. Why not surrender now, Solus? Cathmore can still make use of you. You need not share the fate of your new companions.”

“I will die before allowing myself to be used by anyone again,” Solus said.

Hinto felt proud of his friend, and he knew he had to do
whatever he could to give Solus the time he needed to counter Galharath’s illusions.

The halfling drew his long knife and stepped forward. “I’ll see to these four, Solus. You deal with Galharath.”

“Do not do this, Hinto,” Solus warned. “Those four may be illusory, but they have power enough to kill.”

All four of the memory-ghosts grinned.

“That we do,” Karnil said.

“Don’t worry about me,” Hinto said. “I’ve sailed the Lhazaar all my life. I’ve weathered rough seas before.”

Karnil trained his dead gaze on the halfling pirate, and Hinto felt as if the man were peering into his mind. “You have, haven’t you? None were as rough as those you weathered in the Mire.”

Hinto watched in ever-increasing horror as the ghostly quartet changed. Their forms blurred, shifted, and merged until they had become a multi-headed, multi-limbed conglomeration of human and kalashtar, but the transformation didn’t end there, Their arms lengthened, became sinuous, fingers withdrawing as hands formed lamprey-like mouths. Hinto understood what was happening: they were becoming like the creatures that inhabited the Mire, that in a very real sense
were
the Mire. The same creatures that had snatched up and devoured the crew of the
Proud Pelican
one by one, leaving Hinto the only survivor.

Fear—overwhelming, crushing, paralyzing—whelmed into him, and he felt his knees go watery and start to buckle. Blackness nibbled at the edges of his vision, and he knew that he was on the verge of losing consciousness. He wanted to give in to the darkness, let it bear him far, far away from the nightmare that stood before him, but if he did that, he would be abandoning his friends—not just Solus, but Diran and the others, all trapped within illusions that were undoubtedly just as horrible as this
one. It had been Diran, Ghaji, and Yvka who had rescued him from the Mire, and though they hadn’t encountered Tresslar until after that, the grouchy old artificer had saved Hinto’s life numerous times in the months since then. No matter what happened, no matter the cost to himself, Hinto would not let his friends down. Not this time.

He raised his long knife, shouted a battle-cry, and dashed toward the tentacled monstrosity.

Secluded within the cloak of darkness she’d erected, Nathifa watched as the priest and his companions struggled with the illusions created by the kalashtar. She knew that Skarm, who huddled close to her like a frightened child, saw only mortals stumbling about in an empty chamber while their tormenters watched in mocking amusement, but she had been a powerful sorceress in life and she’d only grown stronger in death. She could see the mindscapes that the kalashtar had devised, and she couldn’t help admiring his diabolical creativity. Perhaps when this was over, she should attempt an alliance with him? No … all that mattered was getting her hands on the Amahau. That’s what Espial had told her, so that’s what she would do.

From the look of things, it wouldn’t be much longer before she at last got her bloodless hands on the dragonhead. In the meantime, she’d remain hidden in darkness and enjoy the show.

M
akala moved silent as a shadow through the interior of Mount Luster. To human eyes, she would’ve appeared lithe and graceful, but she felt clumsy and heavy-footed. The moment she had entered the mountain facility, waves of mental energy slammed into her, forcing her to retake human form and walk when it would’ve been so much more efficient to fly. As a vampire, she possessed mesmeric abilities of her own, but it took all her concentration to resist the vast psionic power radiating through Mount Luster. Still, it gave her a destination, for whatever the source of the mental energy, she was certain Diran and the others would be at the center of it—and undoubtedly in quite a bit of trouble.

