The Dragon's Tomb

Chapter XIV

Karleah held up her hand, and the three riders behind her halted their mounts immediately. They were near Armstead, the wizardess knew, and they did not dare come upon the village unprepared. Through the leather of the pouch around her neck, Karleah could feel the heat radiating from the abelaat crystal as it grew closer to the abaton. She only hoped she was right in supposing that the crystal would prevent the abaton from draining her powers a second time. Karleah took heart in the fact that she had begun to regain her powers faster since the crystal had come into her possession.

The wizardess gingerly dismounted from her gray mare. “I’m too old for this,” she mumbled. “Far too old. I want to go back to my valley”

“What’s that, Karleah?” Jo asked curiously.

Karleah turned to face the squire. She thought that the trip had done the young woman good; the despair and anger that had consumed Jo at Flinn’s death were still there, but were under slightly better control. Karleah hoped it wouldn’t be too much longer before Jo was able to put those emotions behind her. The old woman shook her head.

“Nothing, Jo,” Karleah said. She cocked her head northward. “I think Armsteads just beyond that bend. At least I think the abaton’s there, according to this crystal.” Karleah touched the crystals pouch. “I suggest you and Braddoc lead the way, in case we run into the guards. Dayin and I’ll bring up the rear—and hopefully not be engulfed by the abaton.”

“That box wouldn’t open up and ‘swallow’ you like it did the charm in Threshold, would it, Karleah?” Braddoc asked.

“Why, is that concern I detect?” Karleah cackled suddenly to hide how touched she was at the dwarfs words. She tapped Braddoc with her oaken staff. “Seriously, friend dwarf, I think being swallowed by the box might be one of the nicer things the abaton could do to me.”

Riding, Jo led the way north, with Braddoc right behind her. Each led one of the two pack mules. Karleah gestured for Brisbois and Dayin to go before her, then she joined the group as they filed forward through the last of the Black Peaks.

The mountains had brought two days of misery to Karleah’s ancient frame. The cold, biting wind of late winter whistled through the Black Peaks. Despite a fire, nothing could warm their stony beds at night. To make matters worse, the moon had turned full, and Karleah had felt the call more than once to turn to wolf form. Someday soon, she mused now, I will stay that way forever. I shall roam the hills and live and die as an old she-wolf. Some days, I am so weary of my human form. But the old wizardess hadn’t dared to give in to her desires so near the abaton.

The group wound steadily through the last of the Black Peaks, the icy obsidian trail gnawing through even Karleah’s thick boots. The ground was treacherous afoot, and the crone wished she were back on her mare. The obsidian chips blended so well with the patches of ice that it was often difficult to distinguish which was which. The midafternoon sun did not light the land either, for it was obstructed by all the towering mountains, which added to the difficulty of the journey.

Or is something happening to me? Karleah thought suddenly. Surely I shouldn’t be having this much trouble? The others are doing fine. Or am I really, truly growing old at last? A part of her was troubled by the idea, while another part—a most ancient part—savored the idea of nearing the end of her existence. Karleah eyed Jo’s young, lithe form with a twinge of jealousy.

The old woman quelled those thoughts ruthlessly. “I am not yet ready for the next life,” she muttered to the wind.

An hour passed before Karleah and her comrades rounded the last bend. By this time, the heat from the abelaat crystal was nearly scorching, and Karleah wondered if she would be able to withstand it any closer to the abaton. “At least it seems to be protecting me,” Karleah murmured to no one. She held out her oaken staff, which had recently served as nothing more than a walking stick. “With this stone, I can sense my powers returning.”

Up ahead, Jo exclaimed in surprise. The squire stopped walking, her horse and mule halting behind her. Braddoc joined Jo, and Dayin and Brisbois hurried after him. Karleah heard their startled murmurs and prayers and tried to rush forward. She cursed the rocky ground and fought for each unstable step, wishing her staff could clear a path for her, as it had done in her own valley. The wizardess climbed her way to the top of the small crest where Jo, Brisbois, Braddoc, and Dayin stood. Shouldering her way between the dwarf and the boy, she looked into the valley beyond. The old woman gasped.

