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attacker. That thought alone had sent prickles of fear running down his back.
The fortress was not built at all in the traditional sense, but rather had been carved straight into the side
of a mountain, five thousand feet below the summit. Two thousand feet below the fortress was the floor
of the valley, where his subjects lived, a region that could only be approached through a narrow defile.
For those who were condemned to travel on foot, the climb up and over the passes was a journey of
seven or more days. Once over the mountains the traveler had to drop all the way down into the narrow
valley below and then follow a tortuous path back up to the only ground entrance into the fortress. The
valley itself was a steeply terraced patchwork of fields, orchards, and stone-walled villages stretching
northward for nearly two hundred miles into the cold fastness of Tor's realm.
The main keep of the ancient palace, one of those fashioned by the creator Horat himself, was also built
straight into the side of the mountain, atop a sheer rock pinnacle of smooth granite. The only way to enter
it was by air--and a series of traps was studded through the narrow pass for an aerial approach. Crystals
were mounted to either side in a latticework pattern, with only a narrow, unrestricted opening through the
middle. Come in too high or too low and cross between two crystals, and the trap would be sprung as
half a hundred energy bolts snapped out from the mountain, incinerating everything between them.
If one approached from down in the valley, the same trap awaited as the unwary victim started to climb
the face of the pinnacle. A straight overhead approach and a spiral down would create the same
response from an interlocking series of crystals that pointed upwards to their counterparts on the distant
peaks.
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Without the guides to lead them in, the approach would have been almost impossible to negotiate.
Sarnak felt a twinge of jealousy for such a profligate use of the precious stones.
Following the lead of his first battle team, Sarnak turned sharply and came in for final approach. Once
across the threshold of the fortress, he breathed an inward sigh of relief: The first part of the ordeal had
been passed. Trying to calm the tension within, he alighted on the platform.
Around him, the rest of his sorcerers turned in sharply and, as they landed, spread out in what appeared
to be a protective circle.
From the shadows of a doorway that led into the heart of the mountain, a single middle-aged man
appeared. Uthul's face was angular and dark, wreathed in a beard that had already gone over to grey.
The resemblance was striking, and for an instant Sarnak almost thought that he was standing before his
uncle Tor. Yet Sarnak knew there was one thing that Uthul had not inherited, and that was Tor's cunning.
"Cousin, what a debacle---it was a miracle you escaped at all." Uthul strode forward, hands extended
sideways in the gesture of greeting.
Sarnak looked past Uthul to see a dozen sorcerers emerge, looking warily at Sarnak's surviving retinue.
"Your father died well and with honor," Sarnak said evenly.
"At the hands of that bastard Jartan," Uthul replied, with obvious emotion in his voice. "I thought no
good would come of this effort--I tried to warn him. I just knew it would be a failure."
"It was my plan, you know," Sarnak said dryly.
Uthul fell silent. "Be that as it may," he finally replied. "It's a wonder Jartan has not moved straight here to
burn us out."
"I think he might have other concerns right now. He knows your father is dead; he might think that's
sufficient for now."
"But it's said Allic still hunts you, and won't stop once he finds out where you have fled."
Sarnak bristled inwardly at the wordfled. He had been forced to make a tactical withdrawal... but there
would soon be another skirmish--that is, if his hated foe survived the threat he expected was coming.
Uthul shook his head and continued. "At least, cousin, I can give you and yours shelter for awhile here in
my kingdom. But I want no part of this war if it should continue. I've already sent an ambassador to
Jartan indicating my desire for peace. If he should even suspect that I gave you shelter, I know his wrath
would turn on me as well. I'm surprised it hasn't happened already. That is why, when you have rested, I
will have to ask that you leave my realm. There are places across the sea where I am sure you can start
afresh."
"Wrong, dear cousin," Sarnak said, a thin smile lighting his features. "You see, I have a surprise for you."
As the code words were spoken Sarnak stepped back.
His thirty sorcerers turned as one, hands extended.
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Thirty flashes of light snapped out. Before Uthul could even whisper a cry or begin to raise his shielding,
his body had already snapped into a blinding incandescence.
A single stunned sorcerer stepped out from the doorway, hurling a blast at Sarnak, who was already
prepared, his shield up to maximum. The bolt flashed, causing the shield to momentarily glow. Half a
dozen sorcerers turned their attention away from the charred remains of Tor's son and slammed the one
defender to the ground.
Warily the other sorcerers backed up, hands kept carefully down.
Sarnak walked up to the smoking remains and drew the signet of rule off a blackened hand. He put the
signet on his finger and almost languidly looked over at the terrified sorcerers.
"He made one mistake, you know," Sarnak said gently, a sad smile lighting his features. "He just should
have said the kingdom was mine and all of this unpleasantness could have been avoided."
"Are there any objections to this little change in power?"
One by one the sorcerers fell to their knees in obeisance.
"Good, very good, there's been too much bloodshed today. Your pay is doubled as of now, if that will
prove any additional incentive to the lot of you."
Greedy smiles lit the faces of more than one kneeling man.
Sarnak nodded knowingly. "Excellent, gentlemen, then we do understand each other. I guess it's time [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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