Cal gave Seth a stern look, and Seth dropped the attitude.
“There are certain forbidden magicks in Aandor,” Lelani continued. “They are carefully monitored by wizard councils in every kingdom. I believe Dorn is taking advantage of the lack of oversight here to engage these taboo sorceries.”
“And he needs plutonium?” Cat asked.
“These spells are unique. They cannot be powered by normal means. They need irradiated elements-radium, uranium-as catalysts. These are accelerators and increase the magic’s potency exponentially.”
“But…,” prodded Cal.
“But they are unpredictable; unstable. The energies can get away from sorcerer’s control in the blink of an eye. Mages have killed thousands, entire villages, trying to harness this kind of power. No one has successfully tamed it. And this is with the elements we know of. We have no enrichment processes in Aandor. I have no idea how plutonium will react to magical energies. This world is in grave danger.”
“That’s just fantastic,” said Seth. “A psychotic megalomaniac has found a way to supercharge his magic spells.”
“Who is supposed to fight this guy?” Cat asked. “Didn’t you say you’re still just a student?”
Lelani looked at Seth.
Seth pointed at her accusingly. “No way!”
“It’s us and Rosencrantz,” Lelani explained. “You have to come up to speed and relearn how to wield magic. What we lack in power and experience, we must make up in numbers.”
Seth looked morbid at the prospect.
Cal took a deep breath and tried to look commanding. “We still have a mission to find the prince,” he said in his most confident voice. “He’s out there and in serious trouble. Dorn is trying to find him before we do. There are a few towns nearby. I’ll check their records to see what happened the night we all came through thirteen years ago. We also have the other members of our party waking up from their long sleep. Most will honor their obligations. We need to make ourselves accessible to them-help them. They will have families. Cat, I want you to come up with a strategy to help the guardians’ families cope with this disruption to their lives. You’re best suited for that. Once we find a trail, we’ll divvy up the tasks according to our resources at the time. We’ll figure out how to save the world along the way.”
Seth remained bothered by his role in Cal’s grand scheme. “I can’t fight wizards and dog-men,” he pleaded. “I just can’t.”
“You did fine last night,” Cal said, coming dangerously close to a compliment.
“I’m a pornographer,” Seth insisted. “I can’t save the world.”
Cal placed his hands on Seth’s shoulders. He didn’t know himself until he had done it whether he would thrash the young man or something else. Cat and Lelani became tense. Seth looked like he wanted to be punched… to be punished. Cal realized they’d had enough violence recently for a lifetime. He relaxed his grip and slid his hands down to Seth’s upper arms. He looked the boy in the eye, and with a gentle shake said, “You’ve just been promoted.”
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
“Let’s go,” Cal said with finality.
CHAPTER 20
Dorn retired to his bedchamber. Symian would live, but healing his contingent’s wounds had drained him. How much longer could he endure these delays-failures that kept them in this foul world.
The wind whistled along the panes like distant voices beckoning. He pressed his hands to his temple and squeezed to stay the growing pressure in his head.
Hard to think.
Dorn shot a panicked glance around the room. He was alone. At times voices spoke to him in fleeting whispers.
Dorn poured himself a glass of wine and downed it in one gulp. He gazed at the drained glass, studying it as the clear-violet film sloughed toward the bottom. Dorn ached for a refill, yet his trembling hands betrayed him. He cast the glass aside and took his wine straight from the bottle. The voices on the wind went silent; the pain and pressure subsided until only an ember of it remained-a promise of its return soon enough.
Something had happened to him in transit from Aandor to this place-barely noticeable at first, but growing more serious with time. If he had appropriate resources, he might have discerned the cause of his malady. One thing was certain, he was not getting better. The others seemed unaffected. That fact taunted Dorn-an affront in the face of his superiority over the half-breeds, dog-men, and swamp-dwellers he commanded. Even his heartless minions fared better than him. They could go on forever while his greatness faded away.
Time.
Yes, time was his enemy. If he accomplished his task soon, he could return to Farrenheil triumphant. There the knowledge to cure him of this malady awaited. Lara might even do it; she was a powerful witch, perhaps the most powerful on the continent. But if their task here took too long, he might not be in any condition to recreate the sorceries that brought them to this plane. Even in perfect health, he had concerns about his ability to execute such a transfer. Symian had talent, but Dorn did not trust him with that level of magical knowledge. It was bad enough the troll knew as much about sorcery as he did.
Rushing through that portal back in Aandor, unprepared and ignorant of the magicks being wielded, was a reckless act. The headaches reminded Dorn of this daily. He didn’t realize he’d be separated from his lover, his world, for so long.
Dorn took out the locket and gazed upon Lara’s image. Even despite the headache’s pull, the longing for her would not abate. He was bound to her. It was as though he suffered a second bane alongside the malady. The pressures came at him from all directions.
Find the boy.
He looked around the room again. Still alone. Was it his conscience speaking to him? Had it achieved some ethereal state, offering its disembodied counsel?
It was good counsel. Find the boy, return home a hero, heal what ailed him, and embrace his love again. But he had to tread carefully in this alien place.
Do we?
“What?” Dorn whispered.
Have to tread carefully?
Money kept questions and prying eyes to a minimum, but there were too many laws to transgress. The denizens were coded and catalogued-Social Security numbers; licenses for cars, weapons, the right to work, even to hunt and fish; lists to restrict denizens from flying on airplanes-one minor infraction in this paranoid kingdom could reveal that none of Dorn’s group had any measurable history. His greatness would not save him. Bernie Madoff, Martha Stewart, Michael Jackson; the populace here punished its nobility for mere bagatelles, for following human nature. This truly was a backward place.
“Too many rules,” he responded to an empty room. “Too many eyes and too many rules.”
You are great.
“Too many ways to run afoul of the powers that be. They’ll want my secrets of sorcery!”
Sorcery can subjugate your enemies.
“Too many to fight them all. Can’t find the boy if I’m in the dungeon!” Dorn spat.
The room spun. He didn’t remember how he ended up on the floor. His arms wrapped around himself. He began to rock to and fro.
“My lord?” came Oulfsan’s voice through the door.
“Let me be!” Dorn responded. Was he speaking to his lackey or his inner counselor?
Some secrets are worthier than others. Remember the satchel? The blood you spilled to claim its contents?
Dorn remembered the satchel.
Have you looked in it of late?
Dorn rushed into his bedroom closet and pulled out boxes from various clothiers in the city. He claimed the satchel that had been hidden behind the pile. He had trusted no one with its contents, so the bag had been with him the day he transferred to this world.
Dorn extracted two large scrolls from the satchel. Thick vellum parchments hung heavy over tarnished pewter rods with ornate ends prickly enough to tear careless skin.