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Chapter Sixteen

"We must be in the wrong place," Adam said sadly, once the five Avalon elves had stepped through the Gate to Underhill, or what was left of it. "This can't be the kingdom."

"Are you still in touch with the nodes, Adam?" Marbann asked. He seemed disturbed by the sight before them, which apparently urged him to make certain they had a way back to Dallas before going any further. "If the power has weakened, I don't know if we should continue."

"I don't know if we should continue anyway," Niamh said, standing behind the others and peering furtively between them. "I don't like what's happened here. I don't."

What was once a lush, green landscape abundant with moss and fern was now a sterile wasteland. Dust rose as they walked; no plants, trees, or even grass greeted them. Nothing lived here, at least not that they could see, and the annihilation of what was once their home renewed the rage he felt for the enemy.

At least our disguise fits our surroundings, he remarked to himself, once his anger had subsided. "Marbann, do you know where we are?" Adam asked hopefully. Marbann seemed confused, turning his head right and then left, as if trying to get his bearings straight.

"I think . . . the palace is that way," he said, pointing toward the valley. "If not for that thrice-damned dust, we might even be able to see the palace in the distance."

"Or what is left of it," Niamh said distantly. Adam wrestled with the dark mood that fell over him, sensing that the same depression had fallen on his comrades.

"Then let us proceed," Adam said. "The Gate won't remain open forever," he said, glancing back at the portal, which glowed dully in the murky light. He feared the Gate would act as a bright beacon, attracting unwanted attention, but as they left it behind them, advancing cautiously down a slope, it dimmed until it was invisible.

"I can find the Gate again," Marbann said, apparently sensing the King's uneasiness. "And so can you, if you reach out with your mind."

Adam closed his eyes, and indeed the Gate appeared in his mental vision, and beyond the Gate he saw the tendrils of node power that kept it open. Before going too much further, he reinforced the power holding the Gate in place, which Marbann in turn used to strengthen the opening.

"I hope this weapon can deliver what we need," Adam said. "The less we are all down here the better."

"Aie, yes," Niamh said meekly. "The Unseleighe have ruined this land, they have."

Got no argument there, Adam thought as they descended into the valley. "Marbann, how long do you suppose it has been since the Unseleighe moved in?"

The older elf negotiated a cluster of boulders blocking their way, then helped the others over them. "No way to know," he said. "It may have been years. Or days. The same time distortion exists whether traveling to or from Underhill."

Years, Adam thought. What might the Unseleighe have accomplished, if it has been that long?

"We must hurry," Adam said, sensing danger somewhere near. "I'm afraid we—"

A rustle from beyond a ridge interrupted him. In seconds, a party of creatures on horseback surged over the hill, wielding bows with arrows, nocked and ready to fly.

"Elf-shot," Marbann murmured. "Those arrows would kill us instantly."

The creatures, which resembled gargoyles, circled their mounts around behind the Avalon elves and stopped. One gargoyle, with hideous reptilian skin, looking like a cross between a lizard and an elf, brandished a banner and wore a more elaborate tunic than the others. Adam surmised he was the leader.

"These are not Unseleighe," Marbann whispered. "But they may be in Zeldan's employ."

Adam glanced from one creature to another. Then he considered that they might be rogues, an independent band of critters looting what Zeldan's group left behind.

"Zeldan used gargoyles as mercenaries," Marbann replied. "But that is not Zeldan's banner. I don't know for certain what is going on here, young King, but I do have a suspicion. Let me do the speaking, if you please."

Adam had no problem with that, he thought, before motion from one of the creatures distracted him. "Perhaps we are about to find out," he said. The apparent leader approached them cautiously while the others looked on. Their arrows remained aimed and ready.

The gargoyle barked a series of unintelligible words in a language Adam had only a fleeting familiarity with. It sounded like well-formed grunts, hard hissing of consonants, followed by the snapping of teeth—or whatever incisors gargoyles had. Marbann replied in kind, to the surprise of Adam; he had no idea his mentor spoke fluent Gargoyle.

Marbann and the leader exchanged a few, harsh words, when finally he turned and shrugged.

"They don't believe me," he said. "But they would like to escort us back to the palace. We were in no position to bargain," Marbann said. "We stand no chance against arrows, and so many creatures."

But what about other protections? Adam thought. Discussion didn't seem to be restricted, and Adam ventured a few whispered words to Marbann. "Shields, Marbann," Adam hissed. "If I . . ."

