Khelben, Tsarra, the undead one activates the Mormhaor’sykerylor! The pain returns! You must stop him! a voice boomed through the darkness.
All around them were the blasted plains of the High Moor, here and there dotted with pools of blackness that could either be dark water or sharnstuff, as was the black puddle from which they had emerged.
In the distance, Priamon stood silhouetted between them and the lightning-wrapped pyramid. The pyramid hovered point down just above the top of the five stone plinths. Lightning crackled and blasted away at the plinths and the heath beneath them. Meanwhile, Frostrune spun other spells that focused the lightning bolts, keeping the worst fury of the storms focused within Malavar’s Grasp. The wind commiserated with the pain of the ground and rock. Overhead, the sky crawled with lightning burrowing through the clouds and lancing both up and down from ground and sky.
Tsarra looked for cover, only to be disappointed at the stunted scrub that counted as foliage in the High Moor. Khelben tapped her on the shoulder and motioned her forward. Tsarra soon realized the rain was doing more than just getting them wet. Her leathers were starting to steam, as if the rain were acid.
Strange that it doesn’t have the same effect on flesh, she thought.
They moved quickly across the moor, Tsarra and Khelben both readying spells. The only benefit of the storms was in covering their approach. Once they were within fifty paces, Khelben summoned a massive energy hand into being around Priamon, and it squeezed, shattering magical fields and defenses around him.
The hand shimmered and disappeared, and Khelben said, “Now!”
Tsarra summoned up a spell that used all her anger and hatred toward undead and focused it with precision. It always left the odd taste of pickles in her mouth when she cast it. Five pulses of white light exploded from her right hand and quickly arced toward the lich. Two of them glanced off the large metal plate and harness the creature wore, but the remainder struck him in the head, arm, and leg. Priamon’s howls of anger and pain told them they’d made an impact. He lashed back with a massive fireball of cold energies, but Khelben cancelled its effects.
As Tsarra dashed in an arc around Priamon, she saw Khelben fire a green bolt of energy that struck Priamon squarely in the face but did no damage. The lich started a new spell, but she fired an arrow at him. That too struck him squarely, and he seemed surprised to find an arrow lodged in his chest. Had his heart mattered to him, that shot would have killed him.
“Bothersome gnats!” Priamon howled at them. “The powers I awaken here shall destroy all who stand in my path. I’ll collect enough magic from your corpses to train upon the Rune. Those who don’t stand with me shall fall. And first among them is you, Blackstaff!” Rather than attack, the lich wove a new defensive spell around himself.
Tsarra, I need to stop that pyramid for now. Do what you can to buy me time, but don’t throw your life away!
Khelben flew off toward Malavar’s Grasp, and Tsarra quickly thought of eating dewmelons and spitting out the seeds. In response, green pulses spat from her fingers and zipped at Frostrune, only to bounce ineffectively against his shields.
“Little girl,” Frostrune mocked, “never dare to fight your betters.”
The lich’s claws blasted a shuddering beam of cold, arcane energy, and Tsarra could feel the air around her freeze. She dived to one side, avoiding the worst of it, but she landed hard on frost-rimed ground and ice-covered puddles. The glass arrow she had nocked and readied shattered when she fell forward. At least I didn’t break the bow, she thought.
Tsarra jumped up and ran in an arc, from the frozen area and away from Khelben. Luckily, she’d irritated the lich enough that he kept his attention on her.
Khelben! Any chance now is the time to use that green arrow? Or even to tell me what good it will do?
No, it’s not the time! It can strike more effectively later, not now.
I hope I’m alive and warm enough to use it by then.
Tsarra fired off one quick arrow to dispel Priamon’s new defense and followed it up by summoning more white energy. The arrow dispelled his defensive spell, and her bolt of living energy wrung another howl from the lich.
“Bothersome wench! Those lifebolts irritate, but they do not distract.” Priamon raised his arms and blasted a beam of cold energy at Khelben, who managed to counterspell it and reflect the energies right back atop of the lich. Surrounded by frozen ground and ice-covered ground shrubs, Priamon turned his back on Tsarra and refocused on Khelben.
Perfect.
