William R. Forstchen & Greg Morrison - Crystal Warriors 2 - Crystal Sorcerers

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Crystal Sorcerers
Book 2 in the Crystal Warriors series.
By William R. Forstchen and Greg Morrison
Crystal Sorcerers
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10
11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18
Epilogue
Prologue
The battlefield was deathly still. Overhead, the twin moons of Haven cast an eerie glow over the
shattered remains of thousands who had struggled beneath the walls of Landra. The city was still ablaze,
casting a flickering glow through the fog that seemed to rise ghostlike across the blood-soaked fields. The
low cries of the wounded still echoed in the night air, whispering for help, water, or an end to their
agonies. Like apparitions, numbed survivors searched the fields, looking for comrades, loved ones,
hoping against hope.
The mist swirled and eddied, cloaking the fields before Landra where but hours before the armies of
Sarnak had gone down to their ruin. Gradually it deepened, as if the earth wished to hide the brutal
inhumanity of what had been accomplished, all for the vain-gloried dreams of a demigod who was now a
hunted fugitive, his armies dead or scattered. In the drifting shroud of darkness, two forms clad in the
livery of Allic, Prince and defender of Landra, appeared hovering in the air, looking furtively about, then
floated on searching. More than one, still clinging to life, looked up to see the two sorcerers drift by. Yet
the cries for help were futile, for the two were not searching for lost friends.
"There's one of Sarnak's sorcerers over there," Giorgini whispered.
"You check him out and I'll check out this one over here," commanded Younger.
Giorgini flew low, drifting in the mist to avoid detection. A cold shiver was running through him. Hours
ago he had felt at least that he was part of a team, fighting alongside his old comrades. Granted, he felt his
commander, Mark Phillips, was a fool for trusting the Japanese, but he had always despised officers who
were always ordering him around--and Mark, who led by example, was nothing like that. Already
Giorgini was wishing he had not sided with Younger in the argument over command. If only he had kept
his damn mouth shut he'd be back in the city now, a warm meal inside him and with a place to sleep.
Instead he was skulking about like a thief, hoping to find and loot a set of crystals.
The damn crystals--he had never thought of that when he had quit Allic's service. He had not stopped to
realize that he would be stripped of his offensive and defensive crystal weapons. Without them he was
next to naked on this world.
Still not adapted to flying without the focusing of a crystal's power, he overshot the torn body of the
sorcerer and fell to his knees. Cursing under his breath, Giorgini walked back to the corpse.
Jackpot! The woman had not been stripped of her weapons. Sitting down by her side, he quickly undid
the bracelets around her arms and snapped them on to his own wrists, not looking at the horrible searing
wound that had nearly torn her in half. He paused for a moment to look at her drawn, gray features
which, strangely, had been untouched by the blast that had killed her. In life she must have been beautiful,
Giorgini thought sadly. Her hair was barely scorched, her features quiet, as if death had taken her by
surprise, not giving her time to feel pain. Who knows, he thought, perhaps he had even killed her in the
mad confusion of battle. He could remember two kills of enemy sorcerers for sure, both of them pounces
from above and behind. One of them had been a woman. He paused for a moment, lost in lonely
contemplation. Yet he was alive and she was dead, that was the simple fact of it, he tried to tell himself,
but the sickness of everything that had happened this day was impossible to shake.
A distant cry of pain echoed across the field, setting his hair on edge. A wounded demon. A moment
later there was a muffled flash of light and the demon scream was cut off. As if by instinct, he snapped his
defensive shield up.
"You stupid ass. Turn off that shield, someone might pick it up and come over here," snarled Younger
from out of the shadows.
Giorgini clenched his teeth, biting back a sharp return, and turned the shield down to its lowest power.
He glared back at Younger for a moment and then returned his attention to the body at his feet.
Why in the name of god did I leave the captain to desert with this jerk, he thought savagely. In
frustration he ripped the crystals from the belt around the woman's body and began to examine them.
Younger landed beside him just as he was fitting the crystals into the empty slots on his belt.
