Emptiness and Serkadion Manee.

"Six left," the wizened gnome commented, looking down at the broken pentagram. "But not at all in a viable configuration. That means that control is gone."

Perhaps it was Wellen's imagination, but he thought he felt an aura of satisfaction emanating from the remaining victims. "He shall treat you no better than I, my little friends," the gnome snarled. His attention turned to the human. "And you have finally made a place for yourself in the Dragonrealm." Manee indicated the now empty slots.

Wellen knew his only hope was to stall. It was the only thing left to him, a momentary halt to the inevitable. Unless a miracle occurred, nothing would prevent Manee from adding him to his vile collection.

He wondered if Xabene had already been added. Was one of the minds hers?

"I'd like to ask a question if I may?"

Something much like the strange square memory device materialized in the gnome's wrinkled hand. "I have no time for questions or rebellious creations! Each moment allows that infernal lizard to further set back my precious work! The chessmen do not respond now and the corridors are beginning to buckle. . . and you have made the situation intolerable! Without a properly coordinated system to maintain the balance, this entire structure cannot exist! The libraries will fold in on themselves as they try to take up limited s.p.a.ce . . . and they will not be concerned with the presence of any of us!"

"Stealing my mind will hardly give you the added control you need."

Serkadion Manee glanced at the vials. "I can create another viable configuration, one that will work until I've gathered enough replacements. The female, for one. Perhaps the drake, too. I've never tried one of his kind." Despite his talk of time limits, the sorcerer became caught up in his own suggestions. "I had to rely on elves and dwarfs and the like. They lasted longer, but were too scarce. When humans appeared, they looked to be perfect, but they only last two or three centuries." He scratched his chin. "What would be perfect is an immortal, but the drakes live centuries. They will do perhaps as a good subst.i.tute."

"How do you propose to get the Dragon King to accept such a task?" Wellen asked. If his choices consisted of three hundred years of agony or a quicker death in the collapse of the citadel, he would take the latter. He only hoped the destruction was imminent.

"Once I have this realigned, I will have time to consider that." Manee smiled. "A pity we do not have more time to discuss things. You have potential. Unfortunately for you, it is time for me to make use of some of that."

Wellen's legs abruptly gave way, sending him to a kneeling position on the floor. He felt the other minds mourn their lost hope and his lost life.

"Just one thing," Wellen asked, no longer trying to stall but wanting to know. "Where's Xabene? What have you done with her?"

The gnome's smile soured. "I do not have your companion, but do not worry, my young friend; she will be joining you soon. There is no way out of here without my a.s.sistance."

"You weren't responsible for the chessmen?"

"Talkative until the end?" Manee stepped around the pedestal. "Yes, I was. . . in the beginning. The drake's presence has muddled things. I lost control and these"-he indicated the vials-"these dared to exert some independence."

Their hatred for their captor could be felt even now. Serkadion Manee shrugged it off. "Their agony cannot be helped, nor will yours. It is essential that my work continue and that the results are available for possible later study. I need this spell to maintain that system. I could use the memory disks, of course, but they do not last. The memories fade." The gnome's smile broadened again. He appeared to be trying to be kind about the situation, as if Wellen had a choice. "Otherwise I certainly would not do this, believe me."

He held up the gray, square device with the metal side toward the straining human. "You will find this a bit more shocking than the other one."

Whether it was his own latent ability come to the forefront in this desperate moment or some carelessness upon the immortal's part, the novice spellcaster felt a weight lift from his entire body. Movement was his again.

Wellen did the only thing that he could think of under the circ.u.mstances. He threw himself against the shorter Manee.

The gnome just had time to open his mouth before the two of them met. As they fell, his disk slipped from his hand. Wellen cared not; if Serkadion Manee recovered, the gnome could easily retrieve his dark device. The scholar had to keep his adversary off balance. Only if he succeeded could he even consider the menacing artifact.

Manee struck something solid, jarring both men hard.

The pedestal! Wellen, taking advantage of the fact that the sorcerer had taken the brunt of the collision, lifted the much lighter gnome and threw him over the top of the stand.

There was a crackling noise as the immortal sprawled over the pedestal.

