“Everything,” Moira sobbed. “You’re not a wizard and Patrius is dead.”
“Patrius . . . ?” Wiz trailed off. “Oh my God!” For the first time he saw the charred corpse at the edge of the clearing.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes,” Moira said fiercely. “You can help me bury him.”
“If you value your life,” the black robe hissed, “keep your mouth shut and your eyes on the floor. Toth-Set-Ra has little patience with impertinence.” Xind led the acolyte down the flagged corridor. Their sandals scuffed on the rough stone floor and guttering torches in iron brackets gave a dim and uncertain light to guide them.
The guards at the door were hobgoblins, creatures somewhat larger than men and nearly twice as broad and bulky. Their laced armor shone blackly by the torchlight and the honed edges of their halberds glinted evilly. At the approach of the wizards they snapped to attention.
“Two with news for the Dread Master,” Xind said with considerably more assurance than he felt. “We are expected.” The hobgoblins nodded. One reached behind to swing open the great oaken door.
Both wizard and acolyte prostrated themselves on the threshold.
“Rise,” croaked a voice from within. “Rise and speak.”
The room was dark but a baleful green light played round a high-backed chair and the figure hunched in it.
Shakily, the pair rose and moved toward the light.
The man in the chair was wizened and shrunk in on himself until he was more a mummy than a living man. But his eyes burned red in the black pits of his hairless skull and he moved with the easy grace of a serpent coiling to strike. The light seemed to come from within him, playing on the chair and the amethyst goblet in his hand. The reflected greenish glow made Xind’s complexion appear even more unhealthy than usual.
“We have slain a wizard, Dread Master, one of the Mighty of the North.”
“Yes,” Toth-Set-Ra hissed. “It was Patrius. May his soul rot forever. And you destroyed him. How nice.”
The novice started and opened his mouth to ask how the wizard knew, but Xind trod on his foot in warning.
“He was performing a Great Summoning, Dread Master,” Xind said, his head bowed respectfully.
“Indeed?” croaked Toth-Set-Ra. “Oh, indeed?” His reptilian gaze slid over his subordinates and settled back on the carved goblet. “And what was it that was Summoned?”
Xind licked his lips. “We do not know, Lord. The distance was too great and . . .”
“You do not know?” Toth-Set-Ra’s voice grew harsher. “You disturb me with news I already know and you cannot tell me more than I can sense unaided?” His stare transfixed the black robe, steady, intent and pitiless. “What use are you, eh? Tell me why I shouldn’t finish you now.”
“Because you would lose our services,” the acolyte said steadily. Xind blanched and trembled at the young man’s audacity and Toth-Set-Ra shifted his basilisk stare to him. The acolyte stood with his eyes respectfully downcast but no hint of trepidation in his manner.
“Servants such as you I do not need,” snapped the wizard. “Incompetents! Bunglers! Blind fools!” Without shifting his eyes, he threw the amethyst cup at them. It passed between the pair and shattered into priceless shards on the flags. Both men flinched away.
“Very well,” he said finally. “Prove your worth. Find out what Patrius died to birth. If you are quick and if it is important I will give you your lives. If not, I have other uses for you.”
The wizard sat glaring after them for several minutes. Finally he sealed the door with a gesture which raised a wall of blue fire across it. He went to a cabinet of age-blackened oak, opened it with curious and diverse gestures and removed an elaborately engraved box about the size of a man’s head.
Carrying it gently he brought it back to the table. He set the box carefully in the center of the pentagram inlaid in silver in the dark onyx top and then, stepping back, made a gesture. The top flew open and a small red demon appeared in a puff of smoke. The demon flew toward him only to be brought up short by the pentagram. It dropped to its knees and pressed its clawed, misshapen hands against the invisible walls, seeking a way out.