“Perceptions of time aside,” Sir Marcus said, not allowing the situation to leave his control, “you know each other and have travelled together.” Phaer decided to cut off any potential flip remark that might fly from Bunny's lips. “Quite right, Sir,” he confirmed. “We travelled together, fought together, nearly died together, in fact.” The ranger decided that ought to appeal to the mentality of a Knight. Friendship and camaraderie forged through shared adventure and hardship.
“Well, Mr Loric, Black Dragon of Avidon, I see no fault here,” Sir Marcus concluded, “though I would like to get to the bottom of this strange `pull` phenomenon you spoke of.”
“Me too,” Loric agreed, casually popping his neck, “I need to know if it's safe to take off again. I've got things to do, you know!”
Sir Marcus' female partner spoke up then, asking the Knight Cavalry Officer, “Have you had any unusual reports from our Sapphire Knights?”
“None whatsoever, My Lady.”
“Sapphire Knights?” Bunny interrupted. “You mean dragons, don't you?”
“Why of course I do, child,” the Lady affirmed, seemingly a little confused by the question.
Bunny raised an eyebrow, but whether in response to the diminutive or something else, Phaer was not sure. “Our dragons are not pets, you know!” The Lady admonished the sumorityl. “Nor are they merely steeds like our horses, as valued and honoured as our equines surely are. Dragons are sentient beings - the eldest residents of this world that humans have adopted. Our sapphire wyrms are considered fully fledged Knights - our comrades, our brothers and sisters in arms.”
“We are highly honoured by their commitment to our organisation,” Sir Marcus added, reverently.
Loric was impressed by their attitude and began to see these silver-armoured Knights in a new light.
The Supreme Commander dismissed the Dragon Cavalry Officer, who saluted with a fist over his heart and turned on his heel, walking briskly away.
“Now then, Mr Loric,” Marcus said, “I hope you will forgive our taking precautions and not hold it against us.” “Not at all, Sir,” Loric assured him. “In fact, from what I've seen of you lot so far, I'm impressed. Man!” He whistled in wonder. “Taking out a group of chaos creatures that size was really quite something - I wish I'd been here to watch! Then having done it, any other force would be busy celebrating by now! But you were still vigilant enough to spot a single rogue dragon and act to contain me without antagonising me...and believe me,” Loric added with a dangerous grin, “I'm not easily contained but very easily antagonised.”
Sir Marcus laughed. “Then I'm glad we got it the right way around!”
“But seriously,” the Lady smoothly interjected, “I wonder, could you tell us something of your quest?” “Normally, I wouldn't talk to mortals about it - it's a dragon thing and they wouldn't understand. But I think maybe you would, at least partly. First, though, with your regard for dragons, I have to warn you about something: There is some kind of monster out there...”
“Monster?” The others wondered in unison.
“A beast of frightening size and power - even by my standards. It's fierce and deadly...and it slaughters dragons by the dozen.”
Chapter 18
Rochelle and Artisho sprang out of hiding and rushed through the door. Wooden stairs led upward to the library's main entrance. Not even halfway up, Artisho slipped, sprawling on the steps. A hail of razor-sharp shards of ice struck two inches below his feet, encouraging him to get up quickly and continue upward after the gnome.
“I guess that means she's finished,” Rochelle remarked when the old man joined her at the top.
Artisho was too out of breath to respond and an exploding fireball, close enough to singe his beard, threatened to empty what little air remained in his lungs.
Rochelle grabbed his sleeve and pulled him onward. If they could just get out into the city, she thought, they could lose their attackers in the streets of Merlyon. So intent was she on looking back and worrying about their pursuit that she failed to pay adequate attention to where she was going. She tripped over the threshold at the main entrance, and ploughed headlong into scarlet robes.
Those robes, as she tentatively looked up, were trimmed in black and bore the night blue symbol of Dark Magic. That symbol was worn only by one person: the Master of Dark Magic and Supreme War Master himself...Drizdar.
“Master!” Rochelle squealed in terror.