Stumbling back, the explorer watched in relief and awe as the six remaining victims were released. For a breath or two, the smoky creatures cavorted over the stunned figure of their murderer and enslaver. Then, they drifted over to Wellen, enveloped him in a wave of grat.i.tude, and drifted off, fading as they went.

A tremendous groan marked their pa.s.sage. Wellen felt the floor beneath him shift.

Without the imprisoned minds to coordinate his spell, could Serkadion Manee's libraries be beginning to collapse?

"No!" Rolling off the pedestal, the gnome turned and gazed upward. After a quick study of something that Wellen could not see, Manee glared at the scholar. Wellen found himself again frozen in place. "I hope you enjoyed your moment of magical glory, my young, impetuous friend, because even if you can manage another spell, it will not be as easy to escape from my domain as it was to break free of the holding spell!"

"What are you going to do?" He fully expected the worst. He had possibly caused the destruction of the work of ages. The scholarly side mourned its imminent pa.s.sing but the practical side reminded him that it had to have been done. Whatever fate awaited him would be better than what the immoral had planned.

In point of fact, however, Serkadion Manee was smiling, albeit this time without any pretense of enjoyment. With grim satisfaction, he replied, "No, things are not quite ready to crumble yet. You have caused, though, an imbalance. Things will begin to shift in an attempt to keep the citadel from collapsing . . . and that will cause yet more chaos. Worse, there is no control over anything." The gnome shook his head in mock pity. "But I am hardly in dire straits. I planned for this eventuality. There is a method, albeit a rather drastic one, by which I can restore control of this place. If I could only remember what it entailed I could . . ."

"You speak of a lack of control? Does that mean you've lost control of the citadel?"

Manee did not answer his question. Staring off into the emptiness, he said, "It has been too long. I can't remember what it was." He reached out to his motionless prisoner. "Come. We have a book to read."

Once more, they suddenly stood in the libraries.

It was not the same corridor, not unless the tomes had changed the color of their bindings. These books were sky blue. Again, Wellen was amazed at the sheer volume of Serkadion Manee's studies.

"This way." Under the gnome's guidance, the scholar followed his captor down the corridor. Manee seemed at ease despite the fact that somewhere the Dragon King was searching for them.

The gnarled sorcerer began running his fingers over the spines of one particular row of books. He muttered something under his breath. Wellen could do nothing but walk and watch.

"Here!" Manee pulled out one of the volumes. He opened it. Like a living creature, the pages began to turn of their own accord. Manee perused them, telling the book to continue when he did not find what he was looking for.

"Ah! Stop!"

The pages flattened out.

A bent finger ran down the length of the left page. Serkadion Manee nodded to himself. "Of course! How silly of me! That's why I created it like that in the first place." He tsked and looked up at his captive. "Time takes its toll even on the most brilliant of minds. It has been so long that I forgot and yet what I forgot was so simple in the first place!"

Closing the dragon tome, the gnome sent it floating to its rightful place. He started to speak, then squinted at something behind Wellen. The scholar, of course, expected the worst.

"Odd. The corridor did not end so close. The pentagon must be readjusting itself. I'd hoped the control had not slipped that badly."

Wellen said nothing but his eyes widened as the part of the corridor he was forced to gaze at abruptly ended no more than a few yards behind the gnome. When they had first appeared, it had been as endless as any. Now, a shelf full of books, silver copies, adorned the area.

Noting the look, Serkadion Manee turned. "Nimth's blood! This is more fouled than I imagined!" he snarled at his reluctant companion. "It is only appropriate that since you are responsible for this disarray that you be the sole means by which it is tidied up."

Wellen expected to find himself teleported again, but the gnome did nothing but fold his arms. For several seconds, the human pondered what it was that Mance intended. Then, a p.r.i.c.kling sensation coursed through his feet. He wanted to look down, but Manee's spell prevented him from looking anywhere but in the direction the squat mage stood.

"What's happening to me?"

