Near her, Rom wore a befuddled look. Bereft of the means by which to speak to the wizard, he could only guess at Krasus’s end of the conversation and to what Vereesa’s responses might refer.
Rhonin is . . . fortunate, Krasus finally replied.
“If he still lives,” she nearly snapped.
Yet again, the wizard hesitated before answering. Why did he act as he did? Surely he did not care what befell Rhonin. Vereesa knew enough about the ways of the spellcasters, both human and elf, to understand that their kind ever used each other if given the opportunity. It only surprised her that Rhonin, who had seemed more clever, had fallen for this Krasus’s trickery.
Yes . . . if he still lives. . . . More hesitation. . . . then it is up to us to see what can be done to free him.
His reply completely startled her. She had hardly expected it of him.
Vereesa Windrunner, hear me out. I have made some lapses in judgment—for great concerns—and the fate of Rhonin is one of those lapses. You intend to try to find him, do you not?
“I do.”
Even in the mountain fortress of the orcs? A place of dragons, too?
“Yes.”
Rhonin is fortunate to have you as a comrade . . . and I hope to be as fortunate now. I will do what I can to aid you in this formidable quest, although the physical danger will be yours, of course.
“Of course,” the elf wryly returned.
Please return the talisman to Rom. I would speak with him for a moment.
More than willing to part with the wizard’s tool, Vereesa handed the medallion back to the dwarf. Rom took it and stared into the jewel. Occasionally he nodded his head, although clearly whatever Krasus said bothered him much.
Finally, he looked up at Vereesa. “If ye really think it necessary . . .”
She realized his words were for the wizard. A moment later, the glow from the jewel dimmed. Rom, looking not at all happy, extended the talisman to the elf.
“What is this?”
“He wants ye to have it for the journey. Here! He’ll tell ye himself!”
Vereesa took the object back. Immediately Krasus’s voice filled her head again. Rom told you that I wished you to carry this?
“Yes, but I do not want—”
Do you wish to find Rhonin? Do you wish to save him?
“Yes, but—”
I am your only hope.
She would have argued with him, but, in truth, the ranger knew that she needed aid. With only Falstad and herself, the odds already stood stacked against her.
“All right. What do we do?”
Place the talisman around your neck, then return with Rom to the others. I will guide you and your dwarven companion into the mountain . . . and to the most likely place where you might find Rhonin.
He did not offer all she needed, but enough to make her agree. Slipping the chain over her head, Vereesa let the medallion rest upon her chest.
You will be able to hear me whenever I wish it, Vereesa Windrunner.
Rom walked past her, already heading back. “Come! We’re wasting time, lady elf.”
As she followed, Krasus continued to talk to her. Make no mention of what this medallion does. Do not even speak around others unless I give permission. Only Rom and Gimmel presently know my role.
“And what is that?” she could not help muttering.
Trying to preserve a future for us all.
The elf wondered about that, but said nothing. She still did not trust the wizard, but had little other choice.
Perhaps Krasus knew that, for he added, Hear me now, Vereesa Windrunner. I may tell you to do things you might not think in the best interests of you or those you care about. Trust that they are. There are dangers ahead you do not understand, dangers that alone you cannot face.
And you understand them all? Vereesa thought, knowing that Krasus would not hear the question.
There is still a short period of time before the sun sets. I must attend to a matter of import. Do not depart from the tunnels until I give you the word. Farewell for now, Vereesa Windrunner.
Before she could protest, his voice had faded away. The ranger cursed under her breath. She had accepted the spellcaster’s questionable aid, now she had to obey his commands. Vereesa did not like at all putting her life—not to mention Falstad’s—in the hands of a wizard who commanded from the safety of his far-off tower.
Worse, the elf had just put their lives in the hands of the same wizard who had sent Rhonin on this insane journey in the first place . . . and seemingly left him to die.
17
At some point on the journey to where the orcs intended to keep him prisoner, Rhonin had collapsed back into unconsciousness. Admittedly, he had been aided in great part by his guards, who had used every excuse to hit him or twist his arms agonizingly. The pain of his broken finger had seemed little compared to what they had done to him by the time he blacked out.
Yet now, at last, the wizard woke—and woke to the nightmare of a fiery skull with black eye sockets smiling malevolently at him.
Sheer reflex made the startled wizard attempt to pull away from the monstrous visage, but doing so only rewarded Rhonin with more agony and the discovery that his wrists and ankles had been shackled tight. Try as he might, he could not escape the near presence of the demonic horror looming above him.
The fiend, though, did not move. Gradually, Rhonin fought down his horror and studied the motionless creature closer. Far taller and broader than the human, it wore what seemed flaming bone for armor. What he had taken for a sinister smile had actually simply been due to the fact that the demonic sentinel had no flesh covering its visage. Fire surrounded it, but the mage felt no heat. Still, he suspected that if those blazing skeletal hands touched him, the results would be very, very painful indeed.
For lack of any better thought, Rhonin tried to speak to the creature. “What—who are you?”
No reply. Other than the flickering flames, the macabre figure remained motionless.
“Can you hear me?”
Nothing again.
Less fearful and more curious now, the wizard leaned forward as best his chains would let him. Suspicious, he moved one leg back and forth as best he could. Still he received no response, not even a shifting of the head toward his moving limb.
As horrific as the creature looked, it seemed less of a living thing than a statue. Although demonic in appearance, it could be no demon. Rhonin had studied golems, but had never seen one before, certainly not one constantly ablaze. Still, he could think of it as nothing else.
The wizard frowned, wondering at the golem’s capabilities. In truth, he had only one way to find out . . . and, after all, the wizard needed to escape.
Trying to ignore his pain, Rhonin started to move his remaining fingers ever so slightly for a spell that would, he prayed, rid himself of the monstrous guard—
With astonishing swiftness, the fiery golem reached forward, seizing Rhonin’s already maimed appendage in a grip that completely enveloped it.
A searing fire engulfed the human, but a fire within, one that burned at his very soul. Rhonin screamed, then screamed again. He screamed long and hard until he could scream no more.
Barely conscious, his head slumped over, he prayed for the inner fire to either end or consume him utterly.
The golem removed its hand from his.
The flames within dwindled away. Gasping, Rhonin managed to lift his head enough to look at the horrific sentinel. The golem’s grotesque mockery of a face stared right back, completely indifferent to the tortures through which it had put its victim.
“Damn—damn you . . .”
Beyond the golem, a familiar chuckle made the hairs on the back of the mage’s head stand on end.