Tara Duncan and the Forbidden Book (7 page)

There was only one proper response to Cal's statement. Tara stuck her tongue out at him.

After dinner, the friends gathered in their suite. Soothsuckers had been served with dessert, and after savoring an amazing cherry/ apricot/cinnamon/pepper one, Tara reached the message at the heart of the lollipop: “You can see the trap, but it's not where you think”—which didn't tell her anything all that helpful.

Cal's room was near the suite, but since he had to share it with Angelica, he was trying to stay away. The friends were deep in conversation when the mouth on the door opened and spoke: “An ifrit wishes to speak with Miss Tara'tylanhnem Duncan. Should I let it in?”

“Sure,” said Tara, a little surprised.

A red djinn floated into the living room. Ifrits don't have legs, and the lower part of their body ends in a kind of whirlwind. This one bowed politely and in a strident voice said, “My imperial mistress requests your presence in her gold boudoir. I have been sent to take you there.”

When Tara's friends got to their feet, it added, “Alone.”

“Don't you want us to go with you?” asked Robin, ignoring the ifrit's remark. “After all, there are Bloodgraves in the palace.”

“Thanks, but you don't have to worry about me,” said a smiling Tara, who appreciated the half-elf's courtesy but wanted to speak to the empress in private to plead Cal's case. “I'm not going far. See you soon!”

As she followed the ifrit down the palace hallways, Tara noticed that the light grew noticeably dimmer. The farther they went, the less busy the halls were, until they reached a dusty and vaguely gilded room that didn't correspond at all to her notion of an imperial boudoir.

The ifrit bowed again, said that someone would come for her soon, and left. Tara walked around the room. It was furnished with several large tapestries showing the exploits of Omoisian hunters, three chairs so delicate you'd be afraid they would collapse under you, a pair of purple velvet sofas, and a pretty table with an inlaid top and curved legs.

The three chairs practically fought each other for the privilege when Tara decided to sit down. As she looked at them with mistrust, she suddenly caught her breath. She could feel the weight of an icy gaze on her, a feeling she knew well.
A Bloodgrave was watching her!
She spun around just in time to see a burning ray shooting toward her, and she dove to the floor, barely avoiding being hit.

The table exploded and one of the tapestries caught fire. Tara stood and ran to hide behind a sofa. Her attacker was behind the door, and she could see two hands brandishing a ball of fire. Tara wished for a shield with all her might, and the living stone intervened without being asked. Their combined magic conjured a wall eight inches thick that abruptly hid her from view.

Not exactly what I asked for, but it'll do for now!
Tara thought.

Once over the initial surprise, Tara's enemy gathered its power, which was unfortunately considerable.

A fireball shattered part of the wall. Tara huddled to avoid flying debris and conjured enough water to put out the resulting blaze. But a second fireball was already shooting toward her, and she again had to dive to the floor. She absolutely had to come up with something stronger before the whole wall was demolished! She was thinking fast.

Tara couldn't see the Bloodgrave, but she could see a pair of hands when it launched its magic. During a lull she peeked cautiously through a crack in the wall. The hands were busy with another fireball, making it bigger.
Perfect!

Summoning her power, she fired an ice beam like the one she had used against the Throne of Silur.

Maybe Tara had seen too many cartoons, because she imagined that when she fired her ray, the hands and the fireball would freeze, trapped in a sheath of ice.

It didn't work that way at all.

When the ray hit the fireball, it merely fizzled out. The Bloodgrave cursed, but its hands were still free. Now furious, it cast a new spell, preparing to blast her. Tara trembled, aware that she couldn't resist another attack.

Suddenly she heard the sound of running feet, and the hands disappeared. Moments later, Lady Boudiou and Xandiar burst into the room, closely followed by a group of soldiers. When he saw the damage, the guard captain whipped out his four swords and posted men all around the room. Lady Boudiou rushed over to Tara, who could hardly believe she was still alive.

“My heavens!” cried the old lady wizard, astonished by the destruction in the room. “What happened here?”