"I regret this, I really do, my overcurious friend. It will be a waste. You probably will not last more than, oh, three or four years, being mortal, but I have no better choice at the moment. A pity you are not immortal, like myself. Then, you'd last forever. The spell for that takes too long to prepare, however. You would need the life span of a Vraad for that and I am afraid the blood has been watered down by too long exposure to this world." The gnome became thoughtful again. "Perhaps I can entice the hooded one into returning. He might be useful once you fade. Yes, I'll have to consider that."

The unnerving sensation had spread upward to Wellen's knees now. He gritted his teeth and asked again, "What are you doing to me? At least tell me!"

"Now that it has progressed so much, I suppose I can. It appears your own power will not save you this time. You are more of a carrier than a mage. I suspect that your children . . . which you will not have, of course . . . would have been exceptional sorcerers." Serkadion Manee reached up and tapped Bedlam on the chest. "As for satisfying your curiosity, it is the least I can do for a fellow scholar. Put quite simply, you are going to become part of my domain. At present, the floor is slowly encroaching upon you. It lives in a sense, have I mentioned that? It has no higher thought, only base instinct, but that might change now. I have never really tested its potential; so much else to do, you know. It is a radical solution and I fear you will not be as efficient as the matrix was, but this will have to do."

Wellen tried to struggle, but the part of him that had not succ.u.mbed to the encroaching floor was still frozen. Manee had only allowed him speech. "For G.o.d's sake, don't do this!"

"I am the closest thing to a G.o.d around here, I imagine, and this is for my sake. Bear with it, won't you please? I have other things to look up. There is still your companion to find and a rather annoying pest to clean out." The insidious gnome bowed. "I am afraid that I will not be back before it is too late. Please believe me, Master Wellen Bedlam, when I say that it was both a pleasure and a pain to meet you. Who knows? Perhaps enough of you will remain coherent so that we might have a discourse or two in the future."

With that, Serkadion Manee vanished.

Blinking, the scholar realized he could move again. Unfortunately, that meant being able to move only the top half of his body, for the living stone that was the citadel had already crept up to his waist and was continuing its climb at far too fast a pace.

Xabene! was his first thought, but she was probably almost as powerless as he seemed to be. Shade was the only one who might be able to help him but he had vanished, either a victim of Manee or simply a wiser soul who had departed the moment he could. Still, Wellen wished that one or both of his companions were here. Perhaps there was some spell they knew that would free him or- Before him stood both the hooded warlock and the pale enchantress.

To say they were as surprised as he was would have been understating matters. Xabene looked as if she expected either the Dragon King or the gnome to s.n.a.t.c.h her. When she realized who it was she stood next to, the sorceress stepped away. Her gaze drifted to Wellen, but her sudden joy died when she saw the fate that had befallen him.

"Wellen! By the Lords of the Dead!" She took hold of him and tried to pull him free, not understanding the true nature of his predicament.

"Stop! Unless you desire to become a part of him permanently!" Shade separated the two. Xabene raised her hand, but instead of the spell that the warlock likely expected, she slapped him instead.

Shade looked at her, mouth a grim, straight line, and then laughed. "I think I like you after all, female, despite the fact that you remind me too much of my dear, unlamented family."

"Like me or hate me; I could care less! Do something about Wellen!"

"I was going to." The warlock turned glittering eyes on the scholar. "You need not have shouted in my head, Master Bedlam; a simple summons would have been sufficient."

"Shout?" The shadowy figure extended a gloved hand, which Wellen immediately took hold of. All at once, he felt able to move his legs again.

"You brought us here, you know. That infernally unpredictable power of yours."

Looking down, the novice spellcaster saw that the stone was receding. It had taken on an almost liquid quality and was so soft he was able to pull one of his legs entirely free. With a hand from both of his companions, he was soon away from the treacherous spot. The trio watched as the floor reformed its flat self, then solidified.

"A Vraad through and through," muttered the ancient warlock. Now free, Wellen took hold of Xabene. "Where were you? What happened to you in that madcap corridor?"

She gave Shade a chilly glare. "He did. It was he who rescued me."

"I would have rescued you also," the hooded warlock added, "but you vanished before I could. It was Manee, then, who took you."

"No, Manee didn't." Wellen relayed what had happened to him, not excluding even the tortured minds he had discovered.

