"Hrrrmmm," the leotaur rumbled as he settled in beside the fire. "Besides, there is now being more of the dinner for you and me, I am thinking."
Their quiet laughter joined Avari's snoring, and made the cool spring night seem a bit warmer.
CHAPTER 8
An errant zephyr blew into the study through the gap between the shutters, and motes of silvery dust swirled through the scintillating rays of green and white light that were the room's only illumination. Lamps spaced at intervals along the walls glared down cold and dark, like bronze vultures. On another night their cheery, yellow glow would have warmed the shelves and tables crowded with books, scrolls, orderly rows of bottles, flasks and bowls, mortars and pestles, vials and scales, bits of bone and chips of crystal. Yet tonight their light was absent, their oil unlit. Tonight the master's workshop was illumed only by the light of magic.
Atop the broad desk, two ornate gold stands cradled palm-sized gems—an emerald and a diamond—in delicately precise embraces. The metal crackled and glowed with power, directing the essence of the gems down to the silver tracings inlaid into the top of the desk. The focal point of the tracings, a circle of purest gold, blazed with green-white lightning. Within the circle lay Shay’s hand, fingers outstretched to maintain contact with the golden circumference. Static discharges writhed up his arm, infusing him with the magical energy of the gems.
The half-elf slowly shook his head as if emerging from a trance or a deep sleep. But he hadn’t been sleeping; his mind was sharp and clear. He blinked his dry eyes, and rolled his stiff neck in circles to relieve the tense muscles. His temples pounded, a foretaste of an oncoming headache. But despite the discomforts, he smiled. Looking down at the book that lay on the desk before him, he read through the complex incantation with ease, appreciating the elegant design of the spell. When he opened the book hours earlier, he had been unable to even focus on the arcane inscriptions, much less understand them. It should have taken him years of study to learn a spell of this magnitude. Yet, with the magical enhancements of the emerald and diamond, he had been able to master it in less than a day.
He rose from his chair, his aching muscles protesting their disuse as he moved to the shutters that swayed slowly in the weak breeze. He swung the thick oak outward, drawing in a deep draught of fresh, cold air. It had been afternoon when he started studying; now it was a fine night.
Morning actually, he thought, noting the position of Eloss' Hand on the horizon, daylight soon. He should rest...but there was one more spell, just a small one really, that he wanted to look at first. Running his hands through his hair, he pushed back his exhaustion and surrendered to the impulse. He closed the shutter and worked the latch, making sure that no more breezes would disturb his study.
Lynthalsea looked up at the window from within a small copse of trees. Thin streaks of green-white light emanated from between the shutters, but faded as the ambient light of dawn grew. She heard the stealthy pad of steps on the soft loam of the forest floor, and waited expectantly until they stopped close behind her. Arms wrapped around her, pinning hers to her sides, but she wasn’t startled. Instead, she dropped her head back onto a broad chest and sighed aloud.
“Up all night again?” asked a soft, low voice, its basso vibrations resounding through her back.
“Yes,” she answered. “Using the gems. It’s starting to scare me, how much he relies on them. He saw their hold on Darkmist, but seems oblivious of their affect on him.”
“That is the way of temptation; you feel that you deserve to have whatever it is you desire.”
“And what,” Lynthalsea whispered, “do you desire?”
A soft growl answered her as the arms released her, and she trotted away into the deep forest where no humans would be, her keen ears tracking the one who kept pace with her, her sensitive nose inhaling the powerful scent of his musk.
The excitement among the nobles assembled on the balcony outside the Xerro Kensho meeting room was palpable, and Lysethra saw the anticipation echoed among the mediators and councils from the six other dark cities on their nearby balconies. These balconies faced inward, and below they could see the hollow core of the citadel through which the Void essence would flow.
Necks craned back as each person jockeyed for the best position to observe the upcoming event. Lysethra stood to the mediator’s right; word had gotten out—Lysethra had leaked it immediately after their talk—that she was favored by the mediator, and not even Druellae Gorgoneye dared protest.
