The rest of the tower slumped like a child’s sand castle built over-high and toppled into the bay. A huge block of hewed basalt crashed through the Tiger Moth just aft of the mast, breaking her back and bringing a tangle of rigging down on the poop where the Shadow Captain stood.
Impelled by the force of the block the Tiger Moth plunged beneath the cold black water. Only a few pieces of wood and rigging floated up.
The worm fed on the new power and spawned several copies of itself to lurk in the unimaginable spaces of magic and feed in turn when the opportunity arose.
"Master, our spells weaken!" the sweating wizard cried. With a curse Toth-Set-Ra strode to the lectern where the man had been conjuring and shoved him roughly aside. Quickly he scanned the grimore’s page, creating the spell anew, and scowled at the result. What should have been bright and shining was wan and gray. Angrily he reached out for more power, but instead of the expected strong, steady flow he found only a wavering rivulet.
"To the Pit!" he roared at the shaking wizard. "Something interferes with the flow."
As wizards and acolytes alike hurried to do his bidding, Toth-Set-Ra stared unseeing at the awful runes inscribed on human parchment before him.
Was the Council attacking in retaliation for the raid on the North? He dismissed the idea even as the thought formed. He knew Northern magic and there was none of it here. The Council might have a new spell or two, but everything the League faced was new. Besides, he knew the work of every one of the Mighty and this was unlike any of them.
An attack from within, aimed at himself? He considered that somewhat longer. It would explain how someone had gotten into the Pit to interfere with the flow of magic. Had he given Atros too much power? That too he discarded. If Atros or any of the others had half this much power they would have struck long before. And again, he knew the magics of the League even better than he knew those of the Council.
Then who? As the City of Night shook and towers toppled Toth-Set-Ra racked his brains trying to find the source of the attack.
A doom. A plague. A bane upon all wizards. The demon’s words came back to him and the mightiest wizard in the World shivered.
The alien wizard! The stranger from beyond the world. This mass of army-ant spells pressing in on them must be his work.
It was well for the Shadow Captain that he was already dead, for the wizard’s next oath would have blasted him where he stood. He had the wrong magician! Somehow this other one, this Wiz, the one they called Sparrow, had fooled the Shadow Warriors. The hedge-witch was a pawn to be sacrificed to protect the Council’s king.
And he had fallen for it. By all the demons in the nine netherhells, he had been duped!
For a moment chill panic shook Toth-Set-Ra. Then he stopped short and laughed aloud. The other wizards in the chantry paused involuntarily at the sound. The Master of the Dark League seldom laughed and when he did it boded something truly horrible for someone. They turned back to their spells and incantations with renewed vigor.
Toth-Set-Ra was still chuckling when he reached the door of the chantry. Fool me, will you? We shall see who is the fool in the end. For I tell you Wiz, or Sparrow, or whatever your true name is, you are as much in my power as if it were you and not that red-haired bitch I hold fast.
Far to the north on a crag above the shores of the Freshened Sea three gargoyles stared forever South, testing the wind, sifting the whispers borne to them and sending on what they heard.
"It goes well, Sparrow." It was not a question. Shiara sat on the bench, pale and calm as a winter’s dawn while Wiz paced the room, muttering in a way that had nothing to do with magic. He paused to glance once more into the bowl of water on the rude table between them.
"We’re shaking them good and proper," he confirmed. "I can’t interpret everything, but there are fires and earthquakes all over the area. Part of the City of Night’s wall is down and a couple of towers have already slid into the harbor." He smiled. "We’ve just about ruined their whole day. Now if only…"
Shiara nodded. "I know Sparrow. Fortuna grant us this one final boon."
The crystal contrivance atop the ruined tower sparkled and flashed with the magical force of the messages arriving from the south.
Deep in her cell, Moira didn’t know what was going on, but she was increasingly certain it wasn’t being done to frighten her. Even this far under the earth she could hear occasional explosions, faint and muffled but audible nonetheless. Twice, groups of goblin soldiers tore by her cell in clattering, shouting masses. Once something huge and foul and slithering whuffled up the corridor while she pressed against the slimy rock wall and prayed to the depths of her soul that the thing would not notice her. Even the vermin seemed to have gone into hiding in the crannies and under the piles of rotting straw.
First the demon with the glowing blue eye and now this. What could it possibly mean?
Moira didn’t hope, for hope had long since burned out of her. But she felt a stirring. Whatever was going on couldn’t be good for her captors and misfortune to them was as much as she dared wish for.
With a faint "pop" an Emac appeared in front of Wiz, so close he almost stumbled over the demon in his pacing.
"We have found her, Master! RDsquaresquare has found her."
"Thank God! Where?"
"Underground master, far and deep underground. The coordinates are . . ."
Wiz waved the small brown demon to silence. "Show me in the bowl!"
The demon removed the quill from behind his ear and dipped the point in the water. Ink flowed from the pen, turning the clear water black and then shimmering as the image formed. Wiz looked intently at it and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Have we got a good enough fix?"
The Emac cocked his bald brown head and his huge ears quivered as he listened to something unhearable. "Yes, Master. We can come within a few cubits of the place."
"Then come with me." Wiz strode to the door, grabbing his oak staff and wrapping his cloak tighter as he stepped into the outdoor chill.
"Wait, Lord."
Wiz turned and saw Donal and Kenneth arrayed for battle. Their mail hauberks hung to their knees and their greaves and vambraces were secure to their limbs. Donal’s great sword was over his shoulder and Kenneth’s bow was slung across his back. Both wore their open-faced helms and their mail coifs were laced tight.
"You’re not going," Kenneth said. "Not alone."
"I have to." Wiz told him.
"Bal-Simba told us to guard you and guard you we shall," said Donal.
Wiz shook his head. "It’s too dangerous. Look, I appreciate the idea, but you can’t come."
"Stubborn," said Donal.
"Too stubborn," said Kenneth. "You look, Sparrow. Someone has to keep your back while you’re making magic."
"My magic can do that for me."
"Unlikely," said Kenneth.
"Take them, Sparrow," Shiara put in from the hut’s door. "You may need them."
"It’s dangerous," Wiz warned again. "You might get . . ." He cast his eyes over their well-used armor and weapons and trailed off. Both men looked at him in grim amusement. "Uh… right."
"It is Bal-Simba’s wish," said Kenneth simply.