Lady Polaris walked parallel as the flayed mage was hoicked off her naked buttocks and dragged along the floor, wailing in agony. "And do you know the most delicious part, Syssy? When someone imagines a hell, they conceive what they themselves fear! This will be the perfect place for you, your worst dreams come true, and you'll have a whole year to explore your own creation!"
She caroled the last, for Sysquemalyn, dragged on skinless fingers that left a bloody trail, had been dragged wholly into the slot.
With a pop, the portal snapped shut.
"Candlemas."
The podgy mage jumped as if jabbed with a spear, for all his mistress's quiet tones. Sweat ran off his bald head, trickled out of his beard. Off to one side, Sunbright wished he were somewhere-anywhere-else. At least he'd had a chance when fighting fiends.
"Don't fret, child. I'm not angry at you-much." The lady paced back and forth, from table to window and back, a sign she was already eager to move on to other pursuits. Perhaps the worst was over, the two men hoped. "No, I'm pleased with your performance, overall. You recovered the book from Wrathburn's hoard, and it pleases me."
Reaching into a black sleeve no larger than a sock, she extracted the massive book with the ruby-studded cover, the tome of ancient, magical lore of some lost race. Sunbright recalled he'd collected that book, but he kept the information to himself.
Casually she dropped the book on a window ledge, then continued pacing, the men tracking her movements with the sick fascination of a wounded bird watching a cat. "True, you were foolish enough to abet Sysquemalyn in her inane wager, but gambling is a curse of the Netherese, and we'll chalk you up as having been led into temptation. And you kept her from committing worse sins, I suppose, so we'll excuse your part. And besides, I can't expel both my chamberlain and steward, or there'll be no one to run my estate. So, as a reward, I'll forward you some scrolls and divinations that will let you exploit some higher resources previously denied you."
All this time, it seemed, Candlemas hadn't breathed. He sucked air now as if unable to believe his good fortune. Not only had he not been crushed like an insect, or worse, but he'd been rewarded with access to superior knowledge. Perhaps, if he absorbed it correctly, he could step up a level and become an archmage himself. It was more than he could have hoped for, and it made him dizzy… and wary of his dangerous, unpredictable mistress.
So his head jerked as she finished, "And please remember, dear 'Mas. A wise master-or mistress-treats his servitors well."
Candlemas had to swallow to get out the words, "Yes, mistress. I'll remember."
"Good." The archmage propped her hands on the windowsill and raised herself on tiptoes, like a little girl, to see around a tower of the castle. "Now get back to work, for there's much cleanup left. I believe there are at least a dozen dead bats littering the wine cellar and poisoning the well. And we've lost our chamberlain to her little dollhouse, so you'll have twice the work to keep you out of trouble. Go now, and attend your chores."
"Yes, mistress!" Scrambling off his fat backside, churning his chunky legs, the mage left dust spinning in the air as he ran for the doorway and down the corridor.
Lady Polaris sniffed, rubbed the end of her nose, then turned and gathered up the ancient tome. Hefting it as if for an evening's read, she started for the door, striding as elegantly as a deer.
Greatly daring, Sunbright cleared his throat.
Was it with a flash of irritation that Lady Polaris paused and regarded him? Certainly her voice was cool. "Oh, yes. What are we to do with you?"
Sunbright wasn't even sure the question was addressed to him, or if she were simply thinking aloud. But he spoke out boldly. "If you please, send me back to the surface. I've been too long below and above it."
A white eyebrow arched. "You wish no other reward?"
The barbarian almost sighed with exhaustion, both physical and mental. But he bit his tongue, careful to show nothing that could be conveyed as disrespect. Like an animal hunted to its lair, he could only beware and hope. "No, milady."
A shrug. "Done." The eyebrow arched in his direction.
The world spun for a second, a stone ceiling replaced by blue sky replaced by a mountaintop replaced by pine branches. Sunbright had thrown his hands to the side to grab hold and now clutched pine needles. Blinking, he sat up, making sure Harvester was safe at home in its sheath. If he had his sword, he had all he needed.
Except, upon finally finding himself alone and safe once more, he remembered the ache in his breast, as if his heart had been removed.
He was alone, because…
"Wait!" Suddenly his brain was clear and throbbing, and he shouted a name at the sky. "What about Greenwillow? Milady! Please, if you can, bring back Greenwillow! Please!"
Only echoes returned.
After a while, his voice cracking in grief, the barbarian collapsed and knew no more.
Far below human trouble, deep in the crust of Abeir-Toril in a cavern that had never known sunshine, a clutch of upright cones poised on stinger tails that were as hard as diamonds. The creatures were agitated and often whirled in place, as if eager to be away, somewhere, anywhere. That they could not go where they wished was their reason for gathering.
Lost. Two more of us, gone.
Dead forever.
And not even our magic can re-form them.
Magic is too much for humans to handle. They do not understand it and never will.
We must wipe them out before they spread too far.
I suggested that centuries ago, but no one listened.
We're listening now.
Too late.
Too late for us, then.
Returning to my suggestion…
That again?
Gentle beings, we've just witnessed the worst magic-storm in our history. It occurred far below the surface, farther than humans and other spined ilk have ventured before, and killed two of our tribe. Magic seeps downward, and the humans expend it like rainfall. Soon there will be no room for the phaerimm. We can perch here and bewail our fate, but words accomplish nothing. Nor has anyone offered a good suggestion.
Our lifedrain has weakened the humans' hold on the earth and generated instability. The lowest masses, the workers, will rise against their masters on the day the last loaf is eaten. Even the high Neth begin to grasp that. As pressures build from below, like a volcano, and resources grow shorter, the strain will tell in the upper levels of their society. Let us contribute to that pressure rather than seek to avoid it, as we cannot. To undermine the Neth, to stir up their magics as tornadoes stir the atmosphere, will force them to expend more. Let them burn bright and hot, and extinguish that much quicker. Let us heap fuel on their fires!
Fight fire with fire, as humans say?
Yes, until the inferno overtakes them.
And we take what is left, which will be next to nothing?
We take what remains, true. But now even the earth is not our own.
I am in agreement.
I, too.
And I.
So say we all, then. Heap magic on their heads until it burns them.
Where do we start?
Chapter 18
"Sunbright!"
The barbarian whirled to peer at the darkness and aimed Harvester at the voice. This was no cave, but an old mine, cut square and pillared, but with a very low ceiling, scarcely the height of a dwarf. Sunbright didn't like the looming confinement, but he'd endured worse. The gray-square exit was no more than thirty feet behind him.
And before him…
"Greenwillow!"
The half-elf stood farther on in the darkness, her pale skin almost glowing in the dim, reflected light. She stood tall and proud, but with her arms held before her enticingly. Sunbright could see every feature plainly: her peaked eyebrows, slanted green eyes, pointed ears, slim neck. She wore only a thin sheath made of some clinging fabric the color of spring leaves. Her statuesque beauty and slim, curved body set the warrior's heart racing.