The Citadel

Chapter 11
In the Heart of the Beast

The master remained occupied with the female, a creature he had known from the past. Stone, too, had known of her, at least her existence, although she had never met him nor obviously even realized that her love had trafficked with gargoyles. In fact, Valkyn had seen fit not to mention to his female any of the darker elements of his life, especially his increasingly disturbing experiments. He had realized even then that Serene would not tolerate all of what the spellcaster thought a necessary part of his research.

When the time had come to delve even deeper, he had finally, with some regret, abandoned her and returned to Atriun, where the gargoyles and a few others already prepared for his arrival. Stone had occasionally noticed him wandering the wooded garden, perhaps recalling his time with the fire-tressed woman, but never had Valkyn voiced any notion of seeing her again. His work had been his mistress.

Now she had returned to him, however accidentally, and did not seem pleased by his success. It had occurred to the gargoyle leader that in this there might be some use. Perhaps this female might distract the master, or at least soften him for the kill. The sleek gargoyle had no compunction about slaying Valkyn, not after so many of his people had perished serving the human. Even Crag’s people had suffered much.

Thinking of his rival, Stone anxiously moved on. Crag would have dearly loved to catch his rival in such a situation, doing the unthinkable beneath the master’s very eyes. If Valkyn discovered his treachery, then Stone could expect a most painful and slow death.

In a darkened part of the castle well below even the chamber housing the secret of Atriun’s power, the gargoyle leader reached a thick rock door with an iron handle. Stone grasped the handle and pulled with all his might, the rust of ages adding to the already difficult task of dragging open a rock door almost a foot thick. As he pulled, he hoped that doing so would not leave him a target for those within.

No blade split his gullet. With eyes accustomed to the dark, Stone peered inside, hoping nothing had gone amiss.

“Stand where you are, gargoyle,” a human voice within demanded.

“No enemy,” the gargoyle hissed. “I am Stone.”

A painfully high voice cut through the gloom, echoing far too much for the gargoyle’s ears. “It’s Stone, Bakal! The one that Tyros spoke to! Remember? He snatched Tyros while the mage was sleeping and could’ve dropped him or taken him to the citadel, but he didn’t-”

To the gargoyle’s relief, one of the humans quieted the painful voice. “Be still, boy! You’ll give us away.”

A figure wielding a lengthy sword stepped forward, an elder warrior with eyes of experience. Stone respected this one, knew that even without a sword this human could very well have defeated many of the gargoyle’s people. The warrior eyed him suspiciously, then said, “So you’re our savior, eh?”

He didn’t quite understand the human’s word. It did sound like “save,” though, which made some sense. On a hunch, Stone replied, “I … saved you.”

“For what? To be your dinner?”

The gargoyle quickly shook his head. “No. To help you. To help us!”

“I think he means it, Bakal,” the high voice said, this time mercifully quieter.

“Yeah, I think he does,” the man before Stone replied.

Stone gazed back in the hall. No one lurked nearby, but he felt uneasy standing in the open. “Please. Must enter!”

The human Bakal considered this for a moment, then finally nodded. The blade lowered a little, and the man stepped back a few paces. “All right, but just enough to close that thing.”

With some relief, the gargoyle entered, dragging the heavy door shut behind him. A dim light suddenly filled the room as several of the humans brought forth emerald crystals like those illuminating most of the lower corridors. Stone had seen to it that the humans would have them, knowing that the race disliked living in total darkness. Valkyn would never miss so few, especially since he never traversed the lowest levels.

“Why have you brought us here?” Bakal demanded. “Why do you want to betray your master?”

Was the human daft? Why else? “To be free! We are Valkyn’s slaves, human! Slavesss!”

“Some of them looked pretty eager for slaves,” another human muttered.

“Aye, they looked like they enjoyed killing for their master,” a second added.

The blades focused on him. Stone felt no fear, only resignation. If they charged him now, he would die, his dream of freedom for his people unfulfilled.

“Easy now,” snapped Bakal. “Let him speak his mind.”

“Stone’s flock will not harm you, but cannot speak for Crag’s.” Stone indicated three horns. When Bakal nodded understanding, the gargoyle continued. “Master very busy. Has female and other mage, Tyros.”

“They’re alive?”

“For now. Tyros …” Stone shrugged. “Maybe not for long.”

