The Shadow Stone

Eighteen

All around Aeron, the stones of the pyramid reverberated with power, mere chords responding to the presence of something beyond his knowledge or experience. As he followed Dalrioc Corynian through the labyrinthine corridors of dark, featureless masonry, he realized that in five years the Shadow Stone's dire potency had been sharpened, honed into a weapon of unearthly capacity, imbued with purpose and malice. At even intervals, the coursing energy caused everything around him to ripple and slide like the coarse fabric of a shirt wrapped around the torso of a giant, stretching and slacking to the titanic heartbeat. It took all of his determination to ignore the sickening sensation and drive himself to follow.

Eriale stayed an arm's length behind him, watching the blank passageways behind them. Beads of sweat trickled down her face despite the clammy chill in the air; she too had to steel herself against the structure's influence.

"Aeron," she said quietly, "What are we doing?"

Ahead of them, Dalrioc strode along, oblivious to the enemies at his back. Either he was supremely foolish, or utterly confident, and Aeron was fairly certain that Dalrioc, while arrogant and overbearing, was not a complete fool. "Let's see how this plays out," he decided.

Dalrioc led them down one last corridor and stopped at a large, heavy door. Aeron had the curious impression that he'd burn his hand if he touched the bare iron plating. The Soorenaran prince turned, leaning against the wall, his arms folded. "Well? Here we are," he said. "What now?"

"Open it," Aeron instructed.

The prince's eyes flashed, but he forced a wry grin onto his features. "And so I am reduced to holding doors for peasants." As if they weren't there, he caught the latch and pushed the door wide, leading them inside.

The chamber was much as Aeron remembered it, a room of stone with a groined ceiling and gallery surrounding a crucible-like floor. The Shadow Stone stood girdled by its iron frame, a sliver of living darkness that made his eyes ache. Fierce black radiance pulsated in the gem's gleaming jet facets, illuminating the room with a hellish glow. Instantly Aeron was embroiled in a struggle to maintain his distance as the sinister artifact seemed to focus his energy on him, demanding that he approach and abase himself. His hand stretched forward, almost of its own accord.

Aeron swore silently and wrenched his gaze away from the thing. He'd forgotten the sheer allure of the power, the half-imagined whispering and beckoning, urging him to become a part of it. It was stronger now than it ever had been, but he found the will to resist. He'd tasted its power once, just for an instant, and it had poisoned him. Now it could not possess him, not unless he allowed it to.

He was distracted by a motion at his side. Eriale drifted forward, her face blank. "Don't look right at it, Eriale," he snapped, pulling her arm sharply to break her stupor. The archer blinked and shook her head.

Ahead of him, Dalrioc moved forward and stood over the tripod, reaching out to caress the smooth surface like the face of a lover. The stone acknowledged him, a trail of phosphorescence following the path of his hand. "I brought him, as you asked," he said over his shoulder.

"Excellent." The flickering shadows of the gallery roiled like silk, and a tall man stepped through. He wore archaic black robes and a drape or chasuble of rune-marked cloth of gold, and he carried a long rod of jet and silver only a foot shorter than his own considerable height. The garments seemed familiar to Aeron, and after a moment he placed them-the ceremonial dress of the ancient Imaskari sorcerers. He shifted his attention to the man's face, but it was hidden by the ornate cowl he wore. "You may leave us, Dalrioc," the man said evenly, his voice flat and reasonable.

The Soorenaran prince spread his hands in a shallow bow and withdrew, stepping into the impenetrable shadows that waited in the arched gallery. Again Aeron sensed some rippling motion in the darkness, a disturbance. "You have changed, Aeron," said the robed man. "When last I saw you, the fire for knowledge burned fiercely in your heart, and nothing could deter you from the pursuit of power."

"I've learned patience, Oriseus," Aeron said. "That's a lesson you taught me, whether you meant to or not."

The sorcerer raised his hands and pushed back his hood. If Aeron had not already known whom he was dealing with, he never would have mistaken him for Oriseus. The trimmed beard and oiled locks were shaved down to gleaming scalp and a bare, angular jaw. Even more startling than Oriseus's change in grooming was the severity of his bearing, the way he carried himself. The capering, self-deprecating exaggeration was gone, replaced by a regal aura. The old Oriseus had disarmed his foes with insincerity and biting humor; this man radiated confidence and capability.