Marbann snorted in annoyance. "Are you certain you can have one in place, to protect all of us, in the split second it takes to let an arrow fly?"

Surrounded as we are, the shield would need to materialize instantly and perfectly. He remembered the misshapen shield he'd constructed in their garage and how pathetic a construction it actually was.

"I might try myself," Marbann offered. "But I have doubts. I'm not willing to risk our lives on that chance."

Reluctantly, the King admitted this wasn't such a great plan. Another gargoyle grunted at Adam and motioned for him to follow. The leader advanced ahead of them several paces, as the other gargoyles flanked them on either side.

"What did you tell them?" They were several paces from the nearest gargoyle, and going by their lack of reaction he doubted his words had reached their ears.

"I thought they might be working for Zeldan, and I was right. I claimed the Unseleighe lord sent us to seize some of the treasure in the palace."

Moments passed. "And?" Adam asked. "Did they believe you?"

"Well, we look Unseleighe. They will take us to the other Unseleighe already there to verify what I told him."

Adam stifled a groan. They'll know for certain we're bogus, he thought. Or maybe not. At any rate, there was little they could do to improve their situation, except to wait for an opportunity to act.

Presently, the palace, or rather what was left of it, loomed into view. Adam's heart sank when he saw the ruins, but he concealed his expression as much as possible. Large sections of the turrets and the outer walls had come down, apparently the result of well-placed levin bolts. This was the first time he had seen the palace remains, except for the vision in his dream; even the ruined bridge remained in place, as he envisioned, complete with vine coverage. He looked nervously in the sky for the black eagle which had attacked him in the vision, though he doubted such a creature truly existed. It was more a symbol of Zeldan's power, he had thought, than an actual beast. And Zeldan was Above now, in the human's realm.

He reached cautiously for the nodes of his homeland, but Marbann's warning look made him reconsider.

"Trying to reach the Underhill nodes would only alert the enemy," he whispered. "I doubt, even with our combined power, we would be able to wrest anything from them."

"But . . ."

"But nothing," Marbann said. "Until we know what's going on, it would be best to keep secret our abilities."

"Aie," Adam replied. "They may yet buy our story."

Marbann's stony silence suggested he didn't think this too likely. Then, his mentor asked, "What about the Marketplace nodes?"

The King felt the vague power just beyond the periphery of his mental sight and knew that it was still within reach. Adam nodded.

"Keep the power in sight," Marbann advised. "If the Unseleighe attack us with node power, unleash it. Right now we must convince them of our false identities."

When they reached the edge of the ruins, the gargoyles led them into a makeshift cavern; this had been an opening leading into the lower levels of the palace. The opening had been widened and improved over time, but it was still a grim example of how little the conquerors had tried to fix what they had destroyed. The wooden arch that framed the entrance was old and well seasoned, indicating a great deal of time had passed since the palace fell. That the Unseleighe spent so little effort to rebuild or improve the place sickened Adam as much as the loss of his home.

The gargoyles dismounted and gestured, using their arrows as pointers, for Adam and his party to follow.

"No Unseleighe yet," Marbann whispered. "Perhaps, beneath the ruins, we might have a better chance against this group."

True. Bows and arrows were not practical in close quarters, and Marbann's plan had merit, if no others awaited them below.

The gargoyles led them into a darkened chamber and barked a command to Marbann.

"We are to wait here," Marbann said. "However, young King, you will notice that their guard is down at the moment. Now may be our only—"

Before Marbann completed the sentence, the world turned silver.

Moments before, Adam felt a surge of power rising beneath them. The release of energy happened so quickly that time froze, and he was himself momentarily paralyzed. He knew this was a new threat, from an unknown source, but he found himself powerless to do anything about it.

"Marbann, what the—" Adam began, but the shield, or whatever had become their prison, snapped into place around them, sealing them in, like being trapped inside a Tupperware container.

Mute, they stared at their cage: a reflective, silvery surface. Adam touched it, saw his finger extend to the first knuckle in the mercurylike surface. Then he touched hardness, like cool concrete.

"Perhaps we might dig under it," Marbann said, getting down on his knees. He scooped several handfuls away, but soon they found that the silver walls encasing them curved down, probably completing the form of a sphere.

"We might keep digging," Marbann said, "but I suspect we're trapped beneath by whatever field this is." He stood, regarding the surface in puzzlement. Though Adam saw no obvious light source, the field glowed enough to provide dim illumination.

