"It seems I have a wealth of visitors tonight." The archmage's eyes narrowed to malicious slits. "You, of all people, should have known better than to strike against me."
"I've revered you all my life!" Lyim gasped, struggling for air. "You're the greatest, most powerful mage to ever have lived. Why risk your position as Master of the Red Order?"
"The regard of lesser humans is this-" Belize spat viciously "-compared to gaining the magical knowledge of the gods."
With that, Belize checked the positions of the moons and hastily turned to plunge his hands into the ironbound chest. Slowly, as if lifting something of great value and fragility, he drew forth a swirling sphere of flame. The ball writhed between his fingers, twisting, flickering, uncontained by anything save Belize's will. With intense concentration the mage turned and extended his arms so that the ball of energy hovered between the stone pillars.
"What are we going to do?" whispered Esme. "He's preparing his portal."
Guerrand nodded, equally concerned with the bluing pallor of Lyim's complexion. If they could distract Belize, he might forget Lyim in his irritation…
"I have an idea that's certain to infuriate Belize," Guerrand said. "How's your shield spell?"
She grinned at the prospect. "Good as ever."
"Fine. It'll take me a few moments to prepare my spell. If you'll just get the dried peas from my pouch…" he said with a nod toward his useless arm. Esme slipped the peas into his hand, and Guerrand closed his eyes, struggling to recall the exact symbols of the seldom-used spell he sought.
Waiting with the words of her own spell at the ready, Esme watched Belize anxiously as the flickering globe he'd placed between the plinths flared angrily and swelled to twice its previous size. Its eerie light shimmered on the carved surfaces of the plinths.
Next, Belize drew a succession of vials and containers from the chest, tossing each into the swirling inferno while muttering arcane phrases and gesturing
in the air. The fiery globe grew steadily larger until its blue tongues licked against the gray stones. Its shape began to change, to flatten and stretch into an oval.
"Estivas nom," Guerrand pronounced at last to Esme's relief. A wall of fog, heavy and thick, appeared out of thin air and positioned itself between the archmage and the moons. Esme hastily called forth the invisible shield.
Belize whirled on them in a flash, his face as dark as a thundercloud. "Dispel the fog at once," he demanded.
"Do it yourself if you're so desperate to see the moons align," Guerrand jeered.
"I'll not waste time or energy on a spell. But I will send your friend through the unfinished portal." The invisible grip shook Lyim like a rag doll. "You've seen what happens then."
"Rand, don't do it-" Lyim gasped with great effort.
Guerrand and Esme exchanged a horrified glance. She gave a slight nod, and Guerrand immediately tossed the last of his peas into the air, summoning a gust of wind that blew the fog over the strait.
Belize threw back his balding head and roared with laughter. "Gullible rubes!" He raised his arm, and Lyim was yanked as if on a leash to the swirling ball of fire between the plinths. Belize plunged his apprentice's arm, right up to the shoulder, through the wall of whirling hues. Lyim screamed, struggling with the last of his strength to twist away, but the grip was unrelenting. Eyes bulging, he kicked and thrashed vainly against the invisible forces that held him and worked tortures on his arm.
Guerrand covered his ears, but still he heard the hideous scream, seeming to rise from Lyim's soul. The unbroken wail cut through the night, cut through Guerrand's nerves until he was searching his mind frantically for some spell that would help Lyim.
Then the torture was over. Suddenly released from the invisible grip, Lyim staggered back from the portal and collapsed unconscious from the torment he'd endured.
Both Guerrand and Esme looked at their friend's arm and gasped. The sleeve was shredded, revealing an appendage that was no longer an arm. Instead of flesh, the limb was a writhing thing covered in scales of brown, red, and gold, patterned symmetrically in rings and swirls. And at the end of the limb, where a hand should have been, was the head of a snake, its eyes inky black and malevolent. The hideous creature hissed and flicked its tongue.
Belize looked at the snake arm in relief. "These portals frequently contain the undead remains of centuries of unsuccessful adventurers," he explained conversationally. "They jump like starving fleas upon the first fresh traveler they meet. Your friend generously cleared the path for me."
Belize chuckled, a cruel, mirthless sound that lasted only a moment before he telekinetically flung aside Lyim's limp body to reach one last time into his ironbound chest. He pulled forth a thin, fragile book, opened it, and held it up to compare its drawing to the positions of the three moons above.
Following the mage's gaze, Guerrand could see that the "eye" seemed perfectly aligned: black shadowy circle, red, then yellow-white moons. At that precise moment, the swirling mass Belize had created between the plinths yawned open with an unbearable purplish light. The marble pillars seemed to throb in the portal's radiance. The effect spread swiftly outward until the entire plateau wavered and shifted like the deck of a ship. A column of twisting, intertwined white, red, and black light shot skyward and split into three cords, linking the carved marble pillars to each of the moons.
But proximity to such an awesome occurrence had frozen both students of magic. They were watching something indescribably ancient, a form of magic so old it had been forgotten long before the Cataclysm.
Guerrand's eyes followed the heavenly beam to where hundreds of bright white veins of light broke away and linked with the stars to form an interstellar suspension bridge, as if the light were tracing the outline of a whole new constellation.
Belize took slow steps toward the heavenly bridge.
"It's too late to stop him," Esme whispered, clenching and unclenching her fists in frustration.
"Not if I can still see him," Guerrand spat, shaking off his fascination so that he could visualize the sigils on the plinths. Once again he recognized patterns in what had been random scrawls. Beneath the light of the three moons, Guerrand pushed his mind harder than Justarius had ever demanded.
Under Guerrand's scrutiny, the sigils seemed to shift and twist and contort. Their relative order remained constant but suggested motion, coiling through a subtle progression of new configurations.
Understanding came to Guerrand with all the impact of an opponent's lance in the tilting yard. The pulsating lights, the swirling portal, the bridge were all woven from the same pattern, and Guerrand could read it as easily as a textbook.
But before the apprentice could use the knowledge, Belize took one last, calculating glance skyward, then stepped boldly through the curtain of color swirling between the pillars and onto the mighty, glittering suspension bridge of light that stretched to the moons. It rocked and swayed beneath his feet, but the archmage clung to the luminous railings and continued upward, a red streak against the dark, starry sky. He seemed almost to grow in size with each step that brought him nearer the Lost Citadel.
Guerrand raced to the plinths, as if he could pull Belize back with his bare hands. The view through the pillars looked more like a tunnel than an open-sided bridge. Belize was nearing the halfway point to the Lost Citadel, backlit by a glow more blinding than a thousand candles.
Guerrand closed his eyes against it, but the light burned through his lids and etched there a multisensory image. He would never know for sure if it actually happened, or if he'd conjured some mirage. But the vision felt more real, more vivid than his own life.