"How did you make out, Sergeant?"
Giorgini kept his face impassive while he struggled for control. What an asshole, he thought. The two of
us haven't a friend in this whole world and he wants to play lieutenant.
"Looks like I got a complete set except for a communications crystal," Giorgini replied coldly.
Giorgini was glancing around the body to see if the comm crystal had fallen nearby and failed to notice
Younger stiffen slightly--
"Let's get one thing straight, Sergeant. Now that I'm in command you will address me as 'sir,' " Younger
barked.
Giorgini struggled to control himself. An hour ago, Younger had been calling him "buddy," and now this
old military crap again. Inwardly Giorgini knew the bastard was better than him in a one-on-one fight, at
least with crystals. From the corner of his eye he saw that Younger had found a powerful looking
offensive crystal, but his left wrist was still empty of a defensive shield. The tension coiled through him,
but he forced it down. So that's the game, Giorgini thought, feeling stupid for not having guessed this
would be how Younger acted once he had weapons again.
Apparently feeling that he had reestablished proper discipline, Lieutenant Younger continued:
"All right, Sergeant, the body I found had its defensive crystal destroyed, so give me the one you found
until we locate another body. Then we can get the hell out of here."
Giorgini was so angry that he actually stammered as the first words came out of his mouth and had to
stop and try again. His words were low but venomous, and there was no mistaking their meaning.
"Kiss my ass."
Younger made the mistake of trying to reestablish his authority.
"Come to attention this instant, Sergeant."
"Eat shit. Sir." Giorgini drawled the "sir" out as insultingly as possible, and continued, "You're a deserter
yourself, Younger. Don't even try and pull that bullshit officer crap on me. In fact..." he paused as the
decision he had been half mulling over crystallized in his mind, then went on, "I was an idiot to even come
with you. Mark is not only a better leader, but a better man. I'm going back."
Younger's first reaction was to raise his offensive crystal. Instantly Giorgini's shield snapped on to full
power and his offensive crystal was pointed at Younger's stomach.
"Lieutenant, that would be pretty stupid. How long do you expect to last without a shield?" Giorgini's
voice conveyed vast amusement.
Younger carefully lowered his arm. "Come on," he whispered smoothly. "You can't go back. They'll send
you to the mines as a deserter. Stick with me, buddy, it's safer."
"I'm not your goddamn buddy," Giorgini hissed. "You almost had me roped in. I let my hatred of the Japs
blind me to what a bastard you are. But I'll take the Japs to you any day. You thought I'd be your little
army and follow you around shouting yes sir, no sir, let me kiss your ass sir. I was an idiot to desert with
you. I'm goin' back and take my chances."
Younger's anger overwhelmed him and he started to raise his crystal again... only to freeze as he stared at
a sparkling offensive crystal pointed directly between his eyes from a distance of only five feet.
"Imagine what this could do at this range. Sir. Now why don't you crawl off to whatever cesspool you
were going to in the first place."
Younger's face contorted. "I'll get you," he snarled. "You're as bad as the Japs, you little guinea. I'll get
you some day."
"Come on Lieutenant," Giorgini laughed, "here and now."
Younger stood frozen for a moment, his features darkened with rage. Turning, he lifted into the air and
disappeared into the fog.
He was almost across the field when he heard Giorgini's booming laugh. "Hey Lieutenant--while you're at
it, why don't you take them gold bars of yours and stuff 'em up your ass!"
Giorgini stood on the crest of the hill smiling and chortling to himself. Ever since he had entered the Air
Corps he had wanted to tell some chickenshit officer what he could do to himself. Extending his
far-seeing skills, he tracked Younger as he disappeared eastward, toward where the shattered remnants
of Sarnak's army had disappeared. Finally he was lost from view.
Turning back, Giorgini continued his train of thought. Hell, Mark would stick up for him if he handled it
right. Christ, with all they had been through, a man could be excused a little battle fatigue. He'd be in the
doghouse for a couple of months, but come the next fight they'd have to let him back in and he could
prove himself in battle again. Even that Jap officer, Ikawa, had said he was a good fighter in a pinch.