"Will it permit us to breathe?" Niamh asked, but no one had an answer for him.

Adam sat down on the floor, trying to think, while Marbann proceeded to inspect the interior of the shell to no apparent effect. He felt completely useless, not only because he was unable to help himself, but also because he had failed his clan.

"This barrier has completely cut off our power," Marbann said. "Can you sense any node energy?"

The shell proved a major barrier, but beyond it he did detect the vague impression of the Gate and the nodes supporting it. "It's there, but I can't quite reach it. This shell, it's like a signal scrambler." They all stared at him. "Never mind. That would take too long to explain."

Niamh stepped forward, addressing the group. "Perhaps if we combined our powers . . ."

"And focused, say, on a single spot," Adam continued for him. Then he turned to his mentor. "Would it work?"

"We must try," Marbann said. "First, let's form a circle. . . ."

 

Daryl stood against the fender of his 'Vette, smoking a cigarette, wondering if there was some way to kill a demon.

"Isn't it beautiful?" Mort said, and with a majestic sweep of his black arm, he presented Lake Tawekoni. The gesture reminded him of the sexy models on The Price is Right; but instead of a new car or a European vacation, the demon stood beside the largest lake that supplied drinking water to the city of Dallas, Texas.

"It's a lake," Daryl said, tempering his anger with nicotine. The cigarette burned harshly down his throat, as it was the tenth one that day. That afternoon, after "work" at the New You, Daryl imbibed some Dream, forgetting to offer his prayer to the gods that Mort would not show up. Halfway into the second rock, Mort popped into place in the driver's seat. To say that the demon suggested the trip to the lake was an understatement; when Daryl resisted, his 'Vette assumed a life of its own. A force beyond him, apparently under the direct control of Mort, took over the driving for him, cruising down Highway 80 at an even 54 miles per hour. Daryl had folded his arms, fuming, as his pride and joy committed treason by going somewhere he didn't want to go. This had never happened before. But then, this had not been an ordinary month.

Mort frowned, a strangely comic expression on his exaggerated features. For reasons Daryl hadn't figured, Mort had grown two short horns, which made him look like Satan. No, not Satan. Satan's annoying nephew.

"It's not just a lake, shithead," Mort hissed. "It's gonna be the lake you're responsible for baiting with Dream. Other lakes, too, but you won't have to worry about them. We've already got them covered." He surveyed the vast expanse of water from the graveled area the 'Vette had decided to pull off on. "Hmmm. I wonder what the fish will look like afterward."

Daryl only half listened. The Dream had become a Nightmare, and he wished it would just wear off. He considered scoring a bag of pot to numb himself into oblivion, something besides Dream, but every time he'd pursued such a venture he always wound up firing up a Dream rock. The task dissolved into nothingness and apathy, much like his life was doing, bit by psychotic bit.

Earlier that day he saw his little brother, Justin, riding with a truckload of football jocks, guzzling Bud and making fools of themselves. He didn't know if Justin had seen him; but seeing his brother partying like that left Daryl feeling confused. First he was relieved to see him playing the party game. It was a rite of passage, of sorts.

But his choice of company really sucked. Why did he choose those jerks? he'd thought. Why doesn't he want to get stoned with me? Seeing his brother out like that had dug deeply at his pride and occupied most of his thinking for about an hour. Then Mort had shown up.

"You should be honored, you know," Mort said petulantly. "More Dream will be assigned to this lake than any others. Which only makes sense, of course."

"I'm not honored," Daryl said hollowly. "Why do you want to spike the water supply, anyway?" Daryl wanted to know. The whole plan had never made any sense.

"For grins," Mort said, walking over to Daryl and reaching up with a thin arm and patting his shoulder. "Why should you care? You're getting a free supply out of it."

"I get a supply anyway," Daryl replied. He thought about all those people, those straight people who'd never touched a drug in their life. He was surprised that he didn't find the prospect amusing. And the children . . . how would they react to a little Mort in their lives? Millions of people coming unwrapped at the same time. This was something beyond his ability to imagine.

"Besides," Mort said, with a sly grin, "think of the market for Dream it will open up."

 

"It's no use," Niamh said from his cross-legged position. "We need a stronger source than that crystal."

