Darkvision

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The sun burned a hole in the sky. Whisky burned Kiril's throat and warmed a path to her stomach. A slender tower reached toward the heavens as they galloped across the scorched dunes, raising a line of dust in their wake. Sweat stung the elf's eyes, but she resisted rubbing them. She could clearly see the splinter for the first time.

The shard towered a mile or more into the sand-hazed sky. "Blood!" she cursed. Kiril took another swig, then holstered her flask. The stone destrier ate up the wasteland miles, swelling the tower's silhouette to an improbable height. The geomancer dozed at Kiril's side. He was strapped into place, lest he roll off in his daze. He woke now and then to look at the splinter, mumble something half lucidly, then fall back into a fitful sleep. His curse-born illness had resurged. The dwarf's energy failed by the moment. Ahead, the booming sound of Prince Monolith's strides seemed to count the heartbeats remaining to the dwarf. "Hells and blood," muttered the elf. They reached the base of the splinter in the late afternoon. Vast and imposing, many-windowed and sprouting hundreds of secondary spires, Kiril could see for herself that the edifice was not an unworked fragment carved off some larger chunk of purplish stone. It was an enormous artifact of some previous era, worked by hands and minds informed with skill now unrivaled in the world. Hundreds of balconies, balustrades, verandas, spiraling stairs, and sealed doorways dotted the great tower's sides, all empty and silent. Drifts of sand and rust stains spoke of metal fixtures that had entirely dissolved. The lowest visible balcony was a good two or three hundred paces above the desert floor. Below it were sheer-sided tower walls as seamless and slick as an ice cliff. Kiril knew some dwarves and humans possessed great skill in climbing sheer rock or ice, but they weren't along, nor was any of the elaborate equipment such a climb required. The prince raised one hand and pressed it against the side of the purplish stone. "It rebuffs me," reported Prince Monolith. "I cannot force an entry." "Do you know who built it?" blurted Kiril. She recalled the fantastic glassy architecture of her own star elf heritage. This stone tower rivaled even the most fantastic glass fortresses of Sildeyuir in its size and imposing impregnability. "Thormud could answer that question." Monolith turned and strode back to the destrier. The elemental lord removed the dwarf from the destrier's back. He held Thormud in his massive hands. He exhaled long and hard, and golden motes of light danced from the elemental lord's open mouth to settle on the geomancer's beard and face. The dwarf opened his eyes. They were clear again. Thormud looked up at the prince, "Thanks for that, old friend." "It is only a reprieve, I'm afraid," said Monolith. The dwarf nodded. "Then you'd better set me down." The elemental obliged.

Thormud pulled from his belt his selenite rod, and smiled. He nearly seemed his old self in that instant. The swordswoman asked, "A reprieve? What does that mean?" Thormud ignored her and approached the vast tower. In a manner not dissimilar to Prince Monolith's earlier pose, the dwarf pressed his palm flat against the stone. "The stone was worked over five thousand years ago," Monolith offered. Thormud nodded and closed his eyes. In his hand, the moon rod began to shed its silvery radiance. The geomancer worked his slow, telluric magic.

The sun began sinking. The tower's shadow stretched across the barren plain, farther than Kiril's eyes could follow. Jagged peaks reached up well beyond the horizon-the Giant's Belt, of course. She marveled at the distance they'd covered in just a few days. She looked at the dwarf's stocky figure. She doubted anything could keep the plucky geomancer down for long. Whatever malaise or curse he'd picked up tracking the tower's location, she was confident they'd find an antidote once they gained the tower's interior. A grumbling tremble from Angul's sheath suddenly reminded her that not all stories have such happy endings. She groped for her flask. Before long, Thormud's eyes popped open and he stepped back from the tower's base. "It's Imaskari built, if anyone had any doubts. If my ability to speak to stone has not failed me altogether, it is the Palace of the Purple Emperor itself." "Truly?" spoke Monolith, impressed for the first time Kiril could recall. "Yes. Back from a long, profound slumber in a dark space, the stone tells me." "Hold on," interrupted Kiril. "What's the Palace of the Purple Emperor?" "It marks… marked… the Imaskaran capital, Inupras." Kiril looked around. "Seems out of place here." "It hasn't been here for thousands of years. Inupras may well be buried in the sands of time below us, but the palace has spent the centuries elsewhere." "Where?" Thormud shrugged. "Some phantom space engineered by the absent Imaskari, no doubt. The Imaskari excelled at such things. Indeed, the palace itself was said to be ten times bigger inside than on the outside, hiding hundreds of dimensional halls, vaults, and arcane chambers. Including the Great Imperial Library."

