Three were nearly upon him, the fourth still several steps behind. Taking the keys had done it. Until then they hadn’t seen Tyros as a threat. Now, though, he endangered their master’s work. How terrible, Tyros thought, that these victims of Valkyn’s evil would now defend his monstrous device.
Tyros threw himself toward the columns just as pale, bony hands groped for him. He slid against one column, hitting his shoulder then colliding with the sword. Desperate, Tyros seized the blade and rose just as the first of the servants came at him. More out of luck than any hint of skill, the wizard shoved the tip of the blade into the torso of the murky figure.
With a raspy gasp, the cloaked form fell to the floor. Tyros stared at the black, thick substance dripping from his sword, momentarily feeling sick to his stomach.
One of the other ghouls seized his right arm. Tyros brought the sword’s edge down on the elbow of his attacker and watched in shock as the blade cut through, leaving the lower part of the limb still clutching him. Undaunted, the servant tried to grapple with his remaining hand.
Tyros managed to bring the sword across his foe’s neck. Black fluid, akin to molasses, dripped from the creature’s throat, some of it spattering Tyros. At last the shadow servant collapsed, still trying to maintain a hold on him.
Tyros shook off the limb still attached to him, then backed to the columns. He had been lucky so far, but the remaining pair would surely not fall so easy. Measuring the gap still between the hooded figures and him, the mage worked anxiously to unlock the manacles that held Leot’s feet.
His head throbbed dangerously as he worked, for Tyros couldn’t help thinking about what he hoped to accomplish. Leot was part of the mechanism. Without him, surely it couldn’t function properly. Valkyn’s spell would cease. All Tyros had to do was free the white mage’s body and remove it from the area of the columns.
Or so he hoped.
Finished with the lower manacles, the red wizard finally undid one wrist. Tyros caught Leot’s limp form as it tipped to the side. The energy passing between the two huge crystalline spheres seemed to lessen. Tyros tried pulling the corpse out from between the columns but couldn’t. He would have to undo the last manacle.
Caught up in his efforts, Tyros miscalculated the time he had remaining. He realized too late that one of Valkyn’s horrific minions had reached him. The macabre figure seized the hand that held the keys, turning the mage about. Tyros tried to attack, but the hooded ghoul knocked his sword away. As they struggled, the pair twisted around in front of the columns, Tyros’s situation quickly becoming more desperate. He tried to push the shadow servant into one of the marble columns, but the creature was too powerful.
Then a white arm wearing the remnants of a pale garment fell forward, wrapping around the shadow servant’s neck and pulling Tyros’s attacker back. Caught by surprise, the servant released his hold. Tyros stepped back, staring in shock as Leot held the guard tight, his arm squeezing. His friend stared sightlessly ahead, only the whites of his eyes showing. The drawn, wrinkled face bore no expression. Nothing indicated that anything of Leot remained, and yet Tyros could find no explanation as to why the seemingly limp corpse had moved to save him. Perhaps Tyros had just been fortunate. Leot’s reaction might have been the same if he had come too close.
And yet …
He had no more time in which to ponder his second rescue by the White Robe, for the last of the guards still sought him. Encouraged by what had happened, Tyros retrieved the Solamnic Knight’s blade and charged, thrusting with all his might. The hooded servant caught the blade with his pale hands, but momentum kept it going. Tyros pushed the blade into his adversary’s chest up to the hilt.
His foe dropped, trapping the sword in death. At the same time, Tyros heard a harsh cracking sound from behind him. He quickly turned, thinking the last of the shadow servants had freed himself, only to watch the ghoul slump, his neck broken by Leot.
Leot, too, slumped, as if this last effort had used up whatever hint of life remained. Tyros rushed to the other mage’s side, undoing the last of the manacles. He dragged Leot free, noticing only peripherally that the energy flowing between the columns had completely ceased. The spheres still glowed, but with less intensity than before. Still, the link had obviously been broken.
Not at all concerned at the moment with the consequences of what he had wrought, Tyros turned Leot over. The other wizard continued to stare without seeing. His chest did not rise and Tyros could feel no pulse.
“Leot? Can you hear me at all?” He knew the answer already but prayed he might be wrong. “Leot …”
The figure in white exhaled. The eyelids fluttered closed.
Tyros wished that he could bury or burn Leot’s body in order to keep it from any foul use Valkyn might think of. Yet the frustrated mage could do nothing for his friend now, especially considering that others still needed his aid.
With much reluctance, Tyros abandoned Leot in order to inspect the columns. The spheres glowed dimmer, but so far nothing else had changed. He had expected the citadel to continue to fly for a time, assuming that its creator would have thought of such a need. Even though Tyros despised the other mage’s handiwork, he had to admit that Valkyn had performed wonders.
One question of great importance remained for the red mage to answer. Now that he had disrupted the source of Valkyn’s great power, had he regained his own ability to cast spells? Tyros’s head throbbed, but that could be the results of his earlier efforts.
Tyros began to mutter the basic words to create an illusion of fire … and nearly fell to the floor as raging pain filled his head. Only by forcing himself instead to think of other matters-Serene’s safety, Bakal’s dangerous trek-did he keep from losing consciousness.
So Valkyn’s curse held, although it seemed weaker. Still, if Tyros couldn’t perform spells, that weakness hardly mattered. His only hope lay in Serene, who, as a cleric, might be able to overcome Valkyn’s sinister curse with a prayer to her god.
The sword remained embedded in the shadow servant’s chest. A search of the chamber revealed nothing worthwhile until the mage discovered what seemed to be another wizard’s staff, left almost without thought against the edge of one of the tables. Tyros hefted it, pleased to have the weapon but wondering if it would serve him. He didn’t have time to study what spells had been imbued in it, much less if they would work for him. Nevertheless, the unknown staff gave him something of a chance.
Weapon in hand, Tyros finally left the chamber. No one waited in the halls. Tyros listened but heard no sounds of alarm. Captain Bakal had not yet made his move, then.
The mage continued on, certain that at any moment he would confront a foe. Yet after several anxious minutes, he had seen only two gargoyles, and both of those were perched outside a window, their attention fixed on something beyond his view. Tyros hurried away from them, not caring what interested them as long as it kept the pair from noticing him.
He again followed Stone’s directions. The gargoyle hadn’t been absolutely certain which quarters Serene had been given, but he had believed that Valkyn would only assign her to one of two. Much to Tyros’s relief, both chambers lay near one another, which meant he wouldn’t have to search an entire section of the immense castle.
His good fortune seemed to end at last at the intersection of two wide corridors. There a figure shrouded in dark robes stepped around the corner just as he came from the other direction. Tyros managed to fall back immediately but felt certain that he had been discovered. Thinking quickly, the powerless spellcaster slipped into a nearby alcove, then waited, with staff ready, for the shadow servant to come.
A minute passed, then another, and still no one came.