The scarred warrior nodded. “Then we’d better act soon. Without the mage, it’ll be a lot harder to take this place.”

A small figure rushed up. Stone hissed. Even the gargoyle felt uneasy around a kender.

“What about Taggi and the others? What about my griffons?”

Annoyed by the seemingly useless question, Stone answered briefly. “Live. Caged near other side of castle.”

“A good question, Rapp,” Bakal said. “We’ll probably need them.” He rubbed absently on his scars. “Tell me, Stone. The central tower. That’s where this Valkyn directs the citadel’s flight from, isn’t it?”

“Yesss.”

“And the power that makes it fly? Is that there, too?”

The gargoyle shook his head. “No. Below in great room.”

“Where is that? We’ll have to go there.”

“Will show, but not now. Not yet.”

The warrior clearly did not like that. “Oh? And when would be a good time?”

Stone repeated what he had said to Tyros. “When clouds thin, human … when clouds thin.”

“And when, by the gods, does that take place? You told Tyros that, too, but the clouds never thinned while we followed this place!”

The gargoyle summoned his best command of Common, for now he had to explain things that even he did not quite understand. “When clouds thin … that is when the master will be most unguarded.… Master must work to keep castle in air and will need time. Must use magic of castle for his spells.”

Bakal’s eyes widened. “Which draws from that unnatural storm outside! That’s when the storm fades and the clouds thin!”

“Yesss. Master must work fast. Must think only of spells, not of outside.” Stone thumped his chest. “Depends on gargoyles to watch for enemies.”

“This will be soon?”

“Soon, human.”

The warrior shook his head. “We’ll still need Tyros for this. We have to rescue him!”

Stone started to protest, but the kender spoke first. “We have to save Serene, too! We can’t just leave her.”

The gargoyle hissed in consternation. “Cannot do!”

“He’s right, Rapp,” the captain agreed, momentarily mollifying Stone’s fears that they would go crashing into Valkyn’s chambers in the hopes of rescuing a female. “Let’s concentrate on getting Tyros. He’s the one we need to make this work.”

Stone shook his head. “Cannot do. No Tyros!”

“Listen here, friend,” Bakal snarled. “If anyone’s got a chance to defeat your master, it’s Tyros. We need to rescue him.”

The gargoyle’s wings stretched as he mulled over the human’s words. He had no choice if he wanted them to play their part. Still, it would be risky trying to lead this band to the cell where Tyros had been imprisoned, assuming he even remained there. No, for this to be done properly, it would require only one to do the work, and unfortunately that meant Stone himself.

The gargoyle let out an exasperated sigh. How he longed for the woodland ruins from which Valkyn had plucked him. “Will try …”

* * * * *

“I know of you, Tyros. You are not the only one who made use of the conclave’s storehouse of knowledge.”

Tyros barely paid Valkyn any attention, still reeling at the shock Serene must have felt when she discovered that her lost love had not been kidnapped but had instead been the kidnapper … and worse. Already Norwych had suffered dearly because of his creation, this monstrous new flying citadel, and one if not both of the golden dragons guarding Gwynned had also perished. Valkyn had caused more deaths than many commanders in the war, and yet he looked oblivious to it, his demeanor almost constantly cheerful, even inviting. Valkyn cared nothing for anyone save himself.

Yet his eyes lingered on Serene. His hands, though gloved, now and then caressed her neck. Perhaps Valkyn still cared for the cleric, but did he expect her to forgive him for his evils?

“Your efforts showed me some of the particular weaknesses, the errors, involved in the creation of past citadels. All that power invested in something so haphazard! When the war started, Ariakas had at least a dozen flying. Oh, they frightened his foes at first and enabled him to literally drop his forces on the enemy, but the cost to maintain them! The constant chanting by mages and clerics, the lack of defenses against airborne retaliation. To save a citadel, he had to start adding dragons to its defenses, drawing them away from the other parts of his forces. Why create such a marvel if it cannot even sufficiently defend itself?”

The captive mage said nothing, knowing that Valkyn sought no answer to the question but rather simply enjoyed hearing himself talk of his triumph.

Valkyn released Serene and started back to the balcony. “Come join me out here, my friend. I want you to see this.”

Tyros had no choice, for the robed shadows thrust him forward, following their master outside.

