Gellor dipped his finger in a little pot of ointment and drew a greasy line on his comrade's forehead. 'This salve will do better. I think,' he said. 'It'll stop the bleeding and begin speedy mending, too.'
'Stop coddling each other and hurry!' That admonition came from Allton. His face was strained, and there was an edge of irritation in his voice. Gord stared blankly at him and the mage added, 'I am holding open a gateway for us to use — to follow that gimlet-eyed sorcerer who fled us as he gave the alarm. Come on!'
There were distant sounds of shouting and a faint pounding of feet. It was obvious that other guards were on their way. Chert tossed a pair of bodies out of the doorway and slammed the heavy slab of iron-bound bronzewood that closed it. 'Help me barricade the door,' he shouted, dropping its bar in the meantime. Gellor, Greenleaf and Gord sprang to comply, using the table, a big wardrobe, and the corpses as well. It took only a couple of minutes.
'I don't see a portal,' the young thief said to All-ton. The spell-worker nodded in the direction in which his staff was pointed, and then Gord saw a faint shimmering in the air. As he stared, the distortion took on a pale, violet hue. Timmil, the cleric, was still reciting his steady litany. The words seemed to flow into the distortion, making an amethystine current as they went. 'You two combine to track our enemies,' Gord said as the realization came to him.
'Very observant, champion,' the high priest answered dryly. 'Now, pray, pass through the gate and along the path of purple. This won't stay open forever, you know.'
Because he was the nominal leader of the group, Gord drew a deep breath and went squarely through the center of the rectangle of shimmering force. With his first, long stride the chamber disappeared. Nothing behind, silver-shot walls of ebony close at either hand, an insubstantial floor of shifting lilac fading to deep plum ahead endlessly. Without breaking stride, the champion of the Balance pressed ahead into the strange, dweomered tunnel. There was an eerie oppressiveness that grew stronger as he went on. It was as if he were fighting a current to make progress, a stream that grew in force with every step he took, making progress slower and more difficult as he moved ahead.
Gord felt a hand on his back, then heard Gellor's voice. The others are behind us in the pathway, Gord. Concentrate on the goal, and we will soon be through; otherwise…' The troubador let his sentence trail away.
The result was too obvious to need voicing. If they did not press on relentlessly, they could all be lost in a region somewhere between the ethereal and astral. Perhaps Allton could get them all safely out, but even that might mean losing weeks of normal time. Gord concentrated on the destination of this journey — Gravestone. Surely the mage who had escaped them would go directly to his master, and nothing better could be hoped for. The light of silvery striation and violet path was beginning to grow dim, slowly fading, but a faint speck of magenta glimmered ahead. 'Keep your hand on my back, Gellor, and pass the word back to run! I'm going for it now!'
Chapter 9
A dissonant chiming filled the black-walled room. Despite the monstrous size of the place, the sound was audible everywhere within it, no softer in the farthest corner than in the center, where a number of flying bridges led upward to a platform that was suspended there.
As the nasty sound died away to a tooth-aching whine, a deep violet light suddenly washed over the floating disc in the middle of the vast chamber, its illumination making plain the whole extent of the massive platform that was a bowshot across and covered with dark, jumbled shapes. Into the private realm of the priest-wizard Gravestone suddenly came a wildly gesturing figure.
'Sigildark!'
The wizard of evil had brought himself into the space that was the center of the floating disc, that portion that his lord and master held sacrosanct. 'I implore your forgiveness. Great One,' he stammered to Gravestone, his arms still flailing in an uncontrolled fashion. 'There are enemies in your tow-'
'Be still!' The last word thundered from the tall, gaunt man. It jerked Sigildark into instant immobility. 'Open your mind now, and I will see for myself what has sent you into such a state.' So saying, the priest-wizard fixed his gaze on Sigildark and shot forth a bolt of tremendous mental energy, a magically enhanced probe that instantly laid bare the compliant mage's mind.
What Gravestone saw inside there made him stand upright with a snarl. In a flash, he had seen everything that the wizard had perceived in his brief exposure to the six combatants. Gravestone could interpret the information only slightly better than his lackey, but that was more than enough to send surges of burning rage and chilly fear through his tall body. Here indeed were foes of unguessable strength. No true auras could be read, but the glow of energy, the traceries of purpose that were evident, told more than enough.
'What…? Who are-'
'Go below instantly,' Gravestone commanded, cutting the query off without response. 'Immediately, or else I will blast you where you stand!'
That was sufficient to send Sigildark scurrying toward the nearest edge of the suspended space he was upon. Being a dweomercraefter, he had no need of stairs, of course. A leap, a fall that would gradually slow to a gentle float downward, and he would be one hundred feet below on the floor in no time. As he was about to clamber over the low parapet that circumscribed the floating island of stonelike matter. Gravestone's voice hissed in his ear. 'Summon Krung. Have him by your side when you confront those who will dare intrude.'
The wizard gritted his teeth and stepped into space. He had no qualm about the distance to the hard floor below. It was Gravestone's words that made him fearful. The priest-mage had just told him he must face the enemies he had fled. Somehow, Sigildark knew that they were a test that he could not endure, and the thought of having the netherfiend. Krung, to help fight them was scant encouragement.
'Why not some greater one?' Sigildark thought, hoping that his master would discern the thought and respond. The black mage knew better than to form the names Pazuzeus and Shabriri in his mind, but he did allow the names of several of the more powerful daemons he had met in this place to float near the surface of his brain. There was no reply, though, and his feet touched the blackish purple of the floor before he could bring up more mental suggestions to send to Gravestone. Thinking better of it anyway. Sigildark used his feet to carry him at a near trot toward the summoning place, a tiered pit beneath the center of the platform above.
His hands trembled as he made the preparations and began the passes that would bring Krung from his own disgusting place to this non-plane that was Gravestone's little domain. He drew a deep breath and calmed himself. After all, the netherfiend was a very puissant being; besides, the priest-wizard might be mistaken. Even the most potent of foes would have a difficult time finding this place. Setting even those thoughts aside. Sigildark began his summoning.
High above. Gravestone stopped scanning the man's mind, sneering. The fool didn't even realize that he had laid down a track for the enemy to follow. All the better. It would take some time to bring Pazuzeus and Shabriri, and in the meantime Sigildark and Krung would 'entertain' the unwanted visitors. Perhaps the work thereafter would be minimal… possible, but doubtful!
Gravestone used a rodlike wand to scribe a glowing form, a thing of impossible lines and curves, chanting equally impossible words as he worked.
As the burning shapes grew and the stream of sound became a nonstop rush of arcane syllables. Gravestone allowed one corner of his evil brain to ponder events. He felt deep, malign satisfaction as he worked, for the priest-wizard understood that he had been presented with the greatest opportunity ever, something he had not dared to hope would occur again. Into his hands was coming the one who could only be the champion that stood between the coming of Tharizdun and the multiverse. The demons he was bringing would be for those who accompanied the one. He, Gravestone, would personally account for the would-be champion. Who then could deny him his rightful place as Tharizdun's viceroy and chief agent when the Greatest of EMI arrived in his dark and malign majesty? None was the answer — not even Tharizdun himself!
The dark violet spot grew as large as a postern gate, and with a final surge Gord pushed through it. He was suddenly engulfed in darkness, but in a second he began to perceive the weird 'light' of visual sense operating in the spectrum above violet and at the same time below red. This special sight had been initially granted to the young adventurer by the strange powers of the green, cat's-eye ring he wore. Now, however, he knew that his own nerves
