Crystal Doors #3: Sky Realm (No. 3) (14 page)

“That can’t be,” Vic began.

“Piri!” Sharif cried with shock.

“Release our friend,” Tiaret said in an ominous tone.

“Piri would never help you,” Lyssandra said.

“She might,” Sharif said with a look of horror. “She would have no choice, once he imprisoned her.”

Gwen could hardly believe what he was saying. “Why?”

“Because Azric captured her in that bottle,” Vic said.

Azric gave Vic an encouraging nod. “Your little friend, however reluctant she might be, serves
me
now.” He made a small moue of disappointment. “Alas, she has not yet come into her full djinni powers. Her magic is not strong enough to grant my wishes. Her abilities to shed light or to float through the air and water are of little use to me, but she was exceedingly easy to capture. Very weak and helpless. And I do have this power over her: I can make her tell me the truth. I ask a question, and she is forced to answer it honestly.

“Naturally, answering questions drains substantial energy from her,” he said, shaking the faintly glimmering vase. “Just as granting large wishes would drain the life force from an adult djinni. But Piri has been quite useful to me thus far. I asked her how best to capture Irrakesh, this gem of the skies. She told me the perfect timing — and that the Sultan would surrender his city if his son’s life hung in the balance.” Sharif winced at this revelation.

“Sadly, I learned thousands of years ago that not even the Air Spirits are capable of unsealing a crystal door.” Azric gave a wistful sigh. “Imagine my disappointment. Still, it was amusing to watch that one djinni try. Unsealing a door was the only request I made of it, and the Air Spirit tried and tried until it used up its entire life force and disappeared into nothing.” He grinned at the apprentices as if he had just shared a charming joke with them. Then, ignoring their angry glares he blithely continued, “In any case, I knew that capturing Irrakesh and destroying Elantya were only preliminary steps to my ultimate goal.”

“Releasing your immortal armies?” Gwen asked sharply.

“And conquering all known worlds?” Vic added.

Azric placed his spread hands palm to palm and tapped his fingertips together. “Naturally. And for that, I still needed a
seal breaker,
as the legends foretold. So imagine my joy when I asked Piri how to get my hands on you, and the poor thing told me that both of you were already here in Irrakesh, ready to be presented to me, like roast ducklings on a platter. And so, once I dispose of Elantya, the three of us will have all the time we need to break the seals without a single meddling sage to get in our way. You could save us all some trouble and agree to help me now, Vic and Gwen.” He raised his eyebrows. “There is no hope of defying me.”

“There’s always hope,” Vic said.

Azric brushed this aside. “Now that my victory is almost at hand — with the help of King Barak and his merlons, along with my flying allies — I’ve been thinking again about my ancient armies.” He gave a casual shrug. “Which general is the strongest, which army to free first, how best to contact them, and so on. You know, the usual.” Azric offered them a thin smile.

“So I asked Piri if there was a way to look in on my armies. I know they are still alive, of course, but I haven’t seen them in thousands of years.” He stopped tapping his fingers and rubbed his hands lightly together. “And guess what she told me?” His odd, unpleasant eyes bored into Gwen’s. “Our dear Gwen has a skill that I had not even imagined. As much as I have enjoyed the anticipation, I see no need to wait any longer. Gwen, I will tell you the name of a world I wish to see, and you will show it to me. Let’s start with Ga’arbyl, shall we?”

Gwen blanched and swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I can just show you a place I’ve never seen.” She waved a dismissive hand, but the words died in her throat as a bright, flat picture automatically appeared in the air between her and the dark sage. The edges were misty and blurred to soft focus, but the center was sharp and clear. In the silent image, thousands upon thousands of armored soldiers were gathered in what appeared to be the courtyard of a massive castle. A lavish feast was laid out on long tables set with roasted meats and heaped with fruits and loaves of brown bread. Many of the warriors held flagons of ale or wine.

The image showed a man clad in heavy armor and a blood-red cape. The battle helmet on his head seemed to resemble a crown. He stood on a wooden platform at the center of the revelry. “Excellent — that is Oshilbraq,” Azric said.

