As the shards connected with each other, the lid seemed to draw more energy from the satchel, and the crystal restored itself at an ever-increasing pace. Still, the process seemed to take forever, and Agis began to worry that Mag’r would discover his error before the pit sealed itself.
At last, the final sections of the lid connected to each other and formed a complete ring around the edge of the pit. About the same time, a muffled roar of rage rumbled out of the hole, and Agis knew that the sachem had reached the bottom. A distant rattle began to echo up from the pit, presumably as Mag’r angrily searched through the ancient bones covering the floor. It was followed a moment later by the vicious shrieks and roars of wild animals, and the giant’s pained howls began to echo up from the depths of the abyss.
Mag’r’s voice began to grow louder, and the noble knew that his captor was climbing up from the depths. Agis watched helplessly as the crystal ring expanded inward, closing the pit’s entrance at the pace of a stone-worm. Soon, the sachem’s curses became intelligible as he swore at the animal spirits pursuing him. The opening to the pit remained large enough for an angry Joorsh to push through, and there seemed no possibility that it would close in time to save Agis.
“You’ll die slow, you little trickster!”
Through the opening below, Agis could see the giant’s plump head weaving its way up through a tangle of crystals just a few yards below the lid. The sachem’s eyes were burning with hatred, and a pale swarm of bones was swirling around his ankles. Mag’r thrust one, then two hands through the opening and tried to pull himself out.
His hands began to pass back through the crystal, much as Agis and his companions had sunk through it earlier. Mag’r cried out in alarm, trying to move his hands so he could renew his grip on a more solid surface. His efforts were in vain, for his fingers were already caught deep inside the crystal.
“Brace your feet, or you’ll fall and end up like Fylo!” Agis called. “Then be patient. One of your warriors is bound to find you sooner or later.”
Mag’r did not take the noble’s advice, choosing to glare up at him instead. “You’ll never leave the island!” he hissed. “My warriors-”
The giant’s hands passed through the bottom side of the cover, bringing an abrupt end to the threat. Mag’r plummeted into the darkness, his screams ringing off the walls of the abyss. A moment later, his voice fell abruptly silent as the crystal lid sealed the opening through which he had tried to climb.
The sound had barely died away when a familiar, antagonistic voice sounded from Fylo’s direction. “Well done. I didn’t think you were that smart,” said Wyan, rising into view from behind the unconscious half-breed. He began to drift toward Agis, his eyes fixed on the stream of shimmering energy pouring from the mouth of Tithian’s satchel. “Am I to take it that it was the Oracle’s power that sealed the pit?”
SIXTEEN
THE SHADOW VIPER SAILS
To Agis, the gnawing sounded like a faro-rat clawing at the stones of a thorn silo-though he stood to lose something far more valuable than a few bushels of needles. Each time Wyan’s teeth closed on the rope, the resulting vibration grew increasingly sharp. It would not be long before the line snapped, plunging the noble headfirst onto the crystal pit’s pellucid cover.
“Letting me drop will do you no good,” Agis warned.
The noble struggled to hold back the black curtain of unconsciousness. Even without the burden of a broken arm, he had been hanging upside-down, sweating in the sun, for too long. His dehydrated body was near the limit of its endurance. No matter how accustomed he was to pain, the time would soon come when he simply fainted.
Wyan stopped chewing, then drifted down to look into the noble’s eyes. “If you don’t want to drop, give me Tithian and the Oracle.”
“What makes you so sure I have them?”
“I’m no fool,” replied Wyan. “I saw what happened when you opened the satchel. The magic of the Dark Lens spilled out to repair the crystal lid. And if the Oracle’s in there, Tithian must be, too. He wouldn’t let himself be separated from it.”
“That may be,” said Agis. “But I’m taking him and the Oracle back to Tyr.”
“You’ll find that difficult with a broken neck,” countered Wyan. He started to drift upward.
“Wait!”
The head opened his mouth in the parody of a smile. “Change your mind?”
“No,” Agis said, locking gazes with Wyan’s colorless eyes. “But I’m sure you’ll change yours.”
As he spoke, the noble created a mental image of a carrion-eating kes’trekel, and a surge of energy rose from deep within his body. He sent the gray-feathered raptor sailing toward his tormentor. Agis felt a slight tingle as the probe left him, then he saw its ragged wings flash against the gray irises of Wyan’s eyes. In the next instant, it disappeared into the darkness beyond, carrying with it a part of its creator’s intellect.
Agis was astounded by what he found. The interior of Wyan’s mind was the most desolate thing he had ever seen, a vast plain littered from one end to the other with the corpses of tiny men and women. They were about half the size of halflings, with silver, mothlike wings growing from their backs. They all had slender, sharp-featured faces, pointed ears, and pale, lifeless eyes.
There was nothing else inside Wyan’s intellect; in all the sweeping expanse beneath the kes’trekel, the noble could not see a single animate thought. Agis dropped his kes’trekel down to the corpses. As befitted its nature, the raptor dug into the grisly feast, swallowing the little bodies almost whole.
When there was no response, the noble began to feel confused. The dead flesh was the substance of Wyan’s mind, and to have it devoured should have caused him such unbearable pain that he could not help but counterattack. Yet the disembodied head seemed quite content to let the kes’trekel gobble down all it wished.
After allowing the bird to gorge itself, Agis pictured the kes’trekel changing into Fylo’s animal-brother. He felt a surge of energy deep within himself, then the raptor’s narrow back broadened into that of the bear, and its feathers changed to bony armor. The beast began pawing at the little corpses, throwing them aside and digging a great, deep pit.
The bear had dug down more than a dozen yards, and still Agis could see nothing but more dead, winged bodies. By this time, the noble had burned up so much spiritual strength that he doubted he could win a battle even if he did find an animate thought.
He cut off the flow of energy, withdrawing his probe.
“Satisfied?” Wyan asked, his gray eyes twinkling with amusement.
Agis took several slow, deep breaths. “Why couldn’t I force you to come out?”
In a smug voice, the disembodied head replied, “My mind is at rest. I fulfilled my life’s desire long ago-when I killed the last pixie.” Wyan drifted closer to the satchel in the noble’s hand, asking, “Now, will you give me the sack?”
“No,” Agis replied, clutching it more tightly.
As he did so, the noble made sure to keep the mouth of the satchel open and pointed toward the cover below, so that the Oracle’s energy continued to flow into the crystal. Until he was free, he intended to keep the lid intact, on the chance that Mag’r had survived his fall.
Wyan sighed in mock disappointment, then gnashed his teeth together and began to rise again. “You leave me no choice,” he said. “Tithian will be disappointed, though. I think he intended to kill you himself.”
“He’ll never have the chance,” Agis replied. “If I hit that lid, both my body and this satchel will melt through before you can get to us.”
To illustrate his point, Agis put the hand of his broken arm into the satchel. Next, he pictured something he was sure Tithian would have stored inside: a silver coin. An instant later, his palm was full of them. The noble withdrew his hand and let the coins slip from between his fingers. They hit the lid with a glassy chime, then melted through and dropped into the pit.