Chapter Seven
The fortress of Metos proved quite daunting the further Lamorak and his nameless companion delved below ground. The layout of the compound wasn't complex by any means – the High Imaskari seemed not to care for intricate architecture and tended more toward the pragmatic – but the many layers of magical enchantments that served as the fortress's defenses constantly kept the pair on edge. Within a fortnight they had suffered the aftereffects of sleep spells cast on certain doors as a means of keeping unwanted intruders out, traversed entire illusory passageways that led nowhere (or worse, led to some grisly trap meant to ensnare the unwary or weak-willed), and battled more ensorcelled sentinels than either of them could count. In addition to their hostile surroundings they continued to run afoul of the occasional starving phaerimm, which in Lamorak's opinion proved a far more dangerous foe than a phaerimm at the very peak of health. An aberration who had not consumed either prey or magical residue in a great while was more aggressive, more reckless, and far more unpredictable than their conniving kind generally tended to behave.
Still, the continued appearance of scavenging phaerimm in a centuries-abandoned fortress raised many questions, and this topic became a popular one for Lamorak, Brennus, and their mysterious comrade to debate during periods of inactivity.
"It seems quite curious that we should keep encountering the wretched beasts," the cloaked nomad snarled after their most recent run-in with yet another solitary phaerimm – he had chipped the fine head of his spear trying to pierce through the thornback's hard exoskeleton, and because of this he was in a phenomenally foul humor. "Are they drawn to abandoned civilizations? Is this their preferred habitat?"
They were installed in a side chamber not far from where they had felled the beast and well under way making preparations to settle in for the night; Lamorak was stoking a small campfire using wiry tufts of hair he had harvested from the phaerimm they had slain and near the chamber entrance the Imaskarcana lay open, the runes on the vellum page glowing softly as Brennus harnessed the spellbook's energy to erect defensive wards. Lamorak chose to respond, as Brennus's concentration was clearly elsewhere. "Netherese history states that the phaerimm used to exist only underground, but were driven to the surface when magical residue from the Netherese floating enclaves began drifting downward and seeping through the earth, thus poisoning their homes. The phaerimm retaliated in kind, using their magical absorption techniques to bring down several cities and destroy them. Netherese archwizards waged war on them, but the phaerimm claimed the upper hand for a long time – being so familiar with the arcane the monsters fed on it, often rendering even the most powerful spells utterly useless. Using life-draining spells the phaerimm reduced the Netherese Empire – once vibrant and lush and beautiful – to a barren wasteland, and thus the Anauroch Desert came to be. Do you know of the Sharn?"
His hooded companion had been bandaging a superficial wound during Lamorak's tale, but glanced up interestedly now. "I have heard of their kind, but I know little of them."
Lamorak nodded, unsurprised. "Few are at all familiar with them – they are secretive and few, and also choose to dwell beneath the surface world. It was their kind that succeeded in sealing the phaerimm away, using an enchanted magical barrier that came to be known as the Sharn Wall and thus corralling them in one secluded corner of the Upperdark. The barrier kept the beasts at bay for a long while, but it was eventually breached by a foolish band of tomb raiders and the phaerimm were ultimately set free."
It was then that the glow emanating from the Imaskarcana dimmed and Brennus's voice could be heard. "They are lured by the presence of magic, and are not easily dissuaded from pursuing it once they have detected it – doubtless that is what has led them here, for by now you have seen with your own eyes the enormity of the fortress's magical defenses."
Retrieving the book Lamorak eased the door shut and retreated to where the campfire was just crackling to life, a somewhat guilty expression on his face now. "Or they are being lured by the presence of the Imaskarcana."
"The idea has crossed my mind also," Brennus agreed, in a mild tone he hoped might assuage his brother's guilt. "But consider the state we have found them in – barely alive, and half-mad from malnourishment. If the book's magic were attracting them they would likely be vital and strong, but instead they are starved. I believe they have been here for years, scavenging for magical scraps where they can find them and surviving off whatever leftover morsels of past enchantments they are able to detect in their weakened state. That is likely why they attack so ravenously when we happen upon them – the magical energies bound within the Imaskarcana would be enough to sustain a single phaerimm for decades, perhaps even a century."
"But who knows how long this place has been deserted?" their unnamed companion argued. "How can they have gotten here at all? Even we could not escape once we had set foot inside."
Lamorak was certain he had the answer. "Either there is a breach in the lower levels of the fortress," he reasoned, "or the wizard-kings of High Imaskar were so mighty that they bent the phaerimm's allegiance through magical means and kept them as slaves."
"What manner of heartless men were the denizens of High Imaskar, to enslave a sentient race and then abandon them to such a cruel fate?" wondered Lamorak's comrade incredulously, and though the Third Prince opened his mouth to respond it was Brennus who answered.
"The kind who entertained absolute power for a time, and were punished swiftly and mercilessly by the gods. There is a reason why the kingdom of High Imaskar lies in ruins now, and why the descendants of that nation fled beneath the surface just to preserve their way of life. Their kind enslaved so many races throughout the rise of their empire that they made a great many enemies, all of whom prayed day and night for the gods to exact their wrath upon their heartless masters. The god's retribution was so devastating that only by hiding in the deepest caverns of the Underdark could the Imaskari hope to survive."
From within the darkness of his hood their nameless companion's voice had grown introspective. "These foes are mighty."
"There is a reason I am entombed within this spellbook," Brennus pointed out, "and my brother nearly died facing off against Voltain Darkydle."
"You should rest," Lamorak interrupted – he did not want to dwell long on the subject of his defeat, for it still seemed too fresh in his mind and the shame he felt in being bested had not yet abated. "I will take the first watch, and wake you if the door is breached."
The other man did not need telling twice, settling in upon his bedroll and turning so the fire was at his back; Lamorak took up a post seated against the wall perpendicular to the door, the Imaskarcana resting in his lap. The chamber took on an eerie sense of timelessness the longer he sat there – with no way to glimpse the outside world they had no way of knowing just what time of day it was, and Lamorak had only the slowly-dying campfire nearby to mark the passage of time. He got up twice to feed more phaerimm hair into the fire, and when his mind inevitably began to wander he heard his brother's thoughts waft through the air.
"Lamorak… I believe it's time we had a talk about Phendrana."
The Third Prince did not respond right away, so surprised was he by his youngest brother's forwardness. So much time had elapsed since his fall into the Anauroch Desert that he had assumed Brennus would not broach such a topic – after all, Brennus was the most soft-spoken and mild-mannered of all of them, and tended to avoid confrontation at all costs. That he would be the one to bring up such a delicate subject was not in his character, and not for the first time Lamorak wondered just how much his brother's personality had been altered by being in such continued close proximity to the Imaskarcana.
"Is it?" Lamorak baited, curious as to how his brother might respond now that they were entering into what promised to be quite an uncomfortable discussion.
"Past time, in fact, but I have been considering how best to approach the topic diplomatically."