Tsarra wasn’t sure if the idea came from Khelben or her time within the sharn, but she realized a new way to manipulate her environment. Imagining that short stab of shocking cold upon the first winter’s breath, she redirected that shock toward Frostrune. The ice all around him crackled together into a solid lance and speared him squarely in the back. The attack took him by surprise, and though she knew he was immune to the cold of the spell, Tsarra knew he took a solid hit.
Khelben stood on empty air, his cloak slapping wildly in the wind and rain. It too steamed and burned in the acidic rain, but the Blackstaff seemed not to notice. He was lost in his spellcasting.
“Blackstaff, the girl grows tiresome, but you’re still my primary threat.”
Priamon cast his spell, and Khelben’s flying form glowed blue. His cloak stiffened with ice, and his hair froze across his paling face. Khelben groaned as all the heat drained from his body.
Khelben! Tsarra sent when she felt him grow cold and frozen, but he still had life in him.
Now! Fire the green arrow at his feet! Despite the pain from the spell, Khelben seemed to be willing himself to fly out of the lich’s range.
Tsarra drew the arrow and fired, shattering the green glass right beneath the lich at his feet. A flash heralded the eagle-head buckle’s arrival on the spot. Tsarra was glad it wasn’t on the belt as it crackled with blue energy, and two massive bolts of lightning forked off the pyramid, slamming into Frostrune.
Khelben? Are you all right?
Tsarra felt the stabbing cold through their link, and she found herself weeping and angry. She wanted to help her mentor, but she couldn’t … except by destroying the lich. She ran forward, drawing Maornathil. The scimitar gleamed sapphire blue with an inner light, and Tsarra knew she could end it. She let her temper take her and Frostrune became her sole focus.
Tsarra—no! That’s what he wants you to do!
Khelben’s warning came too late. Tsarra charged across the frozen moor to engage her foe, and the Frostrune gestured and floated the sparkling belt buckle toward Khelben. Tsarra swung her scimitar to knock it from its path, but it dodged and arced right into Khelben’s right palm.
Tsarra wasn’t sure what was louder in her ears—the lightning strike, Khelben’s scream, the cackle of the lich at her feet, or the blood rushing through her ears. She didn’t look at Khelben at all. She stared with unabiding hatred at the loathsome creature on the ground. His right leg had been shattered, so he sat on the ground to cast a spell at her. She knew in a heartbeat it was too complex for her to counterspell, even if she could concentrate. She prayed to Lurue, to Mystra, to any gods watching that she struck before he finished.
Blue energies crackled on the lich’s bony fingers, and Tsarra leaped, somersaulting over the lich and dodging his spell, which lanced into the growing dawn. Tsarra landed hard on the heath behind the lich and stabbed backward with her scimitar. The point of the blade crackled through Priamon’s left shoulder blade and collarbone, nearly severing his left arm. The blue energies of the blade arced throughout his exposed skeleton, and the lich spasmed in agony. Tsarra smiled grimly, her prey at her mercy.
Tsarra! You’re too close!
Khelben’s sending snapped her from her rage. She took a step away, but the lich threw himself backward and grabbed her leg. Piercing cold chilled her to the bone, and Tsarra stood paralyzed and at her foe’s mercy.
“Accursed girl! Holy scimitars? Spell-laden arrows? Tro
ublesome but not insurmountable, girl. Undeath always wins in the end.” The lich’s gloat dropped to a whisper as the partially shattered figure clambered up Tsarra’s paralyzed form. “Still, you’ve done me more harm than any have done in a century. As your reward, I think I’ll take your body in exchange.”
Tsarra watched helplessly as the glow within the lich’s eyesockets grew and its jaws parted, wrapping her head and torso in a clammy mist that stank of the grave. A lone tear trailed from her eye, only to freeze upon her cheek.
“I don’t think she’s done with that body yet, bastard!” Raegar suddenly appeared behind her and pulled her from Frostrune’s embrace. He yelled, “Iganthris!” and a fiery shield flared to life between them and the Frostrune.
The lich, off-balance and surprised, stumbled backward and a mighty roar preceded something large and powerful slamming its claws into it.