“Someone tried to kill me,” Tara answered, still shaking with fear. “You just saved my life. A few seconds more and
pfft!,
no more Tara!”

“By Demiderus! Come here, darling!” The good woman wrapped Tara in a motherly embrace, and the girl burst into racking sobs.

When Xandiar interrogated her, however, he looked frankly suspicious. Ever since their first encounter, the guard captain seemed to take everything Tara did as a personal affront. And she had the painful feeling that he didn't believe her at all. Especially when the investigation revealed that the empress had never actually summoned her.

Naturally, it was impossible to find the ifrit that had delivered the message—or even find one who would confess to having done so, since they all looked exactly alike.

Robin and Fabrice were furious when they heard the news and decided that they would stick to Tara like her shadow from now on. Cal, who was just as shaken, requested and got permission to spend the night with his friends. Lady Auxia, the palace administrator, had guards posted at the door. To settle Tara's nerves, Auxia's shaman Master Bison Lightfoot made her drink a series of brews, each more revolting than the last.

Despite the soothing potions, Tara didn't have a very good night. Robin had seen too many OtherWorld movies about valiant knights, and wanted to sleep on the floor in front of Tara's bed, but she refused. For Tara's part, terrible nightmares left her feeling exhausted and shaky the next day. She couldn't understand what was happening. Magister would never try to kill her; he needed her too much. So, who wanted to get rid of her? And why? Like most people, Tara had dreamed of a life of high adventure. Now, she would pay good money for the most dull, stale, and insipid existence possible.

Soon after breakfast, Damien came to escort them to the hearing. Crossing back through the jungle on the way to the Throne Room, Fabrice was relieved to see that the pterodactyls soaring in the distance didn't see him as a mid-morning snack. A pair of soldiers escorted Cal into the huge purple-and-gold hall and the trial resumed.

The events of the previous day had clearly made the rounds of the palace, because the hearing was jammed. Crowded around the twin thrones were silver unicorns, gold chimeras, lemon-yellow imps, two-headed tatris, some twenty suspicious centaurs with war paint on their flanks, blue gnomes—in short, representatives of many of the planet's races. Human courtiers in unusual, colorful costumes wandered here and there or sat on benches and chairs.

Suddenly, Tara got a shock. A gorgeous blonde next to her had unexpectedly turned into a balding, skinny old woman, causing her companion to pull back in surprise. The old woman stamped her foot angrily on the floor, fiddled with something in her hair, and turned back into the gorgeous blonde. Her dismayed companion was about to upbraid her when his own magic spell failed. Instead of a handsome courtier, a reedy teenager appeared, looking with horror at his nonexistent biceps. The blonde gave a sarcastic cackle. The boy glared at her and stormed out of the hall.

Tara gathered that Omoisian spellbinder courtiers seldom showed themselves in their true form. The only glitch in the system was that maintaining a fictional appearance was too tiring to do for long.
Well, the day I want to stand 5 foot 10 with a 36-inch bust,
thought Tara,
I'll know how to make it happen!

Just then, the majordomo gestured to the crowd and the assembly quieted. The empress and emperor took their seats on the thrones, surrounded by high wizards.

Empress Lisbeth had chosen silver to accentuate her beauty this time. Her hair, caught in a stunning chignon, framed her head like a metal helmet. Her silver robe was covered with luminous birds fluttering from branch to branch. A platinum and diamond crown circled her brow and temples, making her look even taller.

In keeping with the silver theme, Emperor Sandor was wearing light-steel armor decorated with silver runes. A slim metal band rested on his hair, which he wore hanging down his back. Made cautious by his previous experience, he had traded his short saber for a long sword and was scowling at Master Chem as if to dare him to shape-shift again. His entire attitude screamed, “If you so much as twitch an ear, dragon, I'll cut you to ribbons.”

The fact that the dragon wasn't paying him the slightest attention seemed to annoy him even more.

The scoops hovered around the imperial couple, recording every detail.

When Tara was able to tear her attention away from the fascinating empress, she noticed that Master Dragosh was missing. The vampyr had probably returned to Lancovit to protect the famous
Forbidden Book.
So much the better.