That admission took Lamorak by surprise, and for a moment he frowned down at the book's cover as though it were the physical manifestation of his youngest brother. Diplomacy had never been Brennus's strong suit – not that he wasn't possessed of the intellectual acumen needed to act accordingly when the need arose - rather, Brennus had always been the type of man whose emotions ruled his decisions. Not that this was strictly a personality pitfall by any means; emotion had led the Twelfth Prince to transform a dying Phendrana into a shade, after all, but emotion had also forced Brennus to delve into the Imaskarcana with desperation and landed him in his current predicament. Lamorak had inherited their mother's logical diligence when approaching a delicate situation, whereas Brennus was possessed of her passion – but they both shared her fascination with the complex and the unknown, which he supposed explained why Phendrana had always been such a curiosity to each of them from the start.
"Forgive me for saying so, brother, but levelheadedness in the face of a situation you feel strongly about has never been a strong suit of yours," the Third Prince pointed out mildly. This was hardly a remark Brennus could be offended by, for it was nothing more than the undiluted truth.
Amazingly, Brennus actually laughed at that. "Do not make the mistake of thinking that I have learned nothing from being trapped here, brother. Allowing my emotions to rule my actions has cost me greatly, but I will not repeat that same error again." Lamorak had no sooner opened his mouth to point out that Brennus lacked a body and thus could suffer no further consequences for any decisions he made from here on when the Twelfth Prince added, "When I have secured my freedom, that is."
"And you are still certain that is a feat you can accomplish?" Lamorak asked, doing well to hide the skepticism in his voice.
Brennus's disembodied voice still managed to sound smug when he replied, "You just focus on locating the Fourth Imaskarcana for me, and I will take care of the rest."
"I suppose since your time spent entombed within the spellbook's pages has made you so wise, you don't need me to point out the potential pitfalls in this plan of yours," the Determinist Prime remarked idly, "however as your brother I feel obligated to do so, as much for your benefit as my own."
"Enlighten me," Brennus prompted dryly, and Lamorak sat up a little straighter.
"Very well," the Third Prince began matter-of-factly, lapsing naturally into the characteristic clinical tone he normally reserved for teaching lessons. "You have pinpointed three possible resting places for the Fourth Imaskarcana – what will you do once we have visited all three and found nothing but more ruins and sand? What of our mystery companion, who I believe is only accompanying me to eventually capitalize on my promise to grant him any favor in the event our endeavors prove successful? What motivations must he secretly entertain, to pledge his allegiance based on such a flimsy, situational vow? Will he betray me before the end? Will he bring about my own demise if he does? If I am no longer alive to safeguard the book, what will become of you? What of the countless untold horrors that await us the further we delve into the fortress of Metos? How many creatures are out there lurking, waiting for the opportunity to strike me down? And what of Voltain Darkydle, the too-ambitious descendant of the mighty empire of High Imaskar? Is your mastery of the book enough to keep him at bay? Have you considered what might become of you if we happen upon him in our travels and he bests me again? Allow me to enlighten you, since that is what you have asked for – he will wield you against our kingdom in his bid for supremacy, he will use your newfound power to strike down our brothers, perhaps even murder the Most High! You could be responsible for the extinction of our people if even one mistake is made along our journey! Have you considered those scenarios at all, in your infinite wisdom? Or are you so focused on your goal, so enamored of the idea of winning your freedom that you assume you have already won?"
The silence that followed Lamorak's tirade was somehow glacial; for a moment Lamorak even imagined he could feel the spellbook grow cold in his lap, but convinced himself quickly enough that he was hallucinating. He expected his brother to retaliate at once, to launch into a heated argument that cleverly and passionately discredited every one of Lamorak's points, but the sensibleness of Brennus's actual reply was somehow more chilling than the silence could ever have been. "Lamorak, of course you raise some good points – your logical approach to all things has ever made you a credit to the Most High in every way – but there are other factors at play which you haven't taken into account. You forget that I have become so closely attuned to the Imaskarcana that there are certain advantages I now entertain that I would not have come by had I not become imprisoned within its pages – like the ability to sense the other volumes, for example."
Lamorak felt oddly incensed by this revelation, for with a single remark Brennus had essentially invalidated his entire argument. With the ability to detect the other Imaskarcana at his disposal, their chances of success were all but ensured – true, they might still be set upon as they continued their journey across the lands that had once been part of the empire of High Imaskar, but the odds of their defeat were slim to none. Lamorak's mastery over the spellbook was strong enough already, but coupled with Brennus's manipulation of the magic penned within it they were a formidable force indeed – undefeatable by any but the strongest spellcasters the world over, and the gods themselves if they chose to intervene. Their nameless companion might still turn on them, and the threat of Voltain Darkydle's appearance was still a very real concern, but Lamorak sensed Brennus had grown so strong by now that any who dared oppose them would be hard pressed to defeat them if they stuck together.
If they stuck together.
And just like that, for the very first time, Lamorak considered the one avenue that he doubted even Brennus had foreseen – what if Lamorak simply abandoned the book? Left it deep within the bowels of Metos and returned to Thultanthar, all but ensuring that none would ever hear the name Twelfth Prince Brennus Tanthul ever again? Lamorak would face the High Prince's wrath for losing the Imaskarcana, of course, but his sovereign's displeasure would surely be short-lived – he thought Lamorak was dead, struck down over the sands of Anauroch and lost forever, and the prospect of his son returning from the dead would significantly outweigh his anger. And surely Lamorak could concoct a story that would absolve him of all blame? He could claim that Voltain Darkydle had taken the book by force and in his weakened state he had been powerless to stop it… No one would ever be the wiser.
His less-than-valorous musings ground to a halt as in the next moment Brennus interrupted him, saying, "But you would never do any of those things. You are ambitious, but not cruel – you would no sooner abandon me than you would turn your back on any of our other brothers. You might entertain the dark notion of leaving me behind for a moment, but you will never act on it."
There was little point in flying into a temper over the fact that Brennus apparently possessed the ability to detect what he was thinking; he'd been caught, and what's more, his brother's shrewd observation was right. More than the sudden shame he felt at being caught in such despicable thoughts, Lamorak was intensely curious how Brennus could possibly feel so certain. "What makes you say that?"
"You are an inherently good man. Despite your penchant for opportunism, you are not one to betray those who trust and love you – and neither am I. I know that you will never forsake me as surely as you know I will not exact some sort of terrible revenge upon you for considering such a course of action when I return. We both inherited our mother's innate goodness, after all."
With that, the last of Lamorak's indecisiveness flew from him. Brennus was right of course – neither of them were traitors, and both of them believed in the concept of fairness. Abruptly, he remembered the proposed topic of discussion that had sparked such a debate. "I thought you meant to speak to me of Phendrana?"
"I did, but I sensed your need to discuss these other matters first. Now if you are ready, I would still very much like to talk about him."
Lamorak blew a sigh, suddenly nervous. "I suppose we should… and since you were the one to suggest it, I think it is only fair that I allow you to speak first."
