He didn’t like the way his counterpart complimented him, as if measuring Tyros for something in particular. That made the weary spellcaster think of Leot and the others. What had the mad mage needed them for?
“Valkyn,” Serene murmured, “at least let him recuperate inside.”
“Of course, my love, my serenity.”
The shadows dragged Tyros back into the sumptuous chamber, leading their prisoner past the unblinking gargoyles to a well-cushioned chair, where they deposited him. Valkyn walked over to a large decanter, poured a bit of wine in a goblet, then tossed the goblet to Tyros. The captive mage reacted instinctively, then cursed when he saw the wine glass drift gently through the air, not a drop of its contents spilling. He seized it when it drew near, but paused to look at the liquid before drinking.
“You’ll enjoy it,” the goateed mage urged.
Tyros had to admit that it was excellent, but that in no manner warmed him to his host. He felt like the fatted calf waiting to be slaughtered.
Serene had seated herself on the edge of a couch, her eyes shifting from one man to the other. Valkyn filled two more goblets, then joined her. The cleric drank from hers with as much enthusiasm as had Tyros.
“As you may have guessed, a Solamnic Knight built this castle.” Valkyn downed his wine. “A sad sort of fellow, I think, but he controlled great wealth. Have you noticed how few of our kind control great wealth? We generally find it for others, be they emperors, generals, or brigands. A minute share may go to us, but just as often we end up with a blade in our back. Not at all a fate worthy of a mage after so many years of study and effort. We should be the masters, not the lackeys.”
“And so you’ll conquer Ansalon and turn the world to your liking? You’ll do what Ariakas could not?”
“Eventually, although General Cadrio down below will take a more immediate hand in it. Cadrio is a bit unstable, but daring, a trait I like. Of course, if he should become a bit too ambitious, which often happens with military officers, I’ll replace him as simply as I can replace this.”
The goblet in his hand melted completely.
There was no warning, no slow process. The goblet melted as if suddenly made of warm butter. The softening metal dripped over Valkyn’s glove, yet did not burn or stain it. Valkyn opened his palm and let the molten metal fall between his fingers, creating a sizzling puddle on the rich floor. The shining puddle continued to sizzle, rapidly growing smaller. In just a few breaths, it dwindled to nothing.
For the first time, though, Tyros sensed some artifact or item of power hidden within his captor’s robes. It had flared during the spell that melted the goblet, but now had grown all but undetectable. Still, at least it gave him some explanation as to how Valkyn could seemingly perform endless magic.
“Serene thinks that you might be useful to me.”
Surprised, Tyros could think of nothing to say. Serene had thought he might ally himself with Valkyn? Surely not! He looked but could read nothing in her face.
“She says that you are ambitious and ever thinking of how to glorify yourself. She acknowledges your intelligence, but believes you use it only to better suit your station. You’re no villain, but neither are you a hero, which is why you wear the red, for lack of a more suitable color.” Valkyn folded his arms behind him and walked toward his counterpart, eyes very much alive with speculation. “It would be interesting to summon forth a second citadel so quickly. I already have most of what I need to do that.” Here he glanced at the cleric, who betrayed no emotion. “It would require one with ambition going beyond the archaic bounds of darkness and light to perform such a spell with me. You would fit the role splendidly, Tyros!”
It occurred to Tyros that Serene had likely suggested him in order to save his life. Certainly it would give the red mage the chance to discover Valkyn’s secrets. “I am flattered by your offer and would find it impossible to turn down even if I-”
Valkyn chuckled. “Did I say anything about actually offering you such a chance? I was simply musing about what might have been.” His smile turned cold. “Would you care to see how my creation works? How I’ve taken the design of the flying citadel and enhanced it?”
Tyros tried not to think of the spells involved in Atriun’s function out of fear that he would again suffer agony. Very carefully, and with the knowledge that he had no choice anyway, the captive replied, “I would be honored to see it.”
“Splendid! Serene, I think you should see this, too.”
Valkyn indicated that they should rise. The shadowy servants brought Tyros over to their master. Serene stepped to Valkyn’s side as the goateed mage reached into his robes to retrieve a wand with a crystalline sphere atop it. Tyros recognized the sphere as a smaller version of the ones in the tower.
Valkyn held the wand high and muttered something. Tyros caught one or two words of magic, but no more.
They stood now in a different room.
The shift came with such swiftness that it caught even Tyros unaware. With most teleport spells, one usually felt some sense of displacement, but Valkyn’s had brought them to their destination faster than the proverbial blink of an eye. What power did the other spellcaster wield … or rather, what power did the wand draw from? Tyros cut the thoughts short as his brain started to pound again.
“Valkyn, remove the spell!” Serene pleaded. “Can’t you see that it’s hurting him again?”
“Welcome to a place few have had the honor to visit,” the dark mage announced, completely ignoring Serene. “Once this housed villains caught in the province, but now it acts as the focal point of my research, my life’s work. Here I’ve turned theory into substance! Here I’ve taken magic to new directions!”
Tyros looked around. His eyes immediately widened.
Here stood the source of power for both Atriun and its master. Tyros had expected that it would in some ways resemble a Wind Captain’s Chair, but on a larger, grander scale. In this Tyros was not disappointed, for before them stood two massive white marble columns that stretched almost to the ceiling, their sides etched from top to bottom with runes. On top of each marble column stood a golden crystalline sphere of gargantuan proportions. Each of the spheres crackled with raw sorcerous energy. Yet more astounding, that energy continually passed between the two crystals, building in intensity.
Tyros’s head tingled, but this time he felt no pain. Despite misgivings, he marveled at how Valkyn had harnessed such energy, which clearly then transmitted to the tower above or the wizard’s wand. Little wonder that Valkyn had been able to raise a behemoth such as Castle Atriun; with the power that Tyros sensed, the dark wizard might have raised a citadel twice as large.
Yes, Valkyn of Culthairai had indeed created a magical marvel, a flying citadel that did not require the constant chanting and spell casting of several wizards and clerics combined, but one element of his design would forever ensure that in the end Tyros would feel nothing but disgust for it. That element now hung limp between the two high columns, wrists and ankles stretched apart by the manacles holding him in place. Once the tattered cloth the figure wore had been white and the body within had filled it to near capacity. Now the robe hung loose, its wearer only a thin shadow of his former self. He looked dead, but now and then the head moved back and forth.
Tyros had found Leot … or what remained of him.
He eyed Serene, who had grown pale. Surely she had never expected Valkyn could be the cause of such evil. Valkyn might have come but late to the robes of Nuitari, but he had earned them well. Tyros doubted that many of the dark order would have dared what this foul mage had.
Valkyn pointed at Leot. Another shadow servant drifted over from the right side of the room. Tyros glanced around and saw that at least four more stood ready. Where had they come from?