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.
Chapter XV
Karleah leaned back against the charred steps of the amphitheater and frowned. The nighttime sky above was black and starless due to the drifting ash in the air. Even with Jo and Braddoc on guard duty, Auroch could easily slip through that seamless night and trigger the abaton. But he hadn’t. In the faint glow of the abelaat crystal in her hand, Karleah could see that the abaton was still there, and still closed. The box that destroyed Armstead now sat silent and cold.
“Concentrate,” the wizardess told herself. Turning her attention from the box, she peered into the flawless, golden depths of the stone. Surely the crystal could tell her the weakness of the abaton. She lowered the stone atop a smoking brazier, letting the heat embrace its edged form. Again Karleah concentrated on the box, on Auroch, on her hope to destroy the abaton. With avid interest, she watched the dim facets of the crystal glow and fade. Smoky forms swirled about the outside of the stone. But the inside remained empty.