Priamon “Frostrune” Rakesk flew an impressive distance and landed in a blackened pool. He rolled over to face a black tressym the size of a mountain lion. The lich tried to raise a hand to blast the creature, only to find his limbs held fast. Black sharn-claws pulled on him, and he fought himself free at the cost of his spell.
Raegar whistled to get his attention, and Priamon turned toward the rogue.
“I wanted you to see this coming.”
Raegar threw the flaming short sword, and Priamon Rakesk watched with dread as the blade spun end over end before slamming into his ribcage, breaking more bones and setting his robes alight. Raegar laughed hollowly, scooped Tsarra up into his arms, and jumped onto the giant tressym’s back. The trio flew away, and the flames flared in Raegar’s hand again, returning his sword to him.
Raegar brushed Tsarra’s hair from her face. He smiled at her and said, “Two dashing and fearless rescuers at your service. Nameless and I make good rescuers, don’t we?”
Nameless looped higher into the sky. Raegar noticed Tsarra was shaking and her eyes were terrified.
She managed to whisper, “… too far … Khelben.…”
Silver flames erupted from Khelben. Nameless tried to dodge them, but the fires were things alive, dancing all around them for a breath before they focused on Tsarra and swirled into the gem on her forehead.
“By the gods above,” Khelben’s voice croaked from Tsarra’s throat. “My allies will be the death of me yet.”
Raegar saw Tsarra’s hazel eyes flicker to blue when Khelben spoke, and they returned to hazel as her face grew frantic.
Tsarra asked, “Frostrune?”
Raegar said, “He’s about to be Frost-ruined.”
He looked up, holding Tsarra’s head to see the remains of the Eightower hurtling from the sky. Raegar whooped and Nameless roared as they heard the desperate screams of the lich, who saw his fate coming fast. Three stories of masonry and rock crumbled into rubble atop him. The shock of the impact was felt even dozens of feet up in the air, and Nameless flew them all through the erupting dust cloud to land between the impact site and Malavar’s Grasp.
Khelben’s voice croaked from Tsarra again, “You had better pray to Oghma that you did not destroy him, Raegar, or you may have killed everyone on the Sword Coast.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Feast of the Moon, the Year of
Lightning Storms (1374 DR)
“Are you crazed?” Raegar yelled as he slid off the back of the tressym. “You want a lich to survive that?” Raegar spread his arms to take in the whole scene of the tower rubble, many stones still rolling and settling amid the dust.
“That’s because we—don’t—” Khelben’s voice snapped, but Tsarra’s face lost the Blackstaff’s stony stare.
Her face and eyes shifted through a number of expressions and colors before settling back to normal, and she said, “Thank you for stopping Frostrune, but we still need the lich’s remains and the last remnants of him as well.”
“And destruction shall come upon the dawn …” Gamalon’s voice drifted down as slowly as he did in the storm. Wind and rain whipped his robes about, but the Tethyrian floated down gently, holding on to his staff with one hand and bearing Syndra’s rolled-up carpet with his other arm. “He’s been extinguished, as he rightfully deserves.”
“Stop quoting Alaundo,” Khelben’s voice snapped from Tsarra, “and tell me where Syndra is, Gamalon.” Tsarra’s eyes fluctuated in color again between blue and brown as she wrestled for control of her body. Nameless jogged toward her, his growl deep and low in his chest. Surprisingly, the growl remained almost as loud even though his size dwindled back to normal.
Gamalon asked, “What’s going on? How did Khelben throw his voice in her?”
“Well, the rest of him’s in there, too, it seems … and not in agreement with his hostess.” Syndra’s voice came from the duskwood rod hovering in mid-air. “Saw his body get shattered by that lightning strike and his fires go into her gem there. Guess I’d better finish what he started, eh?”
Syndra’s ghostly form appeared atop the rod as she flew upward again. She cast a complicated spell Raegar had never seen before, but the noise level dropped considerably as a pearly globe of force completely encircled the lightning-wrapped pyramid. Within moments, the rain stopped. Breaks in the clouds revealed the full moon in the western sky and dawn reddening the clouds’ undersides to the east.
Tsarra growled in tune with Nameless, and she frantically cast a spell that produced the image of Khelben from thin air. Her kiira flashed and an identical gem appeared on Khelben’s image.
