"No time," he bellowed. "Jump!"
Ducking just in time as a wraith swooped past, he called upon the magic of his star-shaped amulet and stepped between the dimensions a second time, arriving at the portal. He paused just long enough to observe Danifae suffer the same fate as Pharaun, her face blanching to a pale gray as the wraiths swept through her body. Meanwhile Pharaun had managed to dispatch another wraith with his dust?leaving his pouch empty.
Glancing up at a wraith descending through a tangle of exposed tree root, Valas suddenly realized something. The surface could be no more than a few paces above the ceiling. After a quick calculation of the time, he realized he had overlooked one of the most powerful weapons of all. He pointed up at the ceiling with one of his daggers?goring a low-flying wraith in the process?and shouted to Pharaun.
"There's daylight above?use it!"
"Ah!" Pharaun exclaimed, understanding instantly.
One hand darted to his pocket. He barked out a spell, flicking a pinch of seeds into the air. Even as he did, six wraiths dived down toward him and another four at Valas, eyes blazing. Then, like a cork being pulled from a wine bottle, a portion of the ceiling disappeared as the spell bored a tunnel through it. Daylight streamed into the vault. Valas had a brief glimpse of red eyes, streaking toward him less than a palm's breadth away?and the eyes were gone. Squinting against the glare of the shaft of light, he looked around the vault. The wraiths, driven off by the sunlight, had vanished.
He closed his eyes and breathed a deep sigh of relief. Then he glanced down at his sun amulet. The metal had lost its bright gold sheen. It was left a dull, lead gray. All of the rays were drooping.
Valas tucked the amulet inside his tunic, out of sight. It had done its duty.
So had he.
"I'm leaving," he told Pharaun and Danifae. "You two can stay and fill your pockets with treasure if you like."
He glanced down at the floor and saw the magic that had limned the portal in light had faded. No matter, he remembered where it was. As he stepped forward onto the portal, Pharaun, the vault?and Danifae, who had risen to her feet and was glaring at him with eyes that blazed more furiously than the wraiths' had?all disappeared.
The air around Valas was cooler and more humid, a welcome change from the vault's oppressive atmosphere of death and dust. He had the sense of enormous distance in front of him and a stone wall at his back. Shaking his head to clear the slight dizziness that traveling through the portal had produced, he saw Quenthel and Jeggred standing nearby on a narrow shelf of rock that was splattered with bat guano. Far below the ledge a vast, dark lake stretched as far as the eye could see, illuminated by beams of winter sunlight that shone in through crevices in the rock above. The ceiling of the cavern was high overhead, but even from a distance Valas could see the thousands of bats that clung, sleeping, to it. When dusk fell the air would be thick with them.
"Where's Pharaun?" Quenthel asked urgently, confirming Valas's earlier guess about himself and Danifae being little more than wraith fodder, in her eyes.
Jeggred, meanwhile, sniffed at the rock face, prodding it with a finger.
"We can't go back," he growled. "Pharaun didn't follow us?and we can't go back."
"Pharaun's still in the vault," Valas told them.
The vipers in Quenthel's whip gave Valas a baleful look.
"You left him?" Quenthel spat.
"Why not? The wraiths are defeated?no thanks to you," Valas grumbled?then realized he'd spoken out loud.
Stepping back a pace, he lowered his eyes, but the reprimand he'd expected did not come. Quenthel's whip was still in her belt, and her attention was entirely on the wall behind him. Her body radiated tension as she waited, silently staring at the wall, as if willing Pharaun to step through it.
A few moments later, Pharaun obliged by emerging from the portal, together with Danifae, whose legs were articulated normally again, Pharaun's spell having ended.
Jeggred growled softly at the mage, but Quenthel silenced him with a curt wave of her hand as she spotted the object Danifae held in her hands. It looked, to Valas's unschooled eyes, like a forked twig, plated in silver, but Quenthel seemed to recognize it at once.
"A wand of location," she said, holding out her hand in silent demand.
"It is indeed, Mistress," said Danifae, her face expressionless. "The rogues who were in the vault before us must have dropped it."
She handed the wand to Quenthel, bowing her head.
Quenthel stroked Danifae's hair in what Valas, had he not known Quenthel as well as he did, would have taken to be a sign of affection.
"At last, Danifae, you've proven your usefulness. This will make finding the ship of chaos much easier."
So fixated on the wand was Quenthel that she missed something that Valas did not: the look on Pharaun's face. Once again, the Master of Sorcere was plotting something. Valas, neither wanting to know nor caring what it might be, turned away and stared, brooding, out at the lake. Then, spotting something in the distance with his keen eyes, he stiffened.
"What is it?" Pharaun asked, peering in the same direction. "More wraiths?"
Valas shook his head, and pointed to a distant spot where bats were frantically circling above a disturbance in the water.
"Something's stirring up the bats. . something big. And it's headed this way."
Chapter Twenty-nine
Ryld trudged along the open, treeless plain, following Halisstra's trail. She'd forbidden him from accompanying her, saying the quest for the Crescent Blade was something she had to undertake alone?but she hadn't forbidden him from following her. Not in so many words.
And so he'd bade her farewell when she left Eilistraee's temple, then set out after her as soon as she was out of sight. He'd been able to trail her closely during the three days she'd traveled through the forest, but when she struck out across the Cold Field, he'd been forced to fall back and follow only under cover of darkness. Even with his magical piwafwi there was no way for him to hide on the flat, featureless plain in full daylight.
He followed the faint traces of Halisstra's passage: a blank spot on the frosted ground where a pebble had been kicked out of place; a patch of lichen that had been scuffed off a rock; and a concave fragment of bone, recently kicked over, the frozen dirt clinging to its underside still fresh.
Flicking the fragment of skull aside with the toe of his boot, the weapons master stared across the desolate landscape, looking for Halisstra. As far as he could see the frozen ground was studded with crumbling pieces of bone, rusted lance heads, shield bosses, and chunks of chain mail so rusted the links had fused into a single, solid mass. It was as if the remains of the armies that had fought there centuries past had been seeded into the ground in the hope that they would one day rise again. Yet nothing grew there, save for a few faint traces of lichen on those rocks that hadn't been melted to slag by the fiery breath of dragons.
A bitterly cold wind began to blow, plucking at the ends of Ryld's piwafwi like the ghosts of the dead. Shivering, he peered nto the gloom, searching for Halisstra. She must have still been far ahead of him; he couldn't see her. Ryld wondered if the ground had swallowed her up, just as it had the fallen armies, then he realized his nerves were getting the better of him. That was the way of the place, though. The combination of the moldering death beneath his feet and the vastness of the sky above him made him feel vulnerable, exposed. If the dead truly did walk that barren landscape, there was nowhere to make a stand against them?no cavern wall to place his back against.