He opened the spellbook to the correct page and quickly reviewed its patterns. Then, lifting his eyes to the sky, he began to intone the words of the spell in a sonorous, chanting tone. The wind picked up, and there was the distant boom of thunder in reaction to the disturbance in the ether. The dust cloud upon the ground began to swirl, as if agitated by a current underneath it.
The kank raised its chitinous head and swiveled its antennae curiously in reaction to the strange vibrations that suddenly permeated the air. The wind picked up. It plucked at Timor’s cloak, causing it to flap around him, and as it grew stronger, it blew the cloak out behind him like a cape. Thunder rolled. Sheet lightning flashed across the sky. There was a smell of ozone in the air... and something else, the rising, heavy stench of sulphur. The dust cloud upon the ground, in contravention of all logic, common sense, and natural law, started to grow thicker, despite the strong wind that should have dissipated it.
Timor raised his right hand high over his head as though drawing power from the heavens, then he slowly brought his hand down as an aura of crackling blue energy played around his fingers. He aimed his outstretched arm, with hand held so that the palm was facedown, fingers splayed, toward the ground around him. His voice rose, the wind increased, and the aura of energy that crackled around his outstretched fingers grew alternately brighter and dimmer. The power began to pulsate with regularity, each succeeding pulse growing brighter than the one before, each drawing more life out of the vegetation all around him.
The waving, brown desert grasses that had grown up on and around the mounds and all across the plateau turned black and shriveled into compost The wildflowers that grew on the hillsides and gave a beautiful array of bright colors to this barren world withered and died as the life was leeched from them.
Timor trembled as the energy he robbed from the vegetation around him flowed into his outstretched hand and spread throughout his entire body. He felt exhilarated, vibrant with power. The lifeforce of the plants infused him, sluiced through him, filled him with a warmth and vitality that was addicting. He wanted more. He wanted it never to stop.
The desert succulents, the long-spined cacti that stood four times as tall as a man and took at least two centuries to reach full maturity, softened and became flaccid, flopping over onto the ground with loud thuds and decomposing in a matter of seconds. The jade bushes drooped and shed their fleshy, paddle-shaped leaves as they turned first brown, then black, then crumpled to the ground like bits of ash. The blue pagafa trees growing on the slopes, their thick, dense trunks and branches almost as hard as rock, dropped their tiny, blue-green leaves and began to split as the moisture was drained out of them. With loud, popping cracks, they splintered and fell, as if struck by invisible bolts of lightning. In a wide swath all around the templar, everything withered and died and decomposed, leaving behind a desolation even more barren than the sandy washes of the tablelands.
Timor gave no thought whatever to the wanton destruction that he caused. He was focused solely on the sheer, lustful pleasure of feeling all that warm, life-giving energy surging through his being. This was the lure of true sorcery, he thought, the heady rush of sensual power that the preservers, with their pathetic, weak philosophy, would never understand. This was what it meant to truly feel alive!
It was a pleasure that could only dimly be perceived in the consumption of an excellent meal prepared by the finest cooks, or in the exquisite release of sexual fulfillment. This was the full measure of the satisfaction that could be found in the complete satiation of the senses. It was the ultimate indulgence, the intoxication that only a true mage could ever know. It was what drove the sorcerer-kings to follow the painful route of metamorphosis that would turn them into dragons, whose capacity for power was greater because their hunger and their need for it was also greater. He wanted it never to end.
But it had to end. He was not yet king, and there was only so much energy he could contain. When he felt that he could absorb no more, he stopped and simply stood there for a long moment, wanting to stretch it out, vibrating with the force that filled him, his muscles spasming so hard he thought his bones would break. Every nerve fiber in his body sang with an exquisite pain. His lips were drawn back from his gums, his features twisted in ecstasy as he stood with his head thrown back, gasping for breath and trembling. Not yet, not yet—he thought—make it last! Hold onto it for just a little while more...
And then when he could not bear it any longer, he had to release it all or risk being consumed by it. With an effort, he brought his gaze back down to his spellbook. His hand was shaking so hard that he could barely hold it still. He reviewing the last words of the spell, he closed his eyes, finished the incantation, and released the power.
The power surged through his outstretched arm and burst from his fingers in sheets of blue flame. It struck the ground and made fissures in the earth that spread out like a fine network of veins and capillaries all through the cemetery. Timor’s breath whooshed out of him and everything started spinning around him as he teetered on the edge of consciousness. It was like the most profound sexual release, only magnified a hundredfold. It left him feeling utterly drained as he collapsed to his knees and gulped in great lungfuls of air. His fingers dug at the barren ground, as if he were trying to grab onto the earth to keep from floating away. His chest rose and fell as he tried to breathe, and for a while, it was all he could do to simply manage that.
Slowly, his strength returned to him, but it was still a paltry feeling compared to the sheer force that had surged through him moments earlier. As he gradually recovered, he regained his normal state, a feeble state compared to what he had just experienced. He felt let down, crushingly disappointed. He felt cheated. This was not life. What he had felt when all that energy surged through him, that was living! But it had been so brief a taste...
He forced himself to his feet. Control, he thought. For a wizard, self-control was everything. He did not dare try it again so soon. He would not survive it. Nor would he survive if he remained here much longer. He stood, breathing heavily. The spell was nearly finished, now it had to be directed. He visualized the elfling in his mind as he spoke the words that would command the spell to work his will. He had waited almost too long. Even as he finished saying the words/the ground around the grave mounds began to crack and buckle.
He picked up his spellbook and hurried back to where he had left the kank tied up. The beast had frayed the rope, it had pulled frantically to break free during the height of the spell. Fortunately, kanks were stupid insects, for it could easily have cut the rope with its pincers had it the intelligence to do so. He untied the kank and mounted, then urged the beast back down the hill on the road leading to the city. The antlike creature needed little prodding. As it started down the slope, the first of the grave mounds burst open, and a bony hand covered with strips of rank, decomposing flesh appeared, clawing its way out.
12
It was nearly dawn. The gaming house had shut down for the day, and the cleaning staff had not yet begun their work. They would begin shortly after sunrise, working throughout the morning and into the afternoon, preparing the Crystal Spider for yet another night of gaming, dining, and entertainment. The place was deserted when Sorak came in and went up the back stairs to his quarters.
Tigra had grown anxious and restivein his absence and had torn apart the bed. The tigone had also gnawed through two chair legs, upended a table, clawed up the rug, and torn down the curtains over the window. Fortunately, Sorak had left the heavy window shutters closed and bolted, and Tigra had not been able to open the door—otherwise the damage surely would have extended beyond his room.