"Timidity is not wisdom, Aeron. And indolence is not patience. While you have slept in your forest retreat, the world has passed you by."

"I see you haven't wasted the past five years," Aeron remarked. "What is the point, Oriseus? Do you know what you are doing to the world outside the college walls?"

The sorcerer's mouth twisted in a slight smile. "I should think the point of this is obvious. Through the Shadow Stone, I shall soon control magic."

"Your own command of the arts is insufficient?"

"You misunderstand me, Aeron. I shall control all magic. I am forging a conduit, a reservoir, into which the Weave of all Chessenta-indeed, of this entire world someday-shall flow. My power will be limitless, Aeron. And those who stand by my side shall share in it. We will be gods."

"How long have you worked on this?" Aeron asked quietly. "You must have studied the Shadow Stone for years to master the use of shadow-magic, to wield its power with impunity. When did this begin, and why?"

Oriseus smiled falsely. "I have sought the stone for years beyond your imagination, Aeron. This day is merely the culmination of a hundred lifetimes of work. I've dreamed of this since my people battled the gods of the Untheri on the Plains of Purple Dust, four thousand years ago."

Eriale could not contain her shock. "You are that old?"

"This body? No, not at all. But my mind, my spirit, has remained undiminished since five centuries before the death of Imaskar." Oriseus raised his hands, almost in benediction. "You have the good fortune to witness the culmination of this work, to see history unfold. I will finish what my brothers could not, all those years ago. And I will reclaim the place that was taken from us."

Aeron considered the master's words, fighting to remain calm. Reconstructing lessons and conversations from years before, his mind reeled in recognition. "You were one of the Imaskari archmages, the first sorcerers," he breathed. "Who are you, really?"

Oriseus laughed aloud. "In the land of my birth, I was once called Madryoch. They named me the Ebon Flame."

"And you've survived all this time."

"My essence did, trapped in the existence you know as the plane of shadow. I spent centuries wandering this barren place, a formless wraith, powerless and empty. Only through the force of my will did my intellect survive.

"Over the years, I occasionally encountered living travelers, drawn to them by their life, their vitality. Some I destroyed, ignorant of my new powers. Others I learned from, slowly mastering the art of claiming a life for my own by forcing my spirit, my will, into the body of another. The sorcerer known as Oriseus came to the Shadow seeking power almost ten years ago now. Instead, he found me." The ancient wizard smiled severely. "This is the key to immortality, Aeron. I shall teach you how to live forever, if you will join me."

"I don't want that," Aeron said. There'd been a time when he was willing to pay any price for knowledge, for the power to defeat those who threatened him, to teach them fear. That time was long past. "No, I'll take the life that's dealt to me."

"Consider carefully, Aeron," Oriseus said, a hint of warning in his voice. "Despite your failure five years ago, despite the fact that you came here to upset a design I have worked on for four millennia, I bear you no malice. You are intelligent and insightful, quick to grasp and wield power. It is your nature. I can use someone of your talents by my side. Wizards of your potential are hard to find."

Sarim had been intelligent, confident, and strong of will, Aeron thought. But the stone devoured him anyway. He paced around the perimeter of the room, keeping his gaze on Oriseus and the stone before him. The rune-marked iron that banded the relic's waist seemed important, as if it contained or focused the artifact's power. Telemachon had said that he could not direct any magic at the stone, since it would be absorbed, but maybe the frame was a vulnerability?

Oriseus watched him as he took the measure of the chamber and its enchantments, an amused smile on his face. "Admiring my handiwork?" he asked in a sharp tone.

"Every object, every creature in this world creates magic," Aeron remarked. "The Weave is a great river, fed by innumerable streams and tributaries. But this stone seems to consume magic instead of create it. It absorbs magic, twists it into something else. Has it always been like this?"

It didn't seem likely that he could get Oriseus to show him how the spell might be undone, but it couldn't hurt to keep him talking. The longer Aeron studied the Shadow Stone and the complex enchantments that buffered the chamber, the more likely it was that he'd see something he could use.

"That was the secret of the Imaskari strength," Oriseus said. "In the beginning of things, the world was made from nothingness, an act of will and purpose. Magic, as you call it, is the echo of this purpose. But this purpose is not unopposed, Aeron. It is, in a sense, an abrogation of something older than creation, an accident of sorts. We live in a single bright flicker of existence, framed by oblivion before and after. That oblivion presses in on us. To put it another way, in the absence of a conscious purpose to exist, the world begins to not exist. This can be harnessed by an adept of strength and skill."