High above them levitated numerous mages completing last-minute tasks and inspecting the runes carved all over the walls of the core. One by one they floated down into safe positions, and a hush came over the crowds as they prepared for the long-awaited beginning; the triumph of the Dark Gods.
Lysethra felt a momentary disorientation, then realized that the citadel and its surrounding shield was moving slowly upward toward the blackness of The Void. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the moment of truth or destruction, salvation or failure. Even the dragons ceased their attacks, flying away as static discharges arced between the shield and the Void barrier.
Then they touched.
Multi-hued lightning burst from the point of contact with a thunderous boom. Several council members clapped their hands protectively over their ears, but Lysethra’s awe held her motionless, her ringing eardrums unheeded. She watched the shield shudder as compression waves expanded from the point of contact like rings from a stone tossed into a lake. The shield bulged inward with the pressure of the dark barrier above, bulged further, but held. Lysethra grew light-headed, but she could not force her gaze away. She knew that, until the energy of The Void itself was tapped to empower the citadel's magical defenses, innumerable mages were working together to cast spells to affect a joining without destroying the shield, and the citadel with it.
She moved her hand to the pocket that held the gem that had destroyed her brother; it never left her person. Calmarel kept the other. They had discussed giving the gems to the mediator as a peace offering—their power undoubtedly would have helped to stabilize the citadel shield—but decided to retain them for such a time when they needed a boon.
Lysethra wondered now at their decision. The shield bulged until it seemed it could bulge no more, and she felt a momentary despair that the long-standing plan might fail due to their covetous decision. Then black bolts of lightning arced from the tips of the spires with a crash that made the former discharge a whisper by comparison; they had breached the barrier and tapped The Void. Instantly the shield wall strengthened, its glimmer intensifying as it absorbed energy from The Void. Energy streams writhed like huge black snakes between the spires and The Void. The air crackled with a magical energy that tickled Lysethra's exposed skin and raised the hair on the back of her neck. Her chest heaved as she gulped for air, unaware that she had been holding her breath. She had just witnessed the beginning of the end for the surface world, and the beginning of forever for the children of the Dark Gods.
"Calmarel," she whispered softly, "even you would have been impressed." Lysethra took another deep breath and smiled; between the mediator’s good news and the successful tapping of The Void, she had much to discuss with her sister.
"Without some kind of containment field," Feldspar argued, "the energy flux would destabilize. In the time it would take to finish the incantation, you'd be a puddle of scorched protoplasm."
"Destabilization would not occur for at least fifteen seconds," Kenrah countered, pointing resolutely to the figures she had scrawled upon one of the myriad parchments littering the table. "Even my most inept apprentice could finish the spell in that time!"
Two of the other mages surrounding the table nodded sagely. The other four, including Feldspar, shook their heads. The discussion was good-natured and undeniably productive, as were most discussions in the Royal Retinue's communal study, but tempers did flare occasionally. This was the reason that a permanent magic-dampening field had been placed upon the room
; no spell could be cast within. This precaution may just have saved Kenrah's life, for Feldspar was growing increasingly intolerant.
"The trouble is," he countered, "there’s never an inept apprentice around when you need one!"
The others chuckled; in the past, apprentices had been a viable means of testing new spells. Unfortunately, some thought, the current emperor had put a stop to that practice.
"Additionally, this entropy factor," Feldspar added as he pointed to a long numeral, "assumes optimal conditions. What if a variant energy pulse invades your sphere of influence? Then poof! You're a turnip."
"Or a hedgehog," Zerchia agreed.
"Or a rutabaga," smirked Crellington.
"Or a slug," said Voncellia, lifting her wine glass in toast. "I lost my best husband that way, you know. Though I still keep him in a jar as a remembrance."
Feldspar chuckled along with the others. Voncellia could be either tender or wrathful, but was usually unpredictable, and always quick with a joke. She also was one of the finest mages in the empire.
