The Dark One turned back to the priest, banishing the flames from the Staff with a negligent wave. It threw back its head and laughed merrily. The sound was musical, lilting, and chilling. “You forget, Marcus Alanda. I, too, am from beyond your Creation. My power is boundless. I can be diminished but never destroyed. I do not fear the Fallen Star. I shall master its power as easily as I control the Thunderwood.”

  “Perhaps you would like a taste of that power first.” Father Marcus reached into his robe and pulled out the bird-shaped wand.

  Instantly, the Thunderwood blazed to life. A thick barrier of mingled shadow and flame surrounded the Dark One.

  Marcus pointed the wand and squeezed the handle. A shaft of intense red light lanced forward, piercing the magical shields as if they were nothing. The light ripped through the Dark One’s body. The vikhor flashed into ash, and the Thunderwood Staff clattered to the floor. A soundless scream echoed through the hall, and a flicker of shadow fled into the depths of the open shaft.

  Chentelle stumbled, nearly falling as her paralysis vanished. Sound erupted in the chamber as warriors scrambled for their weapons. A similar noise followed A’stoc as he raced to regain the Staff.

  “WELL DONE!” came a shout from below. “WELL DONE, HIGH BISHOP. JEDIAH HIMSELF WOULD BE PROUD.”

  “We aren’t finished yet,” Father Marcus said, grabbing the Staff and handing it to A’stoc. He set the wand down on the dais and pulled the Sphere of Ohnn out of his robe. “Hurry! Call upon the Thunderwood.”

  Earthpower flared around the Staff, but the wizard hesitated. “I cannot ignite the Sphere while you hold it. You might be harmed.”

  “Don’t argue!” Marcus shouted. “It must be done this way. Use the Staff! Now!”

  Green flame shot forward, pouring into the obsidian sphere. For long moments, power poured into the Sphere of Ohnn. The black stone sucked in the power greedily, but there was no answering spark. The Sphere remained inert.

  A’stoc dropped to his knees, letting the Earthpower fade. His shoulders slumped, and the Thunderwood Staff dropped to the floor. “It’s no use. I am too weak.” Hopelessness and shame sounded in his voice. The Dark One’s possession had rocked him deeply.

  Chentelle knelt in front of the wizard. He started to turn away, but she reached out and pulled his face back to hers. “Don’t do this, A’stoc. You have the power. Remember the battle under Kennaru. Remember the storm and the ascent of Karsh Adon. Your battle isn’t with the Dark One; it’s with yourself. This is the reason you’re here. Ignite the Sphere. The power is in you, you only have to find it.”

  His eyes bore into her. A dozen emotions raged behind them, balanced precariously on the edge of despair. He was so close to surrendering everything.

  “Please,” she whispered. “Don’t give up. You have to keep trying.”

  A’stoc’s shoulders shook, and tears trickled from the corners of his eyes, but he grabbed the Staff and pressed himself to his feet. “And whose puppet am I now? Yours? Father Marcus’?” He planted his feet firmly, and green fire roared from the Staff. He glanced toward Chentelle and smiled thinly. “Or perhaps my own.”

  Earthpower shot forward, striking the Sphere of Ohnn. Magic poured from the Staff, building in intensity with every pulse. A seething inferno enveloped the High Bishop as the Sphere struggled to absorb the power. A’stoc increased the flow.

  Suddenly, an ember of pure light glowed from deep inside the Sphere. The radiance grew until it swallowed the dark stone. Marcus lifted the Sphere high into the air, and the flames vanished with a muted pop. Warm white light spread from the Sphere, washing everything in its purity.

  A’stoc staggered backward, unbalanced by the sudden interruption of the Staff’s power. “By the Creator!”

  “Yes.” Father Marcus was bathed in serenity. “You have succeeded, A’stoc, as I knew you would.”

  A flicker of darkness shot from the shaft. It raced toward the High Bishop, reaching for him with long shafts of darkness.

  Father Marcus grabbed for the bird-shaped wand, but one of the dark prongs lanced into his wrist. Instantly, the priest went rigid. His hand twitched, sending the wand clattering to the floor of the chamber.