The wind tossed Tyros’s hair around as they stepped out. Valkyn, hair cropped close, seemed not to even notice the gale. He leaned on the rail, staring beyond the castle walls.

The servants shoved Tyros next to him, then stepped back. The crimson mage looked out at the world below, visible in part from the balcony. He felt a brief touch of vertigo as he watched the landscape continually shift.

“A magnificent sight, isn’t it? The only other place where you can get this view is from atop a dragon, and there you might find it much less comfortable!”

What did Valkyn hope to achieve? Did he hope to recruit his adversary? Surely not! Tyros could have never been a party to such madness!

“Do you understand anything about where a mage draws his power from, Tyros?”

An elementary question. “From the magic of the world and its moons, as focused to us by the gods Solinari, Lunitari, and Nuitari. Without the three, we would be hard-pressed to perform even the slightest spells.”

“But the elements required to first perform magic are the same no matter what order you choose, are they not?”

“I suppose.”

“That they are!” Valkyn slapped him on the back. “How else would it be so easy for one to switch robes?” He indicated his own garments. “If it required complete retraining, few would ever shift from one color to the next, would they?”

Tyros didn’t know if he followed Valkyn correctly or if he even cared what the mage meant. What did interest him was that not once since he had entered the chamber had thinking about magic caused his head to throb. Could he now perform a spell? If he could catch his captor unaware …

Valkyn grinned wider. “Oh, you shouldn’t do that!”

The younger mage fell to the rail, his head now feeling as if it was about to split in two. His ebony-clad companion had to pull him back in order to keep Tyros from falling to his death. Tyros collapsed to his knees, holding his head and praying for the agony to end.

“You know how to stop the pain, my young friend. You know what you have to do.…”

Tyros forced all thoughts of casting spells from his mind, and as he did, the pain began to lessen. Tears still filling his eyes, he finally managed to look up at his captor. Instead he saw Serene.

“Does it have to hurt so much?” she pleaded with Valkyn.

“Not if he behaves, my Serene. Calm yourself. See? He’s almost on his feet again!”

“That … was what … happened the first time we met!” the stricken mage snarled. “You had me brought here right after my capture, but when I struggled, you put this spell on me. That’s what made me black out and forget our first meeting. I still tried to cast … to cast a spell … but I nearly died!”

Valkyn nodded approval. “An amazing recovery! I am impressed. You’ve a strong mind, a strong will, my friend.”

He didn’t like the way his counterpart complimented him, as if measuring Tyros for something in particular. That made the weary spellcaster think of Leot and the others. What had the mad mage needed them for?

“Valkyn,” Serene murmured, “at least let him recuperate inside.”

“Of course, my love, my serenity.”

The shadows dragged Tyros back into the sumptuous chamber, leading their prisoner past the unblinking gargoyles to a well-cushioned chair, where they deposited him. Valkyn walked over to a large decanter, poured a bit of wine in a goblet, then tossed the goblet to Tyros. The captive mage reacted instinctively, then cursed when he saw the wine glass drift gently through the air, not a drop of its contents spilling. He seized it when it drew near, but paused to look at the liquid before drinking.

“You’ll enjoy it,” the goateed mage urged.

Tyros had to admit that it was excellent, but that in no manner warmed him to his host. He felt like the fatted calf waiting to be slaughtered.

Serene had seated herself on the edge of a couch, her eyes shifting from one man to the other. Valkyn filled two more goblets, then joined her. The cleric drank from hers with as much enthusiasm as had Tyros.

“As you may have guessed, a Solamnic Knight built this castle.” Valkyn downed his wine. “A sad sort of fellow, I think, but he controlled great wealth. Have you noticed how few of our kind control great wealth? We generally find it for others, be they emperors, generals, or brigands. A minute share may go to us, but just as often we end up with a blade in our back. Not at all a fate worthy of a mage after so many years of study and effort. We should be the masters, not the lackeys.”

“And so you’ll conquer Ansalon and turn the world to your liking? You’ll do what Ariakas could not?”

“Eventually, although General Cadrio down below will take a more immediate hand in it. Cadrio is a bit unstable, but daring, a trait I like. Of course, if he should become a bit too ambitious, which often happens with military officers, I’ll replace him as simply as I can replace this.”

The goblet in his hand melted completely.