"I appreciate that." It was quiet while presumably Brennus gathered his thoughts; in the corner of the room the campfire flickered ominously, on the verge of burning itself out, but Lamorak seemed frozen where he sat and made no move to tend to it. "You should know that when I return, I fully intend to begin pursuing Phendrana much the way that I did before. I would advise you not to stand in my way."
The Third Prince couldn't help barking out a laugh at that; in his sleep, his nameless companion stirred at the sound but did not wake. "And why is that?"
"I had thought that much, at least, would be obvious," Brennus replied, sounding incredulous. "But if you insist on me telling you… it is because he loves me, Lamorak, and he does not love you."
"Ah," mused Lamorak somewhat bemusedly. "You seem oddly well-versed in Phendrana's feelings for someone who has neither seen nor spoken to him in months… how fascinating. And I suppose you know how I feel on this matter without asking me? That is quite presumptuous of you, brother. Is your newfound power responsible for your remarkable insight as well?"
Brennus seemed to mull this over for a moment – at least, the atmosphere around Lamorak felt suddenly pensive – before he said, "Surely you wouldn't be surprised to learn that if I am able to read your surface thoughts, I can also detect the subtle changes in the emotions and demeanors of those in close proximity to the book?" A cruel retort settled upon Lamorak's tongue at that but he bit it back, knowing that it would do him little good in this discussion to appear unapproachable and cold. "Do you recall, during your earliest studies of the Imaskarcana, a day when Phendrana approached you asking questions about it? Expressing his concerns for you undertaking such an obviously dangerous task?"
Lamorak blinked down at the spellbook's cover, wondering how this could possibly pertain to their current topic – regardless, he did recall quite well the scenario Brennus was referring to. "Of course."
"I believe he glimpsed the book as it lay open – it was not long after I had learned to manipulate the pages and first attempted to communicate with you by causing script to appear, but you were not well enough versed in the language of the Imaskari to have much hope of translating it – and recognized my handwriting. He guessed right away that I was trying to connect with you. He was desperate to decipher the words."
The Third Prince's face took on a dreamy quality as he recalled. "Your words appeared in the Netherese language, as I'm certain you knew I would have the greatest chance of success translating a language I am fluent in to one I was learning… And of course by then Phendrana had assimilated Hadrhune into his mind, and Hadrhune would have no trouble at all deciphering the Netherese written on the page into the common tongue… But I was unaware of Hadrhune's presence then. I thought Phendrana to be in little danger, for I assumed he couldn't possibly understand the words as you wrote them."
"He all but flung himself at the book in his desperation to understand," Brennus continued helpfully. "You had to drag him away from it just to ensure his safety. Had you not, and he'd begun to read my words aloud in any language but Imaskari…"
"He would have suffered the same fate as you," Lamorak finished, and an almost-tangible weight of dread settled unpleasantly in his stomach at the realization. He'd had no real idea at the time of just how close Phendrana had come to being lost to them. A single word spoken would have sealed his fate; a handful of seconds more, and the mindmaster would have become just another page in the Imaskarcana.
"I believe I will have the power to restore myself when the time comes," the Twelfth Prince pointed out yet again, "but to restore another… that is another process entirely."
"Forgive me," Lamorak mused, "but what does this harrowing retelling of a day months previous have to do with - ?"
"Come now, brother, you are being deliberately dense and it does not suit you," his youngest brother broke in, impatience coloring his tone. "We are talking of emotions, and intentions, and desires, and how I am able to sense all these things if an individual only comes within close proximity of the book in which I reside. Surely you can see what I am suggesting here?"
And suddenly, Lamorak understood. "He was near enough for you to sense what was truly in his heart… what likely still is, even to this day, despite all that has transpired since."
"Do you want to know?" the loremaster inquired, and if the pity saturating Brennus's voice was any indicator to what he knew, Lamorak was certain he could guess.
He chose to be flippant – anything to avoid admitting how deeply bothered he was by it all. "I already know, brother; you forget, I was the one who picked up the broken pieces of Phendrana's heart when you abandoned him. I was the one who helped him adapt to the new way of life you forced upon him. I was the one who took the time to get to know him, and nurtured him, and guided him, and supported him when everyone else showed him only suspicion and ridicule."
"You paint yourself in a favorable light," Brennus observed disdainfully, "but you choose to omit the other things you have subjected him to – things I will not overlook. You are also the one who reminded him that all those things you gave him seemingly out of the goodness of your heart – your guidance, your support, your friendship – actually come with a price. You showed him that to you, he is a means to an end. You may have succeeded in convincing the High Prince to grant you his blessing in pursuing Phendrana, but any promises you make to him now will ring hollow. You show bitterness and jealousy at the very mention of my name – as though even though I am no longer physically present you still see me as a threat. You give him pretty gifts in the hopes that they will win him over, but you don't understand that the greatest gift you could give is affection. And in the end, you also abandoned him – he begged you to stay, and still you did not listen. Instead you took advantage of his moment of vulnerability to steal a chaste moment of orchestrated, selfish passion. You've never been in love, Lamorak, so allow me to be the first person to teach you a very valuable lesson – when you take, and take, and give nothing in return, that is not love. That is a one-sided thing that one day Phendrana will resent and hate you for."
"And you think that the day you make your triumphant return to Thultanthar he will welcome you with open arms, and all will be forgiven?" Lamorak shot back, and he would never have admitted it but Brennus's description of events had truly wounded him. "For I must tell you, he is not the same man he was. That optimism you so adored is gone now – the reality of the City of Shade and the motivations of its inhabitants has taken a toll on him. He is no less devoted to the High Prince, but he is more realistic now, more careful. He remembers well the consequences that befell both of you upon your return from Castle Tethyr; the cold, distrustful reception he received from our brothers the night he risked his own safety to protect the Most High hardened his heart, and no amount of your affection could ever hope to soften it now. He has learned that his good intentions and his valorous deeds are not enough – he knows now that he must abide the High Prince's strict laws to truly thrive in Thultanthar. That is a lesson that you never did learn, little brother; even now you still think that you can have anything you desire even if it is not in the Most High's best interests, and you could not be more wrong. Do you know why the High Prince granted me permission to pursue Phendrana privately, and why he never offered you that same courtesy? It is because I place our sovereign's agenda above my own – even above Phendrana's well-being. If you had done that yourself from the start, things may have turned out differently for you – yet here you are, a slave to a spellbook all on account of your inability to allow good sense to rule your actions."
"I have changed," was Brennus's simple reply, and Lamorak was furious because he knew that much was true. "And you are forgetting one crucial detail besides – when I do return to Thultanthar, the High Prince will receive me as a hero. Imagine – Twelfth Prince Brennus Tanthul, the man who fell prey to the seductive enchantments of the Imaskarcana, overcoming all hardships and returning to life against all odds? Not to mention that I will be delivering to him not one, but two of the most powerful arcane artifacts the world has ever seen?"