Armstead lay in ruins.

Not a single tower had been spared. The area looked as if it had been the center of a great bonfire that had spread in sudden waves out into even the forest beyond. The ground was blackened and striped with coal and ash. The buildings lay in smoldering ruin, walls toppled as though pushed over by a giant’s foot. Even the outer wall, more decorative than anything else, had been flattened to rubble. The stream that had flowed into Armstead was a scorched bed of rock and ash, and piles of uprooted trees and shattered bridges and buildings formed a natural dam that let only a timid finger of water through. A fine haze of charcoal dust filled the air, creating dull and ironic rainbows. Karleah accidentally took too deep a breath and was caught in a fit of choking.

She stumbled forward, her step uncertain as she hurried down the slope leading to the village. “No, no,” she whispered. “Not Armstead . . Her mind was filled with a red-hot pounding sensation, so much so that she forgot the hot pain radiating from the abelaat crystal.

The group slowly headed through the broken archway in the outer wall. Karleah stared at the scorched rock. Her eyes fell on the smooth pavement of the road leading into the village, then shifted to the destroyed buildings nearby.

The tiny village had housed no more than fifty or so mages at any one time. Its one-time buildings—great, soaring structures of incredible creation—-were considered some of the finest pieces of architecture ever created. Its spires formed the famous Mages’ Circle, at the center of which was the amphitheater where all public meetings were held.

“Karleah!” Jo asked. “Is this the work of the abaton?”

“Yes,” Karleah muttered. “We didn’t arrive in time. Look at that spire!” The wizardess pointed to the remains of a tower. “Wazel lived there—an old friend of mine. When the time was right, I was going to send Dayin to him for polishing.”

Braddoc asked, “Karleah, just what was Armstead?”

The old woman sighed heavily as she started down the main avenue that led to the center of the village. Karleah remembered wonderful, exotic trees lining the way. They had all been snapped in two. “Armstead,” Karleah said heavily, leaning against her staff as she shuffled along, “is—er, was—a place of wizardry. How old the village is—was—is unknown.” She stopped to flip over a large, flat piece of debris.

Karleah leaped back as the withered husk of a human body, swaddled in charred robes, fell over.

The wizardess carefully turned over another pile of charred cloth, finding the same desiccated cloth and flesh. She stared down the avenue at other piles of what she had thought were debris. She shook her head sadly.

“What, Karleah?” Dayin asked, the boy’s keen ears picking up his mistress’s words. “The dead people?” The boy’s eyes were wide with morbid curiosity, Karleah touched his hair sadly.

“The abaton was brought to this village. The energies here must have been immense.” Karleah pointed at scorch marks and some blasted buildings that had to have been hit by lightning bolts or similar spells.

“My guess is, the wizards of Armstead let the abaton in, believing the guards when they said it was a simple puzzle box,” Karleah continued. “Then the abaton opened up and began drawing in all the magic present here in Armstead—which was considerable, needless to say.”

“But what about the wizards?” Johauna asked as they continued to walk toward the center of the town. “Why are they dead? Why weren’t they just drained like you and Dayin were? Why?”

“More importantly, that box has to be around here still, Karleah,” Braddoc added. “Are you and the boy all right?” He pointed to a trio of dried husks. “You’re not going to turn into that, are you?”

Karleah touched the crystal’s pouch, suddenly thankful for the burning pain. “No.” The old woman shook her head. “Leastways, I don’t think so. Dayin, are you in any pain?”

The boy shook his head, staring.

“We should be fine as long as I carry the abelaat crystal,” Karleah answered. “It seems to be working very hard to block the abaton’s draining powers.” The ancient wizardess leaned heavily on her staff, driving herself forward as the others passed her. They had already slowed their pace for her, and she was determined they should not a second time. “Yes,” Karleah said huskily, “the abaton drained these wizards of all their powers—to the point of death. I’m thankful the abaton was very weak when last I was in contact with it.”

