“Shandower is dead,” the mage said, his voice appearing to have emerged from the base of a tunnel, as if he were speaking from a nearly unreachable distance. “I helped them kill him, Myrmeen. They threw his gauntlet into the pit, with his bones.” He turned to Lord Sixx. “Please release me. My time is done.”
“In a just world, perhaps,” Lord Sixx said. “When you reach such a place, you will have stories to share with the other complainers, those who suffered unnatural ends. Now be quiet or I’ll loll them all.”
Lucius felt a trace of his old strength flow into him as he said, “You promised to spare them if I cooperated.”
“True,” Sixx said and laughed, “but your involvement is not yet finished and their lives are still in the balance.”
Myrmeen could not believe what she was hearing. “Lucius, you must not help them. If you give them what they want, they’ll have no reason to keep any of us alive. What happened to you, that you could betray us like this?”
The mage hesitated. “I am dead.”
The fighter drew a sharp breath and suddenly identified the smell of rotting flesh among the putrid odors of the monstrosities gathered near the pit.
“They have trapped me here between this world and the next,” Lucius said. “Cyric’s emissaries call to me, screaming curses because I will not come, but I cannot, though I am dead.”
Myrmeen spun on Lord Sixx. “What do you want of him?”
The Night Parade’s leader glanced at her as if her intelligence had suffered an instant, rapid decline. “He must retrieve the apparatus, of course. Shandower was not a powerful mage. He merely employed them. His skills would have been useless in sorting through the puzzle box of wards surrounding the apparatus.”
Lucius shook his head. “You have denied me use of my spells. There is nothing I can do.”
“What I made you forget, I can make you remember,” Sixx promised.
Krystin hugged herself so tightly at these words that she forced blood to leak from the wound in her arm. A figure burst through the crowd of abominations, a flaxen-haired youth who leapt to her feet and licked her blood from the floor.
“Alden,” she whispered. When he looked up in response, she saw that he was no longer human. His eyes gleamed bright red and his teeth had become wolflike canines. The lower half of his face had lengthened, jutting straight outward to accommodate his snapping jaws. Alden’s features had shortened, his brow becoming considerably more brutish. His hair stood out in wild patterns, matted in tangled clots near his sopping mouth. He latched onto her leg with a single hairy claw, and Krystin screamed.
“Child!” Lord Sixx shouted.
Alden’s head snapped around, his eyes wide with fear. He panted like a frightened dog.
“Do not embarrass me before our guests,” Lord Sixx said as he struck Alden on the back of the head, causing him to release Krystin and scamper into the recesses of the crowd. “You must forgive him. He was just happy to see you.”
“What have you done to him?” she whispered.
“He is becoming,” Sixx said with a touch of pride.
Krystin waited for him to finish the statement. When it was clear that Sixx felt he had answered sufficiently, she asked exactly what Alden was becoming.
Lord Sixx opened his hands. “Who knows? Perhaps his father, Dymas, will have an idea when he arrives. For now, we have other matters to consider.” He looked at the mage. “What is your decision, Cardoc?”
Lucius whispered, “I am weak. I cannot help you.”
“Then everyone dies and we are delayed slightly longer until we find someone who can.” Sixx shrugged. “I’ve only chosen this tack because I am impatient.”
“You said you did not want me to use my magic against you,” Lucius said.
“I would still prefer that to be the case,” Sixx said honestly. “I am the only one who can release you from your torments, and the lives of all you care about are in my grasp. The decision, however, is yours.”
Myrmeen touched the dead mage’s arm and immediately drew her hand back in disgust at the cold flesh her fingers encountered. Lucius looked at her sadly.
“I must do as he asks,” he said.
“I know,” she said, trying to clear her mind of the idea that was forming. “But you said it yourself, you’re weak. You’re going to need help. Let me help you.”
He nodded and trained his gaze on Lord Sixx.
“I don’t care how you do it, just get on with it,” Sixx said, annoyed. He gestured, and Krystin was thrown to the creatures guarding Ord and Reisz. “Try to betray me, and their deaths will be works of art that we will talk about far into the future.”
Myrmeen looked to Krystin, who was trying to control her fear, then turned her gaze to Sixx. “I understand.”
Lucius stared into the pit and said, “Let us begin.”
The mage gave a short list of objects he would need, stressing that the most important items were a silver mirror, a box that Sixx felt was large enough to contain the apparatus, and two lengths of extremely strong rope, so that he and Myrmeen could be lowered into the pit, where the apparatus waited. In the time it took to fulfill the mage’s requirements, Lord Sixx had released the dampers he had installed in the sorcerer’s mind, allowing Lucius full memory of the battery of spells he had memorized over the years and constantly replenished. The mage considered the spells he could use to gain vengeance on Lord Sixx and the creatures near the pit: he could rain acid upon them, draw their breath from them, or use a spell of wilting—but all these evocations would harm those he was trying to protect as well.
Soon a pair of makeshift harnesses was fashioned with the ropes. Several of the Night Parade’s strongest members held the ropes as Myrmeen and Lucius crept backward, yanking as hard as they could to test their protectors’ mettle. The ropes might as well have been secured to boulders. Lucius backed to the edge, then leapt into the darkness, his boots catching the upper rim as he tugged on the rope and was gradually fed enough line to make his descent. Myrmeen quickly followed him, disturbed by the leer of the first monster that held her rope. She restrained herself from making an impolite gesture and quickly vanished into the pit.
“Zeal, you simpleton, don’t just stand there. Give them some light,” Lord Sixx roared. The fiery-haired man flinched at the insult, then proceeded to follow his master’s command, crouching at the lip of the pit and allowing his hands to be consumed by twin suns of flame that lighted the shaft for a depth of nearly thirty yards.
“They’re fifty feet down, but I don’t see any niche,” Zeal said.
“We don’t need a commentary. Let the humans accomplish their task,” Lord Sixx chided.
Within the pit, Lucius and Myrmeen descended another twenty feet before the mage motioned for the fighter to stop.
“It is here,” he called as he clapped three times, indicating that no further rope should be given.
Myrmeen saw a section of smooth rock that looked no different from the rest of the shaft. Suddenly she realized what was different about this patch of stone: On its surface were the mummified remains of several dozen insects, a few roaches, and even a butterfly that might have been pinned in the album of a collector.
“Do not touch the stone,” Lucius warned.
“Have no worries,” she responded.
Lucius appeared to be no longer listening; he was casting a spell. Suddenly a glowing, silver ball of light materialized over their heads. A cloud of blue flame burst from the surface of the stone and was absorbed by the spell trap, which also provided all the illumination they required.
Above, Imperator Zeal allowed the fires consuming his hands to fade and he returned to the crowd, standing well apart from Lord Sixx.
In the pit, Lucius touched the newly polished rock surface and spread his fingers upon the stone. Uttering a few simple words, he dispelled the magic holding the small section of wall in place. The burned umber stretch of rock disappeared and was replaced by the niche Shandower had mentioned. The box containing the apparatus was in plain view, three feet inside the hole into which a man could comfortably fit, provided he remained in a crouch. Myrmeen resisted the urge to reach inside and snatch the box, which was large enough to house a crossbow. The box they had brought with them was black and plain, the steel container used to protect maps and scrolls in the event of a fire. Myrmeen found it strangely comforting that these unnatural creatures could get lost as easily as any human.