Aeron realized that Oriseus believed that he posed no threat at all. Some vestige of the intellectual conjuror remained in this hollow shell of a man, a master architect who greatly desired his work to be appreciated. "When I encountered this five years ago, I called it shadow-magic. I found that it existed in everything, just as the Weave itself flowed through the natural world and the living hearts of animals and men." Aeron turned a hard stare at Oriseus. "I read how you and your peers found a way to transcend the human limitation against making use of this power, binding evil spirits to your very souls in order to perceive and wield shadow-magic. Is that what you've done to Dalrioc, Sarim, and the others?"

"Not quite. The Shadow Stone changed that. It opened their eyes to the existence of the shadow-magic, just as it opened yours." Oriseus made a dismissive gesture with one hand. "They're fortunate. The compact with which I gained the ability to wield magic came at a much higher price."

Aeron finished his circuit of the room. He glanced at Eriale, who watched him with a pale face. She held an arrow across her bow, but pointed it at the ground- although Aeron knew she could aim and release the missile in the blink of an eye. He could read the unspoken question in her eyes as she flicked her glance toward the tall sorcerer standing before him. He offered the slightest shake of his head as he turned back to Oriseus; he was certain that the sorcerer would have taken steps to defend himself. Then, to Aeron's surprise, Eriale stepped forward.

"So you intend to rule the world by ruining it," she said. "Don't you realize that the world you're making won't be worth ruling? It's pointless, insane. What will be left?"

"What will be left?" Oriseus repeated. "Why, my dear girl, whatever that I decree shall be left. I shall hold the magic of the world in my right fist, and with my left I shall mold the world into whatever shape I fancy."

"What gives you the right?" she demanded.

Oriseus's eyes flashed. "Nothing gives me the right, woman. I claim it. I was the First of the Imaskari, the Ebon Flame. My name struck terror in the hearts of our enemies. At my brothers' side I drove all before me and dragged your barbaric forebears to this world to be our slaves. For forty centuries I have been denied the prize I sought. Now I take it with my own hand!" He raised his hand to cast a spell, and even as Aeron reacted with a counterspell to protect Eriale, Oriseus spat out a word of magical power.

Overhead, a great lambent cyclone of magical energy became visible, trapped and altered by the Shadow Stone's power. "All the Weave for hundreds of miles around flows to this point," Oriseus said. "With each heartbeat, the Shadow Stone takes an ever-growing portion of the world's magic and makes it mine to command!" He batted away Aeron's barrier as if it did not exist.

Aeron gambled on distracting the conjuror. "So why did you seek the Sceptanar's throne and involve yourself in the conflict between Cimbar and Akanax? Those are secondary goals. This is the only matter of importance."

Oriseus halted, allowing the magical energy he'd gathered in his hands to dissipate unused. "As you might imagine, there are those who would not wish to see me complete my work here. The Sceptanar was one of them, an old and weak fool who commanded the misguided allegiance of this powerful city. I needed to make sure that he would not interfere. As for the war with Akanax … it is a shield for me, a cloak to distract any who would oppose me." He allowed a sly smile to spread across his face. "To be perfectly honest, it doesn't matter to me who calls himself the Over-king of Chessenta. Within a day, perhaps two, this spell will be complete. And all of the Old Empires will be mine to rule as I please. I may even allow petty kings such as Dalrioc's father to govern their cities and launch the great wars of conquest and expansion they dream of. It will be of no more consequence than the affairs of insects at my feet."

"And Prince Dalrioc accepts this?"

"He knows where the true power is," Oriseus replied. "As do you, Aeron. Will you stand by my side? You have come to master both the bright and the dark magic, guided by nothing more than your own skill and strength of will-quite a rare feat. You have nothing to fear in accepting my offer, and the world to gain."

"Master Crow made the same offer," Aeron observed. "He tried to kill me when I refused his bargain. Why do you need my help? It seems that you're satisfied with events."

"I don't need your help, Aeron. I merely extend you the opportunity to join the winning side. You could be very useful to me, and I have not forgotten our friendship."

"Crow also hinted that there was a far less pleasant way for me to be of use to you."

