The Third Apprentice (16 page)

With his stomach beginning to rumble, he decided
to have a bite to eat. The pair shared a few rations of nuts and fruit, their
supplies of which were becoming quite low. It was unlikely they would find
anything to hunt in this land, and there was little chance of finding food
inside the tomb, if they ever got inside. All that remained were the
ingredients Taren had harvested in the meadow, and the potions he had crafted
before leaving home. Some of them could indeed take the place of food in an
emergency. Content that he at least had enough to get them to the nearest town,
he unrolled his bed and lay down. Potions were something he could do correctly.
If only he could use them on the entrance. Sadly, he had never heard of a
potion that could unlock a door.

S
leep eluded
Taren, so instead of sleeping he silently stared up at the night sky, searching
for familiar constellations. To his surprise, the stars in this land did not
resemble those of his home. Here there were no familiar arrangements to the stars,
and it puzzled him. As the sky grew darker and more stars appeared in the sky,
he became ever more certain that he was correct. He felt like he had been
transported to another world.

With the pattern of
the alien stars embedded in his mind, he finally drifted off to sleep. Swirling
patterns of color appeared before his sleeping eyes. Shades of red and green swirled
themselves against a black background. Out of nowhere, bright-silver dots
appeared through the black, some of them far brighter than others. They formed
a shape that was unknown to him, but he was certain it was some sort of runic
symbol. The lines crossed over themselves, connecting the brightest lights
while the colors continued to swirl. He awoke with a start, his mind more
confused than ever.

Zamna was already
awake beside him, sitting cross-legged near the white-stone wall. “Good
morning,” he said. “Ready to try again?” Grinning at his friend, he gestured
his thumb at the door.

To Taren’s
disappointment, the door had not magically opened itself in the night. That
would have been far too convenient. With a sigh, he lifted himself from his bed
and approached the rune carvings. Looking back at Zamna, his face revealed his
uncertainty.

“Just take a deep
breath and try anything,” the La’kertan suggested. “It will come to you.”
Staying positive was becoming increasingly hard for the assassin. It wasn’t exactly
in his nature to be encouraging and supportive. However, if acting in that way
would get him inside the tomb, he would give it a try.

Flashing in the
mage’s mind was an image of the constellation he had seen in his dream. An idea
occurred to him. What if he cast spells that took up the same positions as the
stars in that formation? Hungrily, his eyes scanned the runes for the pattern.
It was only a moment before he found it. Unfortunately, he could not cast all of
the spells that appeared before him. Hoping he could find the pattern among a
different set of runes, he continued to scan the engravings. Indeed he found
what he needed. There were several instances of the exact same pattern, but
only one of those contained spells he was confident in casting. They came from
the schools of earth, air, and fire, which would account for the green, silver,
and red he had seen in his dream. Flashing a smile to his companion, he focused
his energy on his magic.

Reaching deep into
his stores, he cast the first spell at the door, and the corresponding runes
lit up. As he began the second spell, the first set of runes grew dim, and the
second set lit up. Taren wasn’t sure if this was how it should be, so he
continued along, casting each spell in turn. When he had finished, he waited
for the door to open. A minute passed and then another. Nothing. Screaming in
frustration he kicked the door and pounded on it with his fists.

Zamna sprang to his
feet to restrain the aggravated mage. Pulling him away from the door, he said,
“Calm down. You can do this. Try casting faster or slower, or something else.
You’re probably making this harder than it really is.”

Taren took a deep
breath and blew it out slowly. Zamna was probably right. Determined to try
again, he looked back at the rune carvings. Another image flashed in his
mind—the three moons he had seen overlapping the night before. Could that be
the answer? If he started the second spell before the first was completed, the
magic would overlap. His breath came heavier as he searched his mind, wondering
if he was capable of such magic. It took a great deal of concentration to cast
a single spell. How could he split his mind and cast two simultaneously?

