All too late Shiara saw the deadly nature of the trap. The demon at the gate, the spells upon the common items were sufficient to ward off an ordinary thief or hedge magician. To penetrate those and unravel the maze of spells within the cavern and ultimately to possess the key would take someone truly skilled in magic. One of the Mighty, or a black-robe wizard of the League.
The whole cavern and all the magics within it existed simply to sort the untalented or the incompetent from the powerful and to lure the powerful to the sceptre. The sceptre was the last and deadliest trap of them all.
No, Amon-Set was not dead, not truly. Within the smoky purple depths of the scepter he had waited out the ages, waiting for one whose body and skill he could use to live again. The snow-white corpse on the crystal bier was indeed dead. But his soul lived within the sceptre; lived, hungered and awaited its prey.
The wizard who was skilled enough to grasp the sceptre of Amon-Set was a suitable vehicle for his reincarnation. And that was the true purpose of everything here. To find such a one and put them in a position where Amon-Set could possess them and so live again.
Shiara could feel herself ebbing away as the alien presence intruded. She twisted and struggled in the grip of the long-dead sorcerer. She fought back with every bit of skill and knowledge at her command.
It was a hopelessly uneven fight. She felt the chamber’s magics convulse and yield under her desperate thrusts, but the core of Amon-Set locked her in an ever tightening embrace.
"Now!" a strange creaking voice cried from the door of the chamber. Shiara realized vaguely that someone else had entered the fray.
Cormac whirled at the voice and saw Jul-Akkan stumble into the room. Shiara could not break Amon-Set’s hold on her, but her struggles had loosed the grip of the guard spells.
Cormac’s sword flickered at the wizard with the speed of a striking snake, but not fast enough; even weakened Jul-Akkan was faster still. His hand flicked out and Cormac screamed and dropped to the floor.
Without pausing, Jul-Akkan leaped across the room and grasped the sceptre with both hands.
For an instant three beings warred. Then with a final mighty effort Shiara was able to let go of the cursed thing. Jul-Akkan fell back with both hands planted on the sceptre and his eyes widening as Toth-Amon took him.
Shiara staggered and shook her head. Through pain-dimmed eyes she saw Cormac writhing in the final agonies of a death spell and the one who was Jul-Akkan writhing in the throes of rebirth. In seconds Cormac would be dead and Toth-Amon would be loosed upon the world again. Her Sun and her World both teetered on the brink of destruction.
Shiara’s eyes locked with Cormac’s as he pleaded silently with her to do something to release him from the awful pain.
Without bothering with the timing demon, Shiara triggered the destruction spell. "Forgive me, love," she whispered as he slumped to the floor.
Magic after magic flared incandescent around the living, the dead and the reborn. The room shook under the force of the spells. The pedestals tottered and toppled. The lanterns crashed to the floor and went out.
Amon-Set struggled to rise, but he did not have full control. The sceptre slipped from his hands and dashed into pieces on the shaking floor. All around them the magic grew in violence as forces contained past their time burst free at last.
And then, in a mighty explosion of magic, the roof fell in. Shiara screamed as she saw Cormac’s body crushed under a falling block. Waves of magic flayed her. Her last sight was of the brilliant blue glow. The after-image burned itself into her brain. Reflexively and in shock, she stumbled from the room.
Above her the top of the mountain blew off. A column of angry orange fire shot high into the smoke-stained sky and bombs of flaming lava arced down into the forest, setting fires where they fell.
Toth-Ra examined the great still demon carefully. Obviously the guardian had been neutralized in some manner. So far, so good he thought. He had the word and sign to pass the demon, stolen from the crypt of the League, but he was satisfied not to use them.
Let us see if anything of use remains here. He walked past the thing and inspected the cavern carefully. It did not take him long to find the coffer. When he opened it, he gasped. The heart of the demon lay within.
Toth-Amon smiled. Here was an auspicious beginning. Obviously the Council’s agents had beaten him here, but they were unlikely to know all the secrets of this place. There were still treasures to be gleaned while they attempted to unravel the mysteries.
Then the ground began to move under him. Toth-Ra ran to the mouth of the cave and reached it in time to see the mountain erupt, taking the treaures of Amon-Set with it.
Balked, he danced in fury. "Gone. Gone, ay, all gone," he shrieked.
No, he realized. Not all gone. There was still the guardian of the gate.
Heedless of the shaking earth or the erupting mountain he moved back across the magically marked threshold clutching the box tightly. Once safely outside, he released the demon.
"What is your name?" he asked sharply.
"Bale-Zur," the thing rumbled.
"And what is your virtue?" the wizard asked.
"To slay," the great deep voice boomed out again. "To rend and tear any whose true name has ever been spoken in the World."
Toth-Ra shivered. Here was power indeed! The treasure of Amon-Set might be consumed in fire, but at least one of his servants could be bound to his cause. He eyed the burning mountaintop carefully. Perhaps this one alone would be sufficient to make him the greatest in the League.
"And what is your desire?"
"To slay," the demon repeated. "To slay and slay again."
Toth-Ra placed both hands on the dusky globe. "Then I will bargain with you," the wizard said.
It was hours later when Ugo found Shiara wandering in the canyon above the boulder field.
"You live, Lady," the little wood goblin cried joyfully as he ran to her.
"Who?"
"Ugo, Lady. You set me to watch. Then bad things happen and I come to look." He stopped. "Where is other?"
"Gone," Shiara said dazedly. "Gone." Then she seemed to gather herself and held out her hand.
"Lead me, Ugo. Your senses are keen and between the night and the clouds I cannot see."
"Close to high noon, Lady," the little creature said sadly. "Sorry, Lady."
Shiara said nothing. Ugo approached her and gently took her hand in his.
"Famous victory," the wood-goblin said. "Bards will sing it long."
Shiara the Silver only laughed bitterly and let the goblin lead her down the smoldering mountain.
"And what happened afterwards?" Moira breathed at last.
Shiara the Silver raised her head from her breast and turned her blind, lined face to her questioner. "Afterwards?" She said simply. "There was no afterwards."
"Foolishness," grumbled Ugo, poking up the fire.
Eight
Forlorn Hope
The long golden days of Indian Summer dragged by at Heart’s Ease. Moira worked in the garden or the kitchen. Wiz chopped wood and mooned over Moira. If the tensions within the household did not ease, at least they did not to grow significantly worse.
There was always work to be done and the time rolled forward with everyone except Wiz fully occupied. But for all of them, except perhaps Ugo, there was a sense of being suspended. Greater plans and long-range decisions were set aside awaiting word from Bal-Simba and the Council on what was to be done with Wiz.
For Wiz everything depended on what the Council found. If he did have some special ability then perhaps he could redeem himself with Moira. At least he would be able to make himself useful and stop feeling like a parasite.