They'd have to let him back.
The only hairy part would be in surrendering. Without a communications crystal he couldn't call in and
forewarn them. The best thing he could do was to wait until daylight and start walking. If he tried to go in
now, they might pop him off, thinking he was a survivor of Sarnak's trying to escape, no questions asked.
As long as he was wearing Allic's colors no one would shoot him on sight in the morning light, and once
he got to another sorcerer with a way to connect him with Mark he was home free.
Giorgini was so deep in thought that he failed to notice the change in his surroundings.
The grass beneath his feet began to turn brown and brittle as if a sudden frost had overcome it. Not only
the temperature, but the very feel of the air turned cold and crisp.
Giorgini suddenly shivered and, still deep in thought, half wondered at the change.
"Christ, feels like I'm standing in an icebox," he muttered to himself.
All at once he came to his senses and realized that this cold was not natural. That it had to be caused.
And now he could feel someone, a presence, behind him.
Knowing he was a dead man, he instantly powered up his shield and turned to fight.
To be blasted off his feet the moment he moved.
Giorgini laid there, barely conscious, and felt the presence come closer. The cold had become almost
overwhelming, and he began to shiver uncontrollably.
A voice that was chilling, and almost inhuman in its lack of emotion, came to him through his pain:
"I came too late for other prey, so you will have to do."
Chapter 1
Captain Mark Phillips, formerly of the United States Army Air Corps and now one of the most highly
regarded sorcerers of Prince Allic's realm, flew lazily through the morning air. The magical talents he had
developed in this world were still a wonder to him, but the ability to fly had to be his favorite.
The land beneath him was as beautiful as ever, with small villages, well run farms, vineyards, and
orchards. He could not recall ever being happier. Having powers that would have seemed godlike back
on Earth, and being part of the ruling clique of gods and demigods, made his life far more rewarding than
it had been flying B-29s with an average twenty mission life expectancy.
Extending his arms, Mark Phillips soared heavenward, up through the crystalline clouds that floated lazily
with the morning breeze. Onward he climbed, the cool fresh air rippling past him. With a slight dip of his
right arm he went into a roll, spinning through turn after turn as he punched through the opaque firmament
of billowing clouds.
Reaching the top of the cloud, he skimmed along the surface until the edge suddenly dropped straight
away to the ground more than a mile below. Laughing, Mark created a mental image and swept his hands
slowly in front of him, drawing on the Essence and his still rough talent of creativity.
The cloud swirled up in response to his command to form a towering throne, complete to ornately carved
lions' heads on the uprights. Gently, he lowered himself into his creation and, stretching out, he looked
over the edge to survey the world beneath him.
The cloud marched onward with the breeze, its shadow rolling across the eastern marches of Landra.
How different this all was. Less than a year before he had been flying across the flak-torn skies of China,
drenched in fear-soaked sweat, listening to the pounding roar of the engines that kept his B-29 aloft.
Always waiting, always fearing that inevitable slash of hot steel sent up to tear him and his comrades out
of the sky.
And now he could fly like a god on the world of Haven. Flying as he had always dreamed to fly, by
merely extending his arms and rising effortlessly into the heavens. There had been fighting as well, and
death had still hovered by his shoulder. But for now the war on Haven was over, and there was the joy
of soaring like an eagle without fear of attack.
And Allic had awarded them all small fiefdoms in return for their all-too-crucial services in the war with
Sarnak. Only the day before, Mark had been enjoying a long promised rest at his manor, Homefree. As
leaders of the outlanders, Mark and Captain Ikawa of the Japanese Army had received exceptionally
beautiful estates of several hundred square miles along the river, in a region noted for its towering stands
of eldar and derusa trees, and rocky cliffs that overlooked the river.