Resolving to try
it, he stood firm before the door. Closing his eyes, he began to take deep
breaths, each time increasing the length of his exhale. When he felt himself
perfectly calm, he dug into the stores of magic remaining to him. With a focused
mind, he cast the first spell and held it as his right hand blasted red magic
against the stone door. The first set of runes lit with a red light. Holding onto
his composure, he began the second spell while still holding the first. Green
magic flew from the fingers of his left hand, landing against the door. The
second set of runes glowed green, while the first set remained lit as well.

Taren did not let
this success interrupt his concentration. Stopping to be amazed by this feat
would have only resulted in another failure. Staying focused, he ended the
first spell and cast the third while still holding the second. Success. The
three runes lit themselves, sparkling bright with magical energy. The young
mage continued in this manner, maintaining his focus until he reached the last
spell. Before his eyes, the line of runes glowed brightly in a perfect
imitation of the constellation he had seen in his dream.

Both men stared as
the runes continued to glow, increasing in their intensity. Taren felt weary
and drained, but he remained on his feet. A rumbling sound erupted from beneath
their feet as the massive stone carving began to move. It spun itself in a
circular pattern before slipping down inside the door. The door itself began to
shake, dust and debris that had lain dormant for centuries falling from its
edges. As if in slow motion, the door sank down into the ground, disappearing
before their eyes. A dark corridor beckoned them inside.

Amazed by what had
just occurred, Taren said, “Only a master wizard can cast two spells at once.”
His voice was hollow, the young mage still in shock at what he had done.

Zamna replied,
“Congratulations, Master. It looks like you’ve passed the test.”

Overcome by
weariness, Taren buckled to his knees. Zamna rushed to his side, stopping him
from falling face down on the stone floor.

“You need to take
one of your potions,” Zamna said. Grabbing the mage’s pack, he opened it and
looked inside. “Which one is it?”

Taren sat and
reached out for the bag. Pulling out a rejuvenation potion, he hesitated before
putting it to his lips.

“Drink,” the
La’kertan demanded. “We’re going inside now. You need your strength, and we
don’t have days to wait.”

The mage downed the
entire potion at once, feeling its energizing effects throughout his body. If
this was the end of the journey, it would not matter if he ran out. All that
was left was to reach Ailwen’s final resting place and retrieve the symbol that
was likely still clutched in her grip.

Standing outside
the open door, the two men peered into the dark corridor. The air inside the
stone structure was cold and still. Taren placed an arm across his companion’s
path, preventing him from stepping forward.

“Let me cast a
spell to detect any traps,” he said.

Zamna nodded his
agreement as the mage focused his energy to the spell. He saw nothing ahead,
but to his amazement, a series of lamps lit themselves along the walls.

“Did you do that?”
Zamna asked.

“I’m not sure,” the
mage replied. “That wasn’t the spell I cast, but the building seems to have
used my magic to illuminate the passage ahead.”

As they moved
forward, the lights behind them dimmed while the lights in front of them grew
brighter. Because the building had been constructed through magic, it held onto
the power unleashed by the young mage, and recycled it as he passed through its
halls.

Entering the first
room, their eyes fell on a pile of bones on the stone floor. As they watched,
it began to take shape, forming itself into a complete skeleton. Zamna readied
his daggers, preparing himself for an attack. Taren stood perfectly still,
staring at the figure ahead. The bleached white skull still had rotten bits of yellowed
flesh attached to it, and it wore a dark hood. Instantly Taren recognized it
from the vision he had in the crystal cave. The image of death stood before
them.

The skeletal form
raised its hand, halting the two of them from taking action. It creaked as it
moved forward, approaching the pair slowly. Small plumes of dust released from its
joints as it walked, and Taren marveled at its ability to hold itself together.

Zamna remained at
the ready but did not strike. Waiting to see if the skeleton was friend or foe,
he held his weapons steady. Whispering to Taren, he asked, “Didn’t the Sisters
say that bones were an omen of good fortune?”

Taren nodded,
watching carefully as the skeleton approached. Its mouth hung open in an unnatural
way, giving it the appearance that it was screaming, though no sound was being
produced. Closer and closer it marched, until finally it came face to face with
the travelers.

