The Wiz Biz (16 page)

“Earth magic,” Shiara said. “Very potent and barely held in check here.” She looked around. “Left to its own, I think this mountain would have erupted hundreds of years ago.”

“A fitting lair for a sorcerer.”

“More than that, perhaps.”

“Light, will you stop being so gloomy? You’re beginning to make me nervous.”

She smiled. “You’re right, my Sun. This place is affecting me, I am afraid.”

They climbed and climbed until it seemed they would emerge at the very top of the mountain. Finally their way leveled out and there before them was a door.

The portal was of the deepest black granite, polished so smooth the burning brand in Cormac’s hand threw back distorted reflections of the two adventurers. A gilt tracery ran along the lintel and down the doorposts. Runes, Shiara saw as she moved closer. Runes of purest gold beaten into the oily black surface of the granite.

Shiara formed the runes in her mind, not daring to move her lips. “It is a treasure indeed,” she said at last. “A trove of magic of the sort seldom witnessed. This is the tomb of Amon-Set.”

Cormac wrinkled his nose. “The name is somewhat familiar. A boggart to frighten children, I think.”

“More than that,” she told her beloved. “Before he was a night-fright, Amon-Set was mortal. A sorcerer so powerful his name has lived after him and so evil he is a figure of nightmare.”

“Aye,” Cormac breathed. “The great dark one from the beginning of the World. And he lies here?”

“I would not take oath he is dead.”

“I mislike rifling the tombs of sorcerers,” Cormac said apprehensively.

“I like it even less than that. Such places are mazes of traps and snares for the greedy or the careless.” She sighed and straightened. “Fortunately we do not have to steal. Only keep what is here from being loosed upon the World.”

“But before that we must enter.”

“So we must, love.” Shiara set down her pouch and knelt beside it. “Leave that to me.”

The lock was a cunning blend of magic and mechanics. Slowly and deliberately, Shiara worked upon it, running her fingers over the surface to sense the mechanism within. Sometimes she operated upon it with cleverly constructed picks. Sometimes she used incantations. Finally she pushed against it gently and the door sung open. Motioning Cormac to remain outside, she entered cautiously.

The room was vast, so big the walls were lost in the gloom. The marble floor, tessellated in patterns of black and darkest green, stretched away in front of them. Shiara had the feeling that by stepping through the door she had become a piece on a gigantic game board.

The way was lit by witch-fires of pale yellow enclosed in great massively carved lanterns, the light pouring out through the thin panels of alabaster or marble that formed their panes. The glow held an odd greenish tinge that gave an unhealthy pallor to everything it touched.

Here and there a censer smoked, emitting heavy fumes that curled and ran along the floor like snakes. The incense was pungent with hints of cinnamon and sandalwood, heady with the fumes of poppies and the sharp chemical tang of ether. It was neither pleasant nor offensive, just strange. It did not quite hide the musty odor of time long passed in a place undisturbed and the faint sweetish hint of corruption that hung in the air.

Worse than the incense to Shiara was the magic that closed around her as soon as she stepped over the threshold. It was as close and stifling as a heavy quilt on a hot summer’s day. It pressed against her flesh and blocked her nostrils until she wanted to gasp for breath. It twisted and moved around her in odd directions and peculiar angles. She felt that if she stared into the air long enough the magic would become visible. She did not want to contemplate what might follow.

Shiara took one more step forward and did gasp. There on the floor of the chamber, like a flock of crows dropped in mid-flight, lay half a score of black-robed bodies, already decomposing in the strange atmosphere of the room. Obviously the League’s sorcerers had found a trap that guarded the treasure.

In spite of the dead, Shiara’s gaze was drawn to the objects scattered around the room. Each sat on its own pedestal like exhibits in a museum—or pieces on a game board—and each of the ones Shiara could see was different. There was no obvious pattern or order to their placement, but Shiara did not doubt there was some subtle design there.

“What lies within?” Cormac asked from just over the threshold.

“Danger and magic,” Shiara told him. “Stay where you are for a moment.”