For two weeks Mark had known nothing but contented bliss. His lover Storm, Allic's sister, had flown in
to spend the time with him. Eventually it had become a working vacation, as they tried to get the estate
back in order after the recent conflict. They had visited all the villages in Mark's shire, and he had
declared a feast day at his own expense for each visit. Not surprisingly, he had done very well in
maintaining the good relationship that the people of Landra had traditionally had with their leaders. Ikawa
and Allic's other sister, the demigod Leti, had exchanged regular visits with Mark and Storm, and the four
companions had grown ever closer in their friendship.
Then the call to service had come from Allic. Ruefully, Mark turned back to his elaborate creation of
cloud. Though he loved flying like this, at this moment he'd much rather be alone with Storm, watching
the sleek ships sailing down the river on their way to the sea, or walking through a grove of red-hued
trees in his garden.
"Aren't we getting a little godlike with the throne?"
Mark looked over his shoulder and smiled.
Allic, his liege lord, Prince of the province of Landra, hovered behind him.
"Have a seat, my lord," Mark said expansively, and with a wave of his hand he expanded the throne to
accompany his ruler and friend.
Allic settled in alongside of Mark. Reaching into his tunic he pulled out a flask of brandy, took a long
swallow, and then offered it to Mark.
After draining off a shot, Mark returned the gem-encrusted flask. Allic smiled and with a wink took
another drink, then leaned back as if settling into the diaporous chair. Mark could see that Allic's scars of
battle were almost healed, the healthy new skin gradually working its way out, replacing the darkened
burns that had covered half of Allic's face. He still wore an eye patch to cover the left socket where the
new eye was forming.
Of all the wonders of Haven--the flying by mere thought, the thousand year life span he now had, the
magic which was a daily fact of life--this miracle of regeneration still awed him. Across three years of war
back on Earth he had seen countless young bodies broken, torn apart, never to be healed. Yet here
those who survived combat could again be made whole, at least in body, by the art of the
sorcerer-healers.
Smiling, Allic winked at Mark and then leaned over the edge of the throne to look down. Mark still found
it hard to understand this man, if he could be called such a thing. Allic was the son of god, imbued with
powers that on Earth would seem divine. But then again, Mark realized, what would his own ability to fly
like a bird, and fight with the power of magic crystals, seem like to his old comrades in the Air Corps?
Allic could at times come forth with a regal bearing and terrifying power; and yet at other times, he was
like an old comrade, ready for a drink, a coarse joke, and a jovial smile.
There were hundreds of sorcerers, those mortals who could wield magic on this world, in Allic's service,
but Mark noticed that it was the offworlders, the Japanese and American soldiers who had arrived here
on Haven through the dimensional portal, whose company and friendship Allic preferred.
"Ah, here comes Ikawa," Allic announced, shaking his head and smiling as he pointed straight down.
Coming under the base of the cloud, Ikawa arched upward, his climb slow but steady, lacking the
smooth precision of Mark, or the blinding swiftness of Allic. But then again, Allic was a demigod, the son
of Jartan the Creator, and Mark had been a combat pilot, while Ikawa Yoshio had been an infantry
officer in the Imperial Japanese Army, who still looked at flying with a bit of a jaundiced eye. Watching
his friend fly up, Mark smiled over how strange this all was. A year ago he would have killed Ikawa
without the slightest hesitation. Now he would lay down his life to protect the man he considered to be
the closest friend he had ever had.
Ikawa pulled up before the two and shook his head with mock disdain.
"You and your damn games of darting all over the sky," Ikawa snapped. "And this throne on top of a
cloud. Looks like your work, Mark: western European in style, and far too plain."
Ikawa waved his hands and the throne shifted in form, expanding outward with a wild assortment of
swirls topped by a fanlike canopy. On both sides the clouds grew upward and turned into two giant
samurailike guards who stood poised in watchful observance with blades drawn.
"Now I'm ready to sit," Ikawa announced with mock gravity, and swinging over, he settled down by
Allic's side. Scooping up the proffered flask, Ikawa took a long drink and sighed.
The three friends sat in quiet contemplation of the beauty around them. To the east Mark could see the
brooding heights of the Sarnastu, the barrier mountains that guarded the approach to what had once been
the realm of Sarnak the Accursed. Their destination was just on the other side of those mountains.
