Swordmage (22 page)

“First, we’ll have to find a way out of this chamber. I’m not eager to venture too close to those symbols again,” said Hamil. The halfling gestured at the doorway, where the symbols burned dully. The large one in the center was dark—its magic had likely ended when the animated statue was destroyed. But the other two remained active. “I suppose we could try to dig our way out. If my sense of direction is right, we’re under the memorial chamber.”

Geran looked up at the gaping hole in the ceiling and turned to the symbols gleaming over the door. “I’m afraid it would be too easy to bring the chamber above us down around our ears if we picked the wrong place to dig, but I know a spell or two that might get us past the symbols. It might take a little while, but it will be a lot easier than digging.”

“Done,” Hamil said. He sat down on the dais by the stone chest and waved toward the opposite door. “Have at it. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“There isn’t.” Geran studied the markings over the door for a long moment, then sat down gingerly to examine his own spellbook, looking for something that might work. The ceiling overhead creaked ominously, and more dust drifted down. No, tunneling out was not an option. He

meant to walk out of the room by the door through which he had entered … or did he? He looked up at the doorway, measuring the distance with his eye. “Yes, that would work,” he muttered. “But I’ll have to study new spells first. Hamil, make yourself comfortable. I have to rest a while before I can get us out of here.”

Fourteen

After Geran and Hamil ate a cold lunch from the rations they had on hand, Geran laid out his bedroll and stretched out on the cold stone floor. He was not especially sleepy, but if he could lie quietly and let his mind rest for a time, he would be able to ready himself for studying his spells. He knew from experience that he couldn’t fix a spell in his mind when he was tired or distracted. The long ride over the moors, the excavation of the stairwell, the exploration of the vaults, and finally the battle against the sphinx-statue had worn him too much to try his spellbooks with any hope of success. The words were simple to commit to memory, of course, but each spell also required a carefully built structure of symbology, philosophy, even a certain attitude or particular mode of thinking that would imbue the words he spoke with real and significant power. He needed only a few minutes’ meditation to restore the expended power to many of his minor spells, but his longer incantations were far more strenuous and took much longer to replenish.

Geran dozed for a long time, then rose, ate and drank a little more, and began to study his books. He didn’t use some of these spells very often, so he studied them carefully to make certain that he would be able to speak them correctly. Six hours after he’d entered the vault of the Infiernadex, he was ready to make his exit. He replaced his spellbook in his

pack and stood, wincing when his bruised ribs protested. “All right, Hamil. Ready to leave?”

The halfling jumped to his feet. “I’ve been ready for hours. Can you erase the symbols?”

“No, we’re going to go around them. I don’t have quite the right spell to do it directly, but I can manage it with three. But I’ll need a little light, first.” Geran dug a copper coin out of his pocket, whispered a light spell, and tossed it through the doorway to the darkened antechamber outside. With relief he noted that the floor remained depressed to the level of the buried vault. If the floor had raised itself back to the original level, his task would have been much harder. Geran moved closer to the doorway, remaining a short distance outside the influence of the symbols. He concentrated, focused his will, and said, “Seiroch!”

An instant of darkness, and then he was standing on the floor of the antechamber, looking back through the doorway at Hamil. He waited a moment to see if any new traps had been activated, but nothing happened.

“Well, it appears that you’ve seen to your own escape,” Hamil remarked. “Shall I just wait here, then?”

“I’m not finished,” Geran said. He took a deep breath, stilled his mind, and unlocked the unfamiliar structures of a spell he rarely used. “Sierollanie dir mellar!”

A faint violet light sprang up around Hamil, who looked startled, and a similar one appeared around the swordmage. Then once again he felt the brief instant of lightless cold, and he was standing back in the chamber of the Infiernadex, while Hamil was outside in the antechamber.

The halfling looked around, and laughed. “My circumstances have improved, but you are right back where you started, Geran! Is this one of those fox-goose-and-grain problems? If you’re stumped, I may be able to help, you know.”

“I’m still not finished. Give me a few moments.” Geran sat down to compose himself and rest, closing his eyes and using the elven methods that Daried had taught him in Myth Drannor. A few minutes later, he was ready. He

stood up, checked his location, and repeated his spell of transport: “Seiroch! “

One more instant of dizzying darkness, and he stood beside Hamil in the antechamber. “I don’t know any spells that would let both of us teleport together,” he explained. “So I had to settle for the spell that would switch our places. The minor teleport only takes me a few minutes to ready.”

