Ahead of them, the dark shape of the new pyramid loomed up through the mists, disappearing into the blank vapors overhead. Aeron circled the site once, picking his way through worksheds and tumbled piles of stones to be shaped and cut. He kept a close eye on Baillegh; the hound's senses were far keener than his own, and she'd smell danger before he saw anything. The few workmen who'd been here earlier in the day were long gone, and Aeron was surprised by how lonely the place felt even at the same time that it threatened him.
"Something feels wrong here," Eriale said quietly.
"You're right," said Aeron. "The Weave, the magic that exists in all things, is wrong here. Poisoned."
"Let's do what we have to and get out of here."
"I hope it's that easy," Aeron said. He paced the ground where the stone slab he'd first entered the shadow-plane through had stood. It was not there anymore, which he did not find too surprising. With the amount of work Oriseus was doing here, the stone marker was only in the way. "I'm going to have to cast a spell to carry us into the shadow-realm. The door we used before isn't here anymore."
"Will that be difficult?"
He snorted. "The barrier between the worlds is so thin here you could stumble and fall into the plane of shadow. Ready your bow, and keep those special arrows I gave you close at hand. You may need them."
Turning away from the tower, Aeron closed his eyes and paced forward, guessing at the best place to work his spell. The next world was very close here, seeming to strain at the shape and substance of the reality around him, a cancer waiting to be unleashed. If he wanted to, he could blast a rift open that would catapult everything within hundreds of yards into the demiplane of shadow. . but that was not likely to do anything more than annoy Oriseus and his cronies. Clearly, they were quite experienced with the twilight world. With a deep breath, he unlocked the spell-symbol that parted the veil between worlds. It was an enchantment that required the strength of shadow-magic, and there was no shortage of that nearby. In fact, it took all of Aeron's concentration not to allow the spell to slip away from him.
A rippling wave appeared in the mist, much like the heat-shimmer that rose from a hot stone in the summertime, except that it felt cold, wrong. Aeron bared his teeth in revulsion at the chill touch of the shadow-Weave but endured until he'd forced the tear into something the size and shape of a door.
"Follow me," he said, and he stepped through to the other side.
Physically, the ethereal mists of the shadow-plane were much the same as the last time he'd been here. Everything seems the same, he thought. The pyramid still stands whole and intact, as before, the city isn't here, the cold and the darkness are what I expected. Above the great jagged silhouette of the obelisk, the stars flickered weakly, dim and faint, with great wide gaps of utter blackness between them.
Magically, things had changed. As Aeron turned slowly to ascertain his exact location, he was conscious of a buzzing in his ears, a crawling sensation in his flesh, a shimmering or rippling in his vision. He blinked his eyes and shivered, wondering if this was some aftereffect of the transition from the real to the unreal world. Then, slowly, the truth dawned on him. The pyramid is the only thing that is real here, he realized. Viewed from the other side, the structure was filled with menace and purpose, a dark potential locked in stone. Here, that menace was conscious and active. Streamers of bright, sparkling magic danced in the air or flowed over the ground, drawn to the tower and spiraling around its black walls like a maelstrom. Everything-not just the dead grass or the rolling landscape, the physical fabric upon which they existed-was bending toward the Shadow Stone. Yet as Aeron staggered under the draw of the nearby locus, he had the curious sensation that something was close to pulling his very soul out by the roots.
Beside him, the ripples intensified as Eriale and Baillegh bounded through. The hound crouched and whined, hiding her head as she splayed her feet, trying to keep her balance. Eriale reeled awkwardly to one knee, her mouth gaping open in horror as she grappled with her surroundings.
"Aeron!" she cried. "What is happening? What is this?"
He staggered over to her and caught her arm. "It's worse than I thought!" he shouted, barely able to make himself heard. "I shouldn't have brought you here!"
Eriale looked up into his face, her eyes wide with fear. "Where's the stone?"
"In the center of the pyramid's foundation. Come on." He turned and led her to the dark, gaping arch that marked the only entrance to the structure.
"Surely, Aeron, you can't be in that much of a hurry to rush to your doom." Before them, stepping out of the doorway, stood Dalrioc Corynian. Unlike Sarim, he hadn't changed much. There was a feral gleam in his eyes, but his noble features and proud bearing still marked him as a man of power and influence. He wore the red robes of a Master of Conjuration over the exquisitely tailored finery he'd always preferred. "You should have been more careful in making your entrance to Telemachon's chambers. I've had a mark on that door of my own for years now, just in case someone decided to poke around in there."
"Dalrioc," spat Aeron. "I'm surprised you're still here. I would have thought that your city had need of you."
"And I'm surprised you came back. Master Sarim was to see to it that you remained in your forest fastness." Dalrioc stepped out of the doorway, an arrogant smile on his face. "What brings you back to our college, Aeron? Still thirsty for knowledge after all these years?"
"What do we do, Aeron?" Eriale asked quietly. She had an arrow aimed at Dalrioc's heart. By her side, Baillegh bared her teeth, growling.
"We have to get by him," he replied softly. To the prince he said, "Dalrioc, stand aside. I mean to bring this to an end. You have no idea what harm you are wreaking."
"On the contrary, I know exactly what our work entails." The Soorenaran halted two paces from Aeron and extended an arm toward the pyramid, a gesture of invitation. "Come and see. I'll not gainsay the Storm Walker."
Aeron was certain that the prince harbored no good intentions toward him. Everything was wrong-the confidence, the mocking refusal to confront him, the revelation that he'd been watched. Dalrioc Corynian was not this subtle … but Lord Oriseus was. He would have to assume that events were orchestrated to suit the new Sceptanar's desires.
"Walk ahead of me, then," Aeron said, scowling. "I don't trust you at my back. And do not attempt any spell, or we'll see whether your sarcasm is justified or not."
Dalrioc laughed. "Fine. Where am I taking you?"
"Where do you think?" Aeron retorted. "To the Shadow Stone."
Eighteen
All around Aeron, the stones of the pyramid reverberated with power, mere chords responding to the presence of something beyond his knowledge or experience. As he followed Dalrioc Corynian through the labyrinthine corridors of dark, featureless masonry, he realized that in five years the Shadow Stone's dire potency had been sharpened, honed into a weapon of unearthly capacity, imbued with purpose and malice. At even intervals, the coursing energy caused everything around him to ripple and slide like the coarse fabric of a shirt wrapped around the torso of a giant, stretching and slacking to the titanic heartbeat. It took all of his determination to ignore the sickening sensation and drive himself to follow.
Eriale stayed an arm's length behind him, watching the blank passageways behind them. Beads of sweat trickled down her face despite the clammy chill in the air; she too had to steel herself against the structure's influence.