There was no warning, no slow process. The goblet melted as if suddenly made of warm butter. The softening metal dripped over Valkyn’s glove, yet did not burn or stain it. Valkyn opened his palm and let the molten metal fall between his fingers, creating a sizzling puddle on the rich floor. The shining puddle continued to sizzle, rapidly growing smaller. In just a few breaths, it dwindled to nothing.

For the first time, though, Tyros sensed some artifact or item of power hidden within his captor’s robes. It had flared during the spell that melted the goblet, but now had grown all but undetectable. Still, at least it gave him some explanation as to how Valkyn could seemingly perform endless magic.

“Serene thinks that you might be useful to me.”

Surprised, Tyros could think of nothing to say. Serene had thought he might ally himself with Valkyn? Surely not! He looked but could read nothing in her face.

“She says that you are ambitious and ever thinking of how to glorify yourself. She acknowledges your intelligence, but believes you use it only to better suit your station. You’re no villain, but neither are you a hero, which is why you wear the red, for lack of a more suitable color.” Valkyn folded his arms behind him and walked toward his counterpart, eyes very much alive with speculation. “It would be interesting to summon forth a second citadel so quickly. I already have most of what I need to do that.” Here he glanced at the cleric, who betrayed no emotion. “It would require one with ambition going beyond the archaic bounds of darkness and light to perform such a spell with me. You would fit the role splendidly, Tyros!”

It occurred to Tyros that Serene had likely suggested him in order to save his life. Certainly it would give the red mage the chance to discover Valkyn’s secrets. “I am flattered by your offer and would find it impossible to turn down even if I-”

Valkyn chuckled. “Did I say anything about actually offering you such a chance? I was simply musing about what might have been.” His smile turned cold. “Would you care to see how my creation works? How I’ve taken the design of the flying citadel and enhanced it?”

Tyros tried not to think of the spells involved in Atriun’s function out of fear that he would again suffer agony. Very carefully, and with the knowledge that he had no choice anyway, the captive replied, “I would be honored to see it.”

“Splendid! Serene, I think you should see this, too.”

Valkyn indicated that they should rise. The shadowy servants brought Tyros over to their master. Serene stepped to Valkyn’s side as the goateed mage reached into his robes to retrieve a wand with a crystalline sphere atop it. Tyros recognized the sphere as a smaller version of the ones in the tower.

Valkyn held the wand high and muttered something. Tyros caught one or two words of magic, but no more.

They stood now in a different room.

The shift came with such swiftness that it caught even Tyros unaware. With most teleport spells, one usually felt some sense of displacement, but Valkyn’s had brought them to their destination faster than the proverbial blink of an eye. What power did the other spellcaster wield … or rather, what power did the wand draw from? Tyros cut the thoughts short as his brain started to pound again.

“Valkyn, remove the spell!” Serene pleaded. “Can’t you see that it’s hurting him again?”

“Welcome to a place few have had the honor to visit,” the dark mage announced, completely ignoring Serene. “Once this housed villains caught in the province, but now it acts as the focal point of my research, my life’s work. Here I’ve turned theory into substance! Here I’ve taken magic to new directions!”

Tyros looked around. His eyes immediately widened.

Here stood the source of power for both Atriun and its master. Tyros had expected that it would in some ways resemble a Wind Captain’s Chair, but on a larger, grander scale. In this Tyros was not disappointed, for before them stood two massive white marble columns that stretched almost to the ceiling, their sides etched from top to bottom with runes. On top of each marble column stood a golden crystalline sphere of gargantuan proportions. Each of the spheres crackled with raw sorcerous energy. Yet more astounding, that energy continually passed between the two crystals, building in intensity.

Tyros’s head tingled, but this time he felt no pain. Despite misgivings, he marveled at how Valkyn had harnessed such energy, which clearly then transmitted to the tower above or the wizard’s wand. Little wonder that Valkyn had been able to raise a behemoth such as Castle Atriun; with the power that Tyros sensed, the dark wizard might have raised a citadel twice as large.

Yes, Valkyn of Culthairai had indeed created a magical marvel, a flying citadel that did not require the constant chanting and spell casting of several wizards and clerics combined, but one element of his design would forever ensure that in the end Tyros would feel nothing but disgust for it. That element now hung limp between the two high columns, wrists and ankles stretched apart by the manacles holding him in place. Once the tattered cloth the figure wore had been white and the body within had filled it to near capacity. Now the robe hung loose, its wearer only a thin shadow of his former self. He looked dead, but now and then the head moved back and forth.

