Return of the Sorceress (27 page)

“That’s exactly what it was,” Sindri said from his seat on the centaur’s back. “A nightmare that we all shared. This place is a trap created by Asvoria. When we first entered the room the paintings were blank. But when the door closed, pictures appeared on them.”

There was something familiar about what Sindri said. Elidor had a vague memory of running down a stone hallway. They’d been chasing someone. They’d come to a room with a door that was partially open. Davyn rushed in, they’d followed and—

“I remember now,” the elf said. “So the Pit, that hideous creature, our evil selves were just some sort of dream?”

Sindri nodded. “Whoever is in the presence of a painting experiences a scenario based on his or her greatest fear. The illusion continues as long as you look at the paintings.”

“So when you told us to close our eyes in the dream,” Catriona began.

“We did so in the real world,” Ayanti went on, “and broke the spell!”

“That’s right,” the kender said.

“You said this place creates nightmares based on people’s greatest fears,” Catriona said. “I understand why we would all imagine illusions of the Pit and the monster. They’re both based on recent enough experiences to be fresh in our minds. But why did we imagine those evil versions of ourselves?”

Elidor shrugged. “It’s always difficult to face the darker aspects of one’s own self, and even more difficult to conquer them.”

“And our counterparts said they came from a world where Takhisis ruled,” Sindri said. “Who could imagine a worse nightmare than that?”

Sindri then swayed suddenly, and Elidor grabbed his friend by the elbow to keep him from falling off Ayanti’s back.

“What’s wrong?” the elf asked, concerned.

“Nothing.” Sindri gave Elidor a weak smile. “I’m just weary from using my magic to determine the true nature of this chamber’s power. But I’m not as tired as the last time I used my power. I’m not sure, but I think it’s getting easier. I should be fine before long.”

Catriona looked around. “Hey, where’s Davyn?”

“He disappeared from the nightmare,” Elidor said. “Just as we were about to attack the monster.”

“I noticed at the time,” Catriona said, “but we were so busy trying to stay alive that I didn’t say anything. Just because he disappeared from the dream-Pit doesn’t mean he should’ve also vanished from this chamber, does it?”

“It’s hard to know for sure,” Sindri said, “but I’d guess that Davyn somehow broke the chamber’s enchantment—or had it broken for him—and then left the room.”

Catriona shook her head. “If Davyn got free of the spell, he
wouldn’t have left us here. He’d have tried to break the enchantment for the rest of us.”

“Unless he couldn’t,” Ayanti said.

“Or someone wouldn’t let him,” Elidor added, “someone like Maddoc, for instance.”

“So now we have two friends to rescue instead of just one,” Catriona said.

“We have to find him,” Elidor said. “He knows the keep better than any of us. If we’re to have any hope of rescuing—” But the elf was cut off by a sudden pounding at the door.

The companions looked at one another.

“Should we open it?” Ayanti whispered.

“We can’t stay in here,” Catriona said. “The room’s enchantment might activate again and ensnare us again.”

The pounding kept up, growing louder with each blow.

“We don’t have to worry about the room,” Sindri said. “The spell won’t start up until the door is opened once more. But now that we know the room’s secret, we’re immune to its effect.”

More pounding, louder yet.

“Maybe it’s Davyn,” Ayanti said hopefully.

“Maybe,” Elidor said. But the blows didn’t sound to his elf ears as if Davyn were making them. The rhythm was wrong, and it was too intense, as if someone wanted to knock the door down.

“The door won’t open from the outside as long as anyone is inside,” Sindri said. “Not unless they know the proper command phrase.”

“Then we know it’s not Maddoc,” Catriona said. “He’d surely know such a phrase.”

“We can open the door from this side any time we want,” Sindri said.

The pounding came nonstop now, in rapid rhythm as if someone were playing the door like a drum. Pound-pound-pound-pound-pound-pound!

“This room is a magical trap, right?” Elidor said. “Then maybe we should put it to good use.”

Shiriki watched as her cousin slammed his first against the door over and over.

“It’s locked, Kuruk. You might as well face it. We’re not going to get in.”

Kuruk ignored her and continued pounding.

Shiriki was beginning to worry. Actually, she’d been worrying since Kuruk had collapsed in the cavern. He’d been acting strange. At first she’d attributed his behavior to the wounds he’d suffered. He was far more quiet than usual, and he didn’t look at her when she spoke to him. And when he did speak, his voice was flat and emotionless.

