A beam of orange light as thick around as an ogre emanated from the tower through a hole in the top of the cupola. The orange beam shot toward the ceiling and cast the entire cavern in soft orange luminescence. The light caused Cale to squint with minor discomfort but didn't burn like the sun, steal his powers like daylight, or take his hand as a tithe.
When the beam reached the ceiling, it spread out and dispersed into ten thinner beams that wove amongst the stalactites like veins. In turn, each of those separated into ten still thinner beams, and so on until the threads became so tiny as to be invisible. The entire chamber was roofed by a lattice of power, and Cale had no doubt that the lattice extended its invisible grasp into Skullport's chamber, buttressing the stone, preventing it from collapsing of its own weight. They must have been nearer to Skullport than he'd thought.
"That tower is the hidden chamber where the Skulls lair," Cale said, realizing the truth even as the words passed his lips. "It must be the source of their power. Azriim has lured the Skulls away from their secret chamber and the source lays exposed. He wants to use the Weave Tap to somehow drain the tower and the web of energy. .. perhaps even destroy it."
Jak let out a long, low whistle. Riven and Magadon remained silent.
Cale realized that if Azriim was successful, it would result in a catastrophe for Skullport-a catastrophe for Varra.
"We can't let it happen," he said.
"The rock must have shifted over the years," Magadon observed. "This tunnel must once have been at ground level."
Cale nodded and said, "Or it could be just as likely that this corridor was once attached to the upper levels of a soaring tower."
Roads spanning the sky had not been uncommon in that city. Cale could sense it. The magical skill evidenced by the spire suggested to him that the ruined metropolis, that even Skullport, had once been places of grandeur. He wondered at the true origin of the Skulls.
Putting the awe out of his mind, he eyed the ruins below, searching for any sign of the slaadi. He did not see them.
"We need to get to that spire," he said. "The slaadi must be heading there. That spire is the origin of the lattice, and that's where Azriim will use the Weave Tap."
As though affirming his words, the shadows leaking from Weaveshear floated into the air and across the cavern toward the spire. The height at which the companions stood was about two-thirds of the way up the tower.
"Teleport us there, Cale," Riven said.
Cale shook his head and replied, "I can call upon the shadows only infrequently. I can shadowstep often, but teleport only rarely. The slaadi, on the other hand have no such limitation with their teleportation rods. Likely, they're already inside the cupola. We need another way."
Cale ignored the look of satisfaction in Riven's eye, and realized then that the assassin cared more about being Mask's second than he did about stopping the slaadi. He didn't have time to give it further thought.
"Look!" Jak said, pointing at the tower.
The slaadi emerged from around the back of the tower, loping up the crystalline staircase for the cupola. The largest of the three hobbled along with a limp.
"Why didn't they teleport into the cupola?" Magadon asked of no one in particular.
"The magic of the tower must interfere with transport magic of that kind," Cale said. "They probably teleported to near the tower's base. We weren't that far behind them and yet they're already halfway up the tower."
"I can get us there," Magadon said. "Without magic."
Cale turned to face the guide and asked, "What can you do?"
Magadon, already drawn and haggard from all of the psionic energy he had expended in recent hours, said, "Attune our bodies to the air. We'll be able to run above the city to the tower."
"Dark," Jak whispered.
"What will you have left?" Cale asked him.
Magadon shook his head and replied, "I'll drop the mindlink. But still, not much."
Cale took only a moment to decide.
"Do it."
Magadon nodded and held his left hand to his temple. A dim white light originated at the crown of his head and spread downward until it sheathed his entire boy. There was a sound like the whoosh of a wind. Magadon touched each of Cale, Riven, and Jak in turn, causing a similar light to limn their bodies, eliciting a similar sound.
"Now," Magadon said, and the light flared.
A tremor ran the length of Cale's body. He felt lighter, as ephemeral as a spirit. The white light rapidly diminished to nothingness, but the feeling of insubstantiality remained.
"Walk on the air as though it's solid earth," Magadon said. "Vertical movement is controlled by your mind. Imagine stairs or a ramp as you run, and you'll move up or down."
Without another word, the guide stepped off the corridor's edge and into the open air. Jak audibly gasped, but instead of plummeting to his death, the guide stood suspended on nothing.
Cale took a deep breath and followed suit. The air felt spongy under his feet, but solid enough. He could see the ruins of the city far below and had to fight down a wave of dizziness.
He said to Riven and Jak, "Come on."
They did, and when all four had tested the air, they turned and ran across the sky for the tower. Magadon and Cale led. Jak and Riven followed hard after.
With nothing but air and orange light around him, Cale felt exposed, visible. He yearned for the comfort of shadow. He toyed with the idea of making himself invisible but saw no point. He could do nothing to hide his comrades, so he would stand with them.
When they had made it halfway across the city, the biggest of the three slaadi-Dolgan-saw them. The fat slaad, wobbling on his wounded leg, made an obscene gesture in their direction and shouted to his fellows.
The creatures were almost to the cupola. One more twist around the tower and they would be at the top.
Cale could see Azriim's fanged grin, even from that distance. An itch manifested deep in the base of Cale's brain, an itch that became a whisper, then a voice.
It is my pleasure to see you again, Azriim said into Cale's mind. Unlike the feeling elicited by Magadon's mindlink, the slaad's psionic touch felt greasy, hostile. You are a persistent creature.
I'm going to kill you, Cale projected back.
Hardly a novel plan for you, priest, Azriim replied with a mental sneer.
The slaad broke the contact and spoke to his fellows. As one, the three slaadi pointed in the direction of Cale and his companions, each mouthed an arcane word, and fired three pea-sized orange balls from their outstretched palms.
"Cover!" Cale shouted, and immediately realized how foolish the exclamation sounded. ,
They were running across the open air. There was nowhere to hide.
He turned, grabbed Jak, and threw himself face down over the halfling as orange fire exploded in their midst. He prayed that Magadon would survive the blast, knowing that if the guide was killed, their ability to walk on air would cease.
One ball of flame exploded, then another, and another. The blistering air rushed past and over Cale. Jak hissed against the pain. The heat and flames enshrouded them. Cale grimaced against the expected agony but the pain did not come. His shadowstuff-suffused body resisted the spells of the slaadi and sheltered Jak from the worst of the blast. Cale waited for the fall to come, his heart in his throat.
The air remained as solid as earth under his boots.
He climbed to his feet, pulling Jak up by the cloak. The halfling already had his holy symbol in hand and he began to chant.