she recognized it as the mating field of Spawn. But it was totally empty at this time, no wild, unfettered coupling taking place; perhaps the females were not in heat. Yet the dark force she felt did not emanate from this hall, and down she went into the structure below.
She descended into a chamber filled with mutilated corpses: some rotting, some fresh, some flayed, some missing limbs or heads, while others were gutted or had further atrocities performed upon them, as if some dreadful experiments were taking place. At one end of the room a curtained archway stood, and from the chamber beyond, a dreadful chanting sounded.
Aylis approached the opening, and she peered within a candlelit room to see ‹dark fire› flowing. She slid behind a shadow and into the vile sanctum. And she peeked out from in back of the blackness to see what might be taking place.
It was a ceremony, a rite, a ritual, for there assembled in a circle was a group of eleven, no, twelve Mages, one of whom-a Magus with long black hair down to his hips-called out arcane words. The other twelve were arrayed about a large geometric figure scribed on the floor-somewhat like a spiked wheel-and six of the Mages stood at each tine, and six more stood in the gaps between. At the hub of the wheel lay the corpse of a Hlok, and ‹dark fire› flowed down and into the dead body, ‹fire› wrested from a score of screaming Rucks shackled to the walls.
And the corpse twitched and shuddered and then sat up; its jaw dangled agape, and its head tilted on its neck at a broken angle, and it opened its eyes all milky and dull. With the crackling of bone it wrenched its skull upright to look about at the Mages, and then swiveled its face toward Aylis as she jerked back behind the shadow; and she heard what seemed to be a thousand voices all crying out together, as if a myriad of dead souls were crowding forward to scream through the single mouth of the corpse and cry out a warning.
Even as the shrieks wrenched out from that throat, Aylis bolted up and away, and as she passed from behind the shadow and into the ceiling above, she saw the corpse pointing at her as she fled, while Magekind turned or lifted their gazes as if to see what the dead Hlok saw; and she sped up through stone and chambers and halls and soil and cobbles to emerge in the center of the courtyard.
Back to the knoll she raced, to flee into her own body, and as she regained possession of herself she managed to cry out, “Discovered!” before she slumped forward into a faint.
And from somewhere within the Black Fortress, a huge gong began tolling out an alarm.
7
NEXUS
WINTERDAY, 5E1010
[THE FINAL YEAR OF THE FIFTH ERA]
“Aylis!” cried Aravan, starting forward, even as she slowly toppled sideways to lie as one asleep. But Bair grabbed onto Aravan’s arm and held him back, saying, “Nay, kelan, the ‹fire› yet flows. I think it would not do to break the stream.”
Though agitated, nevertheless, Aravan waited, shifting from foot to foot, straining to hold back, while a league and a mile away, the alarm gong in the Black Fortress continued to sound out a deep tolling.
Moments passed, and moments more, but at last Bair said, “Now.”
Quickly, Aravan stepped through the arc of Magekind and unto Aylis’s side, where he knelt and cradled her in his arms. “Chier. Chier,” he whispered.
Mages of the arc got to their feet, all but Delynn, who remained seated. “Fear not, Aravan,” said the Sorceress. “It taxes a Seer to do what Aylis did, and I am surprised that she managed to speak ere she swooned. But she will waken soon, for her spirit is now fully within her form.”
Several more moments passed, and at last Aylis opened her gold-flecked green eyes to stare into Aravan’s sapphire blue gaze.
“Love?” she asked, frowning.
“Just counting the freckles ’pon your cheeks, Chier,” said Aravan, smiling. Then he kissed her lightly.
Even as he aided her to her feet, Aylis’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, my, I was discovered. We must get to my father, for there are more than we guessed might be.”
“Twelve, daughter, twelve?”
“Yes, Father,” replied Aylis, now fully recovered from the strain of her casting. “Twelve Black Mages. Yet whether there are additional dark Wizards, I cannot say.” She stood among a small gathering of Elves and Wizards, Aravan at her side, Bair across from her, the allied forces nearby.
Still, the alarm gong in the Black Fortress rang.
Cadir sighed. “We planned for one or two, but twelve?”
Dalor shook his head. “As jealous as they are of one another, for that many Black Mages to be together is a rarity. I wonder why they might have gathered?”
Fedor, a tall, skinny Mage standing next to Alamar, glanced at Bair and then at Aravan and said, “Mayhap it has to do with the death of Gyphon. Perhaps they yet have ambitions.”
“Of course they have ambitions,” snapped Alamar, “but without a god at their beck, we are more than a match for Black Magekind.”
“All of us on Vadaria can defeat them,” said Dalor, “but here with the numbers we have versus theirs?”
Fedor glumly nodded. “Twelve Black Mages in the bastion is certainly more than we bargained for, and if there are others, well. .”
“Why would this be a problem?” asked Ruar. “I mean, there are seven nines of you Mages among us. Is that not enough to counter twelve?”
Aylis shook her head. “It isn’t the number of Mages we have, but rather the amount of ‹fire› at our beck.” She sighed and gestured at the fortress. “Those vile Mages will wrest what life force they need from the Foul Folk within, whereas we will use only our own.”
Dalor nodded in agreement, then said, “And since more ‹fire› can be wrenched from those in agony, from those who suffer, and because there will be plenty of pain, anguish, and distress in the battle to come, then even more fuel will be at the beck of Black Magekind.”
“So twelve can overpower sixty-three?” asked Ancinda Soletree.
Fedor glumly sighed and said, “Mayhap.”
“If they prevail, then likely they will defeat our army as well,” said Arandor.
“And they were raising a corpse?” asked Cadir.
Aylis sighed. “They were. A Hlok.”
Cadir turned to Alamar. “Then they will know all about us: that an army of Elves and Mages is on Neddra, as well as our numbers and kinds.”
“They will?” asked Ruar.
“Nothing can be hidden from the dead,” said Cadir.
“True,” said Branwen. “But only if they can single out that particular slain Hlok’s voice from among the myriad other dead all vying to speak.”
“What we need is a plan,” said Bair.
“And before dawn, I think,” said Arandor.
Aylis frowned in thought and then said, “What if we hold off our assault on the fortress until after the Mages are slain?”
Aravan turned up a hand and looked at her. “Chier?”
“That way they won’t have the agony of the dying to draw ‹fire› from,” said Aylis.
“They’ll pull it out of the living, regardless,” said Dalor.
“Aye, but Aylis is right: less life force will be at their disposal,” said Cadir.
“Look,” snapped Alamar, “I say our plan changes little: we seven nines, especially those of us who can wield