Hamil gave him a small bow. “You are a more accomplished wizard than I remembered, Geran. Did you learn that in Myth Drannor?”

“If I were a true wizard I could’ve simply conjured us both out of the vault and saved us the ride back to Hulburg for that matter. But yes, that’s a spell I learned in Myth Drannor, along with a few others.” Geran made a stirrup of his hands to help Hamil back up to the passageway above. Then he leaped up, caught the edge, and scrambled up with a hand from the halfling. He looked back down at the door to the secret vault. “We should put the floor back. The Verunas might miss the vault, and they won’t realize that we’ve been here already.”

“Done,” said Hamil. He leaped corner-to-corner over the pit and worked his way around to the statue with its niche. In a moment he rotated it back into place. The antechamber floor rose back into place with a heavy scraping of stone on stone and the clanking of hidden chains. “I hope our mounts haven’t run off or been eaten by something. I don’t care for a long walk back to the abbey.”

“Nor do I.” Geran led the way back to the wall they’d opened at the foot of the stairwell and ducked through it again. It was dark outside, but he’d expected that. They’d opened the mound in the early afternoon, and they’d been inside for many hours. He climbed back up into the night— cold, damp, windy, and mist-blown, as so many nights on the Highfells were. He looked around to see whether their horses were still present. The animals stamped and neighed nervously where they’d been picketed, the saddles and tack piled up where they’d left it. Geran slipped down the side of the mound and headed toward the animals, wondering if perhaps

they’d caught more of the strange shadow’s scent.

Hamil followed after him. “Do we try to make it back to the abbey tonight?”

Geran started to answer, but paused. He thought he heard something, a faint creaking, perhaps the jingle of mail. He slid his sword out of its sheath and peered into the darkness. They’d had the light spell to see by in the barrow, but he hadn’t stopped to let his eyes adjust to the night. Now he realized that he couldn’t see very well at all, whereas someone who might have been waiting outside would be quite used to the darkness.

“Hamil, someone’s here,” he said softly. “Cuillen mhariel! “

The faint sheen of the silversteel veil flickered around him. He felt Hamil close behind him and heard the rasp of steel on leather as the halfling swept out his own daggers. “We walked right into it,” the halfling muttered.

Silently, men in mail stood from where they’d been lying in the heather. They were empty black shadows in the moonless night, but then several of the men unshuttered lantetns and shone them at the two companions. In the sudden circle of light, Geran saw that they were surrounded by close to a score of armsmen in the green and white surcoats of House Veruna. Several aimed bows at Geran.

“Well, here they are, lads,” one of the shadowy figures rasped. He came closer, and Geran recognized the lean, hawkish features and ebon half-plate armor of Anfel Urdinger, captain of House Veruna. “I think you’ve got something I want, Geran Hulmaster. Lay down your sword at your feet, and throw your pack over here. Your small friend too, and you can tell him that he’d better keep his hands where we can see them.”

Of all the luck! Hamil said silently. They finally find the barrow they’re looking for on the day we visit!

To Bane with luck, someone must have told them where we were, Geran answered his friend. This barrow was simply too far from the others that had been opened; it was too much of

a coincidence to believe that Urdinger and his men had happened across it. Mostly to give himself a moment to think, he called back to Urdinger, “If we surrender our arms, what guarantees do you give us?”

“I don’t see that I need to give you any at all, but I suppose I’ll let you ride away with no more trouble,” Urdinger answered. “The book’s my only concern. Do you have it?”

They can’t let us live, Geran, Hamil said. If we give up our blades, they’ll take what they want and kill us anyway. Best to make a break back for the barrow and hope we don’t get shot down before we get there.

I know it, Geran replied to his friend.

Against three or four men—perhaps five—he might have tried to fight his way clear, even with the disadvantage of being caught by surprise. But there were simply too many mercenaries around them. A retreat to Terlannis’s barrow was the best of their poor options; in the cramped passage at the foot of the stairs, their opponents’ numbers would mean nothing, and they might achieve a standoff of sorts. Geran edged back a couple of steps, weighing their odds of reaching the barrow entrance, but then he sensed stealthy movement behind him.