"We," Lamorak interjected sourly. "You will accomplish nothing without my aid, brother, and I trust you won't forget as much."
"Be that as it may," the loremaster continued coolly, "you cannot deny that I will be richly rewarded. Nothing will be out of my reach – not even Phendrana. The High Prince will be so pleased, and so grateful, that upon a single word from me he will deliver Phendrana to me upon a silver platter if I wish it. And there will be nothing you can do to stop it – in fact, I strongly advise you not to try."
The Third Prince was no fool – he knew that Brennus had the upper hand in this, and perhaps he always had. But there was one thing his youngest brother was overlooking, and he couldn't help but point it out. "You assume that Phendrana will choose you. Do you think he will throw himself at your feet the moment you return? Or don't you think it far more likely that he will remember all the heartache you subjected him to, and all the kindness I showed him in your absence?"
"He will remember that I love him," Brennus shot back, and Lamorak could hear the passion bleeding into his voice, could practically feel the reason leeching itself out of his words. "That will be enough."
"And if it isn't? In the event you are wrong, and he views you with the caution he is right to feel, what will you do? Will you strip him of his free will just to make him yours? Or will you be man enough to let him choose?"
The air suddenly became thick with tension as Brennus balked at this suggestion. "You know I would never!"
Lamorak shrugged, feeling at last as though he had gained the upper hand. "It sounds as though you are considering it."
"And I suppose you have formulated some manner of alternative?" Brennus's words were filled with poison.
"Yes." The Third Prince smiled down at the book's cover, certain that one way or another his brother would sense his gleeful expression. "We set aside our petty feuds, put our best foot forward, and let him choose."
Brennus laughed hysterically at that, so loudly that Lamorak winced and glanced questioningly over at his slumbering companion, but for all the Twelfth Prince's paroxysms of hilarity the other man did not wake. When at last it seemed Brennus had regained control of himself he chuckled airily and said, "He would never choose you. Not once in a thousand lifetimes."
Again, Lamorak simply shrugged. "Then my proposal should not seem like a threat to you."
Abruptly the loremaster's voice shifted to one of black suspicion. "What is your aim? Do you plan to deceive him? Perhaps slander me? Attempt to manipulate him into viewing me in a less-than-favorable light?"
"I'm flattered that you think so highly of me," the Third Prince cut in dryly, rolling his eyes to the darkened stone ceiling; by now the meager campfire had burned out due to his negligence, and the only light in the chamber came from the pale glow emanating from the Imaskarcana. "But no, I do not intend to use such despicable tactics. I have no need to undermine you. The truth will out, brother, and before the end Phendrana will remember that I have never ceased to be honest with him."
He could almost feel Brennus bristling at those words; all sense of composure had flown from him now. "Are you suggesting that I have?!"
"Your silence on many important matters could easily be misconstrued as dishonesty," the Third Prince pointed out diplomatically.
"On what matters?!" Brennus roared, and the entire chamber trembled ominously.
Lamorak turned his gaze to the ceiling, considering, and chose not to let his youngest brother's outburst unnerve him. "Let's see… you hid your concubine Malkith from him for a time, if I recall. Granted you may have done the valorous thing and ceased to entertain him intimately, but I believe your courtship of Phendrana was well under way before you mentioned him. You stole his mortal soul from him without so much as asking his permission – "
"He was dying before my eyes!" the loremaster protested, but there was no mistaking the lament in his voice. "I had no choice! What would you have done?!"
"Oh I'm hardly finished," Lamorak cut back in smoothly. "Now, where was I? You abandoned him upon returning home without so much as a farewell note – I know the High Prince forbade you from seeing him, but I think he deserved at least a half-hearted explanation from you, wouldn't you agree?"
"I watched him from afar," Brennus argued feebly. "I studied his condition relentlessly, I intervened whenever I could, and I kept that drow psionist from killing him! I am responsible for curing his mental instabilities!"
"And finally," Lamorak continued, sensing victory was within his grasp, "you kept the Imaskarcana hidden from him. And he wasn't the only one you deceived, dear brother; the High Prince, your brothers, you turned your back on all of us and threw your lot in with Lim Tal'eyve. And for what? To gain the High Prince's favor and be welcomed back into his good graces with open arms? Forgive me for saying so, Brennus, but your poor judgment has cost you everything. I do not know if you can redeem yourself."
There issued no reply; the air in the chamber seemed somehow lifeless. Lamorak waited politely for his brother to speak up and defend himself, but the longer he waited the more certain he was that he wouldn't hear Brennus's voice again that night. Still, he had no wish to cause any lasting enmity between them, and he did his best to make that clear.
"I understand why you've done all these things," Lamorak murmured apologetically. "You love Phendrana – I have never questioned the depth of your feelings, or whether or not they are genuine. I question whether or not your love is the best thing for him. I wonder if perhaps I would be a better match, and clearly he wonders too – I didn't coerce him into kissing me, you know, he did so of his own accord. But enough of that for one night. Never forget that you are my brother and I love you unconditionally – enough to cross hundreds of miles of desert on foot and brave countless hardships on the slim chance that I might one day see you restored. And if we succeed, and you return to us, I will be overjoyed. But I will not allow Phendrana to return to you without a fight. I am prepared to give my very best, and I expect yours in return."
Lamorak sensed that a certain measure of hostility had leeched out of the air by the time he had spoken his peace, and though Brennus said nothing in reply Lamorak had no doubt that his youngest brother understood every word. Shortly afterward his watch ended and he roused his surly companion, and though sleep claimed him almost immediately his dreams were plagued with vague, unfavorable images that made him wonder if he would succeed in winning Phendrana over when all was said and done.
It was fortunate, thought Lamorak the next morning as they broke camp, that their search for the Fourth Imaskarcana had taken them out of the harsh desert climes and into the relatively dark and silent ruins of Metos. Sleep had come easily but the quality had been poor, and there would have been little reprieve from his lingering fatigue beneath the sun's piercing rays. Here, though, the shadow was strong, and its gently-undulating curtain of darkness revitalized his tired body and made him feel as refreshed as he would have felt after a night of uninterrupted slumber. He and his mysterious traveling companion shared a light repast in silence, secured their gear, and left the unassuming side chamber behind them.
"Down?" Lamorak's cloaked comrade asked gruffly, looking to the Third Prince for guidance.
Lamorak approached the pathway's edge and glanced down, careful not to draw too close for there was nothing separating him from plummeting into the fortress' unfathomable bottom. The massive chamber they now found themselves in was a pyramidal structure, whose smooth stone pathway seemed to be leading them ever downward; the lack of guardrail gave way to a seemingly endless void, and the enchanted torches lining the walls had no hope of penetrating the darkness. After two day's travel, there was still no sign of bottom.
"Brennus," asked Lamorak in hushed tones, "have you found anything within the tome that suggests what lies below?"