On the nearest pier of blue-white marble sat a jeweled crown. The golden band was made to curl snakelike around the wearer’s brow. Gems covered its surface so thickly the gold would be scarce visible when it was worn. Blue sapphires, blood-red rubies, sea-green emeralds, and lustrous pink pearls ran in twisted bands across the gold. Over each temple sat a smoky yellow topaz, golden as the eye of a dragon. In the center of the forehead was a blue-white gem the likes of which Shiara had never seen. Over all of it flashes of substanceless flame licked and leaped, clear as the fire of burning alcohol. Truly this was a thing designed to adorn the brow of a mighty sorcerer.

Awed, Shiara reached out to touch the crown. Reached and then drew back. Some sense warned her that to touch it would be fatal.

“Cormac, come in,” she called, not taking her eye off the glittering prize on the podium. “Move carefully and on your life, touch nothing!”

“Fortuna!” Cormac exclaimed when he saw the remains of the League’s expedition. “What happened to them?”

“One of them touched something, I think. Help me search the room, but move carefully!”

As Shiara and Cormac passed from pedestal to pedestal the extent of the trove became apparent. Each pedestal held an item of magician’s regalia. Here a great gold thumb ring with a strangely carved sardonyx cameo stood on a drape of leaf-green velvet. There a chest of scrolls stood open, each scroll bearing the name of the spell it recorded. Against one wall an elaborately embroidered robe, set with gems and so stiff with bullion it stood upright and ready to receive its wearer. Above another pedestal floated a pair of silken slippers decorated with pink-blushed pearls. There were flashing swords and black lacquered armor, chests of gold and heaps of jewels, amulets and talismans and silver-bound spell books galore. Every item reeked of powerful, subtle magic and ancient, ancient evil.

“Fortuna!” Cormac called from the shadows at the far end of the huge wall. “Light, come look at this.”

Shiara followed the sound of Cormac’s voice and gasped at what she saw. This was no mere treasure house or cenotaph. It was indeed the tomb of a mighty wizard!

The body lay beneath a clear crystal bell on a dais of milk-white crystal. Beneath the white silk shroud broidered round with blood-red runes, the wizard’s husk was as incorrupt and composed as if he were only sleeping. Amon-Set had been a man of no more than average height, Shiara saw, with pale skin given only a semblance of color by the stark whiteness of the sheet. The tracery of blue veins patterned his flesh in a manner disturbingly like the scales of a venomous reptile. The hands crossed on his chest were as long and slender as the hands of an artist. His hair was dark and shiny as polished jet and his brows were thin and dark, elegant against his skin. His lashes were long and dark as well. Shiara did not care to contemplate what the eyes beneath them must have been like.

“Back away from it!” she called to Cormac. “Do not get closer.”

As Cormac edged off, Shiara approached. With shaking hands she passed her wand over the bier. Then she sighed and her shoulders slumped. Magic aplenty she found there, but not the smallest spark of life. Amon-Set was truly dead.

“The scroll did not lie,” Cormac said awestruck. “There is treasure indeed here.”

“The life’s work of one of the most powerful wizards that ever lived,” Shiara agreed grimly. “My Sun, can you imagine the havoc all this could wreak if it were loosed upon the World?”

“Well,” said Cormac briskly, “that is what we are here to prevent, is it not?”

Shiara nodded and passed her wand over the closest pedestal. Then she frowned and drew back. She moved to the next pedestal and repeated the pass. The expression on her face showed that what she found was no more to her liking.

“Magic?” asked Cormac.

“Aye. What is on these stands is protected by the spells around them and cannot be touched. I will have to unravel this maze before we dare move any of it.”

Again and again, Shiara tested the pedestals, until at last she had tried each of them.

“I see how it is now,” she said at last. “The spells protecting these things are all interlocked like jackstraws. If you move them at random than the whole mass comes down upon you.”

“Jackstraws have a key,” Cormac pointed out “And so does this riddle. One of these objects is the key. It can be moved first and then the next and then the next.”

“How long will it take you to sort out the pile then?”

“Hours. Perhaps days. This is no simple puzzle and I dare not make a mistake.” Her eyes went to the bodies on the floor.

“Should you summon more of the Mighty to help?”

Shiara considered and then shook her head. “There is nothing others could do here that I could not. Involving others only means risking them as well.”

