The Keep of Fire (68 page)

Minutes later they stood at the very summit of the tower, on a circular stone platform bounded only by a low wall. The fog had cleared, and now stars shimmered in the dark net of the sky above, bright in the absence of the moon. To the south, a crimson spark pulsed above the horizon: the red star. Light shone in the east. Dawn was approaching.

Melia turned around, then glanced at Travis. “It’s not here, either, is it? The Stone.”

He sighed, then shook his head. Falken clenched a fist and let out an oath.

Grace gazed at the others. They had come so far—they couldn’t simply give up. “We’ll think of something. It’s got to be in the castle somewhere.”

“Are you truly so certain of that, Your Radiance?”

As one they turned to watch a figure step from the head of the stairs onto the platform. He was tall and beautiful, clad in a loose-fitting tunic of gold. Tawny hair tumbled over broad shoulders. He smiled, and fire ignited in his golden eyes.

Melia trembled as she spoke the word. “Dakarreth!”

He nodded to the lady—a mocking gesture. “Dear Melia. It has been some time, hasn’t it? An eon? Or is it two?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Either way, it’s not been long enough, Dakarreth.”

He pressed his hand to his chest in a feigned expression of dismay. “Dear sister, that is hardly a proper greeting for your brother.”

“You are not my brother, Dakarreth.”

Falken gripped Melia’s shoulder, holding her back. Durge started to reach for his greatsword, but Dakarreth glanced at the knight, and the Embarran froze in mid-action.

“No, Sir Knight. Do not even think to harm me. Nor you, Daughter of Sia.” Now he turned his gold eyes on Lirith, knotting her fingers even as they wove together in a spell.

Grace stared at her friends. Both knight and witch were as motionless as statues. Were they dead? Rich laughter sounded. She looked up to see Dakarreth regard her.

“No, Your Radiance. They are not dead. None of you need die—not if you kneel before me now and accept me as your one true god.”

Melia’s small hands were fists. “Never!”

Dakarreth shook his head. “Never is a long time, dearest. Especially for one such as you.”

Tira stepped from behind Grace, and Grace was too slow in snatching the girl back. Dakarreth whirled around as if someone had struck him. Now his beautiful face was twisted by hate.

“What is this? You’ve brought that hideous little … thing with you.” He pointed at Tira. “Get her away from me!”

Falken’s eyes were unreadable. “Why, Dakarreth? She’s just a child.”

“Just a child?” Again the Necromancer laughed. “Oh, no, my pathetic bard, she is much more than just a child. By Mindroth’s hand she was chosen, by his will she came to him, and by the Stone of Fire she was marked. Her presence tainted the temple
—my
temple. But I drove them both away and took Krondisar before Mindroth could finish his foul work with her.” He spun toward Grace. “Now get her away from me, or your friends die, just like the big, stupid knight.”

Dakarreth clenched a fist, and both Lirith’s and Durge’s eyes bulged as their bodies stiffened. Grace snaked out her hands, grasped Tira, and pulled the girl back, holding her tight.

Travis took a step forward, his expression unreadable behind his spectacles. “Beltan? Are you talking about Beltan?”

Dakarreth gave a dismissive flick of a hand. “Yes, I believe that was his name. Not that names matter to the dead. Was he your friend? You might be interested to know that, big as he was, he was a good screamer.”

Travis staggered. Falken started to reach for him, to pull him back, but the bard halted at a glare from Dakarreth.

“No, keep away from him.” The Necromancer drew close to Travis, his golden eyes intent. “It is you, is it not? The one Eriaun spoke of—the one who touches Great Stones, and who spoke to Mindroth ere he finally burned.”

Grace could see the sweat bead on Travis’s brow.

“Yes, it is you,” Dakarreth whispered. “It is you who holds the key to Krondisar. Mindroth fled before I could wrest it from him, but you will tell me now—you dare not resist.”

The cords on Travis’s neck strained against the skin as he clenched his jaw, but he said nothing.

“Where have you hidden it, Dakarreth?” Melia said, her voice thin but angry. “Where is the Stone of Fire?”

“Why, don’t you know? It’s been right above you all this time, Melia dearest.”

