muttered. “The feedbag will be too heavy.”
“But the grain won’t,” Hobart said, turning. “And we can fill it again when we go.” He walked past them, carrying the torch.
“I’ll look around while we wait,” Angus said, executing a slow pirouette and stopping when he faced the far wall. The strands of flame were potent, encroaching upon his awareness even though he fought against them and pushed them even further away. He focused more acutely on the strands of sky magic that he needed to keep floating. Then he dipped down into the hole and flew up to the column. The rope was still dangling, and he picked it up. Before heading back up through the hole with it, he looked around at the pit, at the walls, at the column. There were three or four skeletons that he thought about investigating, but the stakes were in the way, and he didn’t have the time.
When he floated back up through the hole and handed the rope to Giorge, he said, “We can use this to reach the floor if we need to.”
Giorge accepted it, shrugged, and said, “It’s only about eight feet,” he said. “We should be able to jump across it.”
Angus ignored him and fluttered around the room, looking for doors, seams, panels—anything that might lead to an opening. He was at the far wall when Hobart returned with the feedbag. He went to get it and then began pouring the grain into the bowl. When he thought he had enough, he stopped, and Giorge said, “More.”
Angus looked at him and shook his head. “This should be enough for two pouches of gems,” he said.
Giorge shrugged and said, “More.”
“Why?” Angus asked.
Giorge sighed and reached into his tunic. He brought out another, smaller pouch.
Angus shook his head and put more grain into the bowl.
“All right Giorge,” Hobart said. “You’re paying for a Truthseer when we get back.”
“Now Hobart,” Giorge said. “You know me. Don’t I always share what I find?”
Hobart frowned at him.
“Eventually?” Giorge added.
“As far as we know,” Hobart said. “You could have held out on us lots of times.”
Giorge shook his head. “Never,” he said. “It’s always for the sake of the Banner.”
“Really?” Hobart said, his voice dry.
Giorge nodded enthusiastically, held out the little pouch, and shook it. “You don’t think protection from theft is free, do you? These gems will keep the thieves of Hellsbreath away from us all winter and then some.”
“Unless they want more of them,” Hobart grumbled.
Giorge shook his head. “Never,” he said. “Dirk wouldn’t let them.”
“Dirk?” Ortis repeated. “Isn’t he the one who sent the Truthseer after you and Angus?”
Giorge nodded. “Nobody in Hellsbreath crosses him more than once, and few do it the first time. These stones will guarantee his protection.”
Angus settled down onto the floor with his full weight. It clicked, but nothing more happened. “It seems to be all right,” he said. “But keep hold of the rope, just in case.” He also kept the spell active as he walked to the back wall, the one behind which the nexus had to lie. Where would they hide a door? A loose panel? Something to grant him access to it? Or was there another room that led to it?
He was so intent in looking for it that he let the strand slip free of his grip and let the magic dip from his awareness. But there was nothing. He finally turned away from it and shook his head. “I can’t find anything,” he said. As he said it, he glanced at the bowl and frowned. There was another red shadow, a small one on the back of the column on which the bowl rested. As he hurried up to it, he noticed that a different part was missing on this one. Like he had done with the first one, he pressed the missing section and waited.
There was a click.
The floor began to move downward at a slow, steady rate.
“Angus!” Giorge shouted as the rope slipped from his hands.
But Angus wasn’t worried; he was confident it wasn’t a trap. He smiled and turned around.
The floor continued to drop for about six feet, and on the far wall, there was a slot just wide enough for an average man to squeeze through. He walked up to it, guided the Lamplight inside, and it flared brilliantly, writhed uncontrollably, and escaped his control.
“Duck!” he yelled as he twisted away from the opening and covered his eyes. A moment later, the Lamplight exploded in a violent burst of light.
“Are you all right?” he yelled to the others, blinded by the near-darkness he found himself in.
“No,” Giorge said. “I still can’t see well.”
“I’m weak,” Ortis said, “but recovering.”
“We ducked,” Hobart said. “What was that?”
Angus frowned. “Light another torch and throw it over here,” he said. “The Lamplight burned out.”