"Not as of yet," the loremaster replied informatively, and Lamorak was pleased when he detected not a hint of lingering animosity in his youngest brother's tone. "But allow me to remind you yet again of what I said before… the Imaskari wizard-kings were by all accounts remarkable spellcasters, but poor historians. There is barely mention of the fortress of Metos at all."
"And you mentioned that you can detect the Fourth Imaskarcana. Can you sense it near here?"
"I can feel the subtle emanations of its latent magic, but it is very faint – I believe I can only sense it at all because I am a part of one of its sister artifacts, if you will. I do not think it is anywhere close by, and unfortunately its aura has not grown stronger in the two days you have spent delving deeper into this ruin."
Lamorak clucked his tongue once in disapproval, eyeing the dark chasm warily. There were side chambers at oddly-spaced intervals lining the walls further down much like the one they had claimed as their campsite the night before; they had been investigating each of these as they came upon them, fearful of missing anything crucial to their mission, but Lamorak was beginning to sense that such an in-depth search was slowing them down. Thus far they had uncovered nothing of value for their diligence, and without knowing how far below ground the chamber spanned Lamorak supposed they could easily spend weeks, perhaps even months, peering behind each and every door they came across.
"At what point does thoroughness become burden?" Brennus's disembodied voice wondered aloud, and Lamorak was grateful for his brother's rhetorical question – it meant he wasn't the only one who considered that their current method had become inefficient.
"Down," the Third Prince said at last, and he and his hooded companion set off down the gently-sloping pathway side-by-side, the Imaskarcana tucked in the crook of his elbow emitting as much light as Brennus deemed wise given the unfamiliarity of their surroundings.
They had descended perhaps another two stories – the lack of windows made it impossible to gauge just how far they'd gone – when the nameless nomad beside Lamorak broke the silence. "I never intended to betray you, Prince – little as I'm sure such a promise means to you, given the circumstances."
Lamorak started and cut his gaze to the side, but of course the other man's face was perpetually shrouded by the cowl he wore; he could feel eyes on him, but could only imagine what expression the other man wore. "It seems we've been overheard, brother," the Third Prince told Brennus flippantly, and both princes broke into a spattering of strained laughter at Lamorak's attempt at levity; Lamorak's face hardened almost at once, though, and in a somewhat feral tone he asked, "How much did you overhear?"
"Much," the other man replied cryptically. "I do not wish to dwell on the more personal matters that were discussed, for I am in no way involved and do not wish to pry, however I felt obliged to mention that deception has never been in my nature. My goddess directed me to your side for a reason – until I have gleaned just what that reason is, I am content to follow you no matter where that path takes me."
"I hadn't taken you for a pious man," observed Lamorak, raising an eyebrow questioningly, and the cloaked stranger shrugged.
"Few do, but few truly know me." His pace slowed a fraction and his words grew ever more pensive. "I have known great betrayal in my younger years which I have never forgotten, and those lessons have led me to make few attachments in the years following. In my grief I learned that though all others might forsake me the goddess Mielikki never will, and that realization led me to devote myself entirely to her service… it is all on account of my unshakeable faith that I am here at all, I suppose."
Lamorak slowed a little to match the other man's stride. "Here in the middle of the desert assisting a disgraced Prince of Shade, you mean? Yes – some reward for your years of service!"
"No – rather, that I am alive at all." The implications of this statement brought to mind another half dozen questions, but when Lamorak opened his mouth to begin his inquiry the hooded stranger shook himself as though out of a stupor and set off purposefully down the slope again. "But enough of that for now; I did not intend to bore you with the sordid details of my rather colorful history, I meant only to assure you that you needn't concern yourself with my motives. I only do my goddess's bidding, for I am her humble and obedient servant – opposing you in any way runs counter to her will."
"And why is the goddess of nature so concerned with the well-being of the Third Prince of Shade?" Brennus broke in, and Lamorak was so enamored with the mysterious nomad's tale that his youngest brother's voice startled him. "Mielikki and Shar can hardly be called allies."
"Do not think I haven't wondered as much," muttered the other man beneath his breath, "every single day since falling into your company."
Silence descended on the unlikely pair as they continued ever downward, for Lamorak could sense well enough his companion's desire to brood; the Third Prince instead focused on each door they passed, poking his head briefly into the chambers whose doors stood ajar and passing over those whose entrances were otherwise barred. The more rooms he inspected the more unnerved he became, for the further they delved the more vividly the ruins painted a picture of obvious tragedy; the rooms were empty, every one, but disturbing clues began cropping up as they went. Once, as Lamorak was gazing within yet another vacant chamber, his left foot shuffled forward with a squelching sound that made his skin crawl; crouching down to one knee he was able to identify a dark, viscous puddle by the pale light emanating from the cover of the Imaskarcana. Carefully he dipped his index and middle fingers into the puddle and lifted his hand to eye level for closer inspection, and almost immediately he recoiled – the substance was oily and unpleasant to the touch, and smelled strongly of rot and refuse.
"What is it?" asked the other man from just behind him, his voice thick with disgust.
Lamorak rose and wiped his fingertips clean upon his worn robes wearing an expression of profound revulsion. "I cannot say, but I suspect we will soon find out… for good or ill."
After that the repulsive black fluid began to show up more the further they descended; at first it was just the occasional splatter of it upon the stone underfoot, but three stories below it could be found staining the walls and dripping from the underside of the pathways above. Another two stories down it was soaking nearly every inch of the floor and the stench was so foul that Lamorak's hooded companion couldn't help retching up the remains of his breakfast. Lamorak wished with all his might that he could hold his breath, for the odor made him feel increasingly more ill with every breath he took, and he was just considering asking Brennus if the book happened to contain an air purifying enchantment when the other man let out a sudden gasp.
"What is it?" Lamorak barked, turning back to face him, but his companion was pointing ahead so the Third Prince merely followed the trajectory of his finger; there seemed to be a formless mound in the pathway ahead, its details mostly obscured by the encroaching darkness, but the very sight of it was enough to fill Lamorak with dread.
"Brennus," the Third Prince murmured as loudly as he dared, "I don't suppose you could…?"
But he needn't have asked, for the glow emanating off the cover of the Imaskarcana slowly began to intensify; both Lamorak and the cloaked stranger at his side blinked fiercely as their eyes adjusted to the increased brightness, and though Lamorak couldn't bring himself to be surprised when he identified just what they were seeing the visual confirmation did nothing to lessen the dread he felt.
Piled directly in their path and stacked so high they almost reached the underside of the pathway above was a mound of mangled corpses.
"What in the name of Shar…" Lamorak swallowed hard and ventured a step nearer, but then a nearly overwhelming stink hit him and he could go no further. The bodies gleamed in the soft illumination radiating from the spellbook he carried and at first he assumed the dark substance staining their garments was dried blood, but upon further inspection he came to understand that it was the same oily black fluid they had encountered several floors above. The other man stepped around him and drew as close as he dared, the collar of his cloak clutched closely around his nose and mouth in an effort to ward off the abominable stench.