"That is true, Aeron. I won't bore you with the details." Oriseus stepped closer, his benevolence vanishing. "You really have only one alternative. Swear you'll serve me. You and your friend shall weather the coming storm unscathed, and stand at my right hand in the world to come."

Is there any way to play along, to deceive him? Aeron wondered. Then his eye fell on the Shadow Stone, its radiance forming a black halo behind Oriseus's form. No, he decided. I barely survived the last time I was here. Acceding to Oriseus's demand might preserve my life, but I'd be dead and lost. Steeling himself, he readied his staff. "I can't do that, Oriseus. If it lies within my power, I mean to put a stop to this."

"Trust me, Aeron. It doesn't." Oriseus made a small gesture, and Dalrioc Corynian emerged from the shadows that flickered in the chamber's periphery, followed by other masters: Eidos, the Lord Necromancer; a stout woman Aeron recognized as a former student of illusions; a stooped, sickly Mulhorandi who was once a Master of Abjuration. Aeron realized that the shadows that danced and undulated under each stone arch were portals, doorways back to the real world. "Join us. You have no choice."

Aeron glanced at Eriale. "Get out of here," he said.

The archer shook her head. "Not without you."

"Well, Aeron? I won't repeat my offer," Oriseus said. His smile faded. "You'll help me, one way or another."

With a roar of defiance, Aeron dashed forward and swung his staff at the iron stand supporting the Shadow Stone, invoking its power. The spell failed with a flash of blue light and a stink of ozone, but the impact toppled the tripod and sent the stone crashing to the floor. "No!" shrieked Oriseus. "Dalrioc! Eidos! Subdue him!"

Aeron danced back, half expecting the gem to shatter like glass, but it struck the ground and rattled away, unharmed. Several of the mages hesitated. He used the reprieve to hurl a battery of glowing missiles at each wizard in Oriseus's circle. Dalrioc and the illusionist failed to parry the missiles; with booming thunderclaps they detonated, hammering them with brutal force. The illusionist's outstretched hand was incinerated by Aeron's spell, and she collapsed screaming. Dalrioc grunted and somehow kept his feet.

In the center of the room, Oriseus ignored Aeron's attack. It seemed to almost splash against an unseen shield, vanishing with nothing more than a brief sparkle of light. "You fool," he hissed. Crouching, the ancient warlock shouted a word of power that blasted Aeron to his knees, leaving him deaf and stunned, blood flowing from his ears and nose.

Behind him, Eriale whirled and loosed an arrow at the old High Necromancer as Eidos worked at a spell of holding. With a curse, the vulpine sorcerer abandoned his enchantment and raised a defensive ward. His wattled hands flickered in a spell of defense that would have deflected any mundane threat, but Eriale's arrow carried a powerful elven enchantment. The shaft sank into Master Eidos's heart, crumpling him like brittle paper.

Eriale nocked a second arrow, but a green ray sizzled across the chamber as the Mulhorandi abjurer whispered a spell of fatigue. The archer's muscles turned to water and she sank to the floor. With all her effort, she drew her bow to half its length and managed to stick an arrow two inches into the abjurer's knee before the spell overcame her. The emaciated sorcerer howled and hopped back, one hand clamped over the arrow.

Aeron staggered to his feet and started to work a spell, but Oriseus brushed his effort aside and lashed out with a crackling black ray that shattered Fineghal's staff in his hands, scorching him badly. With a gasp of shock, Aeron reeled backward. Relentlessly, Oriseus declaimed another spell, this one a binding that created a gossamer web of razor-sharp strands. The bone-white threads sprayed from his fingertips, winding around Aeron and sinking into his flesh until blood flowed freely from a dozen wounds. With one last word, Oriseus jerked his hand back, dropping Aeron heavily to the stone floor.

"A valiant effort, Aeron. How I wish you'd reconsidered my offer; mages of your caliber are hard to find." The sorcerer straightened and snapped his fingers. Several gray-faced soldiers in the livery of the Sceptanar's Guard appeared from another of the dark archways, moving with a blank, mechanical torpor. "Take him to his place," Oriseus ordered them.

"What of the girl?" Dalrioc asked. He cradled one damaged arm, and a wide trickle of blood marked one side of his head.

Oriseus turned and looked her over with a cold smile. "We can always use another archer," he remarked. "Leave her here with me."

