The box housing the apparatus was bright gold, with arcane runes etched upon its surface. The grooves were filled in with tiny, crushed rubies. Representations of men and women suffering the torments of the damned rose from its slightly dull surface, and, when viewed from a distance, the figures meshed together to create a face that was screaming in terror. One of the eyes looked as if it had been put out. A sky-blue marble flecked with crimson had been placed in the remaining socket. The box’s sides had strange figures that gave the overall impression of hands that had been fused to the metal by touching a red-hot surface.
Her instincts told her that this was far too easy. Lucius looked over at her and nodded, as if confirming her thoughts.
“The easier it looks,…” he said, his voice trailing off sorrowfully. He cleared his throat and said, “Perhaps you should go back.”
“My place is with you,” she said.
Lucius turned away and said, “What will you tell my children of how I met my end?”
“That you died to save others.”
He nodded, then completed another spell. Myrmeen shuddered in surprise as her field of vision took on a crimson hue. She looked down to see a glowing field of energy surrounding her body, an aura of protection.
“Spirit armor,” she said angrily. “This spell steals some of my life’s essence!”
“It may be worthwhile if it saves your life later.”
“Or you may have just taken a few precious days, a month, or more, for no reason. Next time, ask me first.”
“You would have refused,” he said dryly.
“I notice you didn’t cast this spell on yourself.”
Lucius shook his head. “I have no life essence to utilize. I am a dead man walking.”
Myrmeen had no reply. The damage was done. All they could do was get on with the task at hand.
The gaunt mage took a handful of loose stone from the edge of the niche and threw them at the box. The stones crackled, and a blinding flash of light consumed them as the rocks were vaporized against an invisible wall of force.
“Get back!” Lucius shouted as he shoved at Myrmeen, forcing her to swing out of the niche as the spell trap’s small, glowing orb rushed in and collided with the unseen wall. The explosion sent each of them hurtling toward the opposite wall of the shaft, where they groaned with the impact, then found the area once again wreathed in darkness. Myrmeen could no longer see her red aura, and wondered if the spell had saved her already. Her body drifted in a pendulous motion, swinging back to the alcove where the box had been stored. A hand gripped her arm and she allowed herself to be dragged into the small niche.
“Hold out your hand. This won’t hurt you,” Lucius said.
Myrmeen did as the sorcerer asked. She heard him whisper in the darkness, then jumped as a flaming sphere appeared in her hand. Her head struck the hard ceiling. Lucius had kept a tight grip on her arm, and she quickly calmed herself, realizing that the flames were not harming her. “Whatever you do, keep away from the box.”
Myrmeen nodded. The mystical blast from the destruction of the spell trap had left the mage shaken, his flesh burned, lacerations visible beneath his shredded white smock. Myrmeen could see the wounds that had killed him, and turned away in disgust from the sight. She once had desired this man, had suffered through her life.
She had been betrayed.
During her career as a politician, betrayal was an accepted factor in her day-to-day existence. She had come to expect it and knew precisely how to deal with a certain lack of integrity on the part of her associates. That had been tolerable only because she had been trained to rely on no one but herself; as long as she decided well in advance that no one could be trusted in a given situation, she was never hurt by their unscrupulous actions. Give someone an opening and invariably they will hurt you.
From the moment she had summoned the Harpers, Myrmeen had been forced to surrender her trust, and had paid dearly for the mistake. Lucius, with whom she had been emotionally and sexually intrigued, had revealed a loyalty to his family and a fear of eternal torment that had caused him to hand their lives over to the creatures from whom he had sworn to protect them. Eyen Varina’s sacrifice was difficult for Myrmeen to accept. To spare her husband a worse death, she had taken Burke’s life, then given her own to help her friends escape. Myrmeen knew that on the surface her sacrifice was noble and heroic—but a part of her could not help regarding Varina’s actions as cowardly and selfish. Varina did not want to face life without her husband at her side and so she chose to have no life at all. Myrmeen was ashamed of her feelings. However, she could not deny that she was angry.
Everyone goes away, a taunting voice whispered in her mind. You can trust no one.
Not everyone, she thought desperately. Reisz would take me back. He still loves me. He always will.
But you don’t love him, and you know it.
She thought of the woman-spider and its unexpected generosity, sparing Myrmeen’s life when the beast easily could have taken it.
Perhaps that was the point, Myrmeen thought. This way I know it can have me at any time. I live or die by its wishes.
No, that was not it. The look on the woman-spider’s face before it retreated had revealed that it had been as confused by its own decision as Myrmeen had been.
Thinking about the mysterious woman-thing caused Myrmeen to recall her strange dream, then she moved beyond such unpleasantness, to gentler memories of her parents and their life before that fateful morning that her father was convinced would change all their lives forever. He had been correct, but not in the manner he had anticipated.
Suddenly she remembered the lonely nights after his death, when bizarre nightmares plagued her and she woke up screaming. Don’t abandon me! Don’t go away! Don’t leave me for the shadow people to come crawling up from the floor when the lanterns are blown out! Father, please don’t—!
“I am finished,” Lucius announced.
Myrmeen looked up in shock, glancing away from the pulsing, hypnotic fires that were dimming in her hand. She looked at the pair of boxes on the ground, darted forward with the speed and ferocity of an animal, and clutched the sides of the arcane box holding the apparatus. Before Lucius, who was trembling with fatigue, could stop her, Myrmeen hurled the box over the edge, into the pit.
The lazy sound of swords scraping against one another rose from the darkness outside the niche. Myrmeen had heard the sound only a few hours earlier, in her room, when the woman-spider had tried to kill her. The creature appeared on the opposite wall, the box clutched in two human hands. Myrmeen looked over the edge of the niche and saw that, fifty feet below, the monster had spun an intricate web. When she turned her gaze back to the box in Tamara’s hands, she saw that white, sticky strands clung to its sides.
“Sudden movement,” Lucius said, horrified.
Myrmeen spun in his direction to see the second box flaring with a rainbow of colors. The mage covered his mouth, his brow furrowed as he rifled through his vast mental library of spells, hoping to find one that would purchase their lives.
“The spell,” he whispered, “was not yet fixed. No sudden movement, or it would all be undone.”