Wizards Conclave

Chapter 29
Wild Magic

Dalamar stared at the stone wall. The spell was ready to cast; indeed it was pulsing in his mind, anxious for its release. He raised his hand to make the sign of the dimension door against the side of the great hall.

But the words emerged thick and slurred. His tongue felt like a useless piece of swollen meat. Air escaped through the torn fabric of his cheek, while his lips could not seem to articulate the most basic of sounds. His eyes watered with frustration.

"Here, I'll do it," Jenna said with surprising tenderness. The dark elf watched bitterly as she made the sign and smoothly cast the spell.

Immediately a passage appeared through the thick black stone of the wall. It was a shimmering doorway outlined in blue light, magical but also real. The wall here was some six feet thick, but the dimension door was flat and thin as a piece of paper. It was also visible to those on the other side of the wall.

"Who's there?" growled a thick voice from within that great chamber as soon as the dimension door shimmered into view. A burly dwarf squatted close to the door, his eyeless face cocked in an expression of listening.

"It is I, Willi," Jenna shouted, "coming to get you all out of here."

"A dim door?" The dwarf sounded skeptical. "Don't ya think we already tried that in here? Wit' no luck!"

"The sorcerer's spell bars you from getting out, via teleport or other spells. It doesn't stop us from opening a door on this side of the wall," Jenna explaining, raising her voice in urgency. "And Dalamar is here with me. Now come, all who serve the Three Gods-there is no time to waste!"

Quickly the wizards massed before the door. Willim the Black was the first to step through, nodding to Jenna and Dalamar. "Where is that bastard? I want his spleen for breakfast!" he growled. The half-elf woman in the black robe came next, gliding past Willi. She looked shocked to see Dalamar.

"By Nuitari! What happened to you?" gasped Sirene, her face going pale as she beheld the dark elf's horribly scarred visage.

"Never mind about my petty injuries!" Dalamar snapped, tugging the cowl around to obscure the right side of his face as much as possible. "Get on through the dimension door- and hurry the others behind you!"

"We'll have to leave Adramis," an elder elf, a White Robe named Suwannis, said as he appeared. "He's badly hurt, and we don't dare move him."

"Very well. But the rest of you, hurry!" urged Jenna. "Through the door-quickly! Spread out through the hall!"

One by one the wizards pushed through the blue-tinged door, the younger and faster going first, the elders following with as much alacrity as they could muster. Their numbers had been thinned by the battle; there were maybe twenty left, not counting Adramis, who was all but unconscious. Led by Jenna, and with stealthy, over-the-shoulder glances at the scarred Dalamar, they hurried down the hallway toward the foretower.

They had to make their way around patches of rubble, fallen columns, and other destruction. They had collected in the alcoves along the broad corridor when Jenna called for a volunteer to scout ahead for Kalrakin.

"I'll go," said Aenell. "For my brother." Her eyes were burning in her pale face.

Dalamar nodded to Jenna. The Red Robe turned to Aenell. "We last saw him at the base of the north tower. And beware of using magic to find him-he senses any spellcasting. We'll wait here until we hear something."

"I'll do my best," the elf maid pledged grimly. "If something happens to me… help my brother as best you can. And tell him I died honorably."

Aenell slipped away, moving soundlessly across the rubble-strewn passageway. She crouched behind the next broken pillar then darted down the hall connecting the south tower to the anteroom and the foretower.

Dalamar was acutely aware of the other wizards stealing sidelong glances at him. The hilt of his knife was cold comfort in his hand. When he noticed Sirene staring at him, horror apparent in her eyes, he pulled the cowl of his robe down around his face and leaned, fully masked, against the wall.

Luthar stared at the wall of the room where he was hiding. Once more he summoned his limited wild magic, clawing at the stone, but could not break through to the outside. This tower seemed as impervious to his escape as it had been to the wizards who had so desperately tried to gain entry.

Abruptly he heard someone moving around in the room behind him, and he fell to his knees, cringing against the wall. He was only slightly relieved when he saw that the newcomer was a white-robed mage, a small, slender female. At least it wasn't Kalrakin, which is what he had feared.

"Who are you?" he gasped. "Please, don't hurt me!"

"I am an elf maid seeking vengeance for the suffering of my brother!" declared the woman. "Give me one reason why I should not kill you!" She might have been young in appearance, but she sounded very dangerous to Luthar.

"But I seek only escape!" he cried piteously. "I simply want to leave this place!. You can have it, you and your friends; I don't belong here!"

"If I let you leave, will you tell me where the tall sorcerer is?"

"Yes! Yes!" he blubbered eagerly. "Just let me go!"

She spoke a few intricate words of magic, gestured subtly at the wall, and abruptly the blue outline of a passage appeared there. An opening, outlined in the pale blue light, shimmered in the wall of the Tower.

"Oh! Oh, my!" Luthar exclaimed.

The verdant expanse of Wayreth Forest, pale green in the early dawn, beckoned from beyond the walls of the courtyard. But there was a film across that tantalizing aperture, and when Luthar reached out a hand he found his way still blocked by a magic curtain of some sort.