After a moment he turned back to regard Lamorak, saying, "Dark elves. Likely their raiding parties tunneled into the lowest reaches of this fortress and were in the process of settling in when they were ambushed. Whether they caught glimpses of their attackers I cannot determine, but the totality of the slaughter indicates they had no chance."
"Lamorak," wafted Brennus's voice from the book, and he sounded grave. "Look."
Light flared even brighter off the Imaskarcana, bathing the interior of the great pyramidal structure in a bold white glow; for a few moments Lamorak and his unlikely companion shielded their eyes from the glare, but gradually they could squint to the opposite end of the cavern and even glimpse several floors down. And suddenly it was apparent that littered along every pathway, obscuring every winding bend in the floor and sometimes stacked seven or eight high were the bodies of dozens of dark elves, all mutilated almost beyond recognition and all covered with the same black substance they had been encountering with increasing frequency for the past several hours.
"Praise Mielikki," breathed Lamorak's nameless companion incredulously. "What manner of calamity befell this place?"
But Lamorak was only half-listening, for another sound had reached his ears; it was something akin to the sucking footsteps of a person wading through knee-deep mud, but on a much larger scale. He waved one hand wildly to catch his comrade's attention, then together they peered over the edge of the pathway on which they currently stood. At first they glimpsed nothing but the blackness that threatened to rise up from the depths and swallow the light bravely radiating from the book tucked protectively beneath Lamorak's arm, but as the unpleasant squelching sound grew louder something seemed to be stirring within the dark and closing the distance between them ever so gradually; the stench of long-dead things for which Lamorak had no names was so strong that his eyes began to water uncontrollably, and then the furthest-reaching beams off the Imaskarcana illuminated the writhing mass below.
At first Lamorak thought it was the largest slime he had ever seen, and thanks to several of his brother's experiments over the centuries he had seen his fair share; it wasn't quite solid and didn't so much climb up the walls as it oozed, leaving a trail of hideous black muck in its wake. It boasted long appendages that it appeared to warp to its needs and a formless head that was only distinguishable from the rest of its melted body by twin pinpricks of eerie red light that Lamorak supposed were its eyes, and the stench of decay rolling off its body assailed them with dizziness and nearly drove both of them to their knees.
By the time it drew level with them it was filling the chamber with its bulk – quite a feat, for the chasm was easily forty feet across – and its twisted maw opened to loose a shrieking cry that reverberated off the walls and sent tremors through the ground underfoot. That done, it sprayed a fountain of that same congealed black substance toward them, and were it not for their uncanny reflexes both of them may have been buried alive beneath a deluge of reeking muck. As Lamorak came up into a crouch and glanced toward the steaming spray he watched in horror as the awful stuff began eating through the stone upon which they had been standing only an instant before.
Brennus was the voice of reason in that moment. "Run!"
It was fortunate they had been standing so close together, for they had dodged in the same direction and thus avoided being separated; both Lamorak and his taciturn companion took off at a sprint, weaving expertly between cesspools of stinking corruption and hurrying ever downward into the black chasm below. The monster tracked their flight with its wicked eyes and turned to face them as they rounded the next bend in the pathway – fortunately it moved quite slowly on account of its bulk – and Lamorak felt reluctantly optimistic that they might be able to outrun it when it hefted one of its massive forelimbs and brought the appendage crashing down upon the pathway several yards in front of them. They both felt the resulting tremor deep in their bones and stumbled along, desperate not to lose their footing lest they plummet over the side and into the void, and watched in dismay as through a combination of the devastating impact of the strike and the steaming corruption leaking from the creature's porous skin a sizeable chunk of the pathway ahead was smashed into smoking fragments of stone.
"Keep going!" Brennus bellowed. "Don't slow down!"
"Are you mad?!" shrieked the cloaked stranger, but Lamorak did not question his brother – he merely put his head down and barreled on, hoping against hope that the Twelfth Prince had some sort of plan. The monster's appendage withdrew, leaving in its wake a gap in the pathway perhaps fifteen feet across that grew wider by the second as the corruption ate straight through the stone like acid, and now they were so near the break in the path that they couldn't stop in time if they tried.
"Jump!" cried Brennus.
At his side, Lamorak's unlikely companion recoiled at the idea. "We can't possibly - !"
But Lamorak reached over and seized the other man's arm just above the elbow, dragging him along in his wake and thus putting an end to any further debate; they reached the broken ledge at a sprint and leapt despite being certain they would never reach the other side, and the magic of the Imaskarcana caught them at the peak of their jump and guided them safely across the gap. As they glided harmoniously through the air the monster's other arm swept across in an attempt to waylay them, but its size rendered the stroke quite clumsy and it soared harmlessly over their heads. Miraculously Lamorak's feet touched down safely on the other side – beside him the other man wobbled uncertainly, windmilling his arms in a desperate attempt to keep his balance – and the Third Prince heaved on his companion's arm to right him and then they were off like a shot.
Seemingly furious at their momentary escape the monster howled with rage and turned menacingly toward them a second time, loosing another jet of the viscous black fluid in their direction; Lamorak had no choice but the release the other man's arm or risk getting struck by the substance and they broke apart. The spray missed them both but they were effectively separated, for the pathway was now soaked in the reeking fluid; Lamorak turned back and gestured wildly for his companion. "You can make it!"
There was no time for hesitation; the hooded stranger seized the spear belted along his back and brought it to bear as the monster bore down on him, and after a quick running start he planted the butt of the spear upon the stone and launched himself over the smoking corruption. It was a close call – the heels of his boots were only millimeters from coming into contact with the dangerous substance – but Lamorak had the presence of mind to seize him by the collar and tug him forward to ensure he didn't overbalance and fall back upon his landing. As they looked on in horror the creature's leading appendage seemed to change shape then, twisting and mutating into the shape of a pincer much akin to a crab's; logic told Lamorak that the appearance of sharpness didn't necessarily make it so, but he had a feeling he didn't want to find out whether it could still snap them in half.
"Go!" he cried, and he shoved his comrade ahead of him and hurried along in his wake.
It occurred to Lamorak as they ran that there was no way they could hope to keep such a frenetic pace going for long; the magic of the Imaskarcana and the bolstering effects of the shadow made Lamorak quite a resilient force to be reckoned with, but by his own visual observation he felt certain that his compatriot hailed from some manner of mortal race. Mortals weren't possessed of the stamina of the shades, nor the physical capabilities of one; it was likely, therefore, that even if he was in the peak of physical shape he would eventually begin to tire, and one too-clumsy move was all it would take for the monster to gain the upper hand on them. Lamorak nimbly dodged another flailing black appendage and used the monster's momentary lack of balance to risk a glance down into the black chasm, and what he saw only intensified his dread: there was still no conceivable bottom to the pit around which the pathway wound, and the creature showed no sign of giving up its pursuit.
"Brennus!" Lamorak called. "What in the Nine Hells is it?!"
