Lapping, splashing waves on the surface were faintly audible as the globule sailed high overhead and away again. "Zel-" "Better not mess with that one!" crowed Zel, his finger finding yet another object. A slab of transparent glass about twenty paces long and half as wide tumbled below them. As it spun, Warian caught a sudden whiff of carrion, different from the rotten odor he'd smelled earlier. Caught in the slab's center, like a fly in amber, was a monstrous humanoid creature apparently formed of moist earth. Its legs were short and thick, and its arms tapered to bony claws. Teeth, rotting scraps of cloth, and bone shards protruded here and there from the muddy flesh.
A dirt-encrusted skull provided the creature with a leering grin. The slab whirled away into the dark. Warian grabbed his uncle's shoulder to get his attention. "We should get out of here before Sevaera, or whatever's riding her, decides to come through." "Aye, I suppose. Hey, look!" Zel pointed along the path in the direction of the wavering curtain Warian had seen when he'd first arrived. "Uncle!" Warian recalled that Zeltaebar's reputation for exasperating dillydallying was well earned. Zel said, "No, no… I see something, something important. Sort of looks like a spire. A tower, maybe? But it's all hazy, like I'm seeing it through water." Warian followed his uncle's gaze down the path. He suddenly realized that the wavering curtain wasn't completely opaque. A grand tower wavered and danced as if behind a heat shimmer, as if it were a mirage. The stone road arrowed for miles across the dark, directly into an elegantly arched gallery that protruded from the half-real structure. Hundreds of secondary spires rose from the enormous, many-windowed edifice. Terraces, outside galleries, open stairs, and sealed doorways studded the structure's sides, barely visible through the shimmering veil. The base of the tower fell into invisibility far below. "Do you think that's where the chief puppeteer lives?" wondered Zel. "Yeah." "Maybe Sevaera didn't follow because she didn't have to. Whatever possessed her lives there." Zel pointed at the shimmering behemoth. "Possibly."
They gazed at the vast structure and the narrow path that led toward it. Warian looked the other way, hoping to spy something that would offer better hope. In one direction, the stone path plunged onward, span after span, narrowing across the leagues to a single point-a point that appeared to promise eternity. The other route, encrusted with crystal, led only to the nearby blob of dark stone, with its cracks revealing the crystal riches inside. "Maybe we should check out the jumbo geode first." Zel rubbed his hands and picked up the iron bar he'd carried with him through the portal. After a moment's consideration, he dropped the bar and took up an abandoned pickaxe instead. "This stuff is pretty valuable. We wouldn't have to make artificial parts out of it," he said, and walked toward the cart and scattering of tools. "Phew, something really stinks over… oh."
Warian walked cautiously down the path, across the mined-out crystal.
The source of the rotting odor lay in the mining cart. A half-orc was stuffed into the cart, obviously dead. The half-orc wore miner's dungarees, and its hoary skin was filthy with dirt and crystal dust.
Warian was startled when he saw a crystal pendant hanging around the orc's neck. Burn marks scorched the flesh around the crystal, as if it had overheated and cooked the orc completely through. Then Warian realized that the crystal itself seemed charred, and was obviously cracked. He gazed intently at it, but could detect no glimmer of light swimming in the pendant's depths. "I can't figure what killed him,"
Zel said, his hands on his hips as he gazed into the open cart. "His amulet." "Aye, that's obvious. I mean, why?" Warian shrugged, at a loss. "Maybe the 'puppeteer,' as you put it, couldn't control the miner well enough without a prosthesis, and just killed him with some sort of magical overload." "Is that possible?" "How should I know?"
Warian kicked at the cart. "I don't know how Shaddon-or the puppeteer-is able to control people through Datharathi crystal."
Warian froze for a moment. A worrying thought struck him as his eyes skimmed the fields of mined and virgin crystal that encrusted the stone road. "Uncle, why aren't we dead?" "Because we're smart, we're quick, and…" "No, look! Crystal everywhere-the perfect vessel for controlling minds, right? We've seen that it only manifests in this damned stuff." Warian waved his hand down the stone lane, thickly encrusted with the pernicious material. Zel rubbed his chin. "Well, you have an arm made of it, and so far you seem to be immune to its influence…" "Yes. Shaddon made it before he found the portal. I just assumed that all the crystal on this side of the portal was corrupt." Zel shook his head. "Maybe only if it's brought into the real world?" "I wonder." He thought about Shaddon's claims. "Or, maybe the crystal must be prepared in a particular fashion-and my arm wasn't. Nor is this raw crystal. It hasn't been mined and worked by Shaddon, who made it susceptible to outside influence so he could serve his own purposes." "Could be. Or perhaps the puppeteer is just toying with us." Zel peered down the path where the crystal gradually thickened to form the irregular bulb of cracked stone. Warian looked back and forth between the irregular boulder and the wavering tower.
Out of nowhere, a searing flash dazzled his eyes. "… eretu dmaadar grethalsa od favara!" a loathsome voice broke upon them. Blinking, Warian looked ahead, behind-and then up. Sevaera's head, sans body, floated above them, dripping blood. It was nestled in a penumbra of writhing shadow. The puppeteer had killed Sevaera and was using her head as a malefic vehicle. "No…" pleaded Zel, his jaw dropping open. The despicable voice repeated its imperative in a language unfamiliar to Warian, then swooped. Warian lifted his crystal arm to cover his face. He tried desperately to trigger its latent power. And he failed. He was too drained-he couldn't forge the link! The disembodied head swooped and butted Warian in the chest. A sledgehammer couldn't have struck harder. Warian pitched sideways off the path, his body twisting in midair, his arms flailing for a grip.
He caught himself on the edge, the crystal digits on his right hand more hindrance than help. The flesh and blood of his left hand absorbed the cruel sharpness of the ledge. The weight of his body threatened to peel his fingers from their purchase. He looked up, but the stone path blocked his view of what was happening above him. But he could hear. Zel cursed, repeating "bastard!" over and over in a crazed voice. He heard the sound of metal on bone-had his uncle connected with his pickaxe? "Draka ni dornu dmaadar!" screamed the vile voice, just out of sight. "Bastard!" his uncle yelled again. His pinched, manic tone implied a break with sanity that wouldn't come as much of a surprise. Warian strained, trying to pull himself up. A finger slipped. It was all he could do to hold on. "Zel," he cried.