When Wellen was done, Shade shook his head. "Worthy of Lady Melenea." When the other two stared at him blankly, the warlock added, "An old acquaintance. Your ancestor, Master Bedlam, was the last to see her before she herself vanished forever. No loss." He grimaced. "All this activity stimulates the memory too much. I was better left dreaming in my cavern, going ever more mad."

"You are welcome to return to your madness," Xabene snapped, "but not until we've escaped this place!"

"Xabene-"

Shade raised a hand to forestall arguing. "Have no fear that I take her words the way she meant them. I am a child of the clan of the Tezerenee, the dragon men." He paused dramatically for reasons Wellen would never understand. At last, twisting his dry features into something resembling pleasure, he finished, "I have been threatened and bullied by far more intimidating forces than her."

"Listen you-"

"This can wait," Wellen said, taking charge, much to his surprise. "What concerns us now is escaping."

"Do you have an idea?" Shade asked. His parchmentlike countenance had slipped back into the shadows of his hood.

"Then," responded the master warlock, reaching into his flowing cloak, "perhaps you might be interested in my idea, after all."

His gloved hand emerged with a dragon tome of a pale white that reminded the scholar of the color of the undead Yalso's decaying flesh.

"What's so special about that particular volume?" the raven- haired enchantress asked. She no longer seemed to have any interest in the gnome's treasures. In fact, the very presence of all the other books had made her even more anxious. Wellen had seen her gazing at them every now and then out of the corner of his eye and her expression had not been one of desire but the opposite.

He found he was glad.

"This," Shade said, "tells us the citadel's weaknesses in detail."

"You're joking! Why would he put together something like that?"

"Because," the dark warlock replied, opening to a particular page and turning it toward them, "he is, after all, Serkadion Manee."

In another corridor of the vast libraries, the gnome remateralized. By now, the unfortunate mortal scholar was a well- integrated part of his citadel, but it would take a little time for the shock to recede. It was much the same as the first few minutes after a mind had been introduced to the pentagram. Not until the spell completely took control was it worth trying to get what had once been a living being to obey even the simplest of instructions.

That meant that the citadel was open to further infestation by the Dragon King and there was only one thing that Serkadion Manee knew of that was quick and cunning enough to foil the intruder.

A creak made him glance around, but he saw nothing out of the ordinary. With no guidance, the citadel's vast interior was shifting randomly. This was not the first such noise he had heard and he doubted it would be the last. Things would need time to return to normal.

A gray book leaped into his hand from one of the shelves. The pages turned until he found what he wanted. Manee read and, by reading, cast the spell.

The squat gnome allowed himself a chuckle as he sent the dragon tome back to its resting place. That would teach the would-be conqueror a thing or two. It would almost be worth the risk just to watch the drake open one of the books now.

See how much you learn now! The stooped Vraad chuckled again. The spell had almost been a joke when he had devised it, a change of pace from his more serious work. Now, it would be the final strike in his counterattack.

Jagged streaks of pain shook his body. He felt moisture on his back and neck. The world around him began to blur.

What is happening to me? It almost feels-was his last coherent thought.

He fell to the floor, the blood from the gaping tear in his neck and shoulders spilling over onto the floor.

Looming over the quivering figure of the dying gnome, the Purple Dragon dropped his spell of hiding and wiped his bloodied talons on Serkadion Manee's robe, only briefly pondering what it was that might have amused the former immortal so much.

Chapter Twenty.

Torches lit by themselves as the trio teleported into the chamber.

"Where are we now?" Wellen asked. He looked forward to a time when he could once more travel purely by conventional means. Still, I suppose to a spellcaster teleportation is a conventional method.

"In the lair of the beast," Shade replied, unfurling himself. There was something foul about the way he teleported, something so different that Wellen had so far been unable to pinpoint it. The grotesque manner in which the warlock twisted himself . . . and the two of them, this time . . . before each teleport was not what the scholar wondered about. It was the way Shade's magic always made him want to shy away.

To a lesser extent, the same applied to Serkadion Manee's power, albeit with the gnome it had always seemed more of a residue, as if he no longer drew from the same source that his counterpart did.