Tyros had found Leot … or what remained of him.

He eyed Serene, who had grown pale. Surely she had never expected Valkyn could be the cause of such evil. Valkyn might have come but late to the robes of Nuitari, but he had earned them well. Tyros doubted that many of the dark order would have dared what this foul mage had.

Valkyn pointed at Leot. Another shadow servant drifted over from the right side of the room. Tyros glanced around and saw that at least four more stood ready. Where had they come from?

The servant reached up and with bony, pale fingers, revealed Leot’s face completely to the newcomers.

No pupils stared from the sockets, only the whites. The drawn, dead face looked years older than the man Tyros recalled, as if Leot had aged a hundred years. The soulless whites looked directly at the crimson-clad mage, but Tyros saw no recognition, no sign that Leot still existed in the shell before him.

With a shudder, he eyed the shadow servants again … and knew at last their origin. Valkyn might not have needed the chanting of clerics and wizards to keep Atriun in the sky, but he had other uses for his fellow spellcasters. These mages, including old Kendilious, had all suffered so that Atriun could fly. Now Leot had been added to their unholy list.

The master of the citadel studied Leot’s deathly face with the detachment one might have used studying a speck of dust. “As I thought. Not much left. We’ll have to remove him soon.”

A fury so great that he couldn’t control it welled up within Tyros. Again he recalled Leot distracting the gargoyles in the tower in Gwynned. If not for the rotund wizard, it would have been Tyros hanging between these columns, his life burned from him.

Tearing himself free, Tyros lunged at Valkyn. Magic might be beyond the crimson wizard, but his hands were strong enough to throttle his foul counterpart. All he had to do was get them around Valkyn’s throat.

Inches from his goal, his hands turned against him. Tyros’s fingers snaked for his own throat, trying to squeeze the life from him. He grew more furious and tried to fight back, but his hands inched closer and closer.

“Tyros!” Serene called. “It’s just as if you tried magic! Don’t think about it! Let the hate go!”

Tyros tried desperately to forget his hatred of the other mage, to forget what Valkyn had done to Leot and others. He found it almost impossible, the image of the White Robe’s slack expression still haunting him.

Finally, though, Tyros’s hands relaxed, once more under his control. However, the effort he had put into saving himself had cost him, and he fell to one knee, trying to regain his strength.

The exhausted mage turned his thoughts to Serene, imagining the sorrow and horror she must be going through. To find out how horrific Valkyn had become and how oblivious he seemed to his own evil had to have shaken the cleric’s faith to the core.

Tyros heard the harsh sound of boots and saw the robe of Valkyn near him. Still gasping, he looked up at the monstrously cheerful countenance of his captor.

“Yes, full of vigor, and more strength than I could have imagined! You should never have gotten as near as you did!”

Near? Dwelling in his failure, Tyros thought about the futile attempt he had made. Near? He might as well have tried to leap the length of the New Sea!

“I think this charade’s gone far enough.” Without warning, Valkyn touched the tip of the wand against his adversary’s temple.

A shock went through Tyros, and he blacked out.

* * * * *

For Serene, the day had become an endless horror. She had expected the worst when the gargoyle had snatched her off the griffon and taken her into Castle Atriun, but events had far exceeded even her most terrible nightmares.

When the gargoyle had deposited her in this grand chamber, the cleric had expected to confront some sinister servant of the goddess Takhisis, only to have instead a smiling Valkyn greet her with open arms. She had thrown herself happily into those arms, paying no heed to the change in the color of his robe. Even then Serene had assumed he wore them only because his captors demanded it.

Only when he had commanded the gargoyles to bring him Tyros had she at last admitted to herself that the one for whom she had so long hunted was not a captive, but instead the ruler of the flying citadel.

Even then Serene had tried to convince herself that Valkyn could not be the monster events so far had portrayed him. She could live with his apparent desertion of her, and even his raising of Castle Atriun the cleric could understand. It had always been Valkyn’s dream to unlock the secrets of such magic and refine them. But Serene found it impossible to explain away the deaths and devastation in Norwych caused by his citadel.