  The priest’s face melted, shifting as the vikhor’s had done before.

  A’stoc jumped forward, swinging the Staff in a great arc. Earthpower burst from the Thunderwood and smashed into the shifting shadow. Flame and darkness twisted about each other, neither side able to gain the advantage. A’stoc screamed in incoherent rage, summoning even more power from the Staff. Thunder echoed through the chamber, and the metal stairs rocked under the strain, but still the darkness held.

  “You haven’t the power to stop me, apprentice!” The Dark One’s voice issued from Marcus’s mouth, but the transformation was not complete. The priest’s features shifted wildly in a state of continual flux. “You only delay the inevitable. The High Bishop’s mind will fail, and his secrets will be mine for the taking. Then I will deliver the punishments you have so imprudently earned.”

  “Mistress, duck!”

  Chentelle dropped to her side.

  Sulmar jumped to the landing, his vorpal sword raised high overhead. His arm shot forward, and the sword flew from his hand. The blade tumbled through the holocaust of power that surrounded A’stoc and the High Bishop, flipping end over end. The point swung around and struck precisely into the heart of the shadow. The sword glowed faintly but passed harmlessly through the darkness. It bounced off the far wall and dropped to the floor.

  “You hurl stones at the ocean. A’kalendane’s toys may bother my minions, but they are nothing to me.” The darkness firmed, and Father Marcus’ features began to assume a more definite shape.

  A bolt of searing red light sliced through shadow and flame, striking the wall just beyond the High Bishop’s shoulder. Gerruth stepped onto the landing, aiming the bird wand carefully at the priest’s heart.

  Panic flashed across the shifting face, but it was replaced quickly by mocking confidence. “Fool, you cannot strike at me without killing your precious High Bishop.”

  Gerruth’s lips curled into a snarl. “Do you think Father Marcus would hesitate to make the same sacrifice he asked of us, the sacrifice my brother made?” The tip of the wand dropped, but it lowered less than a hand’s breadth. Red light shot out again, piercing mystic shields and lancing through the priest’s thigh. The smell of burned flesh filled the air, and Father Marcus dropped to the ground, screaming in pain.

  The Dark One’s shadow hung in the air. Then it flicked suddenly toward Gerruth.

  The red light flashed again. The darkness howled and shattered into a thousand pieces. The fragments hung in the air, twisting horribly. Then they shot outward, disappearing into a hundred dark corners.

  “Well done, Gerruth.” Father Marcus’ voice was tense with agony. The beam of light had burned completely through his leg. No blood poured from the wound, but smoke still rose from the charred flesh. He still held the Sphere of Ohnn clutched in one hand.

  Chentelle ran forward to help him.

  “No! Stay back!” The priest grabbed the dais and hauled himself upright. His hand slapped against the metal cabinet and a shimmering wall of blue light surrounded the dais and the conduit shaft.

  Chentelle pulled up abruptly. She reached out tentatively and ran her fingers against the light. It felt solid, but a violent tingling shocked her hand, and her fingers clenched into a tight ball.

  A’stoc stepped forward and thrust the Thunderwood against the wall. The aura of Earthpower surrounded him, but neither Staff nor flames penetrated the blue shimmer. “High Bishop, what are you doing?”

  Father Marcus slumped against the dais. Sweat ran freely down his ashen face. “I am dying, wizard, but I will take this evil with me.”

  “Father Marcus, no!” Chentelle pressed her thoughts toward the priest, but the glistening barrier was proof even against her Gift. “Don’t. Too many people have died already.”

  “I must, Chentelle. The poison of the Fallen Star is deep in my mind. I can never forget it.” The priest tried to smile, but a wince of pain obliterated the expression. His eyes took on a faraway look. “Such power, Chentelle. I could work miracles, end warfare, banish disease. Nothing would be impossible. No one would have to suffer pain or loss. I could remake the Creation. I could…”

  He let the sentence trail off and brought his eyes back to Chentelle’s. “You see, the temptation grows ever stronger. Already I am cut off from the True Creation. That is why I could not heal Gerruth. And it will only become worse. There must be an ending. If I return to the Realm, all of the sacrifice will be for nothing.”

