Free Spell of the Crystal Chair by Gilbert L. Morris Page B

structure that caught the sun. It had walls like white marble, and Balog gasped. “I have never seen anything like it, wizard!”
    “It is my palace and my fortress. As you see, it is surrounded by steep walls that cannot be scaled. There is only one entrance, and it is guarded day and night. I do not invite many into my fortress, but since we are to be friends and companions serving under the same master, I think it is well that you see his strength.”
    They entered through the single gate, which rose into a recess with a clanging sound. Beorn said nothing as he walked along behind his father and the wizard. He did not trust Zarkof, but he was impressed by the strength of the man’s fortress.
    Guards were everywhere, heavily armored and with swords drawn. Each wore a medallion around his neck bearing the same symbol that Zarkof wore around his, except that theirs were silver and his was gold. Beorn could not see clearly what was on the medallions, but he was sure that it was a symbol chosen by the Dark Lord.
    “First, Chief Balog, I will give you a tour of the palace so that you can see the magnificence you are joining yourself to.”
    His palace was indeed a magnificent structure. It was carved out of the mountain, and there were corridors that turned and twisted into the depths. These were illuminated by both torches and glowing stones that gave off faint light. The strange lighting gave the place a ghostly atmosphere.
    The wizard took them all the way to the top, where they viewed his opulent and magnificent privatequarters. Everything was gold and ivory and silver. It was wealth beyond Beorn’s imagination.
    “And what do you think of my palace?”
    “I have never seen anything like it,” Balog grunted. “It would be hard to take such a place.”
    “Hard, indeed. Impossible. I have one more thing to show you.”
    He led Beorn and his father down a winding staircase, passing by windows that admitted light. Guards stood at every window, and the lifelessness in their eyes disturbed Beorn.
    “Father, have you noticed the faces of the guards?” he whispered. “They’re like dead men.”
    Balog waved his son off. “They’re not our servants to worry about. This man is strong. Just come. We must see everything.”
    When they reached the lowest level, a huge gate made of heavy black iron barred their way.
    Zarkof said, “You will now see the source of my power.” He unbarred the gate and pushed it inward. Then he stepped into the passage beyond, followed by his two guests.
    It was a large passageway, at least ten feet high and that wide or more. It was carved out of solid stone. It appeared to be old.
    “This must have been the work of many generations ago,” Beorn said.
    “Yes. I inherited it. It was dug long ago by others.”
    The wizard suddenly halted and grew rigid. “Careful. We are in some danger here.”
    Both Beorn and his father stood dead still, and then Beorn gasped again—this time from fright. In the passage ahead loomed a terrifying monstrous shape. He had seen bears and tigers and white saber-toothedtigers and killer whales and ice wraiths, but nothing like this.
    “What is it?” he whispered.
    “That is Shivea.”
    The monster was in the shape of a great spider. Powerful legs rose up over her head. At the end of each leg was a cruel claw. Her eyes were multifaceted and glowing, as though there was light behind them. Venom dripped from her fangs as she sidled toward them.
    But Zarkof held out the medallion that hung from his neck, and with relief Beorn saw the creature back away and slowly disappear into the gloom of a side cavern.
    “Anyone who got this far would have to deal with Shivea. No trespasser has yet gotten past her.”
    The wizard then led his guests down a series of twisting passageways. Beorn was still shaken, but for some reason he memorized the turns. He had no thought about what he would do with such information, but he was that kind of young man. He loved knowledge,