He turned to look. There, not twenty feet away, the night mists swirled and coalesced into a great black panther who padded out of the fog. Its yellow eyes glittered with malice … and perhaps a glint of intelligence. In any event, it was between the two comrades and the dubious safety of the barrow entrance.

“I see you’ve met Umbryl,” Urdinger said with a nasty laugh. “I’d stand still, if I were you. Now, if you don’t do what I say and drop your damned elf-sword to the ground, I’m going to let the panther have you.”

That explains much, Geran decided. The panther trailed them, and it must have gone to summon the Verunas when they entered the barrow. The swordmage took one more look around and grimaced. “You can have the book, then,” he said. He let his rucksack slip from his shoulder, knelt, and rummaged through it for the Infiernadex, one eye on the

spectral panther. In a moment he stood back up with the ancient tome in his left hand, the sword in his right. He felt Hamil shift uncomfortably, all too aware that the necromancer’s book was their only bargaining chip, but the halfling said nothing. He whispered to the halfling, “Watch yourself.” Make your move, Hamil answered.

Geran lowered his voice and muttered a spell: “Arvan sannoghan,” he hissed, and all at once bright blue-white flames sprang into existence all along his sword. He raised it over the heavy tome he held in his other hand and shouted, “Not a single move, or I will destroy the book!”

The Veruna swordsmen surged forward in anger, but a single sharp command from Urdinger stopped them in their tracks. “Hold!” the Veruna captain shouted at his men. Geran risked a glance behind him and saw the spectral panther crouch and hiss, but it did not spring at them. Urdinger’s good humor—such as it was—fell away, and the mercenary glared at Geran. “You fool,” he spat. “If you harm that book, there’ll be no reason to let you leave this place!”

“I can’t see a reason why you’d let us go, whether you get your hands on the book or not,” Geran retorted. “If you intend to kill me no matter what, I might as well burn this musty old collection of hexes just to spite you before I die.”

“I can have my bowmen shoot you down right now.”

“Are you that certain of their aim? Miss by just a little, and I’ll burn the Infiernadex to ash with my last breath.” Geran paused, measuring the effect of his words on the Veruna captain, and added, “I’ll trade the book for our lives. But you won’t have both, I can promise you that.”

The mercenary captain scowled. “All right, then. Make a suggestion.”

Hamil glanced up at Geran, then back to the Veruna men surrounding them. “Yes, make a suggestion, Geran,” he said.

“Give us two horses,” Geran said to Urdinger. “Then draw back outside of bowshot. I’ll leave the book here, and we’ll ride off.”

“What’s to keep you from riding off with the book once we draw back? Or destroying it once we’re too far away to interfere, for that matter?”

“What’s to keep you from pursuing us once you’ve got the book?” Geran answered. “The only way this works is for both of us to do what we say we’re going to do and believe that the other fellow means it. As for destroying the Infiernadex, well, I have it in my power to do that right now, so what would change?”

Urdinger frowned and turned away to mutter something to the mercenaries next to him. But he never said whatever he intended to say next, for abruptly the wind died, the night grew bitterly cold, and white hoarfrost appeared on the heather. Geran’s breath steamed before him, and even the flickering blue flames of the fiery aura on his sword dimmed and wavered. The Veruna men shifted nervously and looked around, and the two companions did likewise.

The chill voices are back, Hamil said. Something is coming.

“I feel it too,” Geran said. “What else can go wrong?” He glanced back at Umbryl, but the spectral panther had disappeared. He swore under his breath and tried to watch in all directions at once. That’s what I get for asking, he told himself. Now 1 have to wonder if the damned panther is sneaking up behind me.

Suddenly a column of dark, cold flames erupted from the ground not far from where Geran and Hamil stood, and a figure of nightmare stepped forth. It was a skeleton, dressed in the old, tattered remnants of regal robes. A heavy golden band served as its crown, and it carried a tall, twisted staff of dead gray wood in its bony talons. Geran heard metal rasping on metal as the thing emerged from the black flames. The skeleton’s bones were riveted together by bands of rune-inscribed copper, green and dull with age. Its eyes were burning points of phosphorescent emerald fire, keen and malevolent.