Cal and Angelica went to sit in a large golden circle painted on the floor in front of the sovereigns. The dead boy's parents stood outside it. A heavy silence fell on the assembly.

The high wizards began their incantations. These clearly required considerable effort, because sweat began to run down their faces.

“By Convocatus, we summon you, Brandis T'al Miga Ab Chantu,” they chanted. “By Convocatus, we bind you, and through that binding, you will answer us! By Convocatus, spirit, appear and materialize before us!”

A flickering glow started to dance in front of the wizards, then grew brighter and taller, taking the shape of a boy. His body was somewhat transparent, but perfectly visible. Tara was surprised to realize that she could see its colors. She'd thought that it would be white or colorless, like ghosts in the movies. In fact, aside from the fact that you could kind of see through him, you would've thought the boy was completely normal.

And he was completely naked.

Well, not quite. The middle of his body was sort of blurry. Clothes obviously didn't accompany the dead to the hereafter.

“Something . . . something called me,” murmured the ghost.

“We did, darling boy,” said his mother, her cheeks streaming with tears.

“Where . . . where am I? I can't remember. Why are you crying, Mom?”

For a moment the crowd thought the woman was going to collapse, but her husband squeezed her hand and she held on.

“You're dead, my love. You were killed by the uncontrolled vortex of a Transfer Portal. We've called you back so you can judge those who caused your death.” She pointed at Cal and Angelica.

“I'm dead?” exclaimed the ghost, sounding very surprised. “Are you sure? It's strange, I don't feel dead.”

“But you are, unfortunately” said his father, his jaws clenched. “You were killed, and we're trying to find out what happened. When you activated the Transfer Portal, a loud scream made you lose your concentration and the portal went out of control. You died because of two Lancovit spellbinders, and all we have left of you now is your ghost. Justice must be done. Are these two spellbinders the guilty parties?”

The ghost seemed at a loss.

“Yes . . . I remember now. The scream . . . fear . . . the dark power. There was a little girl . . . She tried to help me.” (Tara sat bolt upright—
little girl
indeed!) “But the vortex was too powerful, and it sucked me in.”

The boy's voice strengthened, and he went on: “And you say I'm dead because of those two?”

“That's right, son,” answered the woman.

“Then there's no doubt about it,” said the ghost, his tone harsher. “They're guilty!”

“No!” Tara's scream cut through the buzz of excited comments. Deftly dodging a guard who tried to stop her, she ran to stand in front of the ghost.

“They distracted you, that's true,” she said. “But they didn't kill you! You spoke of a dark force, a force that nearly swept us both away. Try to remember! That force wasn't coming from these two spellbinders. It was coming from somewhere else.”

The ghost frowned, but something seemed to be interfering with his concentration.

“Yes . . . a dark force . . . something that kept the vortex from closing. If it weren't for that force, I'd still be alive.”

“That's enough!” shouted the boy's father. “Miss, I understand that you want to protect your friends, but my son is
dead!
He's dead because of those two, do you understand? So step aside, and let my son pronounce judgment on his killers.”

Tara had opened her mouth to reply when the ghost spoke: “I feel . . . I feel a force pulling me away. I have to leave. These two spellbinders must be condemned for what they did to me. But death . . . death is too great a penalty. They should be imprisoned for the rest of their lives.”

With those terrible words, the boy's shape wavered, began to fade, and disappeared.

Tara refused to accept defeat.

“I claim my imperial favor!” she cried.

The emperor shifted on his throne.

“Your favor doesn't apply here,” he said harshly. “It applies only to you personally; you can't use it for your friends. In any case, you can't claim an imperial favor in a matter of life or death.”

Tara felt herself weakening, but she shouted again: “This is crazy! Cal and Angelica aren't guilty! And you know it as well as I do.”

Tara had made a mistake. The empress didn't like being crossed, and she knew how to deal with insolence.

“That's enough,” she said coldly. “The sentence has been pronounced. Take the defendants to prison. I have spoken.”

Under Tara's helpless eyes, Empress Lisbeth'tylanhnem stood up and walked out.