Though the war was over and Sarnak had fled in defeat, still there was a sense of foreboding to the
place.
As he looked eastward at the Sarnastu he could not help but feel uneasy.
"My lord, would you mind sharing with us what this is all about?" Ikawa asked.
Allic looked at the two and smiled.
"I'd have told you earlier, but felt it best to wait till we were out here alone."
The two nodded. Ever since the war there had been some concern about a possible security leak in
Allic's ranks. It wasn't so much that there was direct evidence, but rather just an uneasy feeling on Allic's
part, backed up by Pina and Valdez, his two most trusted lieutenants, that somehow word was sifting out
of the city regarding Allic's activities.
"Word came in yesterday that we've found Sarnak's secret office and command center."
"We've been tearing that palace apart for three months," Ikawa interjected. "I thought we'd never find his
command center."
"One of his sorcerers had enough of hard labor and felt that his old master had sold them all out, so he
decided to talk in return for a reduced sentence."
"Maybe now we can find out where that bastard Sarnak is hiding and finish off the job," Mark said
grimly.
"My intentions exactly, and the sooner we get there the sooner we'll find out."
Leaping forward, Allic dived down the face of the cloud and rolled out eastward.
"Let's get going." Laughing, Mark gave Ikawa a friendly shove. His friend tumbled off the throne and with
a curse plummeted down the side of the cloud. Mark focused his attention and did a magnificent spring
upward, like a diver going off a board. He hovered for a moment above the throne and then jackknifed
straight down. Snapping his shielding up to ease the buffeting of the wind on his face, he raced down the
face of the cloud.
Ikawa had regained some semblance of stability, and as Mark raced past, the Japanese officer swung in
alongside his comrade.
Below the base of the cloud the two leveled out and, riding the currents of air, swung in behind their lord,
forming a protective cover to his rear. Though there was no war, they were still flying into a conquered
territory and a moment of inattention could still result in tragedy.
The ground below was dotted with farmsteads and villages, but as the Eastern Marches drew closer the
settled region finally gave way to wild tracks of forest. For three thousand years this had been the frontier
between two rival powers, subject to raid and counterstrike, and only the border wardens and lords of
the marches had stayed in this region, their settlements fortified positions set atop high peaked hills.
As the mountains rose below them, the three started to curve back skyward, passing again through the
clouds which were billowing upward to form the first thunderheads of an afternoon storm.
The sight of the clouds made Mark think again of his lover. She was a demigod in her own right, the
daughter of Jartan. Storm had in her powers the ability to create her own thunderstorms, the darkened
sky her plaything for amusement or, as he had once witnessed, a terrifying power of war. It was, after all,
in a storm cloud that he had first met her, and he smiled at the memory.
As they punched through the clouds, the towering peaks of the Samastu loomed ahead. Allic led the way
through a narrow past, the sheer rock walls of the mountains rising several thousand feet above them on
either side. The air was cold and crisp, the sun illuminating the peaks with a golden light that rendered
them in stark contrast against the mountain clouds.
Turning and weaving, the party continued on up into the mountain fastness.
"This is Red Leader to Gold Leader control," Mark announced through his communications crystal.
"Gold Leader to Red, go ahead please."
"Party of three approaching through sector five."
There was a pause on the other end.
"We have you in sight. Identification code please."
"Green, green, white," Mark announced.
One of the things Allic's people had picked up from Mark was the method of air control and
identification codes he had learned in the Army Air Corps. He had designed the air approach systems
into Allic's realm and Sarnak's territory, and if a flyer did not follow certain corridors, and have the right
codes, it would trigger an instant scramble.
"You are cleared for approach through air corridor five," the controller responded, and the crystal fell
silent.
Mark was pleased with the crispness of the operation, and Allic looked back at him approvingly. It had
been difficult to convince Allic that he should never announce his presence or even speak via crystals
when in the air, lest he tip some unwanted listener off. But since his injury in battle he had, at least for
now, seemed a little more cautious.
