Still, he'd made his decision. He turned his back on Mirror, chose one of the exits opening to the northeast, and strode toward it. Once he rounded the first bend in the tunnel on the other side, it was impossible to look back and see the ghost even had he wished to do so. Which he didn't. He needed to focus on whatever lay ahead.
He told himself that if he survived, he'd come back for Mirror. Told himself too, that it was absurd to imagine that one could truly save a man already dead. Mirror's existence was a cold, hollow mockery of life, misery without end, as a fellow undead knew only too well. The phantom was probably better off suspended as he was.
Bareris stopped and raked his fingers through his hair. Then he turned and retraced his steps.
'I know this isn't what you'd want,' he said to Mirror. 'It's not what I want, either. But apparently it's what I'm going to do.'
He sang until no magic remained to him, and the dark bubble stayed intact. He waited until his power replenished itself, then began again.
He chanted one incantation, sang another, then started a third. And as the music hammered it, the bubble sheared apart and crumbled like a wasp's nest burning in an unseen flame. It was hard to say why, for he'd cast the identical spell several times before. Perhaps all his attempts at countermagic had exercised a cumulative effect, or maybe it was just that he'd finally gotten lucky.
Mirror bounded out of the disintegrating sphere, then stopped and cast wildly about when he perceived the vasuthant was no longer in front of him.
'It caught you in a kind of trap,' Bareris said. 'I killed it, then set you free.'
'Thank you,' Mirror said. Then, perhaps struck by something in his comrade's manner, he peered at him more closely. 'How long did it take to free me?'
Bareris shrugged. 'Buried in these tunnels, it's hard to know. But too long. We have to get moving.'
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
19 Kythorn, The Year of the Dark Circle (1478 DR)
Other creatures emerged from the gloom to menace Bareris. But fortunately, none were as formidable as the vasuthant, and one by one, he and Mirror killed them or put them to flight. Until finally, a basket arch appeared at the end of a stretch of tunnel.
They'd been seeking it so long that, for an instant, an irrational part of Bareris's mind didn't trust it to be real. He had a sense that it would vanish like a mirage as soon as he took another step.
But it didn't, and on the other side was a passage plainly created by artisans, albeit probably not human ones. The faded murals on the walls depicted lizardfolk carrying on the business of a civilization that looked as complex and advanced as any extant today. For an instant, Bareris wondered what calamity had reduced the reptiles to the primitive brutes with which he was familiar.
Maybe, he thought, one of their wizards had attempted the Great Work.
Mirror grinned. 'You did it, my brother. You found a way in.'
'We haven't done anything yet,' Bareris said. 'Stand watch while I try the next part.'
He extracted five small, sealed silver vials from his belt pouch. Each contained a drop of blood drawn from Aoth, Nevron, Lauzoril, Lallara, or Samas Kul. Clasping them in his left hand, he sang under his breath to send a message. To establish a connection over hundreds of miles.
After a time, he felt the link establish itself, a sensation like a rope pulling taut. He concluded the first song and began another, cobbled together from the same tones, rhythms, and words of power that enabled a bard to shift himself instantly from place to place. Objects appeared to ripple and ooze as he undermined the integrity of the space in which they existed. Violet sparks fell from the air like snowflakes.
Aoth had found a battlefield to his liking. True, he and his allies would have the Lapendrar at their backs-no practical way of avoiding that-but a bend in the river would protect their right flank, and a patch of woods-and the archers Gaedynn would station there-should keep the enemy off the left. In addition, his side had claimed the high ground. True, it wasn't much higher than the surrounding grassland, but it might make a difference even so.
Once he was certain that Khouryn and the zulkirs' commanders were setting up the battle formation properly, he, Jet, and half a dozen of his fellow griffon riders flew out to take another look at the foe. As before, he found himself intrigued by the steel behemoth marching in the lead. So-Kehur, autharch of Anhaurz, looked like a scorpion with some additional limbs and a mask of a glaring human face attached, and he-if 'he' was the right pronoun-was as huge as the undead octopus-things that had burrowed up out of the ground at the battle of the Keep of Sorrows.
His army looked nasty too. He had mounted lancers. Spearmen. Crossbowmen. Orcs, dread warriors, Red Wizards, and shuttered black wagons like coffins on wheels to carry entities unable to bear the sun. Their progress shrouded the marching columns in a haze of dust.
'Can we beat them?' asked Jet.
'Yes,' said Aoth.
'Even though we're still torn up from the last fight?'
'Yes. Why the sudden doubts?'
'Because I get peeks at what's inside your head, O Mighty Captain.'
Aoth snorted. 'I'd be a fool if I
'Aoth…'
It was Bareris's voice crooning his name, and, startled, Aoth reflexively cast about to find the bard. For an instant, he saw him too, standing with Mirror in a corridor decorated with painted lizardfolk. Then the image melted away, exposing the mound of gray cumulus cloud behind it. A sense of connection, however, remained.
Aoth felt elated and disgusted at the same time, the former because Bareris had succeeded in his mission, the latter because the timing could scarcely have been worse. But there was nothing to be done about the when of it.
Responding to his master's unspoken desire, Jet wheeled and raced back toward the river. Aoth surveyed the battle lines on the rise, spotted four scarlet-robed figures-and the attendants who generally followed them around- toward the rear of the formation, and sent Jet plunging down to alight beside them.
'We have to go,' said Samas Kul. Aoth observed that the transmuter had abandoned his floating throne. Once again, he wore a harness made of white light to help him carry his bulk around.
'I know,' said Aoth, 'but I need another moment.' He dismounted, cast about, and found Khouryn already waiting to confer with him. The dwarf wore a leather arming cap but hadn't yet donned the steel helmet that went on top of it. 'Bareris just called us.'
'I figured that out,' Khouryn said. 'You're sure you need to go too?'
Aoth lowered his voice. 'Someone should be there-someone besides Bareris and Mirror, I mean-who thinks that stopping the Unmaking is more important than saving his own skin.'
Khouryn nodded. 'I see that. Well, don't worry. The army could use all the magic you five are taking away with you, but we'll manage.'
'I know you will.'
'Now!' Nevron shouted.
Aoth turned. The zulkirs had moved apart to clear a space among them, and eight soldiers stood inside it. Aoth and Jet hurried to join them.
'Are you sure about this?' asked Aoth the griffon. 'Stay here, and you can fight under the open sky.'
Jet clacked his beak shut on empty air. It was one of several mannerisms the familiar used to expressed annoyance. 'I already told you, I'm coming.'
'Everyone, be silent!' Lallara snapped. She raised her staff, chanted words of power, and, one by one, the other archmages joined in.
