Akar could no longer swallow his screams. Pain wrenched strangled cries from him. The chill that flowed through his body was like the burning of ice on wet flesh. Yet his hand did not move, he did not wrench it from that dread touch, much as he longed to do so. He remained on his knees, gazing up at the god, though his limbs twisted with the agony.
The heavy-lidded eyes flashed; the full lips smiled. Nuitari let loose his grasp suddenly. Akar clutched his chilling, burning hand, saw five livid marks — the fingers of the god — upon the skin.
'My mark will be the sign and symbol of our discussion,' said Nuitari. 'That you may know, should you by chance ever doubt, that I have spoken to you.'
'If I would ever know doubt, it would only be to doubt my own worthiness of such an honor,' said Akar, staring at the imprints on his flesh. He looked again at Nuitari. 'How may I serve my lord?'
'Rise, be seated. We have much to discuss and we should be comfortable.'
Akar rose to his feet, stiffly, awkwardly, and returned to his desk, trying to keep from wringing his wounded hand. He knew what was expected of him, despite his suffering, and conjured up a chair for his guest, a chair that was made of night, held together by stars. This done, he stood humbly until his guest had seated himself, then Akar sank behind the desk, glad to be able to sit before he fell. He kept his hand hidden in the folds of his robes, bit his lips now and then as sharp flames of ice flickered over his skin.
'The gods are angry, Akar,' said Nuitari, the heavylidded eyes watching the flickering light of the oil lamp hanging above him. 'The scales of balance have tipped, threatening the world and all who live upon it. Krynn's destruction has been foreseen. In order to prevent that end, the gods have determined to take drastic measures to restore the balance. Within a fortnight, Akar, the gods will cast down from the heavens a mountain of fire. It will strike Ansalon and split it asunder. The mountain will fall upon the Temple of the Kingpriest and drive it far, far beneath the ground. Rivers of blood will wash over the temple, and the waters of the sea will drown it forever. This doom the gods intend, unless mankind repents, which, between you and me, Akar' — Nuitari smiled — 'I do not see him doing.'
Akar no longer felt the pain in his hand. 'I thank you for the warning, Master, and I will carry it to the other members of the Conclave. We will take such steps as are necessary to protect ourselves — '
Nuitari raised his pallid hand, made a gesture as if to brush away the inconsequential. 'Such is not your concern, Akar. My brother, Solinari, and my sister, Lunitari, both walk the halls of magic, bearing the same message. You have no need to fear. Nor,' he added softly, 'do you have any need to become involved. I have another, more important task for you.'
'Yes, Master!' Akar sat forward eagerly.
'Tomorrow night, the gods will come to Ansalon to remove those clerics who have remained true to their faith, those who have not been swayed by the corrupt tenets of the Kingpriest. At this time, the Lost Citadel will reappear, the true clerics will enter, and a bridge will form, leading from this world into worlds beyond. All true clerics may cross that bridge and will be sent to other realms far from this. Do you understand, Akar?'
'I do, Master,' said Akar, somewhat hesitantly, 'but what has this to do with me? I have little use for clerics, especially those who serve the god Paladine and his ilk. And there are none left alive who serve Her Dark Majesty. The Kingpriest saw to that with his edicts. The dark clerics were among the first to face his inquisitors, the first to feel the hot fires of the so-called 'purging' flames.'
'None left alive. Did you never wonder about that, Akar?'
Akar shrugged. 'As I said, Master, I have little use for clerics. Takhisis, Queen of Darkness, was long since banished from the world. I could only assume that she was unable to come to the aid of those who called out her name to save them from fiery death.'
'My mother remembers those who serve her, Akar,' said Nuitari. 'Likewise, Akar, she remembers those who fail her.'
Akar flinched as the pain in his hand flared through his blood. He gnawed his lip and cast down his eyes.
'I beg forgiveness, Master. How may I serve our queen?'
'On the night when the bridge forms, good and true clerics will cross from this plane to the next. It will be possible, at that particular moment, for the souls of the dark clerics who wait in the Abyss to cross as well.'
'Those who have perished serving the Dark Queen in this world will be able to return to it?'
'As all good and true clerics leave it. And thus, after the fall of the fiery mountain, there will be no clerics left in Krynn except those belonging to Her Dark Majesty.'
Akar raised his eyebrows. 'Truly an interesting plan, Master, and one that surely will aid Takhisis in her return to this world. But what has this to do with me? Forgive my speaking plainly, but it is the son I serve, not the mother. My loyalties lie to magic alone, as do yours.'
Nuitari appeared flattered by this answer. His smile widened, and he inclined his head. 'I am doing a favor for my mother. And the wizard who serves the mother will find rich reward from the son.'
'Ah!' Akar breathed softly, settled back in his chair. 'What reward, Master?'
'Power. You will become the most powerful wizard on Krynn, now and in the future. Even the great Fistandantilus — '
'My teacher,' Akar muttered, paling at the name.
'The great Fistandantilus will be forced to bow to your might.'
'Fistandantilus?' Akar stared. 'I will be his master? How is that possible?'
'With the gods, all things are possible.'
Akar continued to look dubious. 'I know the tremendous power of this mighty wizard. It is a power that might well rival that of a god.'
Nuitari frowned, and the black robes stirred. 'So he fancies himself. This Fistandantilus has displeased my mother. Even now he is in the Temple of the Kingpriest seeking to usurp the Dark Queen. He aspires to heights far above him. He must be stopped.'
'What must I do, Master?'
'If the blood of a good and true person is spilled in anger upon the bridge, the door to the Abyss will open and the dark clerics may return.'
'How am I to find the Lost Citadel, Master? None know its location. It exists only in the planes of magic. None have seen it since the beginning of time!'
Nuitari pointed. 'The lines upon your hand.'
Akar's hand pulsed and throbbed; skin writhed, and bones shifted. The pain was, for an instant, almost unendurable. He gasped, pressed his lips over a cry. Lifting his hand, he stared at it in silence. At length, drawing a shuddering breath, he was able to speak. 'I see. A map. Very well. Have you further instructions, my lord?'
'Steel must draw the blood.'
Akar shook his head. 'That makes matters more difficult. The only steel weapon we mages are permitted to carry is a dagger.'
'You may find another to perform the deed. It doesn't have to be yourself.'
'I understand. But what about guards, my lord? Won't the gods be guarding the bridge?'
'One of the gods of neutrality will stand guard. Zivilyn will not interfere, as long as you or whoever you find to serve chooses to do this deed of his own free will.'
Akar smiled grimly. 'I see no difficulty. I will undertake this task, Master. Thank you for the opportunity.'
Nuitari rose to his feet. 'I have long watched and been impressed by you, Akar. I believe I have chosen wisely. The blessing of the god of the black moon on you, my servant.'
Akar bowed his head in reverence. When he lifted it again, he was alone. The chair was gone, the wall was gone, and the door was back. He held the pen in his hand; the newly completed scroll lay on the table before him. All was exactly as it had been before. He might have thought he'd dreamed it, but for the pain.
He lifted his hand to the light, saw upon it the marks of the god's fingers. The marks formed roads that led up to the hills of his knuckles and over and around to the crisscrossed valley of his palm. He studied his hand, attempting to decipher the map.
Outside his door, he heard shuffling footfalls pass, robes brush against the stone floor. Someone coughed, softly.
A visitor, now, of all times.
'Go away!' Akar called. 'I'm not to be disturbed!'