He had noticed her growing coolness toward him, and although the mage had still smiled, that smile had been tinged by something she had never seen before in him, an emotion dark and unforgiving. Yet all the while Valkyn had treated her as his lost love, caressing her softly with his gloved fingers. Serene, attuned to Branchala’s love of nature, had found the gloves unnerving, as if they represented a lack of humanity.

Then, when the gargoyles had finally brought Tyros in, the cleric saw for herself the terrible truth concerning her former love.

Tyros had not recalled this first encounter, not after what Valkyn had done to him, but for Serene it would ever be burned into her memory and her soul.

Valkyn had been very courteous, actually pleased by the presence of a wizard who understood his desire to create such a prize. Despite that, he had never allowed Tyros any semblance of freedom during their conversation, the monstrous Crag and two other gargoyles making certain of that.

Valkyn had talked on and on about the struggles of his research and the sacrifices he had made. He had asked Tyros about his own research, and when the other had not been forthcoming, Valkyn had simply gone on. To the despairing cleric, it seemed the maddening scene would continue forever.

Then Tyros had unleashed the spell he had been patiently working on since being brought to his captor.

The magical flash of light had not harmed the gargoyles much, but it had startled them into releasing their grips. Then, unlike his attempt during their second encounter, Tyros had managed to actually lay his hands on the still smiling Valkyn, grappling with him. Serene had stood there, struggling with old emotions and newer ones concerning Valkyn. That, to her regret, had slowed her reactions. Had Serene joined with Tyros immediately, they could have taken Valkyn and ended this terrible dream. Instead, the cleric had hesitated, pleading silently with the Bard King to tell her what to do.

By then it had been too late. Even the cleric could sense the sudden surge of sorcerous energy erupting from Valkyn. Tyros had been thrown back, shocked by miniature bolts of lightning so intense that they had left the black mage’s gloves in burned tatters … and thereby revealed yet an even darker secret of the citadel’s master.

Valkyn’s hands no longer resembled anything human.

Scaled and scabbed, they looked as if they had been burned, flayed, then put together by someone with only a vague concept of their previous appearance. Most frightening, though, had been the glittering fragments speckling the hands from wrist to fingertips, glittering fragments that looked crystalline and gold, just like the tip of the wand Valkyn had pulled out a moment later.

“I had expected more sense, more appreciation from you, Tyros,” Valkyn had said. He touched the palm of one of his hands with the wand. An inky black material had formed, spreading quickly over the hand until it covered it completely, a new glove hiding the deformities that Serene could only guess he had willingly given himself. A moment later he had covered the other hand as thoroughly. “We shall have to remedy this impetuousness of yours before we next speak.”

Putting the wand away, Valkyn had then reached both hands toward the captive. Tyros had struggled, but now the gargoyles held him tighter.

“Valkyn!” she had called out. “For our love, don’t kill him!”

“Oh, you needn’t worry, my serenity,” he had merrily responded. “I’m only making him a little more manageable.”

His fingertips had touched Tyros’s temples, immediately causing the latter to scream and scream and scream. This time Valkyn’s gloves had not burned away, but she could still make out magical energy flowing from one man to the other.

“There! Required a little delicacy, but that should work!” As the goateed mage had pulled away, Tyros had collapsed in a heap, as if dead. However, Valkyn had pronounced him well but unconscious. “He will wake after a while, but it’s possible that he won’t remember anything of this meeting. I’ll be interested to see if that holds true. The human mind is much more durable in some ways than those of a dwarf or an elf. Did you know that?”

She had not known it, and she didn’t want to ask how Valkyn had come to that conclusion. He had always tended to learn through experimentation. “What will you do with him?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” he replied, his old smile back in place. “Is he a good friend of yours?”

“I’ve known him for only a short while.” Despite saying that, Serene had already realized that Tyros could never have become another Valkyn. Even in the past, the cleric had recognized a reckless side to Valkyn, although at the time she had found it more exciting than potentially evil. Tyros, on the other hand, seemed to care more about life in general and had shown personal concern for her.

Valkyn had summoned two of the disturbing shadow servants, creatures that the cleric realized had once been human. Their arrival had presented yet an even more horrific side to the man she had once thought was her true love.

“Put this in one of the cells for now. You.” He had pointed to the largest of the gargoyles. “Go along with them, Crag. Guard him. When he wakes, have them bring him back. He should be more docile then.”