"Tell me!" the White Robe demanded.

"Kalrakin is in the north tower. He is bent on destroying all the foundations of the spire and soon plans to bring it crashing down."

"Very well," said the angry elf maid. The screen faded, leaving the dimension door open to the outside of the Tower. "You may go now. But hurry before I change my mind and kill you anyway, fat one."

Luthar was already gone.

Kalrakin was finishing his inspection of the base level of the north tower. He was satisfied that everything was in place for the final destruction-he wasn't sure if the tower would crumble straight down or tip to the side like a toppling tree. He very much looked forward to finding out.

All of a sudden he spotted a flash of white, something moving in the connecting passage. Wild magic fueled him and he teleported instantly to block the figure's path, finding himself confronting a female wizard in a white robe. For a moment he recalled the dark-haired wench who had earlier escaped him. But this one had golden hair and the slender build of an elf.

"Hmm. Unpleasant surprise. How did you get out of the hall?" he demanded, momentarily bewildered. "Or are you new to the Tower?"

His eyes widened in surprise as she threw herself at him, fingernails clawing like a tigress. Unfortunately, she was too far away, too far to have any chance of reaching him. She died midway through her lunge, blasted by the power of his stone, an explosion that echoed loudly through the Tower.

And continued to resonate. He was startled, though not displeased, but the ruckus caused by her death. Strange, it was as if the mage had thrown herself upon his power, just so that her death could make a lot of noise.

The sorcerer whirled at that thought then laughed out loud as he observed the wizards of three robes rushing forward from the south tower like a bunch of alley ruffians. They were charging him! Attacking!

"Come, children of the god-fools!" he cried in delight. "Let us play together!"

The Irda Stone was blindingly bright as he lifted his right hand. Energy exploded from the artifact. The first blast of sorcery knocked an elderly White Robe down and tore his chest open when the old man was still forty feet away. Others got closer, but then more sorcery erupted, multiple bolts of wild magic spreading into the throng of wizards with deadly results.

During the past months, Kalrakin had stored considerable might within the artifact, and it was now at the height of its power and effectiveness. Like blasts of lightning, lacking only heat, the powerful magical energy exploded outward, slashing and stabbing and choking the attacking wizards.

A Red Robe screamed and fell, her slender body torn nearly in half. Next to her one of the black-robed dwarves howled and died as sorcery tore at his face, searing away his beard, his nose, down to the bone of his skull.

Some of the fools stopped to cast their spells, and these Kalrakin confronted with particular relish, using the Irda Stone to suck their fireballs, swarming meteors, and hissing lightning bolts out of the air, and draw their magic into his artifact. Some lurked there, harmless for the moment, while others rebounded against the casters, the many explosions wracking the hallway, sending all the pathetic survivors scrambling for cover.

There was that Black Robe, the one Kalrakin thought he had killed already. The dark elf, gripping a pathetic knife, had tumbled to the ground in the wake of one explosion. As he rose now to a fighting crouch, Kalrakin laughed loud at the sight of that once-handsome face, half-swathed in blood.

"You look dead already!" crowed the sorcerer. "So die twice, stupid elf!" He raised the stone high in his fist, the artifact pulsing with power.

Coryn heard the sounds of battle and raced as quickly as she could through the ruin of the north tower's ground level.

Nearly all of the interior walls had been destroyed and she had to jump over piles of rock, leap over gaps in the floor, and climb over huge fallen statuary. Coming around the corner into the wide hallway, she had her bow up, its string tight, and a single arrow quivering in her grip when she spied the sorcerer just ahead.

He was under attack from a small army of the wizards and tossing bolts of wild magic as if they were snowballs-fatal, crackling snowballs. The spells burned and sizzled through the air, burning the wizards, searing their flesh, igniting robes of white, red, and black. Smoke lingered in the air; blood covered the stonework; she heard the moaning of the wounded.

It had been a while since she had used this weapon. But the wood felt smooth and supple in her hand, and the string was steady and taut. Without hesitation she drew the string back to her cheek, took aim, and let the arrow fly.

At the same time, the old words of wild magic sprang to her lips, and she cast the spell that had served her so well on so many hunts. The arrow split into three identical missiles, and Cory quickly blew a strong gust of wind to guide them home. The three arrows diverged as they flew, one heading straight ahead, while the others arced outward and around.

Something, perhaps the soft twang of the bowstring, drew Kalrakin's attention. He turned, eyes wide, and raised the stone in Coryn's direction. He was grinning. Sorcery flared-a blast that knocked one of the hurtling arrows out of the air. He cackled and raised the stone higher.

That is when the other two arrows took him, one in each side, puncturing each of his lungs, driving inward until both steel arrowheads-they weren't strictly magical, but Umma herself had sharpened them for hours-lodged in his heart. With an expression of astonishment, he looked down at the blood that was starting to stain his filthy tunic.

Kalrakin staggered backward. The stone fell from his nerveless fingers, rolled across the floor, and came to rest against a stone heap.

And then the dark elf was upon him, the sharp knife doing its bloody work.