"You mustn't stop now," whispered Jolosin. "If any of us leaves the circle, the ritual will be broken. I owe it to my magus; we all owe it to Girdlegard to keep going."
Just then he heard a change in Nudin's voice. The croaky rasp became a high-pitched purring that didn't seem to belong to him at all. After a while it lowered to a bass tone so deep that it vibrated through the apprentices' bodies. None of them, not even the highest-ranking famuli, had heard anything like it.
And yet it worked.
Pulsing with light, the dark green fragments of malachite rose into the air and came to rest three paces above the floor. Even the splinters in the decaying flesh of Maira the Life-Preserver left her body, exiting with a gentle pop as they bored through her skin.
"What did I tell you?" said Jolosin, giving Rantja's hand an encouraging squeeze. "We're nearly there now."
Nudin the Knowledge-Lusty began a new incantation and the famuli resumed their chanting, only to break off shortly afterward, unable to follow the words. Babbling and gibbering incoherently, the magus had lost his thread. With the rest of the circle reduced to silence, the ritual was doomed.
Meanwhile, the fragments of malachite clustered together in a flat disc, ten paces in diameter. The glowing circle began to spin.
"Is this part of the ritual? I've never done this before," hissed Jolosin. Rantja made no reply.
The disc spun faster and faster, the splinters drawing closer as the speed increased. Soon the individual fragments joined together in a circular sheet of flawless crystal.
"My magus knows what he's doing," Rantja whispered proudly, breathing a sigh of relief.
A hush descended on the room as the ring of apprentices watched in awed silence while the glowing malachite morphed under Nudin's command. At last the impressive spectacle drew gasps of admiration and relief from some of the famuli.
"We did it!" Jolosin was about to throw his arms around Rantja but was stopped by the magus, who tightened his grip on his hand.
Nudin spoke, uttering a single, unintelligible word.
A splinter flew out of the disk and pierced Jolosin in the chest. No one noticed.
"What…" Groaning, the young man tried to free his hand and touch the spot where the jagged splinter had entered his flesh and buried itself deep inside his chest. He could feel the blood seeping from the wound and trickling down his abdomen, but Nudin was gripping him firmly in his cold, clammy clasp.
"Estimable Magus," Jolosin said, his voice strained with pain, "I'm… I'm hurt. I've been hit by a shard."
Nudin turned his pale bloated face toward him. His pupils were dilated, almost obscuring his irises. Then the black dots turned the color of tarnished silver. His misty eyes glinted.
"I know, my boy. I needed your magic. There was no other way." He squeezed his hand reassuringly. "It won't hurt for long." The magus closed his eyes.
Another tiny splinter of malachite flew across the room and hit Rantja. From then on, the splinters followed in quick succession, striking the apprentices so rapidly that half of their number had been wounded before the others noticed. They called to the magus for help.
"Stay where you are or everything will be ruined," he commanded, eyes still closed.
The remaining famuli were unpersuaded by his words. Rather than stay and be killed by the lethal crystal, they decided to run for cover, but by then it was too late. As they tried to pull away, they realized with horror that their hands were stuck together, tying them to one another until they too were struck by shards.
The malachite disc sent dark bolts in the direction of each famulus, green light caressing their bodies eagerly in search of the splinters and slipping inside the wounds.
Nudin looked up, an insane glimmer in his eyes. Throwing open his cloak, he uttered another incomprehensible command.
At once a finger-length shard of malachite flew toward him on a bolt of green lightning and planted itself in his chest. The beam intensified, pulsing and rippling with light, while the tendrils of energy binding the famuli to the crystal faded and dimmed. Soon they were gone altogether.
"Victory!" The magus's shriek of triumph was too shrill and powerful to be human. He laughed exultantly. "The time for dissembling is over; Nфd'onn the Doublefold is once more!"
The famuli slid to the floor. Jolosin, Rantja, and the others were incapable of speech; the malachite had wrested the magic from their bodies and plundered their strength.
The more fragile among them were the first to succumb. Their hearts stopped, their breathing failed.
A small band of famuli, Jolosin and Rantja included, summoned the energy to drag themselves across the floor in a desperate effort to reach the doors.
The magus plunged his fingers into his chest and was feeling around for the splinter. He withdrew the bloodied fragment, gazed at it dreamily, then replaced it in the wound. He took a step toward the malachite disc.
"You served your purpose, now be gone!" No sooner had his onyx-tipped staff made contact with the hovering crystal than it fell to the ground, littering the floor with myriad splinters.
Don't just stand there, he told himself sternly. Let the next phase begin! Gathering the leather bag brought by Jolosin, he hurried to the door, skewering three crawling famuli as he passed. A tidemark of blood stained the white maple of his staff.
On reaching the doorway, he stopped and looked back, scanning the foul-smelling room. The stench of decay would soon be overwhelming, but it was all the same to him. His work was almost done and he was leaving the conference chamber for the final time.
It was then that he noticed Rantja and Jolosin. With a brutal swipe of his staff, he crushed the famulus's skull. His own apprentice had nearly reached the door, but he nudged her back into the chamber with his boot.
Rantja rolled onto her back, tears streaming over her face, and uttered a healing charm. Her magic failed her.
The magus stooped to stroke her long brown hair. He knew the famula well and she was talented, one of his most gifted pupils, in fact. She would probably have made it into his discipleship in Lios Nudin, but he knew that she couldn't be relied on to cooperate with his plans.
"The malachite splinter inside you has left you weak and helpless," he told her. "The magic is gone. You'll die like the others, Rantja."
The young woman stared up at him accusingly. Her dark eyes were full of contempt for the magus whom she had trusted implicitly and who had forfeited her respect.
Nфd'onn looked away, surprised at how much he was affected by his dying apprentice. "I didn't want to kill them," he said defensively. "There was no other way of obtaining their magic. What was I supposed to do? Andфkai, Lot-Ionan, Maira, Sabora, and Turgur refused to help me, and you and the other famuli would have turned against me too. I knew it was going to be difficult, but I did it because I had to. This is my destiny. Girdlegard must be protected from evil."
"There is no greater evil than the Perished Land," she said, breathing in rapid gasps. "The gods will punish you for betraying our circle."
Nфd'onn thought for a moment. "Perhaps you're right. But the vengeance of the gods is a small price to pay for saving mankind." He got to his feet and stepped out of the chamber. "And mankind can be saved only by the Perished Land and the chosen few."
"You're mistaken," whispered Rantja. Her gaze faltered. "You're…" A sigh ran through her body and her head slumped back, falling to the side.
"No," Nфd'onn contradicted her sadly. "I'm right, but no one understands. My dear friend told me this would happen."
Closing the doors with a wave of his hand, he turned away quickly and hurried through the palace to the vaults. There was a dull thud as the doors of the chamber slammed behind him, sealing Girdlegard's most powerful wizards in their tomb.