Niltsiar behind; Drizdar in front: `between a rock and a hard place` didn't do it justice. The Master of Dark Magic glowered, about to launch a vicious tirade - of words or of magic, the gnome was not sure - when a pair of lightning bolts rushed towards them. Drizdar's elven reactions were instinctive, shielding against the attack. Those reactions had saved him from innumerable attacks in the past and his vast experience allowed him to switch instantly from defence to attack, where other mages would have been forced back on their heels - if they survived at all.
The dark archmage forgot all about Rochelle and Artisho, pushing them roughly aside and out of his way. Running into the Master of Dark Magic was one thing - a magical attack was something else entirely and it demanded the ultimate retribution. His Catalyst had already replenished enough Life to compensate for what the shield spell had cost. She stayed close behind her elven master for protection from any stray magic that might harm her and prepared to support Drizdar in his fight.
Drizdar, however, was not prepared - not for the sight of his enemies. When they emerged out into the cool night air, he recognised both of them, for he had watched Niltsiar's meteoric rise up the magical ranks with interest, awe and not a little fear. As for the other, he had known him for much longer.
“ Shalfi?” The Dark Archmage breathed in wonder, using the elven word for master or teacher. It had been more than two centuries, but that didn't matter. He could never forget that he had once been apprenticed to this individual. In fact, the young Drizdar had been instrumental in exposing his master as a renegade and key witness at his eventual trial. A trial at which Akar-Sel had been sentenced to the Turning. What strange magic had Niltsiar used to free him? Drizdar wondered. No one else, not even Gamaliel, would have a clue, but the apprentice of Akar-Sel had learned much more than he would ever let on. More, even, than his former master was aware of. Therefore, while Drizdar could never duplicate Niltsiar's magic - and wouldn't even if he could - at least he could make some educated guesses as to how it was done.
“Well, if it isn't my treacherous apprentice!” said Akar -Sel, voice dripping with arrogant superiority. “Master of Dark Magic and Supreme Master of War, no less! You've done very well by your betrayal.”
Drizdar shrugged, “You'd have done the same in my place.”
“Of course I would have!” Akar-Sel agreed. “I always knew you had potential - that's why I took you as my apprentice. It's just a pity you chose the losing side.”
“It is not too late for you, Drizdar,” Niltsiar offered. “You would make a fine agent. I could use you.”
Drizdar was barely containing his boiling anger. “No-one uses me. You are a threat to the magic and I will stop you.”
“Oh really? Then why are you standing there, weak and impotent? Surely you must long to strike me down! Go ahead, smite me...or are you afraid?” Drizdar gave a derisive snort. “I will not be goaded by you!” he said, with a contemptuous flick of his flowing dark hair. “Don’t insult my intelligence. I know what you did to the Council and I realise I can't stand against you in a direct fire-fight. But I have plans in motion, and one way or another I will see you destroyed.”
Throughout this exchange, Rochelle had been trying to sneak away. She got the feeling this was going to end badly and she didn't want to be around when the fireworks started. Unfortunately, she had only managed to move a few yards before her companion sneezed...once, twice...then a confused look spread across his face.
Niltsiar's expression also changed to shock and perhaps even a hint of fear. Some detached
part of Rochelle's mind noticed this curiously - Niltsiar viewed the most deadly warlock in Mythallen as little more than dust beneath her feet, so why should she be frightened of this daft old man?
“You! How can you be here?” Niltsiar demanded. “Eh? Hugh? Hugh's here?” the old man wondered, looking around, frantically. “Hmmm? What? You mean me? Sorry young lady, but you must have me confused with someone else. My name isn't Hugh...it's...er...that is, I mean...ah...well, it's definitely not Hugh.”
“Thou art correct,” Niltsiar agreed, haughty, superior look returning rapidly. “My mistake. `Artisho`, that's what we all called you is it not? `Artisho, Artisho, Artisho`!” she mocked. “It was always three, wasn't it, old man?”
“Not this time, apparently,” he remarked. “There must be a third one in there somewhere. Wait a minute...don’t I know you, young lady?” He started forward in uncertain, tottering steps, squinting his eyes. “You look familiar somehow, but I just can't place you...the old memory starts to go atmy age, you know.”