  A wave of pain swept over the priest’s face. He slumped lower on the dais. “Listen, there isn’t much time. This is my destiny, Chentelle. It is the path the Creator guided me to. I walk it freely and without remorse. My life has been dedicated to preserving the Creation, but you must find your own path. Listen to your heart. I have learned to respect its wisdom.”

  Father Marcus dragged himself upward, balancing on his one good leg. His face went even whiter, and he swayed unsteadily, but his blue eyes were clear and focused. His hand closed around a red lever and pulled it slowly downward. A circular portal spread open in the center of the conduit.

  Arcs of power shot from the opening, engulfing the landing in a tempest of multicolored flame. Father Marcus opened his arms in the sign of harmony, letting the conflagration wash over him. The Sphere of Ohnn glowed fiercely through the storm, a shining beacon of pure white light. Father Marcus disappeared, swallowed by the raging inferno. “Run, Chentelle. Run and don’t look back.”

  Chentelle watched from behind the safety of the shimmering blue shield. Just before the High Bishop vanished, a soft glow enveloped his body—the light of sanctuary. She grabbed A’stoc and ran for the stairs.

  Dacius and the others were waiting at the bottom of the steps. “WHERE IS FATHER MARCUS?”

  Chentelle stopped. The glare from the top platform was now blinding in its intensity. “He isn’t coming.”

  The human lord hesitated for only a moment. “THILDEMAR, TAKE THE POINT.”

  A tremendous explosion rocked the Fallen Star. Cabinets crashed to the floor. Metal cables ripped apart, sending showers of lightning sparking across the chamber. They raced through the chaos, scrambling for the doorway through which they had entered. Fires chased them into the corridor, singeing their hair with fierce heat.

  Dacius paused at the doorway. As soon as the last person was through, he slammed the glass tile with his fist. The metal door slid closed, blocking off the heat and smoke.

  They ran to the levitating chamber. Thildemar touched the opening tile, but something was wrong. The portal didn’t open. He touched it again, then smashed it with his elbow. The door stayed shut.

  “FORGET IT. FIND ANOTHER WAY.”

  Thildemar looked down each of the side corridors. His lips moved silently as he reviewed the twists and turns they had taken to reach this spot. Then he ran down the passage on the right.

  The old Legionnaire led them through a series of curved walkways, always choosing the turns that took them toward the east. The Fallen Star shook under a series of explosions, each more violent than the last. The corridor lights went out, then flashed on again, now blinking bloodred. Twice, they had to retrace their steps when a corridor ended in a dead end, but they finally found a long ladder mounted in a deep shaft.

  Without hesitation, they scrambled over the edge. They climbed past a half-dozen landings. Then Thildemar stopped, glancing at Dacius for guidance. The human lord shook his head. Shrugging, Thildemar hopped off the ladder.

  Again, he led them into the maze of passages. He paused at each junction, searching the side corridors, but in the absence of visual clues he always turned toward the east. The explosions sounded more frequently, now, and the tunnels were becoming treacherous. Steam poured from ruptured pipes. Strange liquids bubbled along the edge of the walls, and the red lights blinked with desperate intensity.

  “There!” Thildemar pointed down a side passage. At its far end stood a heavy hexagonal portal. “It is like the one Father Marcus brought us through.”

  They dashed down the short hall. Thildemar pressed and twisted at the knobs on the wall until the door finally slid open. They crowded into the small chamber, stopping before an identical door on the far side.

  Thildemar pressed and twisted the tiles and knobs, but the door remained stubbornly closed. He tried again, and then again. Nothing.

  “Wait,” Chentelle said. “Remember when we came in. The first door shut before the second one opened.”

  “Of course!” A’stoc lurched across the chamber and pounded the tile beside the open portal. The door swung shut, plunging the room into darkness.

  “THE ORB-LIGHTS AREN’T WORKING. A’STOC!”

  Flames roared from the Staff, illuminating the chamber.

  Thildemar pressed and twisted. Something hissed in the walls above them, and the atmosphere changed. The sterile scent of the Fallen Star vanished, replaced by cold, vigorous mountain air. An instant later, the outer door slid open.