"It's already so big." "Stories are sometimes exaggerated," said the dwarf. He shrugged again. "What is most important for us right now is to get inside and make our way to the Imperial Weapons Cache.

Something dark has been disturbed in the heart of the palace." "What are we looking for?" "That which has seen and cursed me. A weapon left over from the last Imaskaran war, the stone says. Something never used, thankfully." The dwarf stepped back a pace from the blank surface of the palace wall. "What ever disturbed the weapon has partially deployed it." Kiril asked, "How can a weapon be partially deployed?" The geomancer began tracing a great circle on the face of the palace wall with the tip of his moon rod. As he did so he said,

"The weapon isn't an object-it is an entity. An entity with power approaching that of a god, with both a physical and mental presence.

Even when held in physical captivity, the psychic component may roam.

Given the chance, it may infect surrounding matter. Some portion of the psychic component of this entity has been freed." A frisson of familiarity jolted Kiril. She was familiar with something like this.

She'd spent years as a keeper in Stardeep, where the heinous traitor was guarded. A conspirator whose overweening ambitions threatened all the star elf race, and more. A bastard who'd taken from her the only thing she'd ever loved, and left her with nothing but a cruel burden to bear. That was the reason she carried Angul. Thormud continued.

"The stone of the palace is enchanted to rebuff just this sort of contamination-the Imaskari performed a lot of dangerous experiments here. But the space where the palace spent these last millennia is not so impregnable." "I know of this space," interjected Monolith. "It is a demiplane that grows without bound. Full of mischief. My brethren seek to close the portals that open in the earth. Yet portals persist." The dwarf nodded. "Somewhere, somehow, a portal has been accessed. The Imaskaran Imperial Weapons Cache was disturbed. A vile cognizance was awakened. That cognizance instigated the palace's fall back into reality. Hold on." The dwarf finished tracing his circle and began to elaborate on the design with quickly scribed sigils beyond the radius of the ring. Thormud continued. "I infer from the stone's description that the entity was able to return the palace to reality because of the introduction and spread of infected crystal into our realm." "The crystal that infused the creatures we fought!" exclaimed Kiril. "Yes. Whoever holds a piece of infected crystal serves as an eye-and worse-a conduit to the entity's power and desires." "This entity-what is its name and origin?" rumbled Prince Monolith.

"Pandorym," replied the dwarf. As he spoke the name, the glow surrounding Thormud's selenite rod dimmed and the geomancer clutched his side. Kiril rushed to support him, but the dwarf waved her away.

"Don't worry about me. Just listen. The mineral memory does not know the entity's origin-I imagine it was plucked from some chaotic prototype reality by the Imaskari. Or perhaps it is the result of risky arcanological research. In any event…" The dwarf made one final inscription with the butt of his rod, then stood back. "I can open a passage into the tower. The opening will persist only a few moments. Once inside, I recommend you both head upward. My connection with the palace stone informs me of a central stair. At the top of the stair is the Imperial Weapons Cache." "What do you mean, 'you both'?