Coming down out of the high pass, the ground dropped away to a broad plateau, broken occasionally by
hills and river valleys. For a nation that had been at war there was little sign here that a conflict had ever
been fought. But then, Mark reflected, there wouldn't be: Almost all the combat had taken place in Allic's
realm.
The towns and cities were well ordered, in an almost military precision of squared fields and
arrow-straight roads. If anything was lacking, it was the green lushness of Allic's kingdom, and that vague
indefinable spirit that could instantly tell someone that the people were truly happy and contented with
their life.
Swinging low for a closer look, Allic soared over his new territories.
Mark felt slightly nervous about this. In Allic's own realm the sight of their lord passing overhead would
have been cause for jovial shouts and comments. Here his passage was met by stony silence. Mark kept
a watchful eye for the slightest threatening sign.
"Can't expect them to like me yet," Allic said evenly, falling back to fly beside Mark.
They passed over a bevy of Sarnak's captured demons hard at work repairing a blown bridge that
spanned a narrow chasm. Mark had already had several encounters with the ten-foot monsters and knew
that they were fearsome opponents. Brought by Sarnak from their own worlds into this dimension, as
guards and warriors they endured years of service to earn their freedom. Of course, these had been
forced to sign allegiance to Allic, so they were theoretically harmless. Still, Mark noted that most of this
group were winged, and he increased the strength of his shield slightly. The frightening creatures looked
heavenward and glowered darkly, while their guards shouted a friendly greeting as Allic raced by.
Continuing across the plain, Mark could at last see their destination, the high mountains and river valley
that marked Sarnak's castle and capital city.
"Red Leader, you are on final approach," a voice whispered through the communications crystal. "Do not
deviate from your flight path unless ordered to do so."
Mark could see that Allic was tempted to announce his presence and wander about a bit, but decided
against it. The wall crystal mounted atop the entry gate would have been brought instantly into play and a
scramble of all sorcerers in the city would have come swarming out as a result. It was tight discipline, but
Mark had suggested it be set up that way, until such time as every last corner of Sarnak's realm and
hidden corridor of his castle had been explored and secured. Only the week before, half a dozen
renegade demons had been flushed not five miles away from this spot. More than twenty soldiers had
been killed, and a sorcerer injured, before they had been eliminated. Without the tight system of checks
and controlled airspace it could have been a lot worse.
Rising again, they crested the city wall and headed for the twin towers of the main gate into the castle.
Before them stood the hidden fortress of Sarnak. Half a hundred steel-grey towers encircled the keep,
and in the center stood a single monolith of rock and iron.
Atop the tower fluttered the blue and white pennant of Allic, and the demigod smiled as the banner
arched and snapped in the breeze.
Circling about the tower, the three swung in to alight on the arrival platform. From the shadows of the
battlement wall a delegation came forward to meet the new arrivals. Allic was immediately surrounded by
his sorcerers and servants, while Mark and Ikawa were the center of attention as their old comrades
rushed out to greet them.
The outlanders split into two parties momentarily as the Japanese lined up to formally exchange bows
with Ikawa, while the Americans simply crowded around Mark, exchanging handshakes and
good-natured insults.
Mark easily entered into the clamor. Almost all his old friends and comrades were here. Only Kochanski
was away, still up in the capital city, Asmara, working on a special assignment with the god Jartan.
Younger and Giorgini he simply did not think about anymore, and as for the others... How few we are,
he thought sadly. He looked over at Ikawa and their gazes locked for a second. Too many of their
original companions were already gone, and those who still lived seemed to cherish each other all the
more.
Sergeant Saito broke away from Ikawa, and coming up to Mark, he saluted and smiled. He pulled a
slender white cylinder from his pocket and offered it.
"A Lucky Strike." Mark laughed and accepted the treasured gift.
"Bucking for promotion, Saito?" Walker shot good-naturedly.
"It's just you are so decidedly poor at gambling," Saito replied. "Having won it from you, and not being
addicted to the filthy habit, I thought the Captain would appreciate a smoke."
