Journey into the Void by Margaret Weis Read Free Book Online Page B

agony.
    â€œAlise!” Shadamehr gasped, appalled. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
    He knew the answer the moment he asked the question.
    â€œOh, gods!” He shut his eyes. “I did.”
    He lifted her hand, unclenched the stiff, cold fingers and pressed her hand to his lips. Tears burned his eyelids.
    Shadamehr was not a magus, but he knew magic. A magus named Rigiswald, who been his tutor, had once tried to teach Shadamehr a few rudimentary spells. Not only did Shadamehr prove inept at magic, it affected him in a perverse way. Any spell he tried to cast, even the most mundane, ended in disaster. Shadamehr himself emerged unscathed fromcarnage, but others were not so fortunate. After a week of suffering, which included a concussion and a sprained ankle, Rigiswald burned the spellbooks and forbade his pupil even to so much as think a word of magic.
    Shadamehr had maintained an interest in magic, though he was careful not to try to cast it himself. He and Alise, Ulaf, and Rigiswald often held lengthy discussions concerning magic, including Void magicks.
    Void magic could not heal a dying man, but it could save one by transferring some of the life essence of a Void magus into the dying man’s body. The spell was dangerous, for in saving the victim, it could kill the spellcaster.
    Shadamehr put his hand on Alise’s neck. He could barely feel a pulse. She was in terrible pain, for she cried out, and her body wrenched and twisted. The pain could not rouse her from the deep darkness in which she struggled. For his sake, she had given herself to the Void, and the Void was laying claim to her.
    Alise was going to die. Unless he did something, found help for her, found some way to stop the Void from dragging her away from him, she was going to die.
    She was going to die, without ever knowing that he loved her.
    Shadamehr gritted his teeth and, through an enormous effort, managed to lift his arms, reach up, and seize hold of the top of a barrel. He paused a moment, gasping for breath, then, with another effort, he pulled himself upright. He stood hunched over the barrel, shaking and shivering uncontrollably.
    He managed to focus his bleary eyes long enough to find the door. It seemed miles away. He didn’t know where he was, for he had no recollection of coming here. He could hear nothing. No sounds came from beyond the door. Now that he thought of it, he seemed to remember hearing someone banging on the door and calling out, but that had been eons ago.
    He tried to call for help, but the shout came out a cracked yelp. He let go of the barrel, took a step, took another step. His head throbbed. The room began to tilt and wobble. His stomach heaved, his knees buckled. Feeling himself start to fall, he tried desperately to save himself by grabbing for the barrel. He upended it, sent it crashing to the floor, along with himself and the lantern.
    Fortunately he did not set fire to the cellar. The lantern’s flame went out, drowned in lamp oil.
    Shadamehr cursed himself and his weakness and his failure, which was going to cause him to lose the one person he would have given up his life to save.
    â€œYou should have let me die, Alise,” he said.
    Managing to crawl back to her, he took her hand in his own, kissed her hand, her dear, tortured face. He gathered her in his arms, cradled her head on his chest, and held her shivering, chilled body pressed against his.
    â€œYou should have let me die. No great loss,” he murmured. “Nothing but a conceited, heedless, reckless fool, who meddles in affairs that aren’t any of my concern simply for the sheer fun in meddling.”
    He rested his cheek against her soft hair.
    â€œOh, I tell myself I’m doing good. I’m benefiting mankind, and maybe I have managed to do that, now and then. But I do it only because it is fun. It is an adventure. Always an adventure. Just like this mess we’re in now. What a bloody, stupid,