What about you?" questioned Kiril. The geomancer looked at the elf and shook his head. "Listen to me, Kiril. I've got only a few moments of consciousness left. Some influence of Pandor-" The dwarf flinched, then continued. "The entity's curse has got its claws into me. I carried an infected crystal for too long, and during my previous divination, it saw me. If I enter, it will know instantly and send all the servitors it is assembling throughout the tower to contest my presence. I must wait here." "But you're sick," protested the elf. She knew better than to argue. Thormud had that look. When the dwarf's eyes glinted so stubbornly, there was no quarreling. Kiril knew from long experience that even venomous cursing wouldn't dissuade him when he'd set his mind to something. "I'd be struck down within moments if I were to enter. Better I take my chances out here than suffer the certainty of my fate in there. It falls to you, Kiril. You and Prince Monolith." The earth lord nodded. "Enter the cache and secure the weapon. If you don't, I'm afraid that its influence will continue to grow. When its influence waxes through enough intermediaries, it'll free more than its mind. Then it won't have to rely on servants any longer." "What shape will its body take, I wonder?" growled Monolith.

"Nothing we would want to see," answered Thormud. "Ready yourselves. I am opening the passage… now!" The geomancer threw his moon rod at the circle he'd scribed on the wall. The milky jewel on the rod's tip struck the rock head on and exploded in a dazzling flash of iridescent light. Cool, stale air rushed from the gap. Thormud fell to the sand, unmoving. Prince Monolith scooped up Kiril as she bent to check on Thormud. She blistered his ears, "Let me down, you bastard of a pebble! You bloody dust mote, I'll hew you down to size! I'll…"

The elemental, uncaring, bore her and itself through the opening. A moment later, the passage sealed behind them and all light was extinguished. The prince lowered her to the floor. She managed to keep her feet as he placed her on solid ground. Kiril railed at the earth lord. "He could be dead! Why didn't you let me help him?" Monolith didn't respond. Kiril couldn't see him in the utter dark, but she could sense his presence. She pounded a balled fist onto his stone-hard chest. The elemental rumbled, "His fate isn't decided yet.

But if we don't win, he'll certainly die." "You heartless rock!"

Monolith's deep voice descended further. "I've known Thormud far longer than you. Stop acting the child." "Blood!" she cursed, then subsided. "Just bloody fine." Kiril blinked away red stars of anger, leaving darkness so complete it bored into her eyes. "I can't see," she mumbled. She knew Monolith was right. A tantrum wouldn't do anything but make her feel better for a few loud moments. Faint light seeped into the air. Xet was emanating a dim glow. "Why aren't you with Thormud?" Kiril screamed at the creature. "Thormud sent Xet with us, to guide us to the chamber where we'll find the source of his affliction. Xet comes along, maybe to save its master's life." Xet cawed a series of forlorn chimes. The swordswoman fumed impotently.

The crystalline dragonet glittered no more brightly than a star set high in the night sky. The gleam was more than sufficient for Kiril's eyes-she preferred starlight to daylight. But Xet's illumination was unsettling. It meant the geomancer was all alone. The light revealed a bare space shod in rusted iron. The floor and walls were dull and bare, and the high ceiling and narrow passage reminded Kiril of some long-deserted catacomb. Waterlines were visible on the powdery red walls at just about the tip of Kiril's reach. She bent down and touched the floor. It was bone dry. Whatever liquid had once passed this way hadn't flowed in eons. She hoped their presence wouldn't change that. The passage sloped upward to her left, but the grade was almost undetectable. "This way?" she asked, pointing up the gradual slope. "Not really a stairwell, but it slopes up." Xet pealed in the affirmative and flew ahead. Kiril unsheathed Sadrul, the gift of Al Qahera. The razor-sharp blade glittered in Xet's glow. Angul, still in his sheath, groused. Kiril paused and said, "I ask the gods of Sildeyuir to watch over my friend Thormud. See him through to safety."

See to it, if my past service and sacrifice meant anything at all, she silently added. A long journey in the dark was thus begun.