Wizard's Conclave

by Douglas Niles

  The heavy brow furrowed in a look of confusion. It swatted at the apparition with its remaining arm, but the magical hand blocked the blow. Then Coryn mimicked a backward slap, swatting aside the mighty cudgel of the golem's fist. The creature tried to step to the side, and once again the wizard held up her hand and parried the maneuver, holding the monster at bay.

  Now the golem paused, its marbled visage raised to focus on Coryn. She pushed her hand forward, and the magical fist met the torso of the creature with powerful pressure; though she was unable to drive it backward, it could not advance. She felt the force of its great tonnage coming to bear against her, such pressure she feared her arm would break.

  Countering rapidly, she drew her hand back, and the magic arm followed suit, pulling away so quickly the golem lost its balance and fell forward, its lone arm propping up its massive body precariously. Coryn felt the earthshaking thud of its fall, and knew she had but a few seconds to act before it recovered. A downward glance showed that Dalamar's eyes had flickered open; his hand was pressed against the bleeding wound on his scalp.

  "Use it!" he hissed.

  Coryn turned away, still wielding her magical hand, bringing it to bear against the creature's face. She punched and pressed, trying to twist it backward, to keep the stone giant from rising.

  "Use what?" she gasped to Dalamar in despair.

  With a lurch and a moan of straining rock that sounded like a cry of determination, the golem rose to its knees and swatted at the disembodied image. The White Robe tried to adjust, but she was too slow; the monster caught the image in its massive fist, drove it to the ground, and tried to crush it.

  The pain was horrible, as if her own hand were trapped in a vise. Coryn cried out, twisting around, and fell to the ground, rolling over to cradle her wrist. Instantly she dispelled the magic-the enchanted fist disappeared. Her pain began to ebb. But lying next to Dalamar, she felt defeated.

  "Your wand—use it!"

  Of course! She grasped at that hope and leaped to her feet, pulling the wand from its sleeve in the front of her robe.

  The golem smoothly rose to its feet, close to the two prostrate mages. If it stepped fast, it would crush them. Coryn reached for Dalamar's arm, ignoring his groan of pain as she tried to yank him out of the way.

  Jenna took a step forward. She had recovered enough of her strength to cast another spell. The golem swung down, aiming its massive fist at the white-robed mage, but that stone fist struck an unseen barrier just inches from Coryn's face. With the terrible screech of grinding rock, the creature attacked that invisible wall again and again; then it spun, lowered its head toward Jenna, and charged. Almost immediately it crashed to a halt, blocked by the same invisible force.

  Coryn looked at Jenna, who was inching forward, a look on her face of courage, but also of desperate pain, as she concentrated on her spell.

  In a frenzy the golem thrashed around the confines of what looked to Coryn to be a large, and utterly invisible, cage. With its single fist the creature smashed at the wall that hindered it on every side. Jenna continued to advance slowly, leaning forward on her staff, clutching the wooden rod in a white-knuckled clasp, maintaining a low, almost inaudible chant.

  The golem ceased its fruitless struggles, crouching on the massive pillars of its legs, its one arm cocked back, poised for one last mighty blow in the Red Robe's direction. Jenna halted a dozen paces from the cage. Coryn could hear the words now, the steady repetition a monotonic drone.

  "Ammm… harrarr… moot…."

  Jenna shook with the effort to maintain the stone giant's confinement, staggering from weakness, leaning both hands upon her staff. Dalamar groaned, trying to stagger to his feet, but crumpling back down.

  "End this! Destroy the thing!" he urged Coryn weakly. His black robe was stained with blood, soaking the shoulder and arm of his right side.

  Coryn gazed at the golem's knobby back. Images danced in her mind-she saw swarms of great meteors plunging from the sky, magical missiles arcing from her fingertips in great barrages, blasts of heat and ice and fire all exploding simultaneously toward her foe. She extended the wand, unsure of what to say or do, not knowing what to expect.

  Jenna staggered and slumped to a knee, only her hands clutching her staff keeping her from a headlong fall. Its cage suddenly weakened, the golem exploded into action with a speed that belied its huge mass, flinging itself toward the Red Robe. The wall of force crackled and bulged against the onslaught, and Jenna shook her head and tried to rise but stumbled.

