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little carved things Mortoth had gathered in his long life of sorcery and be
turning
+ 2(53*
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back through the labyrinthine ring-shaped house, toward this tower. The other
must be hunting down the three grim rangers she'd seen him watching on their
cautious creepings through an ancient forest.
The ball! The master's scrying crystal! She'd never dared do this for fear of
Mortoth's wrath, but. . . She looked at the thing of bones beside her, then
looked away again.
Slowly and carefully, Irendue lifted her head and called, "Buldimer! To me!"
There was a thrumming sound from the unseen doorway behind her, and Irendue's
heart leapt. It pleased Mortoth to give names to the items he'd personally
enchanted, that he might summon them in need. With this evil spell linking her
to the master, it seemed the items would answer her call!
To me!" she called again, putting all her will behind it this time. The sphere
of crystal sailed into view around the fiery web, flying smoothly through the
air to come scudding to a stop in the air before her, a little to one side the
master's side.
She could see into its depths, where there was a forest and tiny running
figures, and the flash of swords, and ... a bear that grew a human face and
hands. One of those hands rose from a fold of pelt holding some-tiling she
knew well: the master's wand of pain.
She'd seen him use it on the cat that prowled the garden, and on Lareth once.
She'd even felt its peculiar burning sting herself when she'd disagreed with
Mortoth on what beast shape he'd change her into, and what use of her he'd
make then. She'd never forgotten its lash, or the softly spoken word the
master had used to make it hurt her so.
She spoke that word now. "Anamauthree," she said, softly but clearly, staring
into the crystal, and feeling a sudden surge in the white fire around her as
the crystal flickered.
The only flesh the wand was touching as she spoke
ALL SHADOWS FLKD
was the grasping hand of the creature called Bralatar and so, of course, its
magic was visited upon him. She saw him stiffen and stagger. From out of the
forest beyond, something came roaring. Something blue-white and deadly, which
washed across the crystal with blinding fury, sending out a lance of light
through the web beside her.
The endless fire faltered for a moment and with a sob of desperation, Irendue
flung herself forward through a moment of twisting, churning agony . . . and
fell free.
She'd never thought falling on her face on the cold, hard privy chamber floor
would be such a welcome thing . . . even with the sick, weak feeling in her
right arm. She looked at it, shuddered, and bit her lip as fresh tears came.
Her once smooth, shapely arm was now wrinkles of skin over bones, from forearm
to shoulder... a thing of death. She lifted it, and watched it move normally.
She flexed the fingers of her unblemished hand, beyond the ruin, and watched
them respond as usual. She touched the floor with one . . . and felt nothing.
Irendue swallowed and looked back up at the web of fire, a thing of stars
through the tears on her lashes. The master hung there more dead than alive,
and Turnold and Lareth, too.
She knelt on the floor below it and shuddered, gathering all her strength for
what she knew she must do. The crystal ball flashed and spun silently above
her, but she did not bother to look at it. Whatever befell in that distant
battle, she must prevail here and now.
Here, and now. Grimly she wobbled to her feet, unbalanced by her shriveled
arm, and swayed, fighting for calm and stable footing. If she fell back into
the web, this would all be for naught.
She wept anew when she stared into the master's sunken face. It was little
better than a skull, a skull with staring white eyes, no pupils to be seen in
those
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deep-sunken sockets.
Irendue swallowed. With her good arm, she reached out and tugged at his hair.
A good handful of it came away; she flung it aside in revulsion and tried
again, twisting her fingers into what little hair was left and shaking him.
His scalp began to tear . . . and no blood welled forth!
"Master! Brave Mortoth! My master! Irendue calls thee!" she cried desperately,
her face inches from his own. His lips moved slightly, but no sound came
forth. He made no further reaction. She shook him again, and patted at his
forehead and shoulder the only other places in the flowing fire that she dared
reach, earning an almost painful tingling in her fingertips as she did so.
There was no response at all this time.
Irendue stepped back. Tears fell unheeded to the floor at her feet, and she
regarded her master soberly. "Fare better than this, Mortoth," she said
formally, once she'd fought down sobs to find a voice. Then, with a last great
sigh, she turned away. The great wizard was beyond her help.
His hands were spread, the fingers awash with white fire. There was no way for
her to get them free to open the spellbooks that would respond only to his
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