The Nether Scroll

He could turn his head. The notion that Lady Mantis had paralyzed him when she stifled his words was mistaken. He could still speak, if he chose, or raise his arm in defense of the cowering lump of human terror at his feet. The woman's finger still extended toward Tiep, its dark claw had begun to glow. Defense was needed. The tide turned in Druhallen's lungs. Air, energy, and purpose flowed inward. He folded his arms and retrieved a cold ember from his sleeve. It would be his last fire spell until midnight, but there'd never been a better time to exhaust himself.

Streams of latent flame rushed toward Druhallen. The fireball would be ready when his lungs were full and Lady Mantis would know she'd made an enemy—

"You believe a goblin over a man?" Galimer's outrage reached Druhallen's ears as Galimer himself lunged for the woman's throat.

If he'd taken a moment for pragmatic thought, Dru would have known that his fireball stood little chance of breaching Lady Wyndyfarh's protective spells, but Galimer's desperate and purely physical attack had even less hope for success and it placed the gold-haired wizard in the path of Dru's burgeoning spell.

There was no dilemma, no need for a split-second decision. Dru would not harm Galimer. He opened his hand and the unkindled fire dissipated in the air. His body reeled from the shock. Swallowing a spell was more difficult than casting it. Color and contrast faded from his vision, but not enough to free him from the sight of sinuous magic leaping from that dark claw. A cross between spider silk and lightning, Wyndyfarh's magic spun itself around Galimer, swiftly concealing him in a clouded whorl. Foolishly, Dru made a grab for his friend as Galimer's light-shrouded body rose from the moss.

The next thing Druhallen knew, he was on the other side of the pool and his spine ached. He was flat against a rock. Both Galimer and Lady Mantis vanished behind the waterfall. Sheemzher followed them, his arms waving frantically and his hat flying off his warty head. If he'd had the strength—or the spell—Dru would have fried the misbegotten creature as he ran. But Dru's mind was empty of magic—completely empty—and the goblin also escaped behind the waterfall.

With the skirmish over and lost, Druhallen checked himself for unsuspected injuries before standing. Upright, he had a full view of the glade, including Tiep, who hadn't moved from the spot where he'd fallen but was clearly alive. The young man crouched on the moss with his head between his knees, his back to the bright-blue sky. Rozt'a stood beside her foster son. She'd sheathed her sword, but that seemed the limit of her sympathy.

Dru left them alone. He approached the waterfall from his side of the pool. At first glance, there seemed to be a cave behind the cascade. Perhaps there was, the stone he found was black, glassy, and clearly unnatural. He pounded it with his fists and put his shoulder into an accommodating hollow.

"Try magic," Rozt'a suggested from the opposite side.

Her voice was ominously flat. Dru looked to see if she was angry or in shock. He couldn't tell; her face was hidden in shadow.

"I'm done for the day," he admitted and waited for her response, which came in a slow, ragged sigh.

"What happened? One minute he was standing there, the next she'd snared him. I begged her to let him go, and she looked at me as if I were dirt."

Dru searched his memory for the sound of Rozt'a's voice and found nothing. Perhaps she'd pled for her husband after he'd been hurled across the pool, though he didn't think he'd lost consciousness in the air or after landing. Perhaps they'd seen and remembered different things. That implied some potent notions about Lady Wyndyfarh's magical mastery. Dru gave up on the cave-that-wasn't and joined Rozt'a on the temple side of the pool.

"Gal challenged her," he explained. "Something about taking the goblin's word over Tiep's—"

"Damn! A setup!"

She tried to force her way past him to the glassy stone. In a fight with weapons, Rozt'a had Dru beat cold, but he held his ground easily against her half-hearted shove.

"We better talk to Tiep first, before either one of us goes leaping off a cliff. He had something that wasn't his. When the dog-face made the stuff glow, there was something shining in his shirt. A piece of amber, I guess."

"Damn," Rozt'a repeated herself, this time with a scowl in the youth's direction.

"There might be more. Have you noticed the bugs?"

She gave a puzzled shake of her head and stiffened when Dru reached for her face.

"Steady," he advised and carefully—very carefully— mussed her hair. The ruby bees took flight reluctantly. They wouldn't have flown where Rozt'a could see them if Dru hadn't been insistent with his fanning.