Curse of the Shadowmage - Mark Anthony [108]
He plunged his left hand into the wall. The ring exploded in purple brilliance. Violet sparks crackled on both sides of the magical wall. One of the Shadowsteeds was slightly closer than the other. It spread its wings, trying to change course, but too late. Together, beast and shadevar collided with the wall.
For a fractured moment, twin shadevari writhed in midair-one black as midnight, the other blazing as the sun. Creatures of shadow, the shadevar and its steed had both been separated into elements of light and dark, and it was their death. Their combined screams shook the rock beneath Morhion's feet. Then the light and dark halves dissipated like mist before a wind.
Seeing what had happened to its partner, the remaining shadevar shrieked in fury. The beast it rode turned in time to avoid the magical wall and winged swiftly away from the pinnacle. The spells of light and dark expired. The wall vanished. Morhion swore vehemently. He had destroyed one shadevar, but the last one remained.
"Quickly, conjure another wall!" Serafi hissed.
Morhion shook his head. "I cannot. You know the nature of magic, Serafi. Once used, a spell is gone from my mind. It would take me an hour to learn the spells of light and dark again. And we do not have even a minute."
His rage beyond words, Serafi let out a blood-chilling cry, then vanished in a dark cyclone. A strange peace descended over Morhion. He turned to gaze at the throne.
Slowly, the shadowking rose to its feet. It was horrifying in its darkness, yet majestic as well, a vast creature of sculpted onyx muscle, with horns and talons like black ice. Against its chest, the Shadowstar pulsated frenetically. The outlines of the creature's face flowed, taking shape. It was nearly complete.
"Behold the King of Shadows," Morhion whispered in awe.
A high-pitched scream pierced the air. The mage turned to see the remaining shadowsteed winging rapidly across the vale, coming straight for him.
Twenty-One
K'shar's breath rattled in his chest as he whispered the numbers.
"… five hundred four… five hundred five… five hundred six.. "
He had to keep counting. Yet he was not certain he could hold on much longer. The pain that racked his ruined body seemed to have merged with the crimson glow that filled the furnacelike cavern, so that he floated in a blood-red sea of agony. He was only dully aware of the jagged stump of bone that stuck out of a rip in his leather breeches, and of the pool of dark blood that spread beneath him. His crushed right arm was numb, which was a blessing, but the ragged cuts on his face and head burned fiercely. However, he could use that pain, could focus on it and let it anchor him so that he did not drift away from the haze of scarlet fire and into endless darkness.
"…seven hundred thirty…seven hundred thirty-one…'
Embedded in the stone wall next to K'shar was the circular portal. Its metallic surface gleamed dully in the cast-off light of the lava flow. Beside the portal, protruding from the wall, was a lever-a rod carved with unrecognizable symbols. K'shar did not need to read the runes to understand the lever's function. Pulling it would slide back the metal catch that held the portal shut. He could hear the gurgling rush of water on the other side of the door. The sound made him maddeningly thirsty. He licked his parched lips with a dust-dry tongue, tasting the rust of blood.
"… nine hundred ninety-six… nine hundred ninety-seven…"
Agonizingly, he reached his left hand toward