And there were other things. He didn’t seem to blink anymore, and he moved differently, not with the easy grace of an elf, but with a stiff awkwardness, as if he’d forgotten how to use his body, or was still learning. And then there was the cold. It radiated from him in waves so intense that Shiriki couldn’t stand to be too close to him.

He had led them from the cavern, through a tunnel, and up a hidden set of stairs until they had found their way into the main tower of Cairngorn Keep. Now he had brought them here, to this door, though he hadn’t said why or what was so important about it. Given all that, she was beginning to have disturbing thoughts. Perhaps this wasn’t her cousin after all. Perhaps something had gotten into him inside the cavern. Something bad.

She decided to try reaching him one last time. “What’s so important about this door, Kuruk?”

“It’s in there. I can
feel
it!”

The emotion in his voice—longing mixed with impatient fury—startled her.
“What
is?”

“The Daystar! I must retrieve it!”

She had no idea what he was talking about and she didn’t care. She grabbed him by the shoulder, intending to spin him around to face her. But she gasped as her flesh came in contact with his body. It was like touching a block of ice.

She was about to yank her hand away when the door suddenly opened and Kuruk rushed inside. She stumbled forward, though she would’ve remained outside if someone hadn’t grabbed her arm and pulled her in. She glimpsed a blur of faces—Elidor and his companions—and then she saw the paintings on the walls. One of them in particular caught her attention, and she felt as if it were drawing her toward it, grabbing hold of her, and pulling her in.

Kuruk and Shiriki stood immobile, side-by-side, each facing a different painting. Kuruk’s now showed a scene of a cavern much like the one they had passed through on their way into the keep, while Shiriki’s displayed a vast battlefield strewn with thousands of dead warriors. Elidor wondered what nightmares the two Kagonesti were now experiencing, but he decided he really didn’t want to know.

“It worked!” Ayanti said.

Elidor nodded, but he felt little satisfaction upon seeing Shiriki trapped this way. He knew she was evil, but he couldn’t help thinking about the way her lips had felt pressed against his.

Catriona tugged at his elbow. “We should leave.”

“Yes, of course.”

They turned to go, leaving Kuruk and Shiriki to whatever dark dreams their own minds had conjured. But as they were filing into the hallway, Sindri’s eyes went wide. And did the whites have
a touch of rainbow colors to them for an instant? Elidor thought they might’ve.

“Oh no!” Sindri said.

“What’s wrong?” Elidor asked.

“They’ve started. I can sense it!”

“Started what?” Catriona demanded.

“The Rite of Emergence,” Sindri said in a small, frightened voice.

    R
aedon landed and grimaced as the impact sent a jolt of pain through his swollen, but unfortunately no longer numb, wing. He bent down, coiled his leg muscles and leaped into the air once more. When he was at the highest point of his jump, he spread his wings, held them straight out from his body, and glided.

Even though copper dragons could leap long distances, Raedon knew he needed to reach the stone keep as quickly as possible and he couldn’t do so simply by jumping. But he couldn’t fly with injured wing, so he was hopping and gliding. It wasn’t easy with his wing the way it was, but it was the best he could do. Yet he feared it wouldn’t be enough.

As he began to descend, he caught a glimpse of a dark tower in the distance. Orange light flickered at the top. Raedon wasn’t certain what the flames were for, but the sight of them made his dragon blood run cold. He couldn’t escape the feeling that whatever the fire’s purpose, it was a signal that Nearra was almost out of time. He prayed to Paladine, lord of all Good dragons, that he would arrive before it was too late.

He hit the ground, and once again launched himself into the air.

Shiriki stood upon a cold barren plain. The ground was littered with the bodies of slain warriors. The dead stretched in every direction as far as she could see. There were so many that she wondered if the entire surface of Krynn was covered with corpses. The sky was black and starless, though somehow there was still enough light to see by. The air was still and stagnant, heavy with the thick stench of death.

Most of Ansalon’s races were represented in the grisly display that surrounded her: elves, dwarves, humans, goblins, ogres, and—most surprising of all—draconians. Shiriki hadn’t seen any of the humanoid dragons since the War of the Lance. She’d come to believe that they had all died in battle.

Most of them did.

The voice seemed to echo throughout the world. Shiriki covered her ears as the sound cut through her like cold steel.

So many draconians are here because this is the place where all who fail me are destined to come. These are the Plains of Desolation.

Shiriki experienced a terror beyond anything she’d ever known. Though she had never heard this voice, she knew who it belonged to—her Dark Queen, the goddess Takhisis.

Shiriki fell to her knees and touched her head to the ground.