The instant he reached her, there was a flash of magic that sent the old man sprawling several feet away, floundering on his back, hat smouldering off to the left. He sneezed violently.
“Three!” exclaimed in triumph. “I told you it's always three!” Drizdar took full advantage of that momentary distraction, launching a huge ball of liquid flame at Akar-Sel and the renegade's hastily cast shield only partially protected him from the blast. Then all hell broke loose and Rochelle dived for cover. Rationally, she supposed she should run away, even if that meant leaving Artisho, whom she rather liked. There was no way she could help him anyway. Besides, he had an unlikely ally in the person of the Master of Dark Magic.
A ball of superdense air was blocked by Drizdar's column of rock that grew instantly out of the ground. As the rock shattered, the archmage threw shards of ice at his shalfi, but a shield of fire melted them harmlessly. Akar-Sel followed up with poisoned darts, but Drizdar simply teleported himself and his Catalyst to one side. Lightning bolts shot out from both palms, but Akar-Sel anticipated the attack.
His response was something Rochelle had never seen in her life: He countered lightning with lightning. Electrical bolts shot out from his palms, too, only it was some kind of black anti-lightning. It connected with Drizdar's bolts and soon both were grunting and sweating with physical effort. The two forms of lightning seemed to cancel each other out where they met; Rochelle couldn't understand how that was possible. The pair locked themselves into this deadly contest, committing their whole being to whatever the outcome might be.
Drizdar's Catalyst had highly efficient raw magic conversion skills, it was one of the reasons she'd got the job as Drizdar's personal magical partner. Dark mages tended to have a greater Life Store than their counterparts, valuing instant power. Dark Catalysts, then, specialised in a high `raw magic to Life conversion ratio`, feeding their charges large refills of Life. White mages, by contrast, usually possessed a lesser Life Store, so their Catalysts tended to Grant Life in smaller, more frequent bursts. Many texts had been written on the subject, each reaching a different conclusion over which system worked best. The truth was that they were probably roughly equal, just different.
As one Balance aligned magicologist wrote: The question of which system is best is not unlike comparing the physical fitness level of a sprinter to that of a long distance runner. It is, quite simply, horses for courses. Those of the dark alignment prefer instant access to great power over a short period of time - thus their attacks tend to be swift and deadly. Our white magic colleagues, on the other hand, prefer a more defensive style, opting for a lesser expenditure of Life over a sustained period. Statistics from contests of magic lend their weight of evidence to the hypothesis that the longer a battle continues, the more likely it is that the white mage shall be victorious.
This contest, however, was between a dark warlock and a renegade. Since the renegade had no Catalyst, the text books said Drizdar should ultimately win, but it was time to throw those text books away as the dark lightning from Akar-Sel's hands grew inexorably longer, eating into the silverblue lightning of Drizdar's conjuring. Rochelle was not sure what would happen if that dark lightning should reach the Master of War, but it surely wouldn't be pretty.
Meanwhile, Artisho had got to his feet, apparently none the worse for wear, but there was a dangerous gleam in his eyes as he said, “Now then, young lady, that wasn't very nice, but then you always did lack the social graces.”
The battle that ensued between them was very different. There was no elemental magic, no electrical magic, in fact there were no physical manifestations whatsoever. They seemed to exchange charges of raw magic. Great columns of purified magic threatened to smash into one, only to be dissipated or swept aside by the other. Concentrated raw magic rained down, only to be blocked by the magical equivalent of an umbrella. This was in addition to the mental attacks that flew in each direction, only to be resisted by force of the other’s will. As frightening as the other battle was, Rochelle decided this was more so, by several orders of magnitude.
The magic Drizdar was using was far more terrible than anything Rochelle would ever be capable of because she was Secret of Water not Fire, but she had studied war magic during her training with the Hand of Darkness armies in Avidon, so she understood what he was doing.
