Pulling out a piece of red phosphorus from a pocket of his robe, Akabar began to chant in Turmish. The moment before the phosphorus ignited, the mage tossed it into the air and imagined a circle.
A curtain of flame surged up around the treant, trapping it. The wounded treant attacking Grypht was caught in the perimeter of the blazing wall. The creature bellowed, and its dead leaves ignited with a great whoosh, though the bark of its skin smoldered and would not burn.
The remaining treant backed away from the fire, and Grypht seized the opportunity to roll away from the monster’s feet toward Akabar. The southern mage spat out another spell and rushed forward to distract the treant so the saurial could escape. Instantly six images of Akabar, magical illusions, rushed forward beside him.
The treant wavered with confusion. It reached out to grab the mage, but its wooden hand closed on empty air, and the image before it blinked out of existence. The treant turned to grab another image.
Behind him, Akabar could smell the scent of Grypht’s spell-casting. Two flaming bolts shot between Akabar and his images. The fiery magical weaponry pierced the hide of the treant, setting its leaves alight, but its bark burnt little better than that of its companion.
Grypht picked up the Turmish mage by the waist, slung him over his shoulder, and made a run for the wall of saplings that surrounded them. The small trees were no match for nearly a quarter ton of angry saurial. The scaly wizard crashed through the oak saplings as if they were stalks of grass. It was several minutes before he stopped running and set Akabar down on the ground. By the light of the saurial’s staff, Akabar could see that the creature was badly injured. His breathing was labored, there was a gash in his armor frill, and his scaly face was lacerated and bruised.
Grypht handed Akabar his staff, and from the sleeves of his robe, he pulled out a strip of parchment, some white powder, and a ten-foot length of silken rope. He twisted the parchment strip once before moistening the ends and fastening them together with a dab of the white powder. Then he slipped one end of the rope through the twisted loop of paper, sprinkled it with the rest of the white powder, and tossed it into the air. The rope caught on something unseen and dangled before the saurial’s face, suspended from nowhere. Grypht continued to concentrate on the rope for another minute—extending the length of the spell, Akabar suspected—before motioning for the Turmishman to climb it.
Akabar handed Grypht’s staff back to him, spat on his hands, and pulled himself up the rope into the extradimensional space created by the saurial wizard’s spell. Grypht tossed him his staff, and then Akabar watched anxiously as the scaly lizard hauled his great bulk up the rope with his muscular arms. Once the wizard had reached the top and collapsed beside him, Akabar pulled the rope up behind them.
The space they found themselves in was white and empty. The two spell-casters, Grypht’s staff, and the rope were the only occupants of the dimension. It was a dull place, but safe—for as long as it lasted. Considering the power Akabar had seen the saurial wizard wield, the Turmishman estimated this dimension spell would last several hours. He turned to ask Grypht what they would do next, but the saurial was unconscious, gasping for air as if he’d been poisoned.
Akabar pulled away the treant vines that remained around the creature’s throat, carefully removing the suckers that appeared to be burrowing into the scales and plate protecting Grypht’s neck. Almost immediately Grypht began to breathe more easily, though he was still badly injured. One side of his body was scorched from being too close to Akabar’s wall of fire. The Turmish mage felt a twinge of guilt at having endangered the wizard, but he’d really had no choice. Mostly, Akabar suspected, Grypht was hurt from the beating he’d taken by the twisted treants.
The only thing to be done now, Akabar realized, was to let the creature rest and heal naturally. He hoped the saurial wizard would awaken before the extradimensional space dissolved, so they could return to Shadowdale without further incident.
Breck scowled across the ravine and cursed under his breath.
“What is it?” Alias asked, pulling her horse up beside the ranger’s mount.
“Damn magic trick!” the ranger growled. “The creature’s taken a dimensional doorway across. We’ve got to climb down the ravine and back up and pick up the search for the trail again on the other side.”
“Oh,” Alias replied softly.
Breck glanced at the sun, which lay low near the horizon. “There’s just enough light to make it to the other side before dark.”
“It’s an awfully steep slope for the horses,” Alias ventured.
“There’s a trail leading down. We passed it a few minutes back,” Breck said, turning his horse and urging the animal south, along the edge of the ravine.
Alias turned her own horse to follow the ranger. Dragonbait was nowhere in sight, but when she and Breck reached the trail leading down into the ravine, they discovered the saurial seated beside it, munching an apple.
Ignoring Dragonbait, the ranger scratched his horse’s neck and spoke some encouraging words into its ear. The horse started down the steep trail without the slightest balk. Alias’s mount followed the example set by the lead horse. Dragonbait stood up as they passed and followed along behind, tossing his apple core into the brush.
In the ravine, it grew dark before the sun had set, and Dragonbait took the lead. The saurial paladin commanded his magical sword to flame and carried it high, like a torch. The river at the bottom of the ravine was deep and swift, but fortunately the trail led to a rough wooden bridge across the water. They filled their water bottles and continued on. By the time they’d reached the top of the ravine again, the sun had set.
Breck passed the saurial and turned his horse back to the north.
“You’re not going to try tracking in the dark, are you?” Alias asked.
“There’ll be twilight for at least an hour yet,” Breck replied, “and the moon is full tonight.” He nudged his horse onward.
Dragonbait stood aside so Alias could follow the ranger. The swordswoman checked often to be sure Dragonbait kept up now that it was growing dark. Occasionally she looked down into the ravine, and on one such occasion, she spotted a light moving across the bridge.
Alias halted her horse and waited until Breck had moved out of earshot. Then she dismounted and grabbed Dragonbait’s shirt before he could pass her by.
“Who’s following us?” she demanded in an urgent whisper.
The saurial paladin shrugged.
“Who were you marking the trail for?”
Dragonbait looked at her blankly, but Alias wouldn’t accept his dumb animal look.
“Dragonbait, I can’t believe you’re treating me like this. Why don’t you trust me?” Alias asked.
Dragonbait stared down at the ground. He looked genuinely ashamed.
“Just tell me,” Alias said. “I promise I won’t get angry. Who is it? Olive? Nameless? Another saurial?”
Dragonbait signed five letters, spelling a name.
“Zhara!” the swordswoman shouted angrily.
You promised you wouldn’t get angry, Dragonbait signed.
“Zhara?” Alias asked more softly. “It can’t be Zhara. Mourngrym promised to keep her at the tower.”
Dragonbait signed that Zhara was a powerful priestess.
Alias scrunched up her forehead, considering the paladin’s words. She hardly knew a thing about the spells gods granted their priests. Healing and removing curses was all she ever considered priests good for. That Zhara could escape a guarded tower had never occurred to her. “Breck is going to be furious when he finds out,” she whispered.
He’s already furious, Dragonbait signed.