Gwen found herself fascinated by the spectacle in the soundless window image. Oshilbraq raised his hands high in the air. The silent armies seemed to cheer wildly. Oshilbraq swept an arm to one side and several of his men lifted a struggling soldier onto the stage. This one wore no armor. At a command from the warrior king, the man got to his feet and stood meekly next to him. Gwen’s heart froze at what happened next.

The image of the formerly cowering man rippled and changed, his hair growing darker, his skin paler, and his beard seemed to absorb itself into his face. His clothing changed to silken robes, and in moments, an absolutely perfect duplicate of Azric stared out at the crowds. Judging by the dark sage’s startled look as he observed, it was clear that even Azric himself had not expected this.

The crowds of soldiers in the courtyard seemed to go wild with excitement, jumping and cheering and waving swords or spears over their heads. Embarrassed at having done Azric’s bidding so quickly and so thoroughly, Gwen glanced around at her friends. Sharif was distraught. Vic looked more interested than concerned. Tiaret seemed very suspicious, and Lys sandra looked deeply troubled. Gwen wasn’t exactly thrilled about the situation herself.

In the image, enthusiastic soldiers threw garlands of flowers at the Azric doppelgänger. The man, apparently getting into the spirit of the event, caught the garlands and hung them around his neck. At this, the crowds became even more frantic until the Azric copy, with a running leap, threw himself from the stage into the crowd. Catching him, the soldiers raised him on their shoulders and carried him through the courtyard past the crowds. The immortal warriors raised their tankards, as if in a toast to him, and drank. Azric, the real one, seemed both pleased and annoyed with this spectacle.

The king aeglor whispered into the dark sage’s ear.

“That is enough,” Azric said to Gwen. “For now. I’d like to see more. I really would. Though it is unsettling to see someone masquerading as me, it is quite clear that my armies still revere me. But I have worlds to conquer and I can waste no further time watching such revelries.”

17

“I HATE HEIGHTS,” VIC groaned, clutching the iron bars of the cage he shared with Sharif and Lyssandra. It squeaked as it rocked in the endless breezes. In some places the bars were so far apart, a thin person might be in danger of falling out.

“That was never one of your phobias before,” Gwen said, who sat in an identical cage with the stoic Tiaret. “Remember the time we climbed that high fire lookout in Sequoia National Park?”

“This is different,” Vic said, squirming, adjusting his feet, trying to find any comfortable position. Vertigo assailed him. The distant ground spun dizzily beneath him. His foot slipped between the bars and dangled sickeningly through the opening. “I’ve never been suspended miles above the ground in a giant bingo cage before — or maybe this is Thunderdome. I hope not.” Sneaking a wary glance at Sharif, he shook his head. “Two men enter, one man leaves.” Lyssandra helped Vic pull his foot back in and balance himself in an ungainly squat.

After being captured by Azric’s aeglor-terodax alliance, the five friends had been separated into two of the three spherical cages attached to the rugged, rocky bottom of the flying island that was Irrakesh. The prison-globes were made from thick strips of black wrought iron, but Vic saw distressing signs of rust — or maybe old blood stains. He couldn’t tell.

Each cage hung from iron-link chains bolted to the solid rock overhead. As the flying city drifted along so far above the ground, wind swung and rattled the cages. The third spherical cage held nothing but a weathered skeleton — all that remained of some long-forgotten prisoner who had died up here.

“In generations past, the Sultans used this punishment for only their most vile criminals,” Sharif said. “It was called the Deepest Dungeon. The villains were hung down here, exposed to the elements.”

“It must have been awfully difficult to feed prisoners,” Gwen said.

Through the bars of his cage, Sharif peered at her. “No one fed them. It was a permanent punishment. These cages were meant to be so strong a deterrent that there would be nothing left but a few bones before Irrakesh needed to use the Deepest Dungeon again.”

“Sheesh,” Vic said. “I hope we get paroled before that.”

