Pug lowered them to the ground and made them solid again. Tomas looked at the burning circle and said, “I expect we’re supposed to battle through the fire, take the boat, and evade whatever lurks below the water, then defeat all those warriors just to reach the tower.”
“That looks like what we’re supposed to do,” said Pug, sounding tired. He walked to the edge of the fire, and said, “But I think not.” Pug waved his hand in a circular motion, then repeated the gesture a second time. The air began to stir in the cavern, following the circle described by Pug’s hand, moving along the curve of the vast stone dome above their heads. At first it was a simple gust, a breeze with some life, then quickly a zephyr. Again Pug motioned. Rapidly the wind picked up tempo, and the flames began to dance, illuminating the cavern in mad lights and flickering shadows. Another gesture from Pug and the wind blew faster and harsher until the fire was being blown backward. Tomas watched, able to stand against the pressure of the air without difficulty. The blaze began to sputter and lapse, as if it could not keep burning before the press of wind. Pug made a larger, broader circular motion with his arm, almost spinning himself about with the furious gesture. The water foamed as whitecaps appeared upon the lake. Wind-whipped water blew high into the air as “spindrift leaped in a capering dance and the water ran up the shores of the island. Swelling waves rolled, and soon the boat was overturned and sank below the surface, the fire hissing into nothing as the surf swept over the banks. Pug shouted a word, and a clear white light illuminated the cavern in place of the red fire glow. Now Pug spun his arm about like a child playing a game, imitating a gale-driven windmill. Within minutes the warriors upon the island were staggering back under the force of the wind, unable to keep their footing. One’s boot touched the water and something green and leathery rose up and seized the warrior’s leg. The screaming fighter was dragged below the water. Again and again this scene was repeated as more and more of the warriors were forced into the water, to be taken by the denizens of the lake. Then, as the windstorm reached a crescendo of fury, shrieking in their ears, Pug and Tomas saw the last figure upon the island stagger backward into the water, to be seized by whatever lay below the frothy surface of the lake. With a clap of his hands, Pug halted the wind and said, “Come.”
Tomas used his ability to fly them over the water’s surface to the door of the tower. They pushed it open and entered.
Pug and Tomas spent a full five minutes discussing what they were likely to discover at the top of the tower. The stairway leading upward was narrow enough so that it could be climbed only single file as it wound along the inside wall of the tower. At last Pug said, “Well, we are as ready as we are ever likely to be. There’s nothing to do but go up.” He followed his friend as the white-and-gold clad warrior mounted the steps. Near the top, Pug glanced down and discovered it a fair fall to the stones below as Tomas reached the trapdoor at the top. Tomas pushed open the door and vanished upward through the opening. Pug followed. There was a single room atop the tower, a simple setting of a bed, a chair, and a window. Sitting on the chair was a man, wearing a brown robe cinched at the waist by a whipcord belt. He sat reading a book, which he closed as Pug joined Tomas. Slowly he smiled.
Pug said, “Macros.”
Tomas said, “We’ve come to take you back.”
The sorcerer stood, weakly, as if injured or tired. He faltered as he stepped toward the pair. He staggered. Pug moved forward to catch him, but Tomas was faster. He got his arm about Macros’s waist.
Then the sorcerer bellowed an alien sound, as if a roar were being heard through a distant windstorm. His arm contracted, gripping Tomas in a rib shattering hug as the trapdoor slammed shut. For a moment Tomas threw back his head and screamed in agony, then Macros threw him with stunning force against the wall. Pug froze an instant and began to mouth an incantation, but the sorcerer was too quick in moving toward him. The brown-clad figure reached out, picked up Pug with ease, and threw him against the opposite wall. Pug hit with a bone-jarring impact, his head striking stone, and fell hard to the floor. He slumped down, obviously dazed.
Tomas was up, his sword drawn when Macros spun. Then in an instant the sorcerer was gone and a creature of nightmarish aspect stood poised for attack. In outline only was it seen, seven feet high and easily twice Tomas’s weight, with large feathered wings extending outward. As it moved, a vague hint of horns upon the head and large upswept ears could be seen. A featureless charcoal mask regarded the Valheru with ruby glowing eyes. Fully cloaked in smoky darkness, it had only a red-orange glow showing through the eyes and mouth, as if revealing some inner fire. Otherwise it was a thing of ebon shadow, each detail of face and form only a suggestion.