Марк Энтони - Curse of the Shadowmage

They dismounted and began scouting to either side of the Dusk Road. It was almost dark when Jewel called out over the rising gale. The thief led the others into a nearby aspen grove where slender, leafless trees danced in the wind. In the center of the grove, in a massive granite outcrop, was the dim mouth of a cave. Just then, a bolt of lightning rent the sky, and the first cold drops of rain began to fall.

“I checked it out,” Jewel shouted above the roar of the storm. “It’s dry and goes back only a dozen paces. Plus,” she added with a grin, “it doesn’t appear to be inhabited.”

Tethering the horses under the shelter of a tall pine, they headed into the cave. They spread their bedrolls on the sandy floor and soon had a cheerful fire burning, making the place warm and almost snug. Mari volunteered to cook and was soon stirring a bubbling pot.

Cormik rubbed his chubby hands gleefully. “So, what are we having for supper, Mari? Poached pheasant eggs seasoned with saffron? Braised fillet of young wyvern? Or perhaps”—he shivered with anticipation—“hummingbird tongues in a reduction of white wine and cloves?”

“Stew,” Mari replied flatly. “We’re having stew.”

“Stew?” Cormik repeated the word distastefully. “I’m not sure what that is, but I must say I really don’t care for the sound of it.”

Apparently he didn’t care for the taste of it either. While everyone else ate heartily, Cormik picked at the contents of the wooden bowl in his lap, periodically letting out a despondent sigh. He clutched his expansive stomach. “I’m going to waste away to nothing, you know.”

As usual, everyone ignored him.

The fire was burning low and they had just lain down to sleep when the whinnies of frightened horses drifted through the mouth of the cave.

“It’s probably just the storm,” Mari whispered, “but they sound really upset.”

Morhion stood up. “I’ll go.” Wrapping his cloak tightly around himself, he headed out into the stormy night.

Cold rain lashed at Morhion, and in moments he was soaked to the skin. Every few seconds, a white flash of lightning tore apart the darkness. He struggled against the violent wind, finally reaching the tree where they had tethered the horses. The animals were pawing at the ground, snorting and rolling their eyes. Morhion peered into the night but could see nothing save the wildly swaying trees. He stroked the horses, calming them, and led them around the tree where they would be more protected. Instructing his onyx stallion, Tenebrous, to keep an eye on the other beasts, Morhion headed back.

He stepped inside the cave and instantly knew that something was wrong.

The cave was silent and dark, the air acrid with the stench of smoke, as if the fire had been hastily kicked out. With a whispered word, Morhion conjured a pale sphere of magelight in his hand. Even before its faint, purple glow filled the cave, he knew what he would see.

Mari, Kellen, Cormik, and Jewel were gone.

The cave’s sandy floor was churned up, as if there had been some sort of struggle. Yet where had the assailants come from? And to where had his friends disappeared?

Cautiously, Morhion moved deeper into the cave. Then he saw it—a thin crack in the rear wall. He approached, examining the fissure more closely. It was the outline of a door. Something was jammed into the crack. He reached down to pluck out the tuft of dark fur that had kept the portal from shutting completely.

There was only one possible conclusion. Some sort of creature—or creatures—had abducted his companions. Without hesitating, Morhion pushed against the door. The ponderous slab of rock did not budge. He threw all his weight against it, but to no avail.

Morhion glowered at the door. He was a wizard, not a warrior. He was trained to use his mind, not his body. Kneeling, he examined the floor in front of the portal. A half-circle had been scratched into the sand. Blue eyes glittering, he rose. He studied the door for a moment more, then placed his hand precisely along the center of the slab’s left edge. He pressed lightly. The door pivoted smoothly on a central axis, revealing a dark opening beyond. He allowed himself a brief smile of victory, then plunged into the passageway. Magelight bobbing before him, Morhion moved swiftly down a twisting stone tunnel. Soon he realized he was traveling at a downward angle, deep into the bones of the world.

In his haste, he nearly tripped over the corpse. He bent down in dread, fearing the body might be that of one of his friends. It was not. Whatever the creature was, it had been dead for several days. The sweet scent of decay rose from the corpse in sickening waves. The being’s form was so twisted—a grotesque melange of dark fur, sharp teeth, and rippling flesh—that it could not possibly have lived and functioned like this. Morhion did not know what sort of beast this had once been, but something had distorted its body, molding it into this hideous shape as it died.

The mage drew the ruby amulet out from beneath his shirt. As he moved the amulet toward the corpse, a faint spark flickered in the heart of the gem. He whispered a single grim word.

“Caledan …”

Quickly, Morhion leapt over the rotting corpse and continued down the tunnel. Soon he came upon another horribly twisted creature. Then another, and another, until he lost count. As the ruby amulet proved, all had been metamorphosed by Caledan’s chaotic shadow magic. Without doubt, Caldorien had come this way several days ago. But was he still here? Heart pounding, the mage ran on.

The walls dropped away to either side, and Morhion sensed a vast space extending before him. Abruptly, he ducked behind the cover of a sharp stalagmite. While his magelight reached only a dozen feet in each direction, he could see farther. Much farther.

A livid green phosphorescence glowed in the air, emanating from a feathery moss that clung to the stones all around. In the faint light, Morhion saw that he was on the edge of a vast cavern. A jagged chasm ran across the cavern, and on the other side of the defile was a writhing sea of furred flesh and sharp teeth.

Gibberlings.

Morhion had never before laid eyes on the beasts, but he had read about them. Gibberlings were not sophisticated creatures. Their gaping maws and huge teeth left little room for brains in their doglike skulls. They walked on two legs and, although they were no more than four feet tall, their furry bodies were stocky and thick with muscle. Even so, two or three gibberlings were no match for a skilled warrior or a trained mage. On the other hand, gibberlings rarely attacked in twos or threes. Their strength was in numbers, and when they attacked, they did so in a growling, slavering horde that consumed everything in its path.

Morhion scanned the mass of gibberlings on the other side of the chasm. It was difficult to get a fix on their number, but there had to be at least a hundred of the creatures. They cavorted around a raised slab of stone. Swearing softly, Morhion saw the reason. Cormik lay sprawled upon the slab, trussed like a piglet ready for roasting. Beyond Cormik, inside a natural cage formed of stalactites and stalagmites, Morhion glimpsed three other pale faces. Mari, Kellen, and Jewel. No doubt the gibberlings intended to feast on all their victims, with Cormik, the juiciest of the lot, as the first course.

As Morhion watched, a gibberling stuffed an apple into Cormik’s mouth, silencing the rotund thief’s colorful swearing. Cormik struggled uselessly against the crude bonds of twisted fur that encircled his wrists and ankles.

Morhion knew he had little time to act. A natural stone bridge spanned the deep chasm. However, crossing it would leave Morhion utterly exposed; the gibberlings would see him coming. There had to be another way.