Darkvision - Bruce R. Cordell [81]
"Sevaera?" questioned Zel. But a black film glazed the woman's eyes. Humanity leaked away, and what stared out at them was the soul of the void. A grave-cold wind blew up, and Warian's hair streamed toward his aunt. She had become a deep, dark well, and a monstrosity lurked at the bottom.
Her mouth opened wide as if she were about to scream. Instead, without any visible articulation, an awful voice rumbled, "Come to me."
Sevaera's mouth gaped even wider, but Warian saw nothing within but darkness. As her mouth widened, the wind redoubled. Warian had to lean away from his aunt, and Zel grabbed hold of his arm. Fragments of broken crystal from the spiders slid along the floor, accelerating as they neared her. They were sucked without a trace into her mouth.
"Come to me," said the appalling voice once more, louder.
The high-backed chair slid toward the woman. Books flew from the shelves like a converging swarm of bats. Each one disappeared down her maw, getting stuck only momentarily on the edges of her lips. The great crystal hanging from its chain strained toward her. The bodies of the dead spiders, slick with blood, tumbled into the epicenter of her influence, then were sucked down into the metaphysical cavity.
Zel shook Warian. "We have to get out of here, kid!" Warian broke free of his horror trance, grabbed his uncle's arm, and dashed through the exit, skimming past Sevaera. He ran down the short corridor and into the workroom beyond. The radiance in his arm intensified, as did the force pulling him backward. Loose objects in the workroom began to pelt and bounce off him as they arrowed through the air toward Sevaera.
"Ouch!" A sealed glass jar filled with greenish fluid knocked his uncle down. Warian didn't stop-he just pulled his uncle forward. He had to bat away panels ripped from the wall, sidestep sliding benches, and duck candles as lethal as crossbow bolts. Only the enhanced strength granted by his arm saved Warian, again and again, plus lent him enough power to pull his groaning, protesting uncle.
The telltale tingle of his arm's imminent failure began to grow in his chest-a cavernous, dead feeling. If he allowed the prosthesis to fail now, they'd be pulled in. Warian glanced back and saw Sevaera walking after him with an awkward, stiff-legged gait. A rain of tools, crystals, papers, lamps, and candles gathered in a whirlwind around her before being pulled in.
Warian lost all restraint and pumped the power of his arm to its brightest glow yet. He dashed through the work area, his uncle in tow. Objects seemed to hang suspended as he moved at superhuman speed, almost beyond mortality. But his strength guttered all too soon. He didn't dare swerve toward the side entrance-if he did, they wouldn't make it.
His uncle screamed something. He was struggling to get to his feet despite Warian's grip on his arm, but the man's voice was too warped by speed for Warian to understand.
Warian couldn't answer, anyway. All his concentration was required to continue on toward the ring of ancient standing stones. He gasped and nearly passed out, but pulled himself through a gap between two of the stones, into the interior of the ring.
He ended up someplace quite different.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Essam of the desert-dwelling elves addressed Kiril and the throng gathered in the plaza of subterranean Al Qahera. "The great rock appeared in the wake of a tempest fiercer than most that stalk Raurin. If you knew the wildness of Raurin's storms, you'd know that this event was singular in its violence. Thus, we call it the Storm Spike."
Kiril gave a heartfelt nod, remembering the wind devil that had pursued them onto the dervishes' doorstep.
"So sudden did the storm hit that several of our people went missing, including two of Al Qahera's best archers. We never did learn their fate." A sigh escaped many throats. "They are missed."
"When the storm subsided," Essam continued, "we sent