She made her way through corridors and down stairwells, the waves of psionic energy growing ever stronger and more difficult to resist, until she reached a large cavern. At the heart of the chamber lay a glowing crystalline structure that she sensed was the source of the psionic storm that raged
through Mount Luster, but what drew the focus of her attention was what the glowing light revealed: Diran, Ghaji, Yvka, Tresslar Hinto, Solus, and
that woman
—all of them stumbling about the cavern, pantomiming actions as if in the throes of a waking dream. There were three others—a kalashtar at the center of the crystalline structure, an orc laughing as he watched Ghaji fight imaginary foes, and the only one Makala recognized: an old man wrapped in a bearskin cloak, eyes gleaming with cold malice as he watched Diran move about like a puppet on a string.

Cathmore
.

The kalashar might’ve been the one operating the device that held her companions in thrall, but Makala knew that Cathmore was the one ultimately in control. She recalled something he had taught her when she was but a child.
Cut off the serpent’s head and the body dies
. She intended to put that lesson to good use this night. She would kill Cathmore and sate her hunger at the same time. It would be an appropriately ironic end for the master assassin, for he was far more of a monster than she could ever be.

Makala moved across the cavern floor silent as a passing cloud, approaching Cathmore from behind. Makala thought she could’ve made all the noise she wanted, though, for the man’s attention was completely focused on Diran. This was going to be too easy.

Just when she had closed to within striking distance and was about to leap upon her prey, she felt someone’s eyes upon her. She looked to the kalashtar standing inside the crystalline device, unimaginable energies surging around him. He looked back at her, his eyes blazing with light. He grinned and Makala’s world changed.

As Bruk came at him, Diran side-stepped, spun around, and ran toward the mahogany chest. In the real Proving Room, the chest contained numerous weapons, and Diran hoped this illusion matched the reality. He threw open the doors and was relieved to see that the chest was as full of weapons as he remembered. He heard Bruk coming up fast behind him, and he knew he didn’t have time to be choosey. He reached into the chest and grabbed hold of the first weapon his fingers came in contact with—a warhammer. He whirled about just as Bruk lunged for him. Diran swept the hammer in a vicious arc at the undead sea raider.

The hammer smashed into the left side of Bruk’s face, just below the temple, crushing the eye socket and reducing the eye itself to jelly. Bruk cried out—not in pain, but in frustration—and staggered backward, momentarily knocked off balance. Diran didn’t expect the blow to stop him, but if the illusions adhered to their own cause and effect pattern—and so far they seemed to—then perhaps he could neutralize the undead raider.

Diran dropped the warhammer and turned back to the chest. He snatched up a dagger, spun around, and hurled it at Bruk’s remaining eye. Though he presently wore the form of his younger self, a self who had yet to undergo his assassin’s training, he still possessed his natural ability and his adult memories. The blade flew straight and true and buried itself in Bruk’s right eye. The raider howled in rage. He reached up and yanked the dagger free in a spray of blood, vitreous fluid, and chunks of brain.

Cathmore smiled grimly. “Very good, Diran. You couldn’t repell the zombie with your priestly powers, so you chose to blind him, giving you the advantage. Now you can whittle away at him bit by bit until you’ve rendered him incapable of harming you. As one of your former teachers, I must confess to feeling a
certain measure of pride at this moment. But if you’ll recall, I told you that
I
am in control here, not you.”

Cathmore waved his hand and Bruk’s eyes were restored. The zombie turned to look at Diran and grinned.

“You’re going to die here, Diran,” Cathmore said. “The only question is how long you’ll manage to postpone the inevitable.”

Before Bruk could resume his attack, the air shimmered and a young blond girl wearing a gray tunic and sandals appeared behind Cathmore. Diran’s breath caught in his throat as he recognized Makala—not as she was, but as she’d been when they’d first met, so many years ago at Emon Gorsedd’s academy.

Cathmore turned and smiled at Makala. “It’s about time you arrived, my dear. I was beginning to think you were going to miss all the fun.”

Makala returned Cathmore’s smile, revealing her elongated canine teeth. “The fun’s just beginning, and by the way, you don’t have as much control here as you think.”

Before the master assassin could react, Makala hissed and launched herself at him.