Dalrioc Corynian and the silent soldiers dragged Aeron into one of the shadow portals framing the room, emerging in a cold maze of stone walls. To his surprise, it was open to the sky, and a lurid red overcast seemed to twist and churn sluggishly above him. We're not in the tower anymore, Aeron realized. After a moment, he amended that thought. We're not even in Cimbar anymore! Despite the change in his surroundings, he was still conscious of the ever-present chill of the shadow-plane and the jarring sense of wrongness that grated on his nerves until his head ached and nausea rose in his stomach.

"You can't imagine how long I've dreamed about this moment, Aeron," Dalrioc said smugly as he led the way. "I don't know what Oriseus ever saw in you, but I've known for years that this day would come."

They passed an alcove, where Dalrioc instructed the soldiers to halt and turn Aeron to see inside. In the shallow depression, a strange statue or relief seemed graven on the stone wall. It was the size and shape of a man, a carving of immaculate detail. Its wrists and ankles were encircled with old iron chains that were anchored in the flanking walls and sunk into the stone. Aeron peered closer, detecting something familiar in the statue's face and stance. It seemed an excellent likeness of Baldon, his former hallmate. The cold eyes stared sightlessly into the sky, and a grimace of inhuman pain was captured on the carving's face.

"This will be your fate, Aeron," Dalrioc hissed into his ear, relishing Aeron's helplessness. "Baldon is still alive, of course. We need his power, his will, to channel magic to the pyramid. But I wouldn't care to trade places with him." He indicated the dark passageway ahead. "Bring him this way."

The soldiers complied. They turned a corner and carried Aeron to a blank alcove, with iron chains waiting.

"Bind him," Dalrioc commanded.

Although Aeron attempted to struggle, he only cut his hands and face with his effort. The dead soldiers made no sound or protest as the gauzy strands covering Aeron slashed their hands and arms as well. . nor did they bleed. When they finished, Aeron was suspended on the wall by the chains, unable to move.

Aeron noticed that the stone behind him felt unusually cold, like a great block of ice. In moments he began to shiver, feeling the warmth draining out of his body. He glanced down and saw that the tough strands of razor-gauze that held him were dissipating, vanishing like water as they were absorbed by the wall behind him. In a few heartbeats he was free, but his arms and legs were pinioned by the chains.

"What is this, Dalrioc?" he grunted, struggling against his bonds.

"You should have listened to Oriseus," the prince said. "You might have been a ruler, a lord. Now you are nothing more than a slave, to be wrung dry and thrown away."

"What do you mean?"

Dalrioc laughed, a particularly unpleasant sound. "You're clever. You'll figure it out." Still chuckling, he turned and walked away, trailed by the gray soldiers. "I'll be back in a while to see how your new accommodations suit you."

Aeron squirmed away from the pervasive chill of the wall behind him, panic welling in his heart. Every time he slumped against the stone, he could feel the heat, the warmth, draining from his body, a diabolically slow process. It's taking more than my warmth, he realized after a time. It's absorbing the magical spark of my life-force. He shuddered in fear.

In the silence, he could hear faint sounds, some distant, some near. Chains clanking on stone, voices whispering and moaning, so soft that he could almost mistake it for the sound of the wind. But there was no wind in this place, no light, only a ruddy red glow that colored the blank walls of stone the hue of old blood. He groaned in despair.

"Who's there?"

Aeron looked up. It was a woman's voice, tired and faint. He wondered if he'd imagined it. "Hello?" he called.

"Hello," the woman answered. She was somewhere to his right, down the stone hallway. "Did they shackle you to the wall?"

"Yes. I can't move."

"Are you certain?" she replied. "Your life depends on it."

Aeron craned his neck out to examine his fetters. He tested them against the wall, but he couldn't budge them at all; he'd never been strong of limb. Frowning, he tried to narrow his hands and pull them free, but after a valiant effort he gave up.

"No, I'm chained," he said. "What happens now?"

"You'll die," the woman replied, her voice heavy with resignation. "It may take weeks, even months, but this place will slowly kill you, just like the rest of us."

Aeron listened closely. Beneath the exhaustion, there was a familiarity to her voice, a hint of a burring Reach accent. "Melisanda? Is that you?"

"Who wants to know?"

"It's Aeron, Aeron Morieth."