Fortunately for the apprentices, Azric did not want them dead, and the aeglors had no trouble reaching the cages. Winged warriors dropped down below the base of the island and came up from underneath. They gave each prisoner a packet of dry, flavorless food and a small container of water. Ravenous, Vic ate so quickly that he was dismayed when several large crumbs broke off of the tan, crumbly wafers and dropped down to be swept away by the winds below.

Tiaret seemed perfectly comfortable beside Gwen, unbothered by the great gulf beneath them. She slipped her long, muscular legs through the bars and let them dangle. It appeared to be a much more comfortable position than Vic’s awkward squat, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax. He attempted to open a crystal door inside their cage, but it didn’t work. He didn’t know why. Maybe he could not create one so small or so close to himself, or maybe he didn’t have enough energy.

Gwen, however, was able to do something none of them thought possible. Absently touching the xyridium pendant on its thong around her neck, she wished aloud that she make a window to find out what was happening in the city above.

“You can’t,” Vic pointed out. “Irrakesh is in the same world we’re in, not through a crystal door. That’s not how our powers —” He stopped short as
somehow
windows opened for Gwen outside their cages.

One window showed Azric alone on the throne in the Sultan’s throne room. In another, Vizier Jabir was being tortured by a handful of aeglors. Gwen shut that window quickly, and Lyssandra did not need to tell anyone what she had heard. When Gwen opened another window to peek into the Sultan’s bedchambers, the rooms were empty. At the sight, Sharif made a choking sound and gripped the bars of the cage so tightly that his arms shook with tension.

Vic could tell the effort of opening this “local” window was draining Gwen. She looked as if she might collapse from the strain, and they were all wary of what they might see next. “That’s enough for now, Doc. Rest now, spy more later.”

She let her hand fall away from the xyridium pendant and the window closed. The friends sat for a long time in silence.

The flying city moved quickly, driven by magic and no doubt guided by Azric now. The aeglors had taken possession of many of the buildings, rousting out the human inhabitants and turning them out into the streets, while the terodax circled Irrakesh like guard dogs. Vic guessed that although the winged men might have preferred to dispose of the humans, Azric would not allow it — not because the dark sage felt any compassion or sympathy for the enslaved populace of Irrakesh, but because he saw people as subjects and workers, and Azric did not waste things that he could use.

Much of the landscape of the world below was monotonous and brown, as if they were in an airplane flying above Death Valley forever and ever. Vic had looked down at the American desert once when he and his father had taken a plane trip north from San Diego just before Gwen had moved in with them.

Soon, however, the monotony changed — for the worse. Vic noticed a foul, sulfurous odor burbling up from cracks in the ground far beneath him. Terodax shrieked and squawked with excitement as the city approached the devastation. Vic thought he heard a low rumbling in the distance below, and he saw black cindercones, volcanic chimneys that spat out scarlet lava, sending thick plumes of volcanic smoke into the air. Many more terodax flew in the air, circling volcanic mountains, making their nest cities inside the mouths and craters of extinct volcanoes. Active volcanoes erupted, sending rivers of lava oozing across the blasted landscape.

“My eyes feel as if they are on fire,” Lyssandra said. Stinging tears streamed down her face.

Vic tried to brush the tears away, but his own eyes were just as red, and he kept blinking. His lungs burned, and the fumes grew more and more difficult to breathe. “This must be what the terodax call home, sweet home,” he said.

Their leader, with his scarlet headcrest and long horns protruding from the sharp angles of his wings, was accompanied by several other predators, all flying in perfect formation, as if they took every cue from their leader’s movements. The creature flapped his wings and hovered in the air, looking as if his desire to rip Vic and the other apprentices into pieces was foiled only by the bars of the cage and his fear of Azric. The leader’s pointed tail thrashed as he drifted there.

The terodax leader let out a bone-chilling shriek and a roar. He snapped his fanged jaw shut and jerked his head sideways in a gesture that seemed to signify tearing meat. Interpreting the large creature’s intentions as less than friendly, Vic replied with his own nonverbal communication — he stuck out his tongue.