Forge of the Mindslayers: Blade of the Flame Book 2 (38 page)

The power roiling within the psi-forge cast flickering light throughout the cavernous chamber deep within the heart of Mount Luster. Despite the fitful illumination, none of the three present—not Cathmore, Chagai, or even Galharath—noticed a pool of thick shadow against one wall … shadow the light could not touch.

Skarm, in barghest form, huddled next to his mistress. He wished he could hide behind her, but he knew such a sign of cowardice would only incur her wrath, so he had to settle for crouching as close to her as she would allow. He understood that Nathifa’s spell allowed them to see through the cloak of shadow she’d erected to conceal them, but Skarm still felt exposed. He wasn’t afraid of the orc nor of the kalashtar who controlled the power of the strange creation forge. No, Skarm was afraid of the old man wrapped in the bearskin cloak who shivered as if he stood upon an open ice-field. The barghest, a creature of evil
itself, could sense the foulness that dwelt within the old man, and it was a darkness to rival that of Nathifa herself.

Skarm started when Nathifa reached down with one of her skeletal hands and scratched the top of his half-goblin, half-lupine head.

“Patience, Skarm,” the lich said in her sepulchral voice. “It won’t be long now.”

Makala swooped down to the mountain to confirm what she’d already sensed: Diran and the others had reached Cathmore’s lair before her. They had left their mounts—some manner of giant flightless birds—tethered to stakes at the mountain’s base and were making their way up single file along a winding trail.

Makala felt a very human wave of irritation. After leaving Diran at the lagoon and searching for half the night, she hadn’t gotten here any faster than he had. She also felt a wave of shame at the thought of what she had attempted to do to him at the lagoon. She hadn’t planned on using her mesmeric abilities to force Diran to forsake Asenka. It had just happened, and now there he was, and more to the point, there
she
was, walking right behind him. Shame instantly transformed into jealously, and the vampiress found herself dipping lower toward the party. It would be so easy to swoop down and snatch hold of Asenka’s hair with her clawed feet, yanking the bitch off-balance and sending her tumbling down the mountainside. By the time Diran could reach her, she would be dead and broken, beyond healing.

As Makala drew closer, she saw that Diran and the rest had stopped walking and huddled together against the cold, watching Yvka. The elf woman knelt before the stone wall and ran her hands across its rocky surface. Everyone was distracted,
including Asenka. Makala folded her wings and dove toward the woman, imagining the sound of her screams as she careened down the mountainside, but at the last instant, Makala swerved away and angled upward, wings beating furiously. She didn’t look back, but she had the feeling that Diran was watching her, and worse, that he sensed what she’d been about to do.

As she rose toward the mountaintop, she debated winging eastward and returning to the lagoon where the
Zephyr
was anchored. She feared she couldn’t maintain control over her more savage instincts—not where her feelings for Diran were concerned, at any rate—and she worried she might prove more of a hindrance than a help to him. While the night still had some hours left to it, she needed to be safely sealed in her resting place before the first rays of dawn touched the sky. She could always find temporary shelter here in the mountains. After all, there were numerous caves where she could spend the day in bat form if she wished, but she was reluctant to abandon the obsidian sarcophagus as it was her only way to safely travel across the sea.

In the end, her decision came down to one simple fact: she couldn’t leave Diran to face Cathmore alone.

She’d been circling close to the peak of Mount Luster as she debated what to do, and she now saw what looked like seams carved into the mountain’s stone surface. Curious, she flew down toward them, landed, and clung to the rock in bat form. Upon closer inspection, she realized that she’d found a set of shutters that had been disguised to appear as rock. This was a door or window of some kind, perhaps opening onto to a look-out station of some sort. She’d found her way inside.

Makala transformed into mist and curled through the seam and into Mount Luster.

“This is it … the place where we came out.”

Solus pointed at a portion of the mountain that looked no different than any of the surrounding rock. Wind rushed across the face of Mount Luster, cold and biting. Diran’s facial muscles were numb, but he didn’t care. He did, however, keep his hands inside his fur cloak so they’d remain limber. He had a feeling he’d be throwing a few daggers before long.

“Are you sure?” Hinto asked. The halfling had ridden up the mountain trail atop the psi-forged’s shoulders like a small child, and now Solus reached up, gently lifted the little pirate, and set him on the ground.

“I …” Solus’s tone was uncertain at first, but then his voice became firmer. “Yes, I am.”

Diran exchanged glances with Ghaji, and the priest knew his friend was thinking the same thing: if this was a trap, they were about to spring it.

“Let me take a look,” Tresslar said. “The entrance—assuming one is here—is obviously hidden and likely warded as well.” The artificer pulled the dragonwand from his belt and held it out before him. He waved it through the air in a slow figure eight once, then reversed direction and did it again. There was no outside sign of magic at work, but when Tresslar lowered his dragonwand, he said, “There’s an entrance here all right, a good-sized one, too. This is probably where they brought supplies and materials in. It’s well warded, as you might imagine. Whoever was responsible for the spellwork did a good job … worthy of the artificers on Dreadhold.”