By the time Hobart had another torch lit, Angus was growing accustomed to the darkness. Hobart tossed the torch into the corner away from Angus, and he went quickly over to retrieve it. Then he went back to the opening and held the torch inside.
It flared, burning more brightly than normal, its flickering flames dancing on the smooth, reflective surface of a small circular, domed room. Hovering in the center of it was a huge ruby, at least as large as Hobart’s fist. It floated there, slowly rotating, its facets flickering as the torchlight struck them.
Angus stepped through the opening and slowly, gently, brought the magic around him into focus. Beneath the ruby, a huge strand of deep crimson raged, an inferno held barely in check. It struck the bottom of the ruby and fractured, breaking into powerful, fluctuating strands that shot outward from the ruby’s facets. They writhed furiously as if they were trying to come back together, and then shot upward and outward, away from the ruby, away from each other. It was entrancing, enthralling. It called to him.
Join us. A chorus of voices sang out. Be one with the magic.
It was a delightful, radiant offer. Join us.
He stepped forward—
Be one with the magic.
There was nothing under his foot!
He toppled forward, lost his balance.
He dropped the torch.
For a long moment, he hung there, suspended above a vast chasm.
Join us! Join us!
A hand grabbed his robe from behind and pulled him back.
He watched the torch tumbling further and further into nothingness—a nothingness that would have consumed him if—
He shuddered and turned around. His breathing was labored, his heart pounded in his chest.
“What are you doing?” Ortis asked, once Angus had regained his footing. “What’s in there?”
Angus shook his head. “Nothing,” Angus said, pushing his way out of the entrance. “It’s a trap!”
“Let me see,” Ortis said, trying to step past him.
Angus barred him with his arm. “It’s too dangerous,” Angus gasped. “You’ll fall.”
“We’ll get a rope—”
Angus shook his head. “It’s a hole that goes down for hundreds of feet. Thousands. The torch I dropped is still falling.”
Ortis stepped forward and felt his way around in the darkness until he reached the edge of the pit. He looked around, looked down, and said, “It’s too dark in here. I can’t see anything.”
“Exactly,” Angus said. “That’s all there is. Nothing.”
“But the Lamplight—”
Angus struggled to get his breathing under control, to calm his heart. “There is a nexus—a confluence of magical energy—down there. A major one,” he said.
Join us—a soft whisper, almost distant now, almost more compelling than the jubilant cry.
“It’s the source of the fire magic in this area,” Angus rushed on, as much to hear himself as to tell Ortis. “The flame magic surges up from that abyss and fragments into dozens of tendrils, each one intensely powerful. The tendrils shoot outward in all directions, weakening as they get further away fr
om here.”
His hands were shaking, and he turned suddenly and looked at Ortis, his eyes wide, the magic dancing in them. “Remember the Lamplight? The power of the strand that is used to create it affects how long it will last. You saw what happened when it came in contact with the nexus; the surge of power burned through the spell in moments.”
What he had said so far was true, as far as it went, but he had left out The Tiger’s Eye’s role in the fracturing of the nexus stream.
“We need to get out of here,” he gasped. Then his voice softened as he corrected himself, “I need to. The closer I am to the nexus, the stronger its influence is on me.”
Join us! a resurgence of vigor, a gentle, soothing appeal.
“You saw what happened to the fishmen,” Angus continued, his voice rushed, harsh, rasping. He was beginning to sweat. His left hand was shaking. “You said that flare could be seen for a hundred miles. That was only a fraction of the power that’s down here.” Tears were forming at the edge of his eyes. His ears were ringing again. His voice rose almost to a shout. “One strand,” he lied, holding up his finger for emphasis. “One. If I cast any flame-based spell down here, there is no telling how destructive it will be.”
Ortis continued to stand there, looking back over his shoulder. “I don’t see anything,” he said.
“You wouldn’t,” Angus said, giggling frantically as he staggered away from the opening. “Unless you can see the strands of magic,” he accused.
Join us! Join us!
His heart was pounding.
He struggled for breath.
He longed to lunge past Ortis, to dive down into that unfathomable depth of magic and wonder, to lose himself there….
He turned back, took a