Tungdil mulled the matter over and smiled. To think a wizard would leave his home for the sake of a pointy-eared mistress! For his part, he had never been especially fond of elves, and this new development, which served to prolong his adventure, did nothing to improve his opinion of their race.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he took a wrong turn and failed to find his way back to the kitchen, where he had hoped to rejoin the passageway that led to the door. The diversion took him through yet more of the thirdlings' halls. It was obvious that the masons had intended the stronghold to make a stately impression, but the result was disappointing. Some of the galleries were lopsided, the steps were all shapes and sizes, and the intervals between them didn't match. The curse of Vraccas had robbed Lorimbur's folk of the most elementary of dwarven skills.
At length he came to a solid stone wall, carved with an arch of voussoirs. Tungdil read out the runes on the keystone, conjuring a chink in the otherwise featureless rock. A door took shape, grinding against the floor as it opened to let him pass. No sooner had he stepped out of the tunnel than the door rolled back behind him. Try as he might he failed to discover any cracks, fissures, or other signs of a hidden opening. In this at least the thirdlings had shown some skill.
The short walk through the dense pine forest helped his eyes to adjust to the light and by the time he was marching along the road to Greenglade the sun scarcely bothered him at all.
For once Tungdil appreciated the buzzing insects, sweet-smelling grasses, and sunshine: Anything was better than the Blacksaddle.
V
Enchanted Realm of Lios Nudin, Girdlegard, Late Spring, 6234th Solar Cycle That evening the six magi assembled in the conference chamber to prepare for the ritual.
First they took away the chairs, leaving the malachite table at the center of the room. Then they traced a large white ring on the marble floor around it and filled the circle with colored chalk marks. The symbols and runes would serve to bind the magic energy conjured by their invocation and stop it from dispersing before it could be used. From there they would channel it into the malachite table.
It took hours to complete the preparations. Not a word was spoken, for the work demanded absolute concentration and an incorrectly drawn symbol would oblige them to begin the process all over again.
Lot-Ionan was the first to finish. Stepping back, he gazed at the malachite table, recalling its curious past. He had happened upon it fortuitously in a shop selling odds and ends. The dark green stone had intrigued him and on further investigation he discovered that the mine from which it was quarried was located on the fringes of a force field. His experiments had confirmed the stone's special properties: Magic could be stored in the malachite and set free upon command. In the following cycles, Lot-Ionan's discovery had saved Girdlegard several times over, for without the table to help them harness and channel energy, the magi would never have been able to hold back the Perished Land. Generations of wizards had turned the power of malachite to their advantage; now the council would draw on it again.
Turgur straightened up and looked at the circle in satisfaction. He shot a glance at Nudin. "He's up to something," he said in a low voice to Lot-Ionan. "Keep an eye on him."
"On Nudin?" Lot-Ionan asked, astonished. "Whatever for?"
Just then Nudin rose to his feet and glanced in their direction. A look of suspicion crossed his swollen features when he saw the whispering men.
"I can't explain now. I'll tell you later," Turgur promised. "You'll second me, won't you?"
"Second you?" The white-bearded magus had spent his life studying spells and conjurations and was baffled by Turgur's hush-hush tone.
Before he could probe any further, Maira summoned them to their places. The moon and the stars were shining brightly as the six magi stepped into the circle. It was time for the ceremony to begin. The copper dome parted, sliding back to unite the wizards with the firmament above.
Closing their eyes, they held their arms horizontally and began the incantation that would conjure the energy.
Each spoke according to his or her nature: Maira singing, Andфkai hissing and spitting, and Sabora whispering, while Turgur enunciated his words with a pride befitting his character. Their voices combined in a complex chant beseeching and commanding the magic to come forth.
Only Nudin and Lot-Ionan spoke as one person, reciting their formulae ceremoniously, as if respectfully addressing a king.
Lot-Ionan had not forgotten Turgur's strange whisperings. He stole a glance at Nudin through half-closed eyes and was relieved to see that there was nothing the least bit unusual about his behavior.
One by one the symbols surrounding Maira the Life-Preserver lit up, sheathing her in an iridescent column of light that reached high into the dark night sky. The maga of Oremaira was ready.
The glow surged around the circle, bathing each of the wizards in light. By now the citizens of Porista would be staring at the palace, transfixed by the extraordinary sight.
So intense was the flow of magic that the chamber crackled with energy, purple bolts of lightning scudding between the columns.
Maira laid her hands on the malachite table and the others followed suit. Lot-Ionan noticed that Turgur, eyes fixed on Nudin, seemed incredibly tense.
The energy coursed through the magi and flowed into the malachite, the dark green crystal pulsing with light. The six waited until the glow had intensified, then lifted their hands from the cool surface and stepped away.
"Go forth!" commanded Maira. "Go forth and strengthen the unseen girdle protecting our lands!" She recited the formula, and the magic in the malachite did her bidding, shooting from the center of the table in a dazzling blaze of white light.
As it streamed upward, Nudin seized his staff and thrust its tip into the flow. The onyx absorbed the light. A black bolt sped from the jewel, striking Nudin. As the energy discharged into his body, the wizard writhed and screamed in pain.
"The blackguard has betrayed us!" Turgur raised his arm, intending to dash the onyx from Nudin's staff, but an invisible shield protected the jewel.
As the last of the magic flowed into the onyx, the malachite grew dull and the light of the circle was extinguished. The ceremony was over: The energy had been harnessed and released. Nudin staggered back in exhaustion and leaned against a marble column for support.
Lot-Ionan turned to Turgur for guidance. The fair-faced magus had obviously suspected that something was awry. "He betrayed us!" Turgur raged furiously. "Nudin betrayed us to the Perished Land. If only I'd seen it sooner."
"Explain yourself, Nudin!" stormed Andфkai, striding purposefully toward him. She gripped him firmly by the shoulders and for a moment it seemed as though she might strike.
He beat her to it.
His fist raced toward her chin with such speed that she had no opportunity to defend herself. Andфkai the Tempestuous flew several paces through the air and slammed down on the malachite table. She lay motionless.
"You'd better tell us what you've done," Lot-Ionan commanded sharply.
Nudin drew himself up and smoothed his dark robes. "Be quiet, you old fool," he retorted, directing his onyx-tipped staff at Lot-Ionan's chest.
The four magi reacted immediately, steeling themselves to deflect a magic strike. Whatever was ailing Nudin had clearly affected his brain. Madness was not uncommon among wizards.
"Tell us what you've done," Sabora urged him. "This isn't about power, is it, Nudin? Was this meeting a ploy to increase your own strength? If Turgur's right, you're more foolish than I thought." She looked to the others for support. "Lay down your staff before it's too late."
"It's too late already," he informed her. "You made your choice. For hundreds of cycles you've been fighting it, when all you had to do was listen. Much of what it says is true."