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visage of the young man had returned. A silver beam shot from the tip of Szass Tarn's finger and struck
the spirit's head, sending the apparition flying backward several feet. The beam pulsed wildly while the
spirit convulsed in agony.
"Who do you serve?" the lich persisted.
"Leira," the creature groaned in chorus.
Again the lich struck the creature with a silver beam. The ghostly image wavered and began to spread,
as if it were being stretched on a torturer's rack. The spirit's arms and legs lengthened to the corners of
the stairwell, and it became as insubstantial as mist.
"Who do you serve?"
"We serve you," the spirit finally gasped in its myriad voices.
Szass Tarn's eyes softened to a pale glow. He studied the spirit to make sure it was indeed under his
control. The many minds he touched berated him, but they swore their loyalty. Smugly satisfied, Szass
Tarn willed his human eyes to return.
"Tell me, priests," the lich began. "Were you this ineffectual in stopping the Red Wizards who came
before me?"
"The ones below?" the spirit quipped. The creature's face was now that of a beautiful woman, the one
the thing had displayed when Szass Tarn first encountered it.
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"Yes. The ones below."
"They believe," the ghostly image stated. "They wear the holy symbol of Leira upon their shiny heads. All
believers are welcome in this temple. All believers and you."
"You let them pass freely because they tattooed symbols of Leira on their heads?" the lich queried. "You
believed they worshiped your goddess because of a little paint?"
"Yes," the ghostly image answered. "Leira's temple is for Leira's own."
The lich looked past the creature and peered down the stairs. "You will come with me. You will show
me the traps that litter the path before us. And you will show me the relic I seek."
Szass Tarn resumed his course down the stairway, the spectre at his side pointing out weathered
mosaics of its goddess, expounding on the greatness of Leira, and gesturing toward magical wards on
every step. The lich passed by the broken bodies of long-dead trespassers as he moved from one
chamber to the next. He was so intent on finding the relic that he nearly passed over the only freshly killed
corpse. The spectre pointed it out to him. The body of a red-robed man, no older than twenty, lay
crumpled amid chunks of stone. The man, who wore the painted symbol of Leira on his head, sprawled
with his limbs at odd angles. His eyes were wide with terror, and a thin line of blood still trickled from his
mouth.
"He was with the other wizards," the spectre said in an old man's voice. "Pity he died so young. Though
he wore the symbol of the Lady of the Mists and I let him pass, the guardian looked into his heart. His
heart betrayed him as an unbeliever. The guardian struck him down."
"Guardian?"
"The Lady of the Mists' eternal servant," the spectre replied. "The guardian waits in the chamber
beyond."
The lich peered into the black distance and started forward. The spirit of Leira's priests dutifully followed
on his heels.
"Kill the thing!" Szass Tarn heard a deep male voice cry. The lich quickened his pace and entered a
massive cavern lighted by luminous moss. He stopped and stared at the cavern's three
occupants Frodyne, a Red Wizard he didn't recognize, and a monstrous construct.
"What treachery is this?" the lich's voice boomed.
"Master!" Frodyne squealed. She was dressed in a soiled and torn red robe, and the triangle she had
painted on her scalp was smeared with sweat. Her normally soft features were set in grim determination
as she called for her companion to join the fight. The man stayed behind her, ignoring her coarse words,
and stared at the great thing before them. Frodyne spread her fingers wide and unleashed a magical bolt
of fire at the monstrosity.
Frodyne's foe stood at least thirty feet tall, its head nearly reaching the chamber's roof. The guardian was
not
undead, but it was certainly not living. The lich eyed the thing from top to bottom. It had the torso of a
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man and the head of a goat. Its chest bore the symbol of a triangle filled with swirling mists. The thing
possessed four eyes that were evenly spaced above the thick bridge of its metallic nose, and its mouth
gaped open, exposing pointed teeth made of steel. Four arms as thick as tree trunks waved menacingly
at the sides of its body and ended in six-fingered iron claws. Every inch of the creature was gray. The
thing's massive legs ended in cloven hooves that created sparks when they stomped on the ground and
rocked the cavern. The shockwaves made Frodyne and her companion scramble to stay on their feet.
"It seems you've made it angry, dear Frodyne," Szass Tarn said. "Just as you've angered me. You
destroyed my army."
"I wanted the crown!" she said as she unleashed another bolt of lightning. "I learned about this temple
and the relic, but you said the bauble would be yours. It should be mine!"
The lich watched her nimbly avoid a fist that slammed into the cavern floor where she had been standing.
"I'm sorry!" she yelled. "Help us, please. The crown will be yours. I swear!"
The lich folded his arms and surveyed the battle, not bothering to reply to her plea.
She scowled and brought up her fingers, touching the thumbs together and holding her open palms
toward the guardian. She mumbled words Szass Tarn recognized as one of the first spells he'd taught her,
and icy shards sprang from her hands. The shards flew true and imbedded themselves deep into the
breast of the thing. But the attack proved ineffectual, the guardian oblivious. It pulled an arm back to
swat her. Frodyne leapt to the side, and the guardian's hand found her companion instead. The sharp [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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