Diran’s lips were too cold to form a smile. “High praise coming from you.”

Tresslar scowled at the priest. “I said good, not great. I’ll get us in.”

The artificer stepped toward the craggy stone and touched the tip of his dragonwand to its surface. The red gems that
formed the dragonhead’s eyes burned with crimson light, and the stone surrounding the snout began to glow with pulsing green energy.

“What’s happening?” Asenka whispered in Diran’s ear.

Diran tried to ignore how good the warmth of her breath felt against his flesh. “Tresslar is using his dragonwand to absorb the magic of the wards on the entrance, nullifying them.”

“And he’s done,” Tresslar pronounced. The artificer stepped back, and the crimson glow in the dragonhead’s eyes quickly faded. “All we have to do now is figure out the mechanism to open the door. It’s not magical, that much I know.”

“Let me have a look,” Yvka said. “After all, you’re not the only one who knows a thing or two about hidden entrances.”

As an operative of the Shadow Network, she’d had to find her way into any number of places where intruders weren’t wanted, Diran imagined. He’d undergone similar training in the Brotherhood of the Blade. If Yvka wasn’t successful, he’d take a look.

Diran sensed movement off to his right, and he looked up in time to see a shadowy shape swoop upward, gaining altitude as it soared away. His hands emerged from the folds of his cloak holding daggers made of silver, but he didn’t hurl the blades at the retreating dark shape.

“Looks like your friend has decided to join us,” Asenka said. She too gazed up into the night sky, watching the bat as it flew toward the summit of Mount Luster.

“I’m sure she was just letting us know she’s here,” Diran said.

“Right,” Asenka said, “which is why she nearly hit me … and why you have a pair of daggers in your hands.”

Diran didn’t respond. He couldn’t.

“Found it!” Yvka said.

Diran was grateful for the interruption. He turned with the others to look at Yvka. The elf woman pressed her palm against
a part of the wall that looked no different than any other, but there was a soft click and a stone lever slid out of the rock next to Yvka’s hand. She took hold of the lever and pulled downward. There was a second click, the wall shuddered, a grinding sound filled the air, and a large section of stone began to rise before them. They were in!

“Wait!” Solus cried out. “Something is wrong! I sense great power … the stone masked it from me, but now that the door is opening, I can feel it! Psionic energy, far stronger than anything I’ve ever known. We have to—”

Galharath reached out, took hold of their minds, and they were lost.

Diran found himself standing in a chamber that he hadn’t seen for decades, though it felt as if he’d been here only yesterday. Long room, high ceiling, wooden floors, empty save for a large mahogany chest with double doors … He was back at Emon Gorsedd’s academy, inside the Proving Room.

“Welcome home, Diran.”

Though he’d been alone an instant before, Aldarik Cathmore now stood before Diran. The man appeared just as Diran remembered him: lean, handsome, looking like he was in his late thirties. Cathmore wore the same outfit he always did for sessions in the Proving Room—long-sleeved light brown shirt, tan pants and boots.

Diran didn’t know what magic was at work here, and he didn’t care. He reached for a pair of daggers sheathed at his belt, but his hands brushed only soft cloth. He looked down and saw that he wore the gray tunic of a new student at the academy. He felt around for his cloak and found he wasn’t wearing it. No belt sheathes and no cloak meant no daggers. He was unarmed.

Cathmore smiled. “Missing something?”

Diran realized then that he wasn’t just dressed as a student; his body was that of a much younger man … a boy. Though he retained his adult memories, his physical form had regressed to the age he’d been when he’d first entered the academy, or at least, it
seemed
that way. Diran remembered Solus’s warning as the entrance to Mount Luster started to open.
I can feel it! Psionic energy, far stronger than anything I’ve ever known!
Somehow the kalashtar working with Cathmore had to be responsible for this.

“This isn’t real,” Diran said.

“That depends entirely on one’s definition of reality,” Cathmore countered. “You are real, I am real, and the power that gives shape to all this—” the master assassin gestured at the room surrounding them—“is real. If you die here, I’m afraid that will be real, too.”

“That’s a two-edged sword, isn’t it? If I can die here, then so can you.”

Cathmore laughed. “Your mind is as sharp as I remember, Diran. I’m tempted to offer you a chance to join me. Together, the two of us could destroy my half-brother and his vaunted Brotherhood. Then by using the power of this facility, we could create an army of psi-forged even stronger than Solus—mindslayers who would obey our every command. We could establish our own Brotherhood, one far more powerful than anything Emon could ever dream of!” Cathmore paused then sighed. “But I won’t bother. I know the spineless followers of the Silver Flame have warped your mind with their foolish beliefs. Everything we taught you, Emon and I … wasted.” He shook his head. “It’s enough to make me weep.”

“Where are my friends?” Diran demanded.

“Oh, they’re around, but you shouldn’t worry about them. You have problems enough of your own to deal with. Do you remember our first session here?”