They had tried every approach to breaking the sphere that imprisoned them, but nothing seemed to work. Adam was starting to think that without the node power, or any power, for that matter, their chances were slim at best in getting out. Then he remembered the memory crystal his father had left for him; some residual power remained even after the message had been delivered. They now tried it as a focus.

"Niamh," Marbann admonished. He sat cross-legged in the tiny chamber, trying to concentrate on the crystal before him. "You know better. No negative input."

Niamh shrugged and looked apologetic. They collected their concentration and focused again. Though the crystal was nothing compared to a stream of pure node power, it had some interesting properties, which may or may not have been inherent in the original matrix when it was mined. This came as no surprise, as the crystal was designed not merely as a message transceiver but as a storage depot for a small sliver of thought and feeling. A complicated device, to say the least, the construction of which visibly impressed Marbann—and apparently went beyond anything he might be able to construct himself, even here in Underhill, with unlimited resources. Adam found it difficult to skirt the powerful emotion his father had impressed on the crystal, but in so doing found it possible to focus a single beam of stored power on a point immediately above them.

The beam brightened, and Adam struggled to control it. "Don't lose it," Adam muttered, more to himself than anyone. He sensed that Marbann was doing most of the manipulation, even managing to intensify the beam during Niamh's interruption. The light appeared on the silver dome's inner surface, immediately above them, and looked as if it were penetrating the mercurylike material that held them in.

That's it, Adam thought, not daring to shatter the concentration by saying the words aloud. He kept as still as possible, focusing with the rest of the Avalon elves on the crystal, the beam, the ceiling. Then the beam shot through the sphere, the edges of a perfectly round hole visible from their sitting positions. He held back a cheer that threatened to slip past his lips, closed his eyes, and concentrated.

Our captors will see that hole, he thought, or will they? The beam itself was silent, and he'd heard nothing when it pierced the shell.

Something else is going on. The shell began to fluctuate, the light it emitted dimmed, then brightened.

Is its matrix compromised because of the hole we've put in it? he wondered. Their prison appeared to become unstable, and in places it grew thin; for brief moments, he had a patchy view of the exterior. Glowing, throbbing, pulsing, the dome issued a low, dissonant hum, a discordant tone that sounded like the death of a magical creation. Which was, Adam reasoned, precisely what it was.

"Power is siphoning off somewhere else," Marbann whispered, his eyes still closed. "It's dissolving. . . ."

Focusing on the crystal with a vengeance now, Adam pushed the beam one last time. The matrix gave, and their prison shattered.

They sat on the floor of the stone chamber, surrounded by a ring of lambent, but dying, light on the ground around them. Two guards, minions of some low order, stood and stared stupidly at them, their swords at their sides, touching the ground before them. They were younger gargoyles, mere larvae. With what looked like green urine running down their legs.

"Hi, guys," Adam said as they got to their feet. "You look surprised."

As a pair, the two "guards" turned and fled, leaving the swords on the ground.

"That was generous of them," Niamh said as he retrieved the weapon. "I think we should leave now."

"I agree," Adam said. "Do we have enough time to do what we came here to do?"

Marbann brushed the dust off his black breeches and replied, "Can you still contact the nodes through our Gate?"

Adam sent his thoughts back to the Gate, which was now unobstructed. The power sources glowed brightly again in his mental vision, and he exhaled a sigh of relief.

"Good," Marbann said, as if reading his thoughts. "We have some time, but not much. We must hurry."

Adam turned to Niamh. "So tell us, where can we find that weapon we came to collect?"

The King retrieved the crystal, which continued to emit its own light; this proved to be useful as Niamh led them down dimly lit and unlit corridors. In time Adam began to recognize his surroundings, encountering a painting of a long-dead relative here, a piece of familiar furniture or a fixture there. Occasionally they found the skeleton of what had to be an Avalon elf.

Again anger stirred in his soul, but he kept it tamed, so as not to cloud his decisions. Later is the time for revenge. Now I must reman clearheaded enough to acquire this weapon.

And then hope it can do what Niamh says it can.

"We are near," Niamh said, several paces ahead of them. He stopped in front of an open chamber and peered into the darkness.

"Here," Adam said, bringing the crystal. He hesitated, knowing his parents' bodies might well be here as well as the weapon.

He aimed the crystal into the chamber. This was indeed the place he remembered. The table was upright in one corner. Various weapons lay around, both Seleighe and Unseleighe. Pieces of armor lay cast aside. As he entered the chamber, the light fell on a shrouded form, covered in a cloth with the Avalon emblem. Mother. He did not want to look, knowing he would likely find a skeleton here. Father's skeleton must be here somewhere, but where?