Serene watched the hideous creatures drag Tyros off. “What did you do to him?”

“Made him more reasonable, my serenity. If he should cast a spell or even think of magic too much, his head will teach him the consequences of such actions. The same if he tries to attack me physically.” He shrugged. “I must protect myself, after all.”

With Tyros gone, Valkyn had insisted that she join him on a great couch in the center of the room. The wizard acted as if neither their time apart nor his madness had ever happened. More than once the gloved hands had caressed her or touched her hair, and it had been all she could muster to not cringe or shiver. Serene had called on her training as a cleric of the Bard King, knowing that for a time she had to suffer Valkyn’s advances if she hoped to help the others. She had no idea what had happened to Rapp and Captain Bakal, but slowly she had gathered that some of the gargoyles continued to hunt for them in and around the castle grounds. That had, for a time, given her hope.

The second encounter between the two wizards had crushed that hope, though, as first Tyros had unwittingly repeated his attempt on Valkyn, this time failing to even reach his adversary. Then, no longer seeing any use of Tyros as an ally, Valkyn had brought them both to this underground chamber to confront yet another monstrous display of his growing evil.

With this, the last vestiges of the cleric’s love for the older spellcaster had died. Serene hadn’t had to ask what poor soul hung between the great marble columns; Tyros’s reaction had answered that. Leot of the Order of Solinari. So Tyros’s search for Leot and hers for Valkyn had both ended in horrible failure, despite the fact that each had found whom he or she sought. At least Tyros hadn’t discovered his friend at the heart of the darkness.

“Is he … is he dead, Valkyn?”

He misunderstood her, thinking she worried still about Tyros. “Of course not, my serenity! He would be a wasted asset then. No, he’ll live.” To the shadows, the wizard commanded, “Take him back again, but have him readied. The time nears!”

“What about … what about him? Does he … does he live?” She pointed at Leot.

Valkyn’s eyes brightened, as they always did when he discussed a project of interest to him. How terrible that Serene had once looked into those blue eyes and found them beautiful. “Now, that is an interesting question. At this point, I’d have to say both yes and no, my love. No, the man who used to reside in that head is no more, but, yes, the body functions and an essence of some sort still exists.” He indicated the shadow servants. “A very functional, useful essence, I’ve found.”

The cleric shuddered. So her suspicions concerning the robed figures had been well founded. “So they’ve all been a part of this experiment of yours?”

“An integral part! These subjects were used for the preliminary tests, which proved quite successful, I might add! I dare say I couldn’t have done all this without them, my Serene!”

She had to find out more. “What … what role do they play?”

He walked up to her and put a gloved hand on her cheek. “Now, my dear serenity, this is something you must not bother yourself with. I know that your role with the Bard King probably makes this entire matter disturbing to you, but in my field of work, some sacrifices must be made. Consider the great mage Fistandantilus! Had he not forced himself to go beyond the accepted boundaries of the magic of his time, a number of astonishing spells would not be available to us in this day and age! I promise you that eventually I’ll have the spell work down to the point where such tactics as I’ve been forced to employ will not be necessary.”

To her mind, the most frightening aspect concerning his explanation was his absolute seriousness. Valkyn either believed his own words or hid the truth very well.

“And what about Norwych?”

A flicker of anger escaped him, quickly covered again by his congenial mask. “We’ll speak of this another time. I would rather that we dine now and talk of pleasant memories. I’ve thought of you often.”

She had to play along. When at last Valkyn gave her time to herself, then Serene could pray to Branchala, ask him for the power to put an end to her former love’s abomination … and, if necessary, him as well.

“Oh, one moment, my Serene.”

The cleric turned, expecting that Valkyn had some last adjustments to make to his barbaric device. Instead, she found herself staring into his blue eyes, and then at the hand he had brought up to her face.

“A simple precaution, my serenity! I apologize.”

He touched her temple.

The shock made her nearly fall over. Valkyn caught her in his other arm, then caressed her throbbing head with the very same hand that he had used to injure her.

“I’m terribly sorry, my Serene! It will pass, I promise you. The spell will keep you from gathering your wits enough to pray to your woodland god. I couldn’t take the chance that you might do something misguided … say, try to rescue Tyros from his fate! I need him, after all.” He looked over at the twin columns and the slumped form between. “Perhaps as early as tomorrow …”