"Aeron?" It was Melisanda's voice, sadder and somehow more distant than Aeron remembered. He could read a long tale of sorrow and hopelessness in the way her voice cracked and rasped. There was a long silence then, and Aeron strained to hear what she might say. Finally she spoke again. "It's good to hear your voice."

"And yours. Although I wish it were under better circumstances."

Melisanda laughed bitterly. "Indeed. A year or two ago I heard that you'd returned to the Maerchwood. What are you doing here?"

"I tried to put a stop to Oriseus's work. I'm afraid I did not succeed."

"We're all part of his spell, Aeron," Melisanda said. "We hold the pyramid together, and that draws the magic to this place."

"I don't understand."

"Rebuilding the monument is insignificant. It looks impressive, but it means nothing. Magic is drawn to this place because he's enslaved the souls of wizards here."

Aeron leaned back, ignoring the cold. "But we're not in the tower," he replied. "What is this place?"

She hesitated a moment before replying. "It's one point of a ritual diagram, I think. I don't know if you noticed, but this structure is nothing more than an open corridor or hallway. It takes seven turns around its circumference, so there's seven walls. Each of us is chained to one wall."

"I saw Baldon," Aeron said quietly. He thought on Melisanda's words for a time. Seven wizards, chained in a seven-sided figure. . but they weren't near the tower. "I wager there's six other places like this, all spaced at an equal distance around the Shadow Stone," Aeron said. "Seven times seven wizards, all dying to power Oriseus's spell, focused by the structure he raised at the College of Sorcery. That's the centerpiece."

"How far apart are they?" she wondered aloud.

"Who knows? The shadow doors in the chamber of the stone might be portals to each of these places. A hundred miles? A thousand? We have no way of knowing."

"I think you may be right," Melisanda replied. "Dalrioc told me there were other places like this." She fell silent again for a long time. Aeron made another attempt to extract his wrists from the shackles that held him, giving up in exhaustion. "Aeron? Why is Oriseus doing this? What is this all about?"

"Oriseus is not our concern," Aeron told her. "It's Madryoch." He went on to tell her what Oriseus-or Madryoch-had told him, and what he'd observed of the effects of the ancient sorcerer's spell. He ended up backtracking all the way to the awful night when he'd fled into the Shadow, out of his mind with the loathing and fear engendered by his first encounter with the stone, and recounting the years that had passed since that day.

When he finished, Melisanda described what had befallen her after she'd left the college. She had returned to her home in Arrabar, choosing to study in private, away from the intrigues of Cimbar's college. Just as Aeron had become a formidable mage with years of practice and study, Melisanda had become competent too. She used her talents to help her family defend their lands and keep peace in their home, gaining a reputation as a sorceress not to be crossed.

"How did you end up here?" Aeron asked.

"Dalrioc and a handful of his allies," Melisanda spat. "They lured me into an ambush, sending me an urgent plea for help from one of the merchant lords who lives near my home. He'd always been an ally of our house, so I went to his aid and found them waiting for me instead. Dalrioc tried to convince me to join him in his work, but I wanted no part of it. So they brought me here." Aeron heard her chains clinking as she struggled with them. "Damn it!"

"We'll think of something," he told her.

"I hope so." Melisanda's struggles subsided. There was a soft sob. "Aeron, it's cold."

"I know," he said. He closed his eyes, wishing he could at least see her from where he was trapped. "I know." They waited together in silence for a long time, until he lapsed into a restless, tortured sleep.

Something breathed warm, damp air into his face, rooting at his loose collar with an animal cough. Padded claws pressed into his shoulders as the creature leaned close, its heavy breathing filling his ears, the smell of wet fur cloying in his nostrils. Aeron awoke with an inarticulate moan of panic, struggling wildly, his hands and feet anchored in the stone.

A wet tongue licked his face, and the animal whined softly. Aeron opened his eyes, and caught a glimpse of silver-gray fur and dark, intelligent eyes. "Baillegh!" he cried. The elven hound barked once and nuzzled his face, her tail wagging in delight. "Assuran's shield! Where did you come from?"

"Aeron? What's happening?" Worry strained Melisanda's voice. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I'm fine," he called back. "I've just been surprised by a friend, though." He looked back to the dog. She seemed thin and weak, as if she'd been lost a long time. Frowning, he tried to recall what had happened to her. She was with us outside the tower. . but I don't recall that she followed us inside. Could she have tracked us through the shadow doors? Or did she come cross-country all the way from Cimbar?