Then he saw where. Hanging by his feet from the ceiling was what had to be his father's remains. Marbann said nothing, his silhouette framed in the doorway.

The young King fell to his knees, the crystal's light flickering to the floor. In the darkness, he heard a scream.

"NOOOOoooooooo!"

The wail echoed in the tiny chamber, down the passageways, throughout the very bowels of the palace. When Adam opened his eyes, he realized the scream had been his own.

He sat there for several long moments, wishing the dark cloak of pain would just go away. Marbann said nothing, his silhouette framed in the doorway.

The young King moved to get up, and his hand fell on the hilt of a sword. Examination by crystal light revealed it to be bronze, with a tip of cold iron. An Unseleighe weapon. Designed to kill elves. He stood, keeping clear of the iron tip, and willed the crystal to brighten. The yellowed light flooded the room like a lantern. If the maker of this sword wanted it to kill elves, kill elves it will.

Unseleighe elves.

"They will pay," Adam said with a biting, acrid anger he had never felt before.

Niamh stood up. "I've found it," he said, holding up a rifle of some sort. Wires and odd bits of electronics dangled off it. It did not look workable, but then Adam was no technician.

Adam saw Niamh pulling the cloth back over his mother's remains; evidently, they had hidden the weapon with her.

"Then let's get back to the Gate," Adam said.

"Aie," Marbann said weakly. Then Adam realized he was grieving for his father. "We have what we came for. We must go now."

"Yes. It's time for the Gate," Adam said, feeling for its power. In the short time they'd taken to find the weapon, the Gate's power had decreased noticeably. "We don't have much time," he added.

Adam led them back the way they came, toward the chamber where the gargoyles had held them captive. Marbann questioned this, pointed out that was where the backup guards would go first to look for them. Then Adam countered with, "Do you know of any other way out of here?"

"Hmmmph," Marbann had replied, but that might have meant anything. Behind them, deep in the passageways, Adam heard others. Unseleighe? He sent a mental probe that way, found only the odd, reptilian minds there. But they were on the alert and coming their direction.

They found the opening to the outside, and Unseleighe surrounded them immediately. At first glance Adam counted eight of them, looking very much like his group did in their disguises. The Unseleighe elves in their black tunics stared at them with surprise on their pallid faces, evidently confused as to who they were.

Marbann stepped forward and regarded the eight with visible disgust. "Zeldan Dhu has sent us to inspect his property," he said, and to the startled gasp of some of the onlookers, added, "It would appear that it has not been well kept."

Niamh clutched the weapon closer to him. They stood at the mouth of the tunnel that led to the palace remains, with room on either side to escape. But the Gate is that way, Adam thought, looking past the Unseleighe. We may have to bluff our way through this. We are out-armed.

The sight of his father's murderers set his blood on fire again. He wanted to leap into the middle of them and start swinging, but he knew that would not be a wise move. For one thing, he would likely die. For another, well, there wouldn't be anything else. I'd be dead. And my people would be less one ruler.

One of the Unseleighe came forward, his sword still sheathed. He didn't seem particularly concerned that Adam and his two warrior elves brandished theirs. This elf, once he drew closer, seemed no older than Adam and wore thick leather armor. Though no insignia distinguished him, Adam felt this was their leader, come to parley. Before he had come too close, Adam smelled a horrible stench, one he remembered from the battle of his youth. Father had explained this was what the Unseleighe smelled like, rank and ripe, and with the hordes that lined the horizon that horrible day, the air was full of their stench.

The smell was horrible, and Adam tried not to let it show on his face. "I don't know you," the Unseleighe said. "You look like none of the warriors our leader took with him, Above." He glanced at the weapon Niamh held. "What have you there?"

"Zeldan Dhu sent us for it," Niamh squeaked, sounding anything but warriorlike. "He awaits its return as we speak."

A shadow passed over the Unseleighe's face, a mask of doubt, emphasized by a twitching of his right, pointed ear. He raised his nose and took a deep breath of the air. Then a wicked smile crossed his elven features.

One thing we left out of the disguises, Adam realized, too late. We don't stink!

He pulled his sword, as did his elves. "You are not Unseleighe."

"Shields," Adam said, pulling at the Gate for the power to create the protection. Marbann carefully and quickly erected thin barriers around them, as much as the weakening power flows would allow.