Kenrah frowned at the transformation of her incantation into a joke. She swept the parchments into a pile and organized them with jerky slaps against the table's well-worn surface.
"Well, since you all see fit to feed your mirth instead of giving constructive suggestions," she said as she whirled away with a sniff, "I’ll take my new incantation to Belregash."
Feldspar sighed; Kenrah sensitivity to criticism was well-known, and some persisted in egging it on.
Another good session shot to the hells, he thought as he sagged back in his chair, listening only half-heartedly as several of the others hissed and scoffed at Kenrah’s tantrum, bidding her good luck and good riddance. But as she reached for the knob of the door, an aged voice rattled from the great leather-upholstered chair shrouded by shadows in the corner.
"Do not be so hasty in your judgment of your peers, Kenrah," the voice quavered as a hand that resembled twigs of knotty oak covered in crinkled tissue wagged an accusing finger. "Their tongues may bite, but their opinions are noteworthy. Indeed, there is a great deal of flux in the interstitial medium, but it can usually be—no, must be—predicted and accounted for in your spell design, for a slug is by far not the worst condition in which you could end."
"I'm sorry, Master Braelen," Kenrah said, instantly mollified by the oldster's words, "but instead of laughing at my work, why don't they offer some help?"
Feldspar’s ears perked up; Braelen seldom spoke anymore, but when he did, his advice was always worth paying attention to. He watched as the ancient mage gripped the arms of the chair and resolutely pushed himself to his feet. Braelen had been the archmage for three different and successive emperors, and had compiled a library of spells to rival any in the Northern Realms. His specialty had been interplanar travel and exploration; the mundane world tended to bore him. In fact, it was through his explorations that he found a way to prolong his life, though by exactly what means he always deferred to explain. But like any person who craves the intoxication of the unknown, once Braelen had visited all the planes and stretched his powers to their utmost over his long and productive years, his interest in magic waned. And once the interest waned, the man waned as well. He resigned as archmage, and now spent his time seated in the leather chair, joining in conversation only when a subject piqued his curiosity.
"Unless these old ears have finally gone deaf, I believe at least one of them did offer some useful appraisal," he said, hobbling toward Kenrah and gripping her arm.
"The forces of the universe are irrevocable," he lectured, "a fact of which my withering body is insurmountable proof." He grinned and winked at his own self-deprecation. "Think of them as akin to metal; when heated, it is malleable. Likewise, these forces, under certain conditions, may be bent and manipulated. You just need to work those conditions into your spell.
"That whippersnapper Feldspar mentioned the key to your particular dilemma, though in passing." Feldspar felt inordinately pleased by Braelen’s words. "A containment field, say, a hair's breadth from your body, would allow the spell to safely evoke. Then, once the spell was completed, the field could be dispelled."
"But how much time would that add to the casting?" Kenrah asked as she looked dubiously at her calculations. Feldspar sighed again; Kenrah tended to think that her first drafts were perfect, and was reluctant to make modifications.
"That would depend on the elegance of the containment spell, my dear," Braelen chided with a grin; Kenrah’s spells were seldom elegant. "Now I've one in my library tha—that would be—“ Braelen’s face paled and grew pinched, and he hung on Kenrah’s arm. “Excuse...me. I seem to be—"
The old mage clutched his chest, his eyes wide, and pitched forward onto the table. Feldspar and several others grabbed him and carefully lowered him to the floor.
"Is it his heart?" asked Zerchia as she dashed for the door. "I'll go for a healer!"
"I don't think so," Kenrah countered, "his color is—"
"The plane of discord!" Braelen rasped through clenched teeth.
Feldspar impatiently waved a hand at the others, who whispered amongst themselves. "Shut up and listen!"
"D...d...drawing out..." The ancient mage’s words withered away as his face spasmed in pain and his hands curled into inflexible fists.