She hissed at him, “Here! Speak for yourself, Blackstaff. And don’t ever try to possess me again.”
Khelben looked himself up and down, finding this illusory form acceptable. Your carelessness in battle forced us into this situation.
And your carelessness was what started all this three days ago. Or have you forgotten?
Khelben looked embarrassed for a moment and turned to comment on Syndra’s spell. “Erm. Good, Syndra. Thank you. My spells were disrupted.”
For her part, Tsarra huffed in anger and stalked toward the pile of rubble. She muttered a quick incantation and scanned the pile, her eyes covered with a fine gray mist conjured by her spell.
“Fine,” she said. “Rakesk or some undead of similar power is still under there.”
Khelben slid next to her and said, “That bow I gave you earlier can act as a blackstaff. Say the word barkalrhael when he frees himself.”
“This is a pre-set spell? And what if he just teleports away?”
“I anchored him here against his will. Spell battles are not times to stop being observant, my dear.”
The air between them and Raegar seemed to twist and wring itself until Laeral stepped sideways from the fold in space.
“Husband,” she chided, “apologize. Tsarra’s done far more for you in three days than other apprentices ever have, myself excluded.” Laeral hugged Tsarra then tried to kiss Khelben but found him an illusion. She drew back a moment, but Raegar couldn’t see her face or hear her voice.
“Where are Nain and Kyriani?” Khelben barked.
“Apologies and better moods first,” Laeral said.
Khelben growled furiously at his wife, who leveled an equally stern look at him. Moments later, Khelben and Tsarra locked eyes and a thin stream of energy spanned the air between the gems on their foreheads.
“Guess we don’t get to hear that conversation,” Raegar joked.
“Most suffer for overhearing one of my conversations, Raegar Stoneblade,” Khelben said. “Consider how fortunate you are to keep your Oghman-blessed wits. Now, stay with Tsarra while the rest of us confer.”
Khelben motioned to Gamalon, Syndra, and Laeral, and the quartet moved off a bit, leaving Raegar with Tsarra. All he heard as they walked away was Khelben’s growl and Laeral’s reply of, “Well, I think it did a world of good. He needed to relax.”
Raegar turned toward Tsarra and smiled as he realized his feelings toward her had grown.
Tsarra looked at him then ner
vously glanced away. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“Well, you’re the most beautiful thing to look at here, so suffer,” he teased. “That and apparently five gods have something to do with us constantly falling into each other’s arms. At last—a destiny I’ve no problem embracing.”
“You will if you try it without my approval, Stoneblade,” Tsarra said. “Still, you do know how to impress with that arrival. Now, what exactly did you people do to my tressym? No growth spells I know can increase a creature by more than three times its size.”
“Weirdest thing, that,” Raegar said, scratching his head as the pair of them watched Nameless step into a puddle to clean his plumage. “We saw the battle as we descended, and I wanted to help. Syndra cast a spell on Nameless to grow him, and the spell seemed to get away from her. He went solid silver for one instant, and the next thing we knew, he was the size of a cliffcat! By the way, it was his idea for me to ride him to your rescue. He can really snap those wings when he wants to make a point.” Raegar rubbed one shoulder and grimaced from the aches.
Tsarra knelt by the tressym, and she purred at him. He looked at her, and she yelled, “Khelben, look!”
Everyone turned to the tressym. His eyes were no longer a mismatched blue and green—both were the steel blue of Khelben’s eyes. His sable fur was also broken by a silver-white wedge that ornamented his chin.
Tsarra asked her familiar in his own purring speech, “What happened? Are you all right? Why did this change happen?” The only response Raegar saw was a wide yawn and stretch by the winged cat.
In her mind, Tsarra heard him respond more clearly than ever before, Only magic, and it helps. I stronger. Want to go hunt more not-right-cold-prey? You need nap, calm yourself. Ah—food! Nameless launched himself into the air, arcing across the heath to nab a ground quail, which he tore apart and consumed.
Tsarra shrugged when she turned back to the others. “He’s content and feels stronger, but he’s either not sharing any details or he doesn’t know any. I don’t understand. He’s never had this kind of reaction before to magic.”
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