"I can't find a record of any such creature in the book!" Brennus wailed despairingly. "I've never seen such a thing!"
"Isn't there something you can do to fend it off?!" bellowed Lamorak's cloaked companion, narrowly avoiding yet another deluge of the creature's hideous black breath. "Some manner of spell you can cast that would at the very least distract it?!"
"Without having a better understanding of what we're up against I can't say that would be wise!" the loremaster argued. "One poorly-chosen spell could strengthen it!"
"Now would seem a poor time to be having this discussion!" Lamorak broke in hotly, and then the hulking monster's formless black appendages descended from on high and slammed into opposite ends of the pathway. The stone under both arms groaned beneath the impact and then exploded as though it had been struck by a spell – chunks of smoldering rock flecked with sickly black fluid flew in all directions like shrapnel, forcing both of them to throw their arms up in front of their faces in defense – and when the debris settled they found themselves in a new predicament entirely. The small remaining platform upon which they stood afforded very little extra space in either direction, and the monster's appendages had them walled in on both sides. There was little hope that would be able to escape now, and the monster's head was already rearing back to unleash yet another deluge of that reeking corruption –
"Jump down," Brennus's voice wafted up from the Imaskarcana, sounding resigned, and both Lamorak and his unlikely comrade glanced down at the spellbook with dumbfounded expressions upon their faces.
"There is no telling how deep the chasm goes!" Lamorak protested at once. "You are telling us to leap to our deaths!"
"No, I am telling you that to stay here at the mercy of this awful beast will surely spell your doom!" Brennus roared in a voice like the crack of a whip. "I can channel the book's power to slow your fall at the very least, perhaps even guide you to the ground! It is your only chance!"
"The bottom could be miles below us!" argued the hooded stranger. "There may be no bottom at all!"
"Those drow had to come from somewhere! Now JUMP!"
The horrible monster opened its mouth to cover them in its viscous black fluid, and Lamorak knew they were out of time to debate the matter. Tucking the Imaskarcana protectively close to his side with one arm and seizing his still-protesting comrade by the wrist with his free hand the Third Prince stepped off the crumbling ledge into nothingness.
A gout of liquid corruption streaked over their heads, almost immediately incinerating the pathway upon which they'd stood barely a moment before, and then they were falling.
From seemingly somewhere very far away, Lamorak dimly perceived a familiar voice calling his name.
"Lamorak? Brother, I need you to get up right away. There isn't a moment to waste – I can hear that creature, it's coming this way."
Third Prince Lamorak cracked his eyes open, unaware of where he was or how he'd gotten there or why he'd needed to be roused back to consciousness at all. His thoughts felt undeniably scattered, and for some reason he couldn't explain it seemed his body refused to respond when he attempted to rise. It was impossibly dark in the chamber where he lay and for a moment he could see absolutely nothing, but then an object several feet away from him lit up helpfully and he began to perceive minute details. He was laying upon hard stone covered in a thick layer of dust, and rubble was strewn all around as though some structure had once stood there but hadn't for quite some time; there appeared to be a small dark pond filled with foul-smelling water a few yards away from him, and on the opposite side of that pond he thought he caught a glimpse of another person laying deathly still. At last his eyes adjusted enough to identify just where the dim light was coming from – it appeared to be a spellbook of some kind, bound in dragon hide, and the sight of the artifact served to remind him of all that had transpired.
"Brennus," he croaked groggily, attempting to reach out an arm and bring the Imaskarcana closer to him, but again his body simply wouldn't respond.
"I'm sorry," whispered the disembodied voice of his youngest brother, his words filled with sympathy. "I wasn't able to slow you both as you fell, and I knew that if your companion struck the ground at full speed he would certainly die… please forgive me, brother, and keep still, give your body a moment to regenerate…"
Of course these words baffled him, so Lamorak made the mistake of looking down at his own limp body to better assess the damage.
If he'd still possessed a heart, he was certain it would have stopped then. His body was broken and twisted, his limbs unresponsive and contorted at odd angles; there was black shadowblood seeping from at least a dozen lacerations caused by splintered bone fragments jutting through his skin. He glanced back his companion's way for no better reason than to pry his eyes away from the mutilated travesty of his own body, thankful, at least, that the damage his decidedly mortal companion had taken seemed to be far less than his own.
"I can't feel anything," Lamorak pointed out thickly, hoping that perhaps his youngest brother would have some words of comfort to offer.
"I sense that the damage done to your spine is to blame for that," Brennus mused, and then his voice grew dark with realization as he added, "but when your regenerative abilities mend it…"
No sooner had the loremaster made this observation did something click unpleasantly back into place in Lamorak's back, and with the knitting of his spine came the re-awakening of all his extremities – including a sudden influx of excruciating pain. For a moment he was a slave to his own agony and he screamed, certain the malevolent quarry that sought them would follow his cries but powerless to stop himself. Dimly he perceived a numbing sensation spreading like warm alcohol through his body – more of the magic of the Imaskarcana? – but it had all the effectiveness of a fleeting cool breeze on a sweltering summer's day.
"I'm sorry," Brennus was whispering feverishly, and his sympathy was so strong Lamorak could nearly feel it. "I'm so sorry."
One good thing resulted from Lamorak's piercing cries - they served to rouse his unlikely companion from his state of delirium, and presently he could be seen limping around the dark pool and kneeling at Lamorak's side. His hood had fallen back upon his shoulders, and in the pale light from the Imaskarcana his face looked even more lined and harried than the first time Lamorak had glimpsed his face. His hands hovered uncertainly over the Third Prince's broken chest as though he wanted desperately to ease Lamorak's suffering but hadn't the first clue where to begin.
"I don't know how to help," he admitted in a low voice, and his crystal blue eyes reflected his great inner turmoil.
"His body will heal," Brennus explained hurriedly, "but due to the extensive damage that must be repaired it will take a little time – something that in our current predicament we do not have. I am sorry to say that you will be responsible for keeping that beast at bay while he recovers… I will help as best I can."
That horribly familiar squelching sound reached Lamorak's ears and he squinted blearily upward through the gloom, expecting to see the awful visage of the hulking black creature descending toward them, but the light radiating from the Imaskarcana had dimmed significantly since they had reached the bottom of the chasm and its rays weren't quite strong enough to pierce the encroaching darkness above. An unpleasant splattering sound could also be heard occasionally, and when Lamorak's grizzled companion ascertained just what it was he felt even more uneasy than before – the pool he had circled appeared not to be filled with water at all, but was the largest cesspool of the monster's black corruption they had yet laid eyes on. The occasional splatter reached his ears as dribbles of reeking ooze dripped down from above, and the stench was so strong down here that he could no longer remember a time when he hadn't felt sick to his stomach.
As Lamorak's splintered bone fragments slowly and excruciatingly began knitting themselves back together, the Third Prince glanced up and noticed twin pinpricks of red light glaring hatefully back at him from somewhere not so far above.
