Richard Baker - The Shadow Stone

Casting a nervous glance around the quadrangle, Aeron waited to make sure that no one was in sight before muttering the spell of opening under his breath. He quickly slipped inside, holding the door until Melisanda and Baillegh brushed past, and quietly shut it. As far as he could tell, no one had spotted them.

He locked the door behind them, and turned to survey the vast stacks of books that towered in the gloomy chamber. The library's great windows were shuttered and secured, and it took a long moment for Aeron's eyes to adjust. Everything was covered with a fine layer of dust, indicating months, perhaps years, of disuse. But the rows of heavy tomes, scroll racks, atlases, and grimoires all seemed intact.

"What are we looking for?" Melisanda asked.

"The scrolls of Madryoch," Aeron said. "If they're here, they'll be hidden in an unmarked tube, with a scroll describing alchemical processes covering them."

"Wouldn't Oriseus have them, if they're that important?"

"Maybe, if he found them." Aeron allowed himself a small smile. "Five years ago, I hid them before I left my room. I'm hoping that Oriseus, or whoever it was who searched through my belongings, simply returned my books and scrolls to the library."

Deliberately, Aeron moved over to a scroll rack, pulled out the first unmarked case he found, and checked its contents. It was a text on Rashemite genealogy. He started to cap and replace it, then decided that time was more important than neatness. He dropped the case to the floor with a soft clatter and pulled out the next one, moving faster. At least I'll be able to see where I've been already, he thought, discarding the case. Melisanda gave him a startled look, but with a snort she copied his more direct approach, until the air seemed heavy with dust kicked up by scrolls clattering on the floor. Baillegh prowled around the library, her hackles stiff; Aeron guessed that the hound sensed the wrongness in the air and interpreted it as a threat.

It took half an hour before Aeron found the scroll he sought. "Melisanda!" he called. "I think this is it." Licking his lips, he carried it over to a nearby table and emptied out the scroll. Impatiently he brushed away the dry old alchemical treatise.

Underneath, a musty scroll of papyrus pages stitched side-to-side waited, covered with sinister whorls and runes. Brushing her hands against her skirt, the Chondathan sorceress moved closer and peered down at the ancient text.

"It's the same writing as the inscription on the Shadow Stone," she breathed. "You can make sense of this?"

"I think so." He drew the scrap of parchment from his belt pouch and laid it beside Madryoch's text. Carefully, he transcribed the Shadow Stone inscription from the meaningless marks of Madryoch's cipher into ancient Rauric, using the key he'd hidden in the Chants. It was not a long passage, and after a moment he straightened up, examining his work.

"What does it mean?" Melisanda asked, breaking the silence. "I know ancient Untheric and Thorass, but that doesn't seem familiar. Something about the powers of shadow, bound in stone?"

"That's pretty close," Aeron admitted. He leaned back from the table, looking up at Melisanda. Absently he noted that dusk was near; the gray daylight was fading outside the library's shuttered windows, and it was quite dim inside. "The old Imaskari sorcerers used knowledge they'd learned from creatures of immortal evil to record their spells. They weren't priests, really-they didn't draw their magic directly from the dark powers they served. They only used what they'd been taught to work their own sorcery. As best as I can tell, this inscription is a magical seal or bond, the keystone of an enchantment that focuses or channels the Shadow Stone's power."

"Just as we might seal a door or strengthen a tower by inscribing it with words of power," Melisanda observed.

"Exactly. The ancient sorcerers couched their invocations in different terms, but the principle is the same." Aeron stood and paced away from the table, rubbing his hands together. "So how can we use this to undo Oriseus's spell?"

"Magical writings can be erased," Melisanda pointed out. "I know several counterspells and abjurations to neutralize or destroy signs, wards, and glyphs-"

"But if you forged your counterspell from the Weave, the Shadow Stone would merely absorb it," Aeron broke in. "I'd have to craft the counterspell from shadow-magic. It may be that the stone wouldn't cancel a spell made from its own substance."

"Do you know a spell of erasure?"

"No, I don't have one prepared." Aeron swore viciously. "And Dalrioc took my spellbook when he chained me in the shadow shrine. Damn!"

Melisanda slumped against the wall, tears in her eyes. "My spellbook was taken as well. So close-"

Aeron slumped to the floor, grimacing in defeat. He leaned back against the crooked bookshelves, trying to think of a way to get at some student or master's spellbook in order to borrow the spell he needed. Wizards guarded their spellbooks well. It would be dangerous, but what choice did they have? Time was short. Baillegh pressed her nose against his face as if to console him. He scratched her neck and looked down into his lap, considering the best choice for his desperate effort.

His eye fell on the smooth blue silk of Fineghal's pouch of spell-tokens, hanging from his belt. "Of course," he muttered. He undid the drawstring and poured the smooth stones into his hand. Fineghal usually traveled with several dozen of them, water-worn pebbles and rocks marked with old elven glyphs. Aeron had learned to cast his first spell from the elf lord's tokens. He sifted through them until he found a striated stone of green and gray, marked with a double-loop and curving symbol engraved in its cool surface. "Cuilla dheneis," he said, a smile beginning to play across his face. "The striker of marks."

Across the room, Melisanda looked up. "What did you say?"

"I said, I think we've got a chance," Aeron said. He crossed his legs and returned the rest of Fineghal's tokens to their pouch, holding the rune-eraser in his right hand. "I need to memorize this spell. Keep your eyes open for trouble; it may take me a while."

Time passed without measure, as the light slowly failed and dusk fell over Cimbar. Aeron couldn't say if it took an hour or even two to force the shape of the spell into his consciousness; he was tired, his chest still hurt from his fight with Dalrioc and his side ached from the novice's attack, and above all the driving awareness that he had to memorize Fineghal's erasure spell quickly slowed his efforts to master it. Eventually, he stirred and stood, dropping the green, smooth stone back into its pouch.

"I'm ready," he announced. "We'll have to go back to the plane of shadow. I have to be close to the stone in order to work this magic."

"That means returning to the Council Chamber." Melisanda scowled, looking out at the college's courtyard from behind the shutters. "Someone checked the door to the library while you were studying your spell, maybe an hour ago. There were a lot of masters and students moving around the college then, but I haven't seen anyone for a long time. I don't like this."

"Probably looking for us," Aeron said grimly. "Oriseus must have found Dalrioc by-"

Before he could continue, Baillegh growled and turned toward the great double doors of the library. The white wolfhound bared her teeth, moving to stand between the mages and the entrance to the room. Aeron sensed a presence just beyond the portal, a cold hunger and filthy blood-thirst that almost stained the air he breathed. He recoiled three steps without even realizing he'd given ground.

Melisanda paled and edged away as well, sliding around the scroll-littered table. In a frightened whisper she asked, "Aeron, do you feel it?"