Albrek's Tomb - Forman Mark L - Страница 61

• Предыдущая
• 61/90
• Следующая

It was time to face the necromancer. Alex moved to the far end of the chamber, and now that he had time to look, he easily found the door hidden in the stone wall. The door was barred from the outside, and Alex felt sure that meant that Set had been right. Nethrom was still fighting the darkness, still fighting the evil he’d unknowingly set free.

Removing the iron bar from across the door, Alex put his hand on the handle and stopped. He stood motionless, remembering the advice Whalen had given him: Defend yourself, and try to turn the necromancer’s own powers against him. Attack only when you must.He thought about what he was about to face, but after a moment of hesitation, he shook his head. He had come this far and to hesitate now would be both foolish and deadly. Without waiting any longer to think or worry about what might happen, he threw open the door to the hiding place of the necromancer.

“Ah, you’ve come at last,” said an ancient-looking dwarf sitting at a table.

“Silence!” a second voice screamed.

Nethrom’s body went rigid, every muscle suddenly contracting. It looked as if the old dwarf had stopped breathing, and his face was pale. Alex looked around the room, searching for the source of the second voice, but there was no one else he could see. Slowly, Nethrom started to breathe, but each breath was clearly a struggle to draw in and force out.

“I should have realized that you would be in the one place I never thought to look,” the second voice said from Nethrom’s mouth.

“I think it best to be where I’m not expected,” said Alex calmly.

“Cursed crystal—I should have known it would show me nothing of value,” Nethrom said as he pushed his chair away from the table and slowly stood up. It seemed like he was trying to remember how to breathe, to remember how his body moved. “Still, it has some powers that are useful.”

Alex glanced at the crystal on the desk, realizing that it was the same as the crystal he had once recovered for the Oracle of the White Tower.

“The crystal will not willingly work for evil.”

“Most things won’t, but I manage just the same.”

“You admit you’re evil, then,” said Alex, surprised by the simple confession.

“Why not? I have lived too long to deceive myself, and I care not what others think,” said Nethrom.

“Then you know why I have come,” said Alex, moving a little farther into the room.

“To test your strength against me, of course,” answered Nethrom, laughing slyly. “To call me to account for what I have done.”

“And to free those you have enslaved with your power,” Alex added.

“Noble tasks, though foolish,” said Nethrom. “And all for nothing, really. What need have we to fight—two great powers in a land of small people? Surely we can settle any disputes without resorting to violence.”

“Are you willing to give up your evil?”

“Are you willing to give up your life?”

“We give up when we are dead, and even then the struggle will often go on,” Alex answered.

“You speak of Set and his miners. They are a small matter. One I could easily do without,” said Nethrom carelessly. “My powers do not rely on my servants, and they do not bend simply because wizards wish them to.”

“Have you strayed so far from wisdom, Nethrom?” Alex questioned.

“That is not my name,” shouted the dwarf, a pained look crossing his face. “Nethrom was nothing—a fool caught up in his learning. I am Mog, the ancient one, the destroyer of souls.”

“I see,” said Alex. “And yet you have not been able to destroy Nethrom. He still fights against you. Why else would you lock yourself in this dungeon?”

“His efforts are meaningless,” Mog answered angrily, picking up a short staff made of black stone. “I have taken his body and his power. All he can now do is play the fly, buzzing in circles but having no sting.”

“Yet you fear him,” said Alex as he took another step forward.

“Fear is for the weak,” Mog spat back. “I fear nothing in this world, least of all a half-witted dwarf.”

“Then I must destroy you,” said Alex, raising his staff.

“You can try, but you will fail, as others have failed.”

Before Alex could move, he felt himself swept away from the dark chamber where he faced the necromancer. He blinked to clear his eyes of the dark mist that seemed to flow around him, and he looked up at the imposing figure of Mog.

“Behold, boy, my true form,” Mog called loudly.

For a moment Alex couldn’t breathe. Nethrom’s body grew into a giant and his head turned into something insectlike. His eyes glowed an evil green, and long, dripping fangs extended from his mouth. He was more terrible than Alex had thought possible, yet there was something inside Alex that made him feel pity rather than fear.

“Let me show you the power you face now,” Mog growled. “Let me give you a sample of what I am and what I can do.”

Flames leaped up around as Alex as far as he could see. The entire world seemed to be engulfed in a giant ball of flame, and for a moment Alex was afraid he would burn with it, but, strangely, the flames had no effect on him. He could feel the flames around him, but they were simply warm and felt like a summer breeze.

“You hide your pain well, boy,” Mog called, looking down at Alex. “I know the pain of the flames. There is no need for you to hold your tongue.”

Alex did not answer the creature, but watched as the necromancer began to move through the flames. Alex realized that the flames and the entire world around him was nothing more than an illusion created by Mog.

“Perhaps something else will pain you even more,” Mog sneered.

The flames vanished as he spoke, replaced by thousands of lightning bolts which shattered the rocky ground where they struck. Alex felt several of the bolts strike him, but there was no power in them. He knew then that nothing Mog did in the pretend world could possibly harm him.

“You cast an interesting illusion,” said Alex, catching one of the lightning bolts in his hand. “For a moment, I almost thought it was real.”

“Real enough,” said Mog, still sneering at Alex. “Whatever I create here, I can create in the world. Whatever pain you feel here will be nothing compared to the unending pain you will feel when I am through with you.”

“Then why show me this foolishness?” Alex questioned, carelessly tossing the lightning bolt aside. “If you are so mighty, why waste my time with mere illusion?”

“To give you a chance, boy,” answered Mog, his voice shaking with anger. “I am not cruel, and I do not destroy without a reason. Join me and share my power. Together we could do so much.”

“You would do only evil,” said Alex, waving his staff. Mog’s imagined world vanished. “You can’t create anything new; you can only call back what once was.”

“You are a fool,” said Mog from Nethrom’s body. “A brave fool, perhaps, but a fool just the same.”

“I will give you one chance to depart. Leave Nethrom and return to the darkness from whence you came,” said Alex, lifting his staff.

Mog roared in reply, raising his own staff in a sweeping motion and spreading fire over the floor around Alex. Alex felt the heat of the flames and knew that this time the fire was real, yet he did not move nor did he try to counter the spell.

“Feel the heat of dragon fire, boy!” Mog laughed. “Begin to feel the pain that I will inflict upon you.”

Reaching out, Alex took hold of the fire. It seemed almost alive in his hand. Mog had cast a spell of dragon fire, but he did not know that Alex was both a dragon lord and part dragon. The fire would obey him,not Mog. Alex pulled the fire together in his hand and swung it at Mog like a whip.

Mog screamed in surprise and pain as the flames struck him, throwing him back against the far wall of the chamber.

Alex coiled the flames for a second strike, but Mog spun away before he could land another blow.

• Предыдущая
• 61/90
• Следующая