Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [101]
The others did as the thief bid. Morhion swore softly. On the far side of the pit stood a sharp-edged pinnacle of basalt. Carved into the jagged surface of the spire were stairs spiraling upward, leading to the pointed summit. There was something up there, a dark shape at the top of the stone spire, but Morhion could not make it out.
Carefully, the four skirted the lava pit and approached the pinnacle. They found the beginning of the stone stair case on the far side of the spire, opposite the pit. They found something else as well: A patch of stone had been molded into a new shape. It was a human hand, reaching out of the surface of the pinnacle. An object rested in the outstretched hand, a set of pipes. They looked like the reed pipes a forest satyr might play to enchant a nymph, but they were made of smooth onyx stone.
"Caledan," Mari whispered.
Kellen approached the stone hand and reached out to touch the onyx pipes. The instrument parted from the hand with a faint snick! and came away in Kellen's grip. He stared at the pipes in wonder. They were beautiful, as smooth and fluid as midnight water. "Thank you, Father," he said softly. He tucked the pipes into the pouch at his belt, where he kept his bone flute. "Anyone else curious to find out what's up there?" Ferret said, beady eyes shining. He pointed to the staircase with a thumb.
Cautiously, the four ascended the rough-hewn stair-case. The steps were narrow and uneven, and one slip could send them plummeting to the rocky ground far below. Finally they climbed the last steps to the summit and found themselves on a half-moon-shaped stone plat-form. Before them, hewn from the dark bones of the pin-nacle itself was a gigantic chair. No, not a chair, Morhion realized. A throne. "In Milil's name, what is that?" Mari gasped. The thing on the throne was about the size and shape of a barrel, but it was jet black and glossy, and tapered smoothly at one end. The object was attached to the throne by a sticky mass of dark strands. Only after a moment did Morhion realize that the thing's hard surface was slightly translucent. He could just glimpse some-thing within, something dark and pulsating. Whatever it was, it was alive.
"It's almost like some sort of cocoon," Ferret said with awe and revulsion.
"No, not a cocoon," Morhion countered in sudden realization. "Not a cocoon, but a chrysalis, like that which encases a caterpillar while it completes its metamorphosis a butterfly."
"While it completes its metamorphosis?" Mari repeated. Her voice became an anguished moan. "Oh, by all the gods of light. It's Caledan!"
Instantly Morhion knew she was right. He took a step toward the chrysalis, reaching out a hand. "Caledan, my friend-"
His words were cut short by a shriek of pure and ancient malevolence. A form uncoiled itself from a jagged outcrop behind the throne. The thing's gray, scaly hide had blended seamlessly with the dull stone, concealing it even as it had lain before their eyes. Now the creature sprang down to stand protectively before the chrysalis on the throne. It extended spiny arms ending in obsidian talons; its spiked tail flicked menacingly. The thing's eye less face was utterly inhuman.
A shadevar.
The creature opened its lipless mouth, revealing dark needle teeth. "The king sleeps," it hissed in a voice like a serpent's. "You shall not harm him."
"Get back!" Morhion shouted at the others. They retreated toward the staircase, but they knew they could not outrun the shadevar. The mage stretched out his left hand. Isela's ring glittered on his finger.
Rapidly, Morhion spoke the words of an incantatation. It was the same spell of protection he had cast against shadowhounds on the High Moor. Once again, a ring of shimmering blue magic spread outward from the mage. The ring's violet gem flared, and the expanding circle of magic changed from ice blue to brilliant purple. The glowing circle struck the shadevar and expanded beyond. Blazing tendrils of magic crackled around the creature's form,