The Unseleighe attacked, and Adam's group moved forward; the enemy didn't sense the shield in time and ran headlong into it. Temporarily stunned, the Unseleighe stepped backward.

Adam's vision turned red. The Unseleighe were targets now, and his hunter's instinct, long dormant, now surfaced. He felt a change come over him, fueled by rage, but originating from something primal within. Something his ancestors possessed, perhaps, or something connected to his mage abilities. At any rate, he was no longer Adam McDaris, the civilized, mild-mannered human youth.

He was King Aedham Tuiereann, standing on the ruins of his clan's palace, where his father and mother had been murdered, his clan banished from what was rightfully theirs.

And he was pissed off.

"You will all die for this," Aedham said to the Unseleighe. Then all Hades broke loose.

It began as a distant thunder, like an approaching storm, but as it deepened and strengthened, the very ground they stood on shook; the Unseleighe looked at each other uncertainly.

Never seen a mage on the other side of a conflict, have you? Adam thought briefly, then reached for more of the node powers, seeking in his mental vision the mouth of the Gate and the power beyond. First he strengthened the Gate itself, to insure their return, then, like grabbing a rope, he pulled. The node power increased and surged toward him, reaching through the ground, then surfacing where they stood. Then he went to work on the Unseleighe.

The eight remained in place, but looked uncertain as to what was happening. Holding his father's crystal in his right hand, Adam found it easier to manipulate the node power, first by decreasing the resistance, then by channeling it into the nearest focal point—the sword he held. Bronze proved to be an excellent medium. The power flowed into it, a short broadsword that looked plain in the light of day, but as node power raced into it, it glowed white.

Adam stepped from the protection of the shield and lunged for the first Unseleighe, the leader who first approached him. Though visibly frightened, the elf held his ground, assuming a defensive stance with his sword.

As the swords clashed, it soon became clear they were unevenly matched. A node-powered sword against a similar model that was not so equipped had an interesting effect. It melted the opponent's weapon.

Adam parried and thrust, then advanced toward the elf, who withdrew immediately. He seemed to sense something wrong with his weapon, which had begun to glow not with node power but with heat. The tip drooped, and Adam watched, amid the swordplay, the area of red hotness creep toward the handle. Pain registered on the opponent's face. A fitting distraction before Adam struck the final blow.

Adam's sword swung in a diagonal arc; it caught the other's sword and severed the blade in two. It continued its descent downward, through the elf's shoulder, severing the arm. The Unseleighe's expression was of disbelief and confusion, and Adam felt a brief twinge of sympathy against an Unseleighe who didn't know what he was up against.

"You are a Tuiereann," the Unseleighe wailed before he fell backward, across his own severed limb. Life drained quickly from the Unseleighe's face, the pallid color turning to an ashen gray.

The others stepped backward slowly. Adam's sword had cut through his opponent's like a dinner knife through a stick of butter. This must have been a very discouraging image for the ones who remained; one turned and ran. The others backed up a little more quickly this time. His sympathy for the Unseleighe was short-lived. The fever of hate, fueled by the images of his father's skeleton, urged him forward.

He had no idea what he looked like right then, but had never seen such terror in anyone, friend or foe, before. The ground around him was illuminated, and at first he assumed it was from his sword. But it was all around him.

From his soul Adam generated a levin bolt, pulling on the full force of the largest Marketplace node. The power suddenly turned red, like the setting sun, as it reached through the ground, through his feet, and simmered within his body. Using the sword as a sight, he aimed the power at the retreating Unseleighe.

You designed this sword to kill elves, he thought. And kill elves it will.

Adam let loose the power, which blasted from the sword with a brief flash of red. The concussion knocked him backward, and he nearly stumbled; arms caught him from behind, friendly arms. When he looked up, it was Marbann.

"King," he said, breathlessly. "You have defeated them. Turn loose the node power now, before it kills you."

He barely heard the words. His head and body were drunk with the power flowing through him. When he looked up to see the attackers, he saw six vague outlines of black, in the shape of a shadow, extending away from them. Then, six long, molten puddles of metal, bubbling and hissing—probably their swords. Beyond that, a blackened path, like a giant scorch-mark left by a fifties vintage spaceship, reaching to the arid horizon.

Adam blinked, and turned around. "Where . . ." he said, then tumbled to his knees. "The Gate. We must . . ."

Then, his world went black.

 

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