Mark concentrated for a moment, lighting the cigarette with sorcery, and inhaled luxuriously. Granted, it
was really stale, but it still tasted wonderful, rekindling his old craving for tobacco which--tragically, in his
mind--was not available on Haven.
Taking a couple of drags, he offered the butt to Walker, who then passed it around to the other men.
"If this little reunion is finished," Allic interrupted, his features now serious, "we've got some important
business to attend to."
The group fell in behind their lord and followed him into the keep. Reaching the main staircase, they were
met by several other sorcerers who had a hurried conference with their leader before leading him down
the steps.
Level after level was passed. Mark still found this place to be unnerving. He had spent nearly a month
here after the war, helping to secure the fortress and surrounding territory. The stark interior was such a
chilling contrast to Allic's palace, and to his own estate, that the mere thought of coming back here had
sent a chill through him. He felt as if somehow there was still an evil presence here, lurking, watching and
waiting.
The party continued downward until at last an open platform was reached at what Mark assumed was
near ground level. Half a dozen sorcerers, all wearing the sky blue livery of Allic's inner command, stood
in a circle. In the middle of the group there was a lone sorcerer, wearing the brass collar of servitude, and
the soiled remnants of Sarnak's deep burgundy uniform. His hair had gone to white, and grew now in
only tattered batches on his balding skull. His grey eyes were deeply sunk into a skull-like visage that
seemed to have already passed into the realm of the dead.
Though the old man had been stripped of all crystals, Mark sensed that he was not someone to be trifled
with. Even crystal-less, he seemed to hold a power that deserved to be watched closely.
"So, Musta, the prospect of a hundred years in the mines started to wear thin, did it?" Allic said coldly.
"Your people promised me safe conduct out of here, if I agreed to cooperate with your search," Musta
said sharply. "I want to at least die with the sun in my face rather than in one of your damned mines, all
because I made the mistake of choosing the wrong side. Besides, Guild laws state that sorcerers who are
prisoners of war can only be stripped of their crystals and must be set free after no more than two years
of servitude."
"Quite correct regarding most of the other captured sorcerers," rejoined Allic in a mocking tone, "but you
are also charged with a contract violation and theft of my crystals, and the law still applies even after
seven hundred years."
Musta fell silent, eyeing Allic with open hatred.
"Let's get this done, shall we?" the demigod said evenly, "Show us into the offices, deactivate the traps,
and then you're free to leave."
The two locked gazes until Musta finally turned away and started down the stairs.
Before long the party followed him, going ever deeper into the heart of Sarnak's citadel.
Reaching the bottom of the fortress at last, Musta started down the main corridor past the dungeons
which now housed a few other sorcerers and demons who had been captured in the mop-up operations
and who were off duty for various reasons.
The demons howled with fury at the sight of Allic, who hurled back a series of taunts in their own
loathsome tongue, which set them to howling even louder. Mark covered his ears, half afraid he'd go deaf
from the noise.
At the end of the main corridor Musta turned to the right and proceeded for another hundred yards
before turning right again, and then yet again, till at last he came up against a blank wall.
"I've been here before," Ikawa commented. "We didn't notice a damn thing."
Musta looked over at Ikawa and smiled. Reaching down, he pushed a series of small stones set into the
wall. Back and forth his hand danced, tapping out a rhythmic sequence.
Without a sound the wall before them parted.
"We could have spent a dozen lifetimes before finding this," one of Allic's sorcerers whispered.
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CrystalSorcerersBook2intheCrystalWarriorsseries.ByWilliamR.ForstchenandGregMorrisonCrystalSorcerersTableofContentsPrologueChapter1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,1011,12,13,14,15,16,17,18EpiloguePrologueThebattlefieldwasdeathlystill.Overhead,thetwinmoonsofHavencastaneerieglowovertheshatteredremainsofthousandswhoha...

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William R. Forstchen & Greg Morrison - Crystal Warriors 2 - Crystal Sorcerers.pdf

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分类：外语学习 价格：5.9玖币 属性：195 页 大小：462.73KB 格式：PDF 时间：2024-12-20

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