“Wait, lad!”
“I’ll be safe here,” Thealos said, staring into Allavin’s eyes. “He won’t be able to follow me. Take her and go!” He risked a look at Ticastasy. “I’ll come for you,” he promised.
“Shaden!” Secrist’s voice rasped and he ran at him again. Thealos retreated into the corridor with the Otsquare and watched as Allavin and Ticastasy fled the other way. His heart burned. So many dead. But so many others would die if he didn’t get to the Silverkin. He felt the light of the magic caress his neck and shivered from the thrill of it.
–Come–
Secrist turned down the hallway after him. A sick grin came over his mouth when he saw Thealos alone. His boots plodded forward, almost like a hoppit doll. Thealos moved slowly, bringing the Kiran Thall after him – deeper into the tunnel’s throat. The stench of Forbidden magic was mild compared to the rush of Silvan magic caged behind him. Glancing at the walls, he saw where the chunks of stone had been broken away after Justin had turned the Earth magic loose on the aged Sorian. He did not feel the warding anymore. No, the Sorian had set one trap to warn him of intruders. And they had sprung it earlier that morning.
“I’ll drink your blood,” Secrist said, jabbing the air with his knife. “I’ll lick it from the rocks.” He was squinting, as if he couldn’t see Thealos anymore.
Thealos moved backwards, foot over foot, crossing the distance to the portal. He could see Secrist stagger now, his arm coming up to shield his face from the light. It was bright, as bright as the sun. Thealos felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as the magic whispered again.
–I am the Silverkin Crystal–
The words came with a shriek of light that nearly blinded Thealos. Spinning around, he squinted at the stone archway suspended by two pillars sculpted like gryphons. The searing light came from within the archway, brighter than the sun at noonday. He didn’t know how he could see anything at all, but there it was. Still squinting, Thealos approached the pillars. The light drowned out details, blurring the pathway to follow. He heard Secrist screaming in pain, but he no longer smelled the Forbidden magic. The Silverkin soothed him with its voice, comforting. Thealos touched the stone portal. He ran his hand along the cool chiseled stone.
Without a look back, Thealos entered the archway.
XXXIV
A stone doorway, beveled and hewn by expert craftsmen, opened at the end of the portal. The Otsquare was behind Thealos now, its blue light nothing but a mirror-like face. Wrapped in comforting folds of magic, he entered the chamber. The stillness was perfect, soothing and calm. The magic greeted him as its son. There were no torch racks on the walls, only small inlets with blue stones that gave off a tranquil glow. Not even a mote of dust swirled in the air. The chamber felt…clean. Thealos was aware of his boots and soiled clothes and every crumb of mud. The sweat cooled on his forehead and back and he found himself shivering.
It only took a moment to look over the chamber, for it was small. It was octagonal in shape and one stone inlet of light glowed from each facet of the wall. The domed ceiling was too a little too tall to reach, and the entire chamber seemed carved out of some fine-grained gray rock he did not recognize. Its texture and feel was similar to the granite temple of Keasorn in Avisahn, except the stone was smoother, more like marble. Behind him, the gryphon arches led back to the tunnels. The wall opposite the arches also had an opening, and he saw a thin stairwell leading down and away. That surprised him – he hadn’t been expecting another way out.
Thealos stared at the center of the chamber and folded his arms. There were no shadows in the room. Not one. The room was level all around, but it dipped bowl-like in the center, a very gentle grade. He noticed a pattern on the floor. From opposite walls, the pattern took shape. Thealos cocked his head to examine it. Two thin slats of stone met in the center of the chamber. He nodded, recognizing it. An octagon with a cross-mark inside. It was the symbol on Jaerod’s amulet and sword-pommel.
–Claim me–
The voice whispered to him from the center of the rotunda. At the junction of the cross in the center of the room was a thinly carved symbol – two offset squares. It was larger than his hand and nearly indistinguishable. Thealos walked towards it. But as he stepped into the gently sloping bowl, a stream of light came from the ceiling, startling him. The pillar of white fire joined the center of the dome to the Otsquare etched in the floor.
“Son of Quicksilver, welcome.”
It was a different voice, Silvan in tongue and style. A man’s voice, gentle yet firm. He hesitated, listening to it.