Dakarreth stretched his arms wide and turned his face up. Grace followed his gaze to the pulsing crimson spark in the southern sky. The red star flared, then began to grow, its fiery light expanding to fill a quadrant of the sky. Crimson light danced across the upturned faces of the others as the star grew.

No, Grace, you’re wrong. It’s not getting larger. It’s coming closer
.

Like a meteor it plunged toward them, so brilliant she knew it would burn them all. Then, at the last moment, it slowed, and the spikes of fire contracted into a small, shining sphere. The red star drifted down among them, then came to a rest on the outstretched hand of Dakarreth. But it wasn’t a star at all. It was a stone.
The
Stone.

Krondisar.

Melia let out a wordless gasp of agony and slumped to her knees. The rest of them stared at the Stone of Fire resting on Dakarreth’s upturned palm as its bloody light illuminated his beautiful, terrible visage.

Out of the corner of her eye, Grace saw the light of dawn brighten on the horizon. But it was far too early for the sun, and it wasn’t dawn at all. The light came from every direction now, red and flickering. The land burned. Then she saw them: dark, slender shapes moving against the rising flames. Hundreds of them.
Thousands. The light closed around the castle. All the world was on fire.

Dakarreth bent his face toward Travis, baring pointed teeth in a lurid smile. “Now give me the key, runelord, or watch all of your friends die.”

The air sizzled around Travis. He was aware of his companions standing motionless behind him, and of the wall of fire that encircled the castle. Somewhere people were screaming. But these things registered only passingly on him. The Stone filled his gaze with its fiery beauty. He could think of nothing else but how good it would be to take the Stone, to hold it in his hand, and to feel its warmth against his flesh. On reflex, he began to reach for it.

Dakarreth jerked Krondisar back, closing his hand around it. Crimson light welled through his fingers like blood. “Do not even think to take the Stone of Fire, runelord. None of you have the power to wrest it from me—not Falken or Melia, and certainly not you. So much of its power is mine now, far more than any of you can imagine. I need only Mindroth’s key to unlock its final mysteries. Now give it to me!”

Travis tried to moisten his lips with his tongue, but it was like dragging sandpaper across them. It was so hard to speak. “I don’t know … the key.”

“You lie!” Inhuman fury honed the perfect features of Dakarreth’s visage to razored edges. “Mindroth gave the key to you. How could he not? You are his kind after all, runelord. Now, for your lie, you shall watch me destroy one of your precious friends. Shall I begin with the sly witch? Or perhaps the doughty knight?”

The Necromancer glanced at Durge. The Embarran’s eyes strained in their sockets as he rose onto his toes.

Travis held out a hand. “No, don’t! Please!”

“Will you give me the key?”

Durge’s face darkened, and his eyes fluttered.

Travis nodded. “I will give it to you.”

The Necromancer smiled. “Good, runelord. Very good. I knew you were not entirely a fool.”

He flicked a finger, and both Durge and Lirith went limp, falling to the floor. Falken started to move toward them, but a look from Dakarreth kept the bard in place, next to Melia, who still slumped on her knees. However, both the knight and the witch were moving. They were alive.

But how long would any of them stay living once Dakarreth realized Travis didn’t really know the key? He had bought them a few seconds, nothing more.

Dakarreth drew near, his face mere inches from Travis’s own. “Now, give it to me, runelord.”

Travis opened his mouth to speak.

Travis!

He froze at the sound of the voice speaking in his mind. It was not Jack Graystone.

Travis, can you hear me?

Grace? Is that you?

Yes
.

But I thought you couldn’t use the Touch
.

I can’t. Not for long at least. There’s … there’s a …

But she didn’t need to speak. He could see it there, just past the green-gold light of her presence: a monstrous, hulking shadow. It laughed with a door mouth, baring broken-glass teeth, hungry to rend apart her light. In that moment, Travis gained a shard of understanding.

Oh, Grace.…

No, Travis. There’s no time. You’ve got to listen—I think I understand
.

Understand what?

Why Dakarreth hasn’t been able to become a god yet. It was hard—he’s not alive, not really—but I think I just got a glimpse of his mind. It’s the same reason Tome gave for why the
krondrim
are so flawed. He’s not letting the transformation be completed. He’s afraid of it
.

Afraid? Afraid of what?

Of burning
.

He stared, trying to understand.

Travis. I—

The green-gold light vanished from his mind.