Cormac shrugged acceptance and Shiara set to work on unravelling the puzzle. Three times she passed round the great gloomy chamber, testing each object.

“It is no good,” she said at last. “All of the spells are interlinked and apparently none of them are the key.”

“I thought you said there had to be a key.”

“I thought so, but I can find no sign of one.”

“Well, Light. Where does that leave us?”

Shiara frowned and tapped the wand against her jaw. “I do not know. It seems beyond reason that all this exists merely as a death trap for the unwary. There must be a key. Else why not destroy everything in the beginning and be done with it?”

“Malice?” Cormac suggested.

“A poor motive for all this work. Those of Amon-Set’s skill seldom did things for such simple reasons.”

“Well then?”

“There is one alternative. Rather than remove all these objects we could destroy them here.”

“Wouldn’t that scar the land?”

“Most probably,” Shiara agreed. “It also means the loss of all the knowledge here. I do not want to do that unless I have to. But Cormac, we cannot allow what is here to fall to the wrong person. Even a hedge wizard could rise to bestride the World with what is in this place.”

Cormac sighed. “Do as you think best, Light.”

She nodded. “I think with the right spell I can destroy all of this at once.”

“How do you propose to do that?”

“Earth magic. The forces are finely balanced here. They can be upset with but little effort—well, little enough in terms of the results. I believe I can fashion a spell to turn the magic against itself and so unbalance the flow.”

“Earth magics are hardly a specialty of the Mighty,” Cormac pointed out. “Earth magics are uncontrollable. But all we want is destruction. It should be an easy matter to take the top of this mountain off.”

“And take us up with it?”

“No. I will set the spell in motion through a counting demon. We will have time to get away.”

Again Shiara knelt with her bag and set to work. She had nearly finished the spell when Cormac came over to her. He waited at a respectful distance until she paused.

“You know, Light, I have been thinking.”

“And?”

“Well, curse my suspicious nature, but it occurs to me there may be more here than we see. We know that none of the visible things is the key to this pile of magical jackstraws, but did it occur to you that there might be something here that is not visible?”

“Cormac, you are brilliant! Of course the final key would be hidden! Why did I not think of that?”

“Because you’re an honest thief, lass,” Cormac grinned. “Now myself, I’m a bit of a rogue.”

She leaned over and kissed him. “You are that.”

He looked around the room. “Now if I were a master sorcerer with a secret to hide, where would I hide it?”

“Someplace close, I think,” Shiara said, looking around the great room. “Either in this room or in a room off it.” She started toward one wall and then stopped. “Cormac, I want you to examine the room carefully for anything strange or unusual.”

“In this place? Fortuna! But what will you be doing?”

“I am going to finish my spell.” She bit her lower lip. “Even once we find the key we may not want to use it. And I wish to finish this business and be away quickly.”

“As you will, Light.” He moved off.

“And Cormac, touch nothing!”

Again the grin. “Since it’s you who ask, Light.”

While Cormac searched, Shiara concentrated on completing her spell. She forced herself to think only of the technical aspects, blocking out the unease that almost stifled her. Only when the spell was complete and primed and her counting demon duly instructed did she look up.

“Have you found anything?” she called to Cormac across the gloomy expanse of the hall.

“Nothing I care to think overmuch on,” he called, crossing the black-and-green floor. “The place is strangely proportioned, these pedestals seem strewn about at random and the pattern on this miserable floor makes my eyes ache.” He looked down at the patterned marble at his feet.

“The floor,” Shiara said reflectively. “Yes.” She looked up. “There may be a message here.” She stepped back to the entrance and looked out over the elaborate pattern formed by the squares of marble that floored the hall.

From the door the tiles made the floor seem to sweep away in a roller-coaster perspective, tilting and writhing off into the distance. There seemed to be no horizon line and no point of perspective save madness in the bizarre geometry of the tiles. And yet . . .

“Cormac, walk out that way,” she said pointing toward one corner of the hall. The swordsman followed her pointing finger. “A little further. Now stop.” Inexorably the pattern seemed to pull him to the right. It was somehow wrong to move to the left at that point.