The Obsidian Oracle (Prism Pentad) by Troy Denning

Author:Troy Denning [Denning, Troy]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9780786961184
Publisher: Wizards of the Coast Publishing
Published: 2011-09-27T00:00:00+00:00

TEN

THE CRYSTAL PIT

AN IMMENSE SHEET OF ROCK CRYSTAL COVERED the pit, its edges melting into the surrounding granite with no visible seam. So thin and pellucid was this lid that whenever one of the amorphous forms beneath slipped up to press against the veneer, Agis saw the ghostly features of a face. Usually the visage belonged to a child with a soft chin, fleshy cheeks, and hurt, questioning eyes.

“Why did you come to Lybdos?” demanded Nal.

The bawan stood on Sa’ram’s Bridge, a stone trestle that arced over the pit. With one hand, he held Agis’s ankles, dangling the noble far above the translucent slab. In his other hand, Nal clutched Tithian and Kester, his fingers wrapped so tightly around their chests that their faces had turned purple.

Tithian was the one who answered. “We’ve already told you!” the king declared. “Our ship wrecked on Mytilene. Sachem Mag’r promised to let us live if we helped him.”

“The Joorsh are attacking at dawn,” added Kester. “That’s when we’re supposed to open yer gates.”

“And what was Fylo’s part in this plan?”

With the hand clutching Tithian and Kester, the bawan gestured across the pit, where four Saram warriors held the unconscious half-breed by his arms and legs. The rest of the enclosure was empty, for most Saram were busy preparing for the next day’s battle.

“Fylo has no part in this,” said Agis. “We tricked him into helping us.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Nal hissed. “I’m wise enough to know that you are thieves, and that Fylo is a traitor to all giants.” The bawan nodded to the tribesmen holding the giant. “Show our guests what awaits them.”

The four warriors pitched Fylo’s battered body onto the pit. The slab did not shatter or even crack, but merely sagged under the giant’s great weight. The half-breed lay on his back, covering the silvery sheet almost completely, with his hands and feet hanging over the edges. Beneath him, the ghostly faces pressed their lips and noses against the sheet, their muffled voices crying out in the high-pitched tones of excited children. Many of the Saram backed away from the hole, covering whatever passed for ears on their beastly heads and turning away with fearful expressions on their faces.

After a moment, Fylo began to sink, slowly passing through the rock crystal. The faces began to swirl around him in blurry, saffron streaks. Then, as his shoulders and knees melted through the slab, the half-breed fell free and plunged into the hole. The ghostly countenances streaked into the darkness after him.

“The giant you just killed never intended you anything but good!” Agis yelled, glaring up at Nal.

“That is for me to decide,” the bawan replied. “Besides, I doubt Fylo is dead—though he’ll soon wish he were.”

“What do you mean?” Agis demanded.

“This is where we keep our deformed heads after we become true Saram. We must give them playthings so they can amuse themselves, or they will fade away—and us with them,” he said, his ears cocked at a cruel angle. “Be assured, the Castoffs will make Fylo pay for his treachery a thousand times over.

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