"We’ve got to get him to his room," Feldspar said resolutely as he took command. “Zerchia’s gone for a healer. Voncellia, you go for a priestess. The rest of you, help me carry him.” He didn’t know if medical or spiritual intervention would help, but he knew that the magic-dampening field of the room precluded a magical attack...or magical healing. “Now!” he snapped as the others hung back. Now he knew why none of them ever volunteered for field battles; in their reticence, they’d be picked off by the first volley of arrows. Agitated, yet trying to exude calm, he cradled Braelen’s head in his hands and nodded. "Lift now."
They lifted the elderly mage as if he were a wisp of fragile parchment and carried him from the room, trampling in their haste and alarm the pages of Kenrah's carefully prepared spell.
Calmarel entered the room like a dark whirlwind, her hair and robes spinning around her as she clumsily spun and kicked the door closed behind Tredgh’s retreating back. When she turned back to him, Jundag saw that she carried a thick book in her two hands.
“Are you going to read me bedtime stories now?” he asked sarcastically, knowing he would pay for it later. Calmarel had not summoned him since his harsh reaction to her news that she was father to her child...until today. And she had never brought reading material with her; she seemed to relish actions more than words. But she was excited about something. Her skin was flushed, and her eyes bright. Despite her bulk, she walked with a light foot and even a bit of her old swagger. She laughed loud and long at his remark, and eased up beside him.
“You can’t upset me today, my pet!” She looked sidelong at him, with a smile that would have looked coquettish on another woman, but looked ominous on Calmarel. “Do you know what this is?”
“Why don’t you ask me if I care?” he replied, unwilling to play her games, but curious nonetheless.
“This,” she announced as she flourished the book’s cover at him, “is the Book of Rites. Given into Lysethra’s hand by the mediator herself, so I can prepare for my own Rite of Ascension. So you see, instead of having the blessings of only two of the Dark Gods, I’ll have the blessings of all five.”
Jundag rolled his eyes and tried to look as if he could not have cared less. Calmarel had told him of the rite, stressing the great rewards that went along with being a mediator. But at times he had detected something else; something about the rite frightened her.
“So describe this rite to me,” he challenged her. “Let me judge if you are capable.”
“Don’t try to provoke me, my pet,” she warned, though her voice carried no threat. “You will never be the judge of me. You are my slave, now and forever, if I wish it. Although,” she smiled up at hi
m, “as my child’s father, I may grant you privileges, if you’re good.”
Jundag bit back his reply and merely stood mute, watching her. Calmarel seemed to take his silence as acquiescence, and smiled smugly. She pulled up a chair and sat heavily in it, opened the book and carefully flipped through the fragile pages. “All right,” she said brightly. “Let’s see what’s in store.”
CHAPTER 9
This is it! Shay thought triumphantly, but not without a twinge of apprehension. His seemingly endless hours of study, his sacrifices of personal comfort and even his health, were about to achieve fruition; he would cast a spell that never in his wildest dreams had he thought possible within the limits of his skills. Before he had the cornerstones, that is.
That thought provoked another twinge. He had planned to cast the spell a few days hence, after he had considered all the possible ramifications, but the message that arrived yesterday from Zellohar had advanced his timetable. DoHeney would pay a visit this afternoon to retrieve the emerald.
I am ready, he concluded.
It had taken him six hours to prepare. Another hour to achieve the exact pose required, moving his fingers minutely until they were in perfect position, shifting his weight from the heel of his foot to the ball to maintain his stance at the apex of the pentagram inscribed upon the floor. But now the aches and pains conceived through his meticulous preparations flowed away, replaced by the electrifying sensation of magical energy.
The small study hummed with power, green and white static discharges escaping the bonds of the rune-inscribed pentagram, writhing and chasing one another across the floor like enraged spiders. The power of the cornerstones, each in their own metal stand, snaked up Shay's legs as garlands of light. As he silently summoned their power, the intensity of their light increased, and the tendrils of energy rose to coil around his chest and arms; sparks crackled from his fingertips.
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