"Aeron?" Melisanda called. "What's going on?"

"Wait a moment," he answered. "I hope I'll be able to show you." He glanced up at the iron band that clasped his right wrist. Dalrioc hadn't welded the band shut; instead, it was a crude ratchetlike device that was secured by a short pin. He couldn't bend his hand back far enough to reach the pin; it was too close to the manacle.

"All right, Baillegh. Let's see if you're as smart as I think you are," he breathed. Staring into the hound's dark eyes, he bent his will to creating a clear image of the hound pulling the locking pin free. She barked once and turned to the shackle, stretching to her full length to reach it. Aeron grimaced as the hound's mouth closed over his wrist, but in a moment Baillegh dropped back with a sharp grunt.

The pin was clenched in her teeth.

Aeron pulled on the manacle, twisting it open and jerking his hand free. Ignoring the stinging abrasion on his wrist, he turned and undid the other manacle, lowering himself to the ground. The shackle that held his left ankle was jammed shut, but with his hands free and his body away from the dark stone wall, he was able to cast a minor alteration that caused the rusty iron to snap open, falling away from his legs. Impulsively, he reached over and hugged Baillegh, ruffling the hound's coat, and then stood and stretched.

"Come on. Let's see if we can help the others," he said to her. The hound licked his hand and followed behind him.

He stepped out of the alcove, turned right, and rounded the odd angle in the corridor. About thirty feet down the wall, Melisanda was pinned in another alcove. She'd been dressed in the layered skirts and blouse of a Chondathan noblewoman, but her dress was in tatters, revealing her white shift beneath. She was pale and thin, a cold and frightened waif, but the old light in her face returned with her smile, as she looked up and saw Aeron standing before her. "I knew they wouldn't keep you chained," she said.

Aeron reached up and undid her bonds, helping her down. He was shocked at how cold her skin felt when his hand brushed hers; she must have waited in this place for a long time. Her knees buckled when she stepped free of the wall, and Aeron barely managed to catch her before she fell. He half-carried her a few feet away, supporting her with his shoulder.

"Careful, now. You're not at your best."

Melisanda nodded and let him help her down the hallway. As she'd told him, it turned right at a sharp angle every fifty feet or so. The first alcove they passed was nothing but blank stone, with the manacles disappearing into the rock as if the hapless soul trapped there had sunk beyond recovery. Despite their best efforts, neither Aeron nor Melisanda could manage to free the wizard entombed within. They found that the rest imprisoned there were in little better shape. Even Baldon was beyond their aid.

"I think the only way to free them is to break or reverse Oriseus's spell," Aeron finally said. "We can't help them now."

"I'm afraid you may be right," Melisanda replied. "Well, what's next?"

"We've got to undo what Oriseus's done," he said slowly. "We have to go back."

"Overland, or do we risk the shadow door?"

"The shadow door's the only way. We might be able to scramble over that wall easily enough, but that leaves us stranded in some unknown place in the demiplane of shadow, without any idea of which way Cimbar might lie." Aeron scratched at his chin. "Yes, I think we have to risk the door that Dalrioc and Oriseus use to come and go."

Melisanda gave him a long look but did not argue. "We'll be walking right into their nest," she said. "Are you ready for a fight?"

He turned his attention inward, mentally cataloging the spells held in his memory. The touch of the wall had drained several spells from his mind, devouring the patterns of word and rune, but most remained intact. "I have enough spells to get us past one or two of Oriseus's minions, but I wouldn't want to take them all on."

"I've a few spells, but I'm struggling to remember them. I think it might take me longer to recover from being chained here." They turned the last corner and stood facing the dark doorway. It was framed against the outer wall by an arch of polished obsidian. "Do you have any idea what we can do if we do go back?"

"No. But I think I know where we might find out."

"The library?"

"If there's any help to be had, we'll find it there," Aeron said. He was going to continue, when suddenly Baillegh barked in warning. He wheeled, facing the shadow door.

It seemed to ripple and flow, like oil on water, and then Dalrioc Corynian stepped into the hallway. The prince halted in mid-stride, open amazement on his face. "How did you get free?" he snarled, raising his hands to hurl a spell.