  They were thirty cubits above the crater floor, and at least as far from the rock slide they had climbed to reach the other portal. Another explosion rocked them, and the Fallen Star shifted deeper into the crater.

  “We can’t go back!” Chentelle shouted. “The end will come soon.”

  A’stoc pressed by her and stood on the ledge of the doorway. He spun around to face them, holding out the Staff at shoulder level. “Grab hold.”

  The company hesitated.

  “A’STOC, ARE YOU CERTAIN?”

  Another explosion shook the chamber.

  “Grab hold.”

  Chentelle latched on to the Thunderwood with both hands. The others quickly followed, though Dacius paused to disengage his shield and toss it to the ground below.

  A’stoc started to chant. The Thunderwood grew warm, and tiny flames flickered around their fingers. The Staff surged upward, lifting the elves well clear of the floor and dragging Dacius onto his toes. Then A’stoc leaned backward.

  They plunged out the doorway, falling steadily but not swiftly. They hit the snow with a muffled thud, sinking hardly a cubit into the crusted powder.

  Hideous howls erupted from the rim of the crater. A pack of vikhors charged down the slope, their eyes glowing maliciously.

  Dacius dived for his shield, but by the time he recovered it, A’stoc had acted.

  The wizard flicked the Staff casually. A ribbon of green light poured from the Thunderwood, undulating slowly toward the vikhors. It spread out in a wide band as it moved, completely blocking the Ill-creatures’ path.

  The beasts loped forward heedlessly, reducing themselves to ash in a vain attempt to force the barrier. In seconds, the encounter was over.

  “Keep moving,” the wizard said. “We have no time to spare.”

  No one argued. They fled east, clearing the rim of the crater and then retracing their path from the river. They had hardly reached the line of pines when a blinding glow obliterated the night. A blast of wind pressed at their backs, followed seconds later by a cold gust into their faces. The blinding glow flashed once and then disappeared. Everything was suddenly quiet.

  Chentelle turned around. The Fallen Star was gone, as was the crater itself. In their place was a huge shaft, perfectly cylindrical, that shot straight down toward the center of the world.

  22

  Transformations

  The company crossed the frozen river and then came to a halt. Fatigue weighed down their arms and legs. The quest was over. Infinitera was saved. Now they just had to get home again. They made a hurried camp, huddling together in the sparse shelter of the pines.

  “Can we risk a fire?” Chentelle asked.

  Dacius considered the sky. Already, the eastern horizon was showing hints of first-light. “I would say yes. What about you, wizard? What is your counsel?”

  “Burn what you like,” the wizard said absently. “The Dark One will be long recovering from this night, and I have lost my taste for cowering in the dark.”

  They built a small blaze and gathered close to its warmth. Their supplies were nearly exhausted, but Dacius ordered everyone to eat a full ration.

  “Before a challenge, adrenaline and need drive the body onward,” he said. “It is after a victory that you must stoke the inner flame. We will have only our own strength to call upon now, and we are a long way from the Realm.”

  There was little conversation. The magnitude of the night’s events were setting in, and each of them wandered in their private thoughts. After the meal, Dacius assigned a watch schedule. They would rest until midmorning, then make for the Barrier Ridge.

  Chentelle laid out her blankets close to the fire. She expected to fall asleep as soon as she closed her eyes, but her thoughts would not settle. She kept remembering Father Marcus’ eyes as he opened his arms to death. She knew it had been necessary, but that didn’t make it right. She was so tired of death, so tired of sacrifice. And it still wasn’t over. There was still the Erietoph to deal with.

  She turned to A’stoc. The wizard stood under one of the pines, leaning on the Staff. His eyes were far away and deep in thought.

  What would the forest do to him? Couldn’t it see that he was a good man? He hadn’t even known that the ancient was sentient. Yes, he had acted rashly, but he had also made atonement. Without him, the whole world would have been destroyed.

  Chentelle rolled over. It was no good fretting over it now. They didn’t even know what punishment the forest would demand. She took several deep breaths, trying to clear her mind. This was maddening. She was exhausted, but she couldn’t fall asleep. She opened her eyes.