"Will that be difficult?"

He snorted. "The barrier between the worlds is so thin here you could stumble and fall into the plane of shadow. Ready your bow, and keep those special arrows I gave you close at hand. You may need them."

Turning away from the tower, Aeron closed his eyes and paced forward, guessing at the best place to work his spell. The next world was very close here, seeming to strain at the shape and substance of the reality around him, a cancer waiting to be unleashed. If he wanted to, he could blast a rift open that would catapult everything within hundreds of yards into the demiplane of shadow . . . but that was not likely to do anything more than annoy Oriseus and his cronies. Clearly, they were quite experienced with the twilight world. With a deep breath, he unlocked the spell-symbol that parted the veil between worlds. It was an enchantment that required the strength of shadow-magic, and there was no shortage of that nearby. In fact, it took all of Aeron's concentration not to allow the spell to slip away from him.

A rippling wave appeared in the mist, much like the heat-shimmer that rose from a hot stone in the summertime, except that it felt cold, wrong. Aeron bared his teeth in revulsion at the chill touch of the shadow-Weave but endured until he'd forced the tear into something the size and shape of a door.

"Follow me," he said, and he stepped through to the other side.

Physically, the ethereal mists of the shadow-plane were much the same as the last time he'd been here. Everything seems the same, he thought. The pyramid still stands whole and intact, as before, the city isn't here, the cold and the darkness are what I expected. Above the great jagged silhouette of the obelisk, the stars flickered weakly, dim and faint, with great wide gaps of utter blackness between them.

Magically, things had changed. As Aeron turned slowly to ascertain his exact location, he was conscious of a buzzing in his ears, a crawling sensation in his flesh, a shimmering or rippling in his vision. He blinked his eyes and shivered, wondering if this was some aftereffect of the transition from the real to the unreal world. Then, slowly, the truth dawned on him. The pyramid is the only thing that is real here, he realized. Viewed from the other side, the structure was filled with menace and purpose, a dark potential locked in stone. Here, that menace was conscious and active. Streamers of bright, sparkling magic danced in the air or flowed over the ground, drawn to the tower and spiraling around its black walls like a maelstrom. Everything-not just the dead grass or the rolling landscape, the physical fabric upon which they existed-was bending toward the Shadow Stone. Yet as Aeron staggered under the draw of the nearby locus, he had the curious sensation that something was close to pulling his very soul out by the roots.

Beside him, the ripples intensified as Eriale and Baillegh bounded through. The hound crouched and whined, hiding her head as she splayed her feet, trying to keep her balance. Eriale reeled awkwardly to one knee, her mouth gaping open in horror as she grappled with her surroundings.

"Aeron!" she cried. "What is happening? What is this?"

He staggered over to her and caught her arm. "It's worse than I thought!" he shouted, barely able to make himself heard. "I shouldn't have brought you here!"

Eriale looked up into his face, her eyes wide with fear. "Where's the stone?"

"In the center of the pyramid's foundation. Come on." He turned and led her to the dark, gaping arch that marked the only entrance to the structure.

"Surely, Aeron, you can't be in that much of a hurry to rush to your doom." Before them, stepping out of the doorway, stood Dalrioc Corynian. Unlike Sarim, he hadn't changed much. There was a feral gleam in his eyes, but his noble features and proud bearing still marked him as a man of power and influence. He wore the red robes of a Master of Conjuration over the exquisitely tailored finery he'd always preferred. "You should have been more careful in making your entrance to Telemachon's chambers. I've had a mark on that door of my own for years now, just in case someone decided to poke around in there."

"Dalrioc," spat Aeron. "I'm surprised you're still here. I would have thought that your city had need of you."

"And I'm surprised you came back. Master Sarim was to see to it that you remained in your forest fastness." Dalrioc stepped out of the doorway, an arrogant smile on his face. "What brings you back to our college, Aeron? Still thirsty for knowledge after all these years?"

"What do we do, Aeron?" Eriale asked quietly. She had an arrow aimed at Dalrioc's heart. By her side, Baillegh bared her teeth, growling.

"We have to get by him," he replied softly. To the prince he said, "Dalrioc, stand aside. I mean to bring this to an end. You have no idea what harm you are wreaking."

"On the contrary, I know exactly what our work entails." The Soorenaran halted two paces from Aeron and extended an arm toward the pyramid, a gesture of invitation. "Come and see. I'll not gainsay the Storm Walker."

Aeron was certain that the prince harbored no good intentions toward him. Everything was wrong-the confidence, the mocking refusal to confront him, the revelation that he'd been watched. Dalrioc Corynian was not this subtle ... but Lord Oriseus was. He would have to assume that events were orchestrated to suit the new Sceptanar's desires.

"Walk ahead of me, then," Aeron said, scowling. "I don't trust you at my back. And do not attempt any spell, or we'll see whether your sarcasm is justified or not."

Dalrioc laughed. "Fine. Where am I taking you?"

"Where do you think?" Aeron retorted. "To the Shadow Stone."

Eighteen

All around Aeron, the stones of the pyramid reverberated with power, mere chords responding to the presence of something beyond his knowledge or experience. As he followed Dalrioc Corynian through the labyrinthine corridors of dark, featureless masonry, he realized that in five years the Shadow Stone's dire potency had been sharpened, honed into a weapon of unearthly capacity, imbued with purpose and malice. At even intervals, the coursing energy caused everything around him to ripple and slide like the coarse fabric of a shirt wrapped around the torso of a giant, stretching and slacking to the titanic heartbeat. It took all of his determination to ignore the sickening sensation and drive himself to follow.

Eriale stayed an arm's length behind him, watching the blank passageways behind them. Beads of sweat trickled down her face despite the clammy chill in the air; she too had to steel herself against the structure's influence.

"Aeron," she said quietly, "What are we doing?"

Ahead of them, Dalrioc strode along, oblivious to the enemies at his back. Either he was supremely foolish, or utterly confident, and Aeron was fairly certain that Dalrioc, while arrogant and overbearing, was not a complete fool. "Let's see how this plays out," he decided.

Dalrioc led them down one last corridor and stopped at a large, heavy door. Aeron had the curious impression that he'd burn his hand if he touched the bare iron plating. The Soorenaran prince turned, leaning against the wall, his arms folded. "Well? Here we are," he said. "What now?"

"Open it," Aeron instructed.

The prince's eyes flashed, but he forced a wry grin onto his features. "And so I am reduced to holding doors for peasants." As if they weren't there, he caught the latch and pushed the door wide, leading them inside.

The chamber was much as Aeron remembered it, a room of stone with a groined ceiling and gallery surrounding a crucible-like floor. The Shadow Stone stood girdled by its iron frame, a sliver of living darkness that made his eyes ache. Fierce black radiance pulsated in the gem's gleaming jet facets, illuminating the room with a hellish glow. Instantly Aeron was embroiled in a struggle to maintain his distance as the sinister artifact seemed to focus his energy on him, demanding that he approach and abase himself. His hand stretched forward, almost of its own accord.