"Dalrioc!" cried Aeron.

He shouted a dire word, unleashing one of the swiftest spells he knew. The force of his cry was amplified a hundredfold by the magic of the spell, striking Dalrioc like a physical blow and cracking the stone archway behind him. Caught in the middle of his spell, the prince fell heavily to the stone, ruining his enchantment. Aeron slumped against the wall, gasping for breath; the word of power was a taxing spell, and he'd been forced to draw upon his own life-force to power it.

Dalrioc shook his head groggily, blood trickling from his ears. Instead of rising, the prince rolled to his knees, snatched a short iron scepter from his belt, and shouted a trigger word. A white ray of intense cold sprang from the scepter, grazing Aeron's hip and burning like fire. Dalrioc swung the beam at Melisanda and caught her across the knees, sending her to the ground with a cry of pain, and then pointed it directly at Baillegh as the hound sprung at him. She crumpled in mid-spring without a sound, crashing to the ground.

"You'll wish you'd stayed where I left you," Dalrioc snapped.

Aeron replied by slapping one hand on the frozen stone and creating a thunderous crack that raced toward Dalrioc and dropped the floor from under him. With a grinding of torn rock, the prince slid feet-first into the crevasse, disappearing from sight. Quick as he could, Aeron released the spell, allowing the wound in the stone to grind shut-but Dalrioc suddenly leaped free, soaring into the air with a simple jumping spell and alighting on the wall top. His fine tunic was torn and bloody, but he seemed unhurt.

"You'll have to do better than that," he shouted, raising the iron scepter again. Its tip gleamed white with frost.

Melisanda pronounced a liquid string of words and gestured, pulling the iron scepter from Dalrioc's hand with a sharp wrench. The magical weapon arced high into the air and clattered to the ground a short way down the hall. Dalrioc cursed and started another spell, a dire enchantment that sent chills down Aeron's spine. Aeron began a spell of his own, but Dalrioc finished first this time, reaching out with his hand as if to crush Aeron's heart. Cold, strong fingers sank into his chest, ripping away his breath.

"Do you like my new spell, Aeron?" Dalrioc called. "You're not the only one who learned a few tricks over the past five years."

Melisanda started to call out another enchantment, but her voice faltered-she hadn't yet recovered from her long bondage, and the magic she sought was too difficult for her.

Aeron choked back a scream as he struggled, impaled on the intangible talons of Dalrioc's spell. He couldn't begin to develop any kind of counterspell, not while his mind was filled with the icy pain that shredded his chest. With a fierce effort of will, he pushed the pain to a distant part of his awareness and spoke a simple fetching spell. Down the hall, Dalrioc's iron scepter clattered across the floor and then flew up to Aeron's hand. In one smooth motion, he raised the weapon and barked out the word he'd heard Dalrioc use to trigger its powers.

The white beam of frost erupted from the rod's end, striking Dalrioc full in the torso. The Soorenaran wizard doubled over as his skin paled and gleaming ice coated his body. He teetered for a moment on the wall top before he lost his balance and fell awkwardly to the ground. Aeron sobbed in relief as the icy claw released his heart and faded, leaving a deep, cold ache in the center of his body.

Melisanda approached Dalrioc cautiously, ready to strike with a spell if necessary. The prince lay motionless on the ground. She turned him over carefully and stood a moment later, a fierce look on her face. "The frost or the fall killed him," she said.

Aeron nodded in acknowledgment and knelt by Baillegh. The hound stirred slowly. In a moment she shook herself and scrambled to her feet, moving gingerly. Aeron reached out to stroke her fur, ignoring the frost that covered her.

"Thanks, Baillegh. I'm sorry he hurt you." He looked to where Dalrioc sprawled on the ground. "He was never that strong back at the college," he said.

"It must be the Shadow Stone," Melisanda replied.

Aeron thought of Oriseus, waiting somewhere on the other side of the shadow door. "What do you suppose it can do for an archmage?" he asked bitterly. The effort of speaking brought a coarse, bloody cough to his tortured chest. He pushed himself to his feet. "Come on. We have to settle this."

Melisanda closed her eyes and nodded. "You're right. Lead the way, Aeron."

He studied the shadow door for a long moment, wondering if there was any way to find out what lay beyond. Well, there's always one way, he thought. Steeling himself, he squared his shoulders and stepped into the darkness.