Balcombe was annoyed. He thrust out his chest and in stentorian tones announced, "As you overheard with your mouse ears, tonight I take LaDonna's place in the Conclave of Wizards."
The sea elf laughed.
Balcombe struck her.
Selana fell against a pillar and slid to the floor, wiping a thin trickle of blood from her lip with the back of her hand. Though stunned, the sea elf princess felt invigorated. She had discovered a chink in Balcombe's armor.
"Oh, that," she said lightly. "It seems to me, if I recall correctly, Hiddukel promised you nothing, except to consider your proposal." She smiled condescendingly. "Face it, Balcombe. It will never happen. Hiddukel is not going to disrupt the entire conclave for one petty squire's soul, no matter how pure."
Balcombe's repulsive face turned dark and stormy, and he looked about to strike Selana again. He stopped with his hand poised above her cheek and suddenly broke into an eerie grin. "Perhaps not, Princess. That is why he will be receiving another, more valuable soul."
Almost tenderly, Balcombe reached out and caught a drop of blood from the corner of her mouth. Watching Selana's horrified expression with obvious pleasure, he licked his finger, savoring the taste. "Blood is most toothsome, don't you think? I believe I enjoy its saltiness the most.
"But, I dally." Sighing as if bored, he took her slight arm in a grip as strong as iron and dragged her, stumbling and sobbing, to the pedestal table. She kicked at him, but he dodged her half-hearted blow easily. "Try to maintain some of your royal bearing and dignity, Princess," he taunted.
"Speaking of which, we cannot let you meet Hiddukel, broker of souls, looking like a street urchin." Balcombe muttered a word, and Selana's tattered clothing was replaced by an elegant gossamer gown of the same unusual blue-green shade as her eyes. Her white hair, magically washed and straightened, curled about her pale face in soft, radiant clouds. She shivered in the damp air.
Balcombe regarded her new appearance and smiled, clucking his tongue sadly. "Such a pity. You were a fetching princess."
Closing her eyes, the frightened sea elf tried one last time to remember a spell—any spell—that might help her escape, but her magical resources were exhausted.
Balcombe reached into the depths of his black robe and withdrew a large ruby. Looking among the facets, Selana thought she could almost make out the fair face of the young squire, Rostrevor.
The mage placed the sizable gem on the pedestal table. He looked up to a hole in the ceiling, about six feet around, through which muted moonlight poured into an oval-shaped, gem-sized cradle carved into the granite. "You cannot see Nuitari, Princess, but soon it will converge with Lunitari directly overhead. When that happens, you will be encased in this magnificent ruby, just as Rostrevor is trapped in his. I imagine it must be a pleasant prison—everything bathed in countless shades of crimson. Far more pleasant, certainly, than what awaits you in Hiddukel's tender embrace."
He moved his hand toward his robe again, then paused and regarded the wrist wearing the bracelet. The skin beneath the copper jewelry suddenly grew uncomfortably warm. He rubbed his wrist, but the skin did not feel hot to the touch. Still the sensation of heat was unmistakable.
Balcombe was about to remove the bracelet when something struck him softly on the back of the head. He reeled momentarily, then whirled on the attacker. Instead of seeing someone behind him, he saw several people, including the kender, the dwarf, and the half-elf who had traveled with Selana, stepping from the doorway to his magical laboratory. As they rushed toward him, three more people dropped down the opening above the altar and attacked him from behind.
Pulse pounding at his temples, Balcombe nearly cast a spell in his defense before he realized that there were no attackers. He blinked repeatedly. The room was empty except for himself, Selana, and his golems. The others had been figments of his mind, just a . . . vision.
He realized almost instantly that this was indeed a prescient dream triggered by the bracelet; he had seen a forecast of the future.
Watching his face, Selana grew afraid. "What is it? What did you see?"
Quickly he cast a simple spell of holding on the sea elf. "Thanks to your bracelet, Princess," he said, "I've been alerted to an imminent event that I will easily prevent. Although I am at a loss to explain their escape from Tantallon, it seems your friends have decided to launch a rescue."
He removed the bracelet so as not to be distracted from his spellcasting, and set it on the altar.
"I must prepare a welcome for some uninvited guests."
Chapter 18
A Gem of a Solution
A grimacing Flint scratched at his beard. "I'll Never get all these bugs out of it," he grumbled to Tanis. "It's no wonder birds don't have hair."
"And no wonder you don't have wings," responded the half-elf. "You'd never use them for the sake of that precious beard. Watch your step on these loose rocks."
Just as Tanis uttered his warning, a melon-sized stone skidded under his foot and tumbled away down the scree-covered slope. Flint avoided it by leaning to the side. Just past his position, it struck a boulder with a solid whack and caromed clear over the heads of Tasslehoff and three phaethons, who brought up the rear of the group. It disappeared into the darkness below them, but the series of cracks signaled clearly each impact as it bounded to the base of the slope, three hundred yards below.
"Missed me again, Tanis. That's twice," said Tasslehoff, resuming his climb.
"Third time's the charm," Flint muttered.
Nanda Lokir, at the head of the string of climbers, turned back to the group. "We are nearing the crest. Everyone be quiet now, and
