"Then it's agreed?" Taen asked.
Marissa nodded in agreement. Personally, she would take any chance to end this mission sooner, and she suspected that the others felt the same.
They did.
Within moments, each of them began their preparations. Marissa watched in fascination as Taen drew forth a pearl, which he then crushed beneath a heavy rock. Carefully, he gathered the crushed pearl fragments and poured them into a silver goblet.
"I need to uncover the command word to activate the portal," he said, obviously noting her interest.
"The spell I'm about to cast will take some time. You should probably rest a little bit more before we head through."
Marissa hesitated a moment before speaking. "Taenaran," she began at last, "about that conversation we need to have."
She had nearly lost him once on this journey; then their enemy captured her. Though this clearly wasn't the time for such a thing, the druid didn't want to waste another moment.
Taen stopped what he was doing at Marissa's words, stood up, and went to her. "I know," he said, drawing the slender tip of his fingers across her cheek. She shivered at his touch. "I've had that conversation a thousand times with you in my dreams," he continued. "We don't have the time now, but please understand that I do know."
Marissa felt his arms enfold her, and she yielded to that embrace. They held each other for a moment, a moment that she would have stretched into eternity if she had the power, before Taen kissed her lightly upon the lips and drew back gently.
"Now," he said, staring deeply into her eyes, "go get some rest. You're going to need it."
The druid nodded and walked toward a corner of the room, dazed by the memory of his lips upon hers. The warmth of their embrace remained with Marissa as she settled down in her makeshift bedroll. She was tired, the earlier torpor she felt spreading over her like the still waters of a mountain lake. When at last she closed her eyes, Marissa felt herself floating gently to the lake's bottom.
Restful sleep, however, eluded her. A series of violent visions hammered at Marissa while she dreamed. In them, she stood before the Red Tree, whose broad limbs lay bare, as if in midwinter. Its bark was desiccated, pitted and dried, hanging loosely upon its diseased trunk. The voices of the dead whispered around the twisted tree, and rich, dark blood welled up from the black soil.
Stumbling backward from the sight, Marissa could see the bodies of her companions, their bloated corpses hanging from the highest limbs, twisting in the chill wind. All at once, the tree's trunk began to split and tear with a loud cracking sound. A greenish shape began to emerge from the split trunk, headfirst like the birth of an abominable child.
Marissa recognized the face of the hag, leering out from the trunk, and she began to scream. Pushing herself free, the hag laughed at the druid's obvious terror and began to walk toward her. Pointing a sap-covered finger in her direction, the monster opened its horrifying mouth and said-
"Marissa, are you ready?"
The druid gave an awkward shout as Taen's voice lifted her from the tendrils of her nightmare. Sweat drenched her robe and matted strands of red hair to her face. She gazed around quickly, half expecting to see the hag hovering nearby.
"Is everything all right?" Taen asked, his concern for her obvious to hear.
Marissa nodded vigorously. "Yes," she said at last. "It was just a nightmare." Then she drew herself to her feet and began to gather her things. "Really," she said again when Taen hadn't moved, "I'll be fine."
When at last the half-elf had stepped away to activate the portal, she placed the small pack she carried with her upon her back. Arcane energy swirled around the magic portal, pulsing with newly awakened life.
Please, Rillifane, she prayed silently, guide our steps.
One by one, her companions plunged into the portal, disappearing in a flash of light. When at last she stepped through the mystic circle, Marissa sent one more prayer toward her god.
Protect Taenaran, she implored before arcane power consumed her.
The Old One screamed.
Yulda delighted in the foolish wizard's pain. The sounds of his agony mixed with the delicious sensation of power flowing into her, power that she sucked from the very depths of his spirit. He resisted-even now, after many months of captivity, the wizard fought her control. His will was strong, honed by decades of disciplined study and practice in the arcane arts, and it strained against the mystical bonds of her spell like a wild stallion refusing to break beneath his rider's skill. That was what made him so valuable-and dangerous.
Yulda wished that she didn't have to replenish her power quite so often. She trusted in her own skill and the demonic spell that drained the Old One's strength. Still, the procedure required all of her attention, leaving her little to spare for anything else. The hathran couldn't afford a lapse in concentration. If the damnable wizard slipped his bonds, she would lose a major source of power and be forced to deal with the combined anger of the wychlaran and the Old Ones. She wasn't ready for that.
Not yet.
The witch cursed her meddlesome "sisters" for interfering in her machinations. Dealing with those gods-blighted intruders and wrestling the secrets of the Staff of the Red Tree from her poor little captive was proving to be a far greater drain than she had anticipated. She hoped Durakh would be able to break the pathetic elf's will before too long. Even now, her forces were converging on the isolated villages and hamlets of Rashemen, killing and burning as they marched toward the country's heart. Once the battle was truly joined, Yulda would have to focus her attention on her advancing army. She would have little time to spend mastering the secrets of the staff.
The thought of her eventual victory sent a sweet chill up her back. Combined with the heady sense of imbued power, Yulda felt as if she were truly unstoppable. Soon all of Rashemen would be under her control. Then, perhaps, she would renegotiate her deal with those abominable Wizards of Thay.
Arcane energy crackled behind her, interrupting Yulda's ruminations. She felt, more than saw, the energy from the teleportation circle and couldn't suppress a sly smile. Durakh must have finally broken the mewling elf woman. She didn't even turn to greet the cleric, wanting instead to watch the Old One realize that she had defeated him.
Again.
"So, Durakh," the witch called out, "has the druid yielded-"
Fleshrender's mental warning stopped her midsentence. Durakh had not come through the portal. Yulda spun around, summoning her arcane power with a single thought.
"You!" she screamed and let loose a bolt of pure energy at her "visitors."
Chapter 27
The Year of Wild Magic
(1372 DR)
Taen's vision blurred.
The sudden wrenching of his body from one place to another threatened to overwhelm his senses. He shook his head briskly, as if the violent motion would snap everything back into focus. When at last he could see make out his surroundings, the half-elf saw that he and his companions stood in the midst of yet another cave-the starkness of its gray stone relieved by the glittering incandescence of tiny minerals that reflected the torchlight like thousands of stars strewn wildly by some mad god. Taen had only a few heartbeats with which to take in the undulating expanse of the small cavern before an angry growl caught his attention.
The source of that ominous sound-a rather large snow tiger peering intently at Taen and his companions-lay only fifteen feet from him toward the rear of the cave. Though the beast still reclined languorously on the floor, Taen could see its powerful muscles rippling softly beneath stark white fur-and something else. Despite the shifting light from the cavern's flickering torches, he could make out a faint illumination surrounding the tiger. The glow seemed somehow to soften the edges of the beast's outline, making it seem less than real. The half-elf was about to signal Roberc to rein in Cavan as the war-dog's muted growling reached his ears, but a woman's screeching voice interrupted him.