Grace!

But she was already gone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her form slump to the floor. Only a heartbeat had passed, but already time had stretched too thin. Dakarreth waited for an answer. But what should he say?

Beware—it will consume you
.

Once again the rasping voice whispered in his mind. Only this time Travis finally understood. Grace was right—the transformation had to be completed. Mindroth’s words weren’t a warning; they were instructions. That was the key.

Travis knew what he had to do. He gazed into Dakarreth’s impossible golden eyes. Then he reached out and laid his hand atop the Necromancer’s. He could feel the heat of the Stone through Dakarreth’s unliving flesh.

“What do you think you’re doing, runelord?”

Travis tightened his grip around both hand and Stone. He felt the first hot pricks of pain.

“I’m giving you what you want, Dakarreth,” he said through clenched teeth. “The key to transformation.”

Dakarreth’s eyes flared. “Get away from me!”

The Necromancer started to pull his hand back, then Travis whispered the word.
“Krond.”

The Stone heeded the call. Blazing light welled forth, conjuring a sphere of fire that surrounded Travis and Dakarreth. Travis heard screams—his friends—but the sounds were lost in the roar of the flames.

“What have you done?” the Necromancer shrieked.

He started to let go of the Stone, shifting it to Travis’s hand.

“Don’t do it, Dakarreth!” Travis shouted above the voice of the fire. “Don’t let go—not if you want to be a god. That’s the key. You’ve got to let it burn you.”

Anger blazed again in Dakarreth’s molten eyes. He gripped Krondisar. “I am not afraid, runelord. It is you who will let go in fear!”

The two clutched the Stone, and fire coursed through them. Dakarreth’s gold tunic vanished in a puff of flame. Travis felt his own clothes burn away. Dakarreth’s long tresses flared and were gone, and Travis’s hair curled and became ashes, until his body was as smooth as the Necromancer’s.

The pain crested into agony, except now the pain came from within Travis, not from without. He saw Dakarreth writhing before him.

Travis’s words were a scream. “Don’t resist the fire, Dakarreth! That’s why it hurts. You’ve got to give yourself to it—let it burn everything away!”

Dakarreth threw his head back and roared above the fire. “I
will
be a god!”

The Stone grew brighter yet, its light like burning blood. Travis watched his arm blacken and wither, but he did not let go of the Stone. Before him, Dakarreth shone brighter and more golden than ever.

Now Dakarreth gazed at Travis, grinning. “Yes.…”

Travis felt his flesh peeling off bone. Was this it,
then? Was this when the Necromancer became a god and destroyed them all? Laughing, Dakarreth tightened his grip on the Stone—

—and his fingers shriveled under the heat. His muscular arm followed, withering to a stick, then the smooth skin of his chest turned black and cracked.

The Necromancer’s exultant expression crumbled. “No!”

Fire charred Dakarreth’s legs to stumps, and his beautiful face bubbled and melted. Travis could feel his own body doing the same—burning away—but still he did not let go of the Stone.

“Do it, Dakarreth,” Travis said as his lips were seared away from his teeth. “Become a god!”

They locked eyes, gripping the Stone between them. Then fire transmuted the fury in Dakarreth’s eyes into horror. A shriek burst with tongues of flame from the Necromancer’s mouth.

“The pain!”

Then Dakarreth let go of the Stone.

The blackened husk of the Necromancer’s body fell back, then vanished beyond the boundaries of the sphere. Within, the flames tossed Travis like molten waves. It was too late to think of letting go of the Stone. His arm had been charred to nothing. Travis felt his flesh, his bones—everything he was and ever had been—burn away.

Tome had said Krondisar possessed the power to transform those who had the key. But if that was so, what would he become? Anything at all? Then, with his last, flickering thoughts, Travis understood. Deirdre’s words, spoken what seemed so long ago in the Mine Shaft, whispered once more in his mind.

In the end, we must each choose what we become
.

Travis pictured Dakarreth, who had wished to be a god. And he thought of the dragon, who was a monster. Then one last image came to him, of a tall man with fair hair and a smile like the new light of dawn.

Travis made his choice. He was neither god nor monster; he was simply a man. The last shreds of his being burned away, and there was only …

 … light.

Travis blinked. The light came closer: soft, blue, and cool.