The wanderer with the clear blue eyes took his feet then, shaking his unkempt ivory hair back over his shoulders and bringing his spear to bear in both hands with a grim expression; Lamorak would never have told the other man this, but seeing him standing there with his weapon in hand, knowing what they were about to face, made him look feeble in comparison. For a moment, the Third Prince couldn't comprehend why they were standing their ground at all.
"You know I cannot possibly put a stop to it," the stranger told them gruffly. "I doubt my weapon even has the capability to cause it any harm."
"You need only slow it down," Brennus reminded him bracingly, "and keep it from destroying my brother. When he is well enough to act, we can either fight or attempt to flee this place as necessity dictates."
The Twelfth Prince's words were unceremoniously interrupted when the hulking black mass of their enemy dropped into their midst, sending an impact tremor through the ground so massive that a fresh wash of screams ripped from Lamorak's throat and his mysterious comrade jolted from his feet and fell. The monster was so tall that only when it hunched down to tower over them could its shapeless head and shoulders be seen silhouetted by the pale glow of the spellbook, and as its maw gaped open a fresh gout of viscous black fluid dripped along the ground, stinking and smoking.
"Mielikki be with me," the travel-worn adventurer prayed beneath his breath, and then the monster lashed out at him with one of its hideous black forelegs.
The strike narrowly missed Lamorak's ally; he had more than adequate time to react, but the monster's bulk made dodging quite challenging. He managed to get clear, but as it was the creature's foreleg still pinned the trailing edge of his traveling cloak to the ground – fortunately the other man reacted quite quickly, and seizing the garment he tore it free and abandoned it where it lay. This he did not a moment too soon, for the awful corruption covering every inch of the beast's body dissolved the cloak in just a handful of seconds. Coming up into a crouch he considered raising his spear in defense but seemed to think better of it, for which Lamorak couldn't blame him – if the sickening substance leaking from the monster's porous skin could so easily disintegrate a piece of clothing, surely it could just as easily destroy any weapon? Instead he cast his spear away from him, and as the beast bellowed in rage and prepared to strike again the other man knelt to the ground, laid his palms flat against the stone, and shouted a powerful phrase whose origins Lamorak could only guess –
With a series of great cracking noises, a network of fissures rent through the stone; a few of them even shuddered through the ground at the creature's feet, for the first time it actually stumbled. Lamorak turned his head with great difficulty just in time to see the first thick green tendril erupt from one of the fissures, twisting like a vine, leaves sprouting at a highly accelerated rate, its tip sharp and serrated as the deadliest blade; there appeared another a few feet away, and another beyond that, and soon the dark chasm bottom was filled with twitching vines easily two stories high. Lamorak watched in awe as the vine nearest to the monster whipped forward with incredible speed, slamming into its torso with a resounding thud that sent the creature staggering, and another coiled itself around one of its thick legs and tightened as it attempted to drag it to the ground.
"By the Night Mother, he's a druid," Brennus breathed, sounding just as awed as Lamorak felt.
It was a superb strategy, Lamorak thought, with one potentially devastating flaw – though the vines his companion had summoned were vital and strong it seemed the creature's reeking corruption was even stronger. As the second vine dragged the monster down to its knees a sizzling sound could be heard, barely louder than the buzzing of a fly at first but increasing in volume all the time; as the din reached a crescendo the acrid scent of burning foliage curled within Lamorak's nostrils, and then to their dismay the vine simply rotted in two and collapsed uselessly to the ground. The druid gritted his teeth and in response to his rage half a dozen more vines reared up out of the ground, lashing like whips, tearing great chunks of streaming black flesh from the larger mass and driving their adversary back to its knees with a roar. Just when it seemed Lamorak's companion was gaining the upper hand, however, the monster's foreleg shot out with its awful pincer and sliced one of the vines in two, even as its opposite foreleg elongated and took on the likeness of a terrible black sword before it cleaved three more vines with a single stroke.
"Damn you to the Nine Hells, you foul beast!" the grizzled druid roared, and lifting one of his hands from the ground he clenched a fist and howled yet another trigger phrase in the forbidden druid language. The vines that had not yet been sundered by their enemies battering limbs suddenly swelled, and then enormous buds sprouted from each verdant length like glorious flowers in bloom; the lack of sunlight in the dank cavern could not stop their growth and they burst forth into blossoms of vibrant colors, releasing hundreds of great yellow spores as they did so. At first it seemed the spell was just for show, but as the spores alighted upon the creature's skin Lamorak came to understand how incorrect his assumption really was when a series of explosions flared to life upon its porous black flesh. The stench of smoke coupled with the viscous black corruption was so pungent that Lamorak couldn't help rolling onto his side and vomiting violently upon the ground, but the force of the small explosions was enough to drive their enemy even further into the ground.
"Lamorak," murmured Brennus hurriedly, "will you be alright on your own?"
This seemed an odd inquiry to the Third Prince, who felt he could make quite a strong argument over the fact that he had been on his own since the enigmatic druid had engaged their enemy, but his youngest brother chose not to wait for a reply. As Lamorak watched, perfectly dumbfounded, the Imaskarcana actually moved where it lay several feet away – it twitched once or twice as though some unseen force had jostled it, then its cover clumsily flopped open and its pages rifled in an unexplainable breeze. Then the light emanating from the book's vellum pages flickered as though it was dying out before flaring so brightly Lamorak was momentarily blinded, and when the light faded to a more bearable intensity he swore he saw the vague shape of a man standing beside it.
A man clothed in flowing spellcaster's robes so pale they appeared as moonbeams, with a noble's facial features and an intense curiosity brimming in his intelligent eyes.
"Brennus?!" gasped Lamorak, but then the specter of his brother was moving.
His barely-visible shape was difficult to track, both on account of the lack of light and the fact that he possessed no corporeal body to speak of; one moment he was standing over the open pages of the spellbook with a slightly bewildered expression on his face and the next he had winked out of existence, only to materialize close to the druid. For his part Lamorak's nameless companion did well not to appear startled – or to lose his concentration in his spellcasting, for that matter – but instead hardly acknowledged the ghostly figure at his side. The vague fog-shape of Brennus lifted a hand to the heavens in an experimental fashion, almost as though he wasn't sure what sort of effect his actions might have, and from somewhere above there resounding a great crack so deep and profound that Lamorak imagined the world splitting in half. Then from on high arced down a bolt of pure white energy, shining like diamonds yet crackling like electricity, and speared the horrible black beast right through the middle. The bolt struck the ground with such force that it opened up yet another fissure, this one three times the size of any the druid's vines had rent as they burrowed up through the stone, and the beast simply melted into a great puddle of reeking ooze and was no more.
Lamorak's mysterious comrade glanced back, his eyes wide, to the place where the Third Prince was just managing to sit up with a measure of difficulty; it was clear by his expression that he was hoping Lamorak had an explanation to offer, but they were both rendered speechless.
Not far from where Lamorak reclined, the Imaskarcana snapped shut with a sound of finality.