woven, to the last detail, of magical energy.
Looking more closely at the nearest chair, the song playing strong in his thoughts now, Cadderly recognized the gems as variations of magical energy, saw the smooth silk as a uniform field of magic and nothing more. Cadderly remembered an experience in the tower of the wizard Belisarius, when he had battled an illusory minotaur in an illusory dungeon. On that occasion, the young priest had perverted Belisarius's handiwork, had reached down the minotaur's throat and extracted an illusory heart of his own design.
Now, in this unfamiliar and obviously dangerous setting, Cadderly needed a boost to his confidence. He focused again on the chair, grabbed at the backing's magical field, and transmuted it, elongated it, and turned it flat.
Chapter Twenty-One
"A table would look better here," he announced, figuring that his host, Abaltister, could hear his every word. And so the chair became a table of polished wood with thick, curving supports carved with eyes and candles and rolled scrolls, the symbols of Cadderly's god and the brother god, Oghma.
Cadderly looked to the only apparent exit from the grand room, a wide hallway supported by sculpted arches running directly opposite the wall he had somehow walked through. He shifted the song of Deneir slightly, searching for invisible objects or other extradimensional pockets within this pocket, but saw no sign of Aballister.
The young priest moved to the table he had created, felt its smooth polish beneath its hands. He smiled as an inspiration - a divine inspiration, he mused - swept over him, then called upon his magic and reached out to the nearest tapestry, reweaving its design. He recalled the marvelous tapestry in the great hall of the Edificant Library, pictured its every detail in his mind, and made this one a n"arly exact replica.
A chair beside him became a writing desk, complete with an inkwell lined with Deneirian runes. A second tapestry became the scroll of Oghma, the words of the most holy prayer of that god replacing the former image, one of evil Talona and her poisoned dagger.
Cadderly felt his strength swell from the images of his own creations, felt as if his work was moving him closer to his god, his source of power. The more he altered the room, the more this place came to resemble a shrine at the Edificant Library, and the more the young priest's confidence soared. With every image of Deneirian worship he created, more loudly did the holy song play in Cadderly's thoughts and in his heart
Suddenly^ Aballister - it had to be Aballister - stood at the opening of the ornate hall.
"I have made some . . . improvements," Cadderly announced to the cross wizard, sweeping his arms out wide. His bravado might have hid his nervousness from his enemy, but Cadderly couldn't deny the moisture that covered his palms.
In a sudden motion, Aballister smacked his hands together and cried out a word of power that Cadderly did not recognize. Immediately, the new clerical dressings disappeared, leaving the room in its former state.
Something about the wizard's motion, about the sudden flash of anger from the obviously controlled man, struck a familiar chord in Cadderly, tugged at the edges of his consciousness from a distant place.
"I do not approve of the icons of false gods decorating my private chambers," the wizard said, his voice steady.
Cadderly nodded and brought an easy smile to his face; there really was no point in arguing.
The wizard walked to the side of the entrance, his dark robes trailing out mysteriously behind him, his hollowed gaze locked fully on the young priest Cadderly turned to keep himself squared to the man, studied every move the dangerous wizard made, and kept the song of Deneir flowing through his thoughts. Already several defensive spells were sorted out and in line, ready for Cadderly to release them.
"You have proven a great discomfort to me," Aballister said, his voice a wheeze, his throat injured from years of compelling forth mighty magics. "But also, a great benefit"
Cadderly concentrated on the tone of the voice, not on the specific words. Something about it haunted him, again from a distant place; something about it conjured images of Carradoon, of long ago.
"I might have missed all the fun, you see," Aballister went on. "I might have sat back here in comfort and let my formidable forces bring the peoples of the region under my thumb. I shall enjoy ruling - I do so love intrigue - but the conquest,