Karleah pointed to the left. “That used to be an inn,” she informed the group. “I had hoped we could stay there tonight, for they made the best onion soup I’ve ever tasted—thick, rich, and savory.”

They had reached an amphitheater, where the mages of Armstead once had held magnificent celebrations and rituals. Karleah took the first step down the chipped stairs. Her gait was necessarily slow, for arthritis had set in her old bones some years ago. The long, cold days in the saddle had aggravated it severely.

“Look!” Jo cried out.

It took a moment for Karleah’s eyes to focus on the playing stage a hundred feet down. The early evening light seemed to play tricks on her eyes.

The abaton stood in the middle of the stage, somber and black. Its lid was closed, but Karleah could still feel its power.

Jo raced forward, her feet pounding out a frantic rhythm on the stone steps. Braddoc following at a more sedate pace. Brisbois remained at the top of the stairs, offering no comment. Dayin put his arm around Karleah’s waist to help her down the steps, but the old woman shooed him away. “I’m not that old,” she said testily. Karleah touched the pouch to reassure herself; yes, the abelaat crystal will protect me from the abaton. The old wizardess sighed once and then stepped forward hurriedly.

Only then did she see Jo pull Wyrmblight from its sheath, moving calmly toward the abaton. She walked with a confidence that said she thought she knew how to destroy it.

“Jo!” Braddoc shouted, hurrying down the steps now. “What are you doing?”

Jo didn’t answer, for she was almost at the stage now. The dwarf’s short legs carried him forward with surprising speed. He reached the stage just after she did and threw himself at Jo as she swung Wyrmblight in an overhead arc. He slammed into her, his arms wrapping around her midsection and dragging her to the ground. Together, they collapsed onto the hard granite floor of the amphitheater. To the squire’s credit, she didn’t lose her hold on the sword, though one hand flew off and most of her breath was knocked out of her.

“Johauna Menhir,” Karleah said evenly, only now reaching the stage. “If you ever try anything that foolish again, I’ll make sure you never live to make a third attempt. What were you thinking, girl?”

Jo hesitated a moment, then hung her head in shame. “It suddenly seemed like I could destroy it with the sword.” She paused, apparently realizing how idiotic she sounded. “I heard this voice in my head that said, ‘Wyrmblight can destroy the abaton. Wyrmblight can destroy it.’ ” She murmured an apology, but the old witch was not interested in excuses.

“Look,” Brisbois said, still standing at the top of the amphitheater, “we’ve got to destroy this thing somehow. Let her use Wyrmblight.”

“Close your mouth and open your eyes,” Johauna said to Brisbois. “We need a lookout up there.”

“That’s what I’m doing,” came the snide reply.

Karleah tapped the granite between Braddoc’s feet and said, “See if you can pick up the box. See if you can carry it out of here.”

The dwarf nodded grimly and sidled over to the box. It was one of the first times he had ever responded immediately to Karleah, without some disparaging comment about the “old crone.” Stooping over the abaton, Braddoc grappled it sides and pulled. It didn’t move. He tried again, taking a lower purchase on it. Still the box would not budge. Placing his foot against one edge, he thrust, seeing if it would even slide on the stage.

“Won’t move,” Braddoc said, looking up red-faced.

Karleah’s expression was solemn. “It is as I thought. The thing is rooted. When it absorbed enough magic to become a true portal, it must have affixed itself to this spot on Mystara.”

“If its swallowed that much magic,” Jo interrupted, “and has become a portal, shouldn’t we be expecting some abelaat visitors?”

Karleah seemed to consider. “That’s why we need to camp right here, to guard the box until we can learn how to move it or destroy it.”

“Camp here?” Jo asked, gazing about at the blackened seats and ash-strewn foot wells. “With this kind of blast, Auroch would have to know exactly where his little box ended up.”

“Precisely,” said the old crone.