Akar-Sel's lack of Catalyst was disturbing and his black lightning was odd in the extreme, but at least it was recognisable as an electrical attack. Convert magical Life energy into electrical energy and direct it with your will. That was how it worked. That was how all magic worked: converting Life into some other form of energy or matter as directed by your will. Akar-Sel was the most powerful and dangerous mage in modern history - perhaps the most powerful since the Age of the Ancients. In that case, the idea that he might have amassed an incredible Life Store could be seen as an eminently logical conclusion. Also, if he knew spells that even Drizdar did not, that too, was only logical, from a certain perspective.
Rochelle could use reasoning and some imagination to comprehend what was going on between those two, but the battle between the not-so-crazy old Artisho and Niltsiar was altogether different. A huge hammer the size of an adolescent dragon swung down on Niltsiar, but an anvil shape appeared and the hammer collided with that instead. As it recoiled, it even rang like a blacksmith's workshop. It was ridiculous! The magic had no physical substance, so how could it make a sound? In fact, the whole thing looked frankly bizarre and if she had not known how lethal Niltsiar had been to the Council of Magic, Rochelle would have laughed out loud at such a display.
As if reading her mind, Niltsiar suddenly burst into laughter herself - a harsh, cruel, mocking laugh. “This is really quite ludicrous, don’t you agree, old man? You know full well that your attack is no threat to me. This is nothing more than a play, a lightshow with high drama! Why hold back so? Whynot smite me down?”
“Don’t tempt me,” Artisho growled in reply.
She laughed again. “Such angry words...such angry, empty words. You will not fight me with your full power. You can’t!”
“I wouldn't count on it!” the old man snarled.
Niltsiar laughed derisively. “You wouldn’t dare! Just as my father never did.” Artisho was physically shaking with fury. “You leave your father out of this. He was a great man and you destroyed him!” “Yes I did. I destroyed him because he was weak. He held back the tru e potential of magic in this world, and this” she swept her hand out to encompass the continued pitched struggle between former teacher and apprentice “-this is where his `reforms` have led.” Her look was one of utter contempt. “Pitiful.”
“He had good reasons, he-”
“Yes, yes, he always had his reasons. Reasons for the erosion of power in this world. Reasons? Excuses I call them!”
“I'm warning you to stop speaking of your father like that, or-” “Or what? You’ll destroy me? You’re welcome to try; i ndeed if only you would try there might be some hope
for you. But you won’t, because you are a weak, snivelling coward, just like my father.”
Artisho's face had turned bright red by now. “STOP!” He roared. “Stop it now or so help me I WILL show you my full power, use it as I did once before and it just might surprise you!” Niltsiar threw her arms wide in a mock offering of herself. “Come then,” she invited him. “Show me. Unleash a terrible something on me! My magic shall rise to counter yours, the two shall combine, multiply and grow!” Her voice was a great, controlled crescendo. “And together, you and I, together we shall destroy the world! Come, great mage, let us forge a new world in a baptism of fire!”
Rochelle's heart started racing with terror as the magical aurora surrounding Artisho grew larger and larger. The air fairly crackled with a power greater than a thousand suns and still it grew. Niltsiar's aurora grew to match; her laughter was borne of exhilaration, ecstasy...and unbridled ambition.
Niltsiar was right, Rochelle realised. Together their power could well destroy the world! It was all going to end right here and now and there was not a thing she could do about it. Tears coursed unchecked down her cheeks in a flood of emotion.
Artisho bellowed in fury, barely able to contain the power that longed to be unchained. Then his cry changed to frustration and despair. “NO!” he cried as his aurora flickered, faltered and died. “No,” he whispered, panting and sweating, leaning heavily on his staff in utter exhaustion. “No,” he repeated. “I will not do it. I will not help you destroy this beautiful world. Such power cannot be allowed, that was the whole point...the reason...for all of it.” He seemed ready to drop. Frankly, Rochelle was amazed his heart could stand up to the strain at his age...come to that, she was surprised her own heart was still beating! The fact that Akar-Sel's dark lightning was now mere inches away from Drizdar barely registered.
Niltsiar allowed her own power build-up to vanish harmlessly into the air. “Such weakness!" She said. "Such a distressing lack of spirit! It is sad to see, though not surprising.”
Consequences (Majaos Book 2) Page 19