“I will lead you to
the Mistress’s tomb,” it said in a low, raspy voice.

Taren and Zamna
exchanged glances. “Why would you do that?” Zamna asked.

The skeleton
slanted its skull to the La’kertan, staring at him with empty eye sockets. “I
am bidden to do so,” it said.

“Do you have a
name?” the mage asked.

The skeleton shook
its head.

“What do we call
him, then?” Zamna asked. “Bone Man?”

Ignoring the
comment, Taren asked, “How far is it to the tomb?”

“This fortress is a
maze of intersecting corridors and rooms,” the skeleton explained. “You will
die alone if you do not follow me.” Saying nothing else, it turned its bony
back to them and walked away.

The pair hesitated
momentarily before following. Exchanging glances, they silently agreed to trust
in the wisdom of the Sisters of Gy’dan. Slowly they followed the bone man as he
moved along the passage. Shapes and shadows shifted at the corners of their
eyes, causing them to jerk their heads from side to side. All was silent,
suggesting the shadows were nothing more than their imagination. Any creature
moving about in this stillness would surely be heard.

Soon the trio came
to the entrance of a wide, empty room. A single pillar of stone stood at the
center of the room, a glowing gem of green affixed to its pointed top. As they
stepped inside, the gem began to spin, emitting a green beam of light. The
light scanned each of the travelers, remaining the longest on Taren. Without
warning, the pillar fired upon them, knocking both the La’kertan and the mage
to the ground. The bone man remained unaffected. He stood as solid as ever,
waiting for the men to rejoin him.

Zamna jumped to his
feet but was struck by a second blast from the pillar. It knocked him back,
this time sending him sprawling against the wall. Taren scrambled to his feet,
narrowly missing a green blast that was intended for him.

Dropping to his
knees at Zamna’s side, he asked, “Are you all right?”

The La’kertan
nodded but stayed down. “How do we get past it?”

Not knowing what
name to use for the skeleton, Taren called out, “Why is this thing attacking
us?”

The bone man did
not reply. Maintaining his silence, he stood at the far side of the room and
waited. This matter did not involve him. If they wished to visit the tomb, they
must deal with the obstacles on their own. He would guide them through the
passages, but he would neither fight nor provide any other assistance.

“It doesn’t seem to
fire when we’re down,” Taren said. “My guess is it doesn’t want to kill us.”

“Maybe the trigger
is on the level with the gemstone,” Zamna suggested. “It’s about the level of
our heads.”

“Are you suggesting
we crawl across the floor to avoid it?” Taren asked.

Zamna shrugged.
“It’s worth a try.”

Zamna rolled onto
his belly, and Taren dropped lower to the ground. Slowly they crawled across
the floor, their hands grasping at the dust of centuries that coated the stone
floor. The pillar at the center of the room flashed a few times but did not
fire upon them. Remaining low to the ground, they exited into the corridor
ahead. The skeleton led on, walking at an easy pace along the path.

“That wasn’t so bad,”
Taren commented.

Zamna said nothing.
Whatever that pillar was, he was certain it wasn’t intended to kill. It had hit
him with two separate blasts, which had only hindered him. If it wanted to kill
him, it was going about it the wrong way. It was simply an ancient device of
forgotten design. He hoped the next room would not contain a stronger one.

They pressed on
down the corridor, eventually coming to a second room. This one was also empty,
but its ceiling was lower. The left-hand side of the floor was tilted upward.
Moving forward, the bone man encountered no problems. However, when Taren and
Zamna stepped inside, the floor shifted, knocking them off-balance. They rolled
across the ground to the right, the floor sinking under the weight. As they
struggled back to their feet, the ceiling shifted. It came down close to their
heads, forcing them to throw their hands up to stop it.

“How did he get
across?” Taren asked, looking at the bone man.

“It wasn’t designed
to keep him out,” Zamna replied. Whoever built this place obviously did not
want visitors. “I’ll hold this end while you move toward the exit. Then you can
hold up that end for me.”