  As Jenna went down, the spell dissolved, freeing the golem. It lunged, the hammer of its fist raised above the enchantress, pounding downward. There was a flash of red as the woman rolled desperately to the side.

  "No!" cried Coryn.

  Solinari was with her. The wand thrummed in her hand, vibrating with concentrated power. She was abruptly surrounded by whiteness, a storm of magic drawn from the forest, from the air, from the lingering essence of the white moon. The swirling power coalesced around the young woman, exploded through the tool of her slender wand, and wrapped the golem in an irresistible grip. Its stone body cracked and crumbled with a force that shook the ground. The swirling and the noise and the stone-crushing seemed to go on forever.

  But when the spell at last faded, there was only a pile of multicolored rock pieces where the golem had stood.

  24

  Wearers of the Three Robes

  There is no door-so how can we get into the Tower?" asked Coryn. She stood in the courtyard, glaring up at the twin spires.

  "We could fly up to one of those balconies and try to get in that way," Jenna suggested, "as soon as Dalamar is fit to take part in the attack."

  "I won't hold you up," growled the dark elf. He had finished wrapping a piece of dark cloth around his scalp, where the wound had ceased to bleed. "But I'm not certain that would be the best tactic-a wizard who is flying is extremely vulnerable. Kalrakin could strike at us in the air, and we couldn't do much to stop him."

  He pulled up his hood and draped it over the top of his head, concealing the makeshift bandage almost completely. "Still, I'm ready to go," he added in a tone of grim determination.

  "Wait," Jenna said, suddenly holding up her hand. "It's almost dark. The moons will be rising, and the spell we cast on the Night of the Eye will not take long to show results. Let us look to the forest before we attack. We may find assistance there."

  The sun had already dropped below the level of the courtyard walls, casting the whole area into purple shadows. Coryn looked out through the gates, saw that the face of the forest was glowing with emerald vitality, brilliantly lit by the nearly horizontal rays of the sun. In the frenzy of the battle, she had almost forgotten the spell they had cast on the previous night. Now she felt curiosity and hope: Had wizards heard the summons, and how long would it take them to get here?

  Solinari was just beginning to rise, while Coryn sensed that Nuitari was already high in the sky. The very memory of the beautiful white moon, pure and full as during the previous night, nearly took Cory's breath away. For a moment she felt a dizzying rush of power, release, escape, and freedom-all embodied in the white sphere. How long would it be before she saw it again? She strained to see through the trees, even as she told herself that it wouldn't crest into view for several more hours.

  Then, side by side with Jenna, she strode across the courtyard; Dalamar lingered behind to watch for any sign of Kalrakin on the ramparts or balconies. The Red Robe raised her hands as they neared the gate, uttered a magical command that was both reverent and exultant. She spread her hands to the sides and the shimmering gates vanished, opening the passage from Wayreth Forest into the courtyard.

  "Can you sense them?" Jenna asked. "Coming through the woods?"

  "I don't know," Cory admitted, straining for a glimpse of a robe of any color.

  "Come, cousins under the three moons!" Jenna cried. "Let us reclaim our birthright!"

  Coryn saw a glimmer of whit
e, flashing between two massive, gnarled trunks. A moment later an old, old man in a clean, unadorned robe of white emerged from the fringe of the forest. He tottered weakly, leaning upon a staff as he walked slowly. The young wizard was about to hurry forward, to give him her arm as a support, when Jenna touched her on her elbow.

  "That is Bernardus," she whispered, her voice strangely taut. Coryn glanced at the Red Robe and saw that tears were welling in Jenna's eyes. "He has been blind drunk, living in the gutters of Palanthas, for years, sleeping in filth and eating… Solinari only knows what. I have tried to reach him many times during those dark years, most recently a few months ago, after the moons returned to the skies. Always he pushed me away with scorn and fear. He was lost for all that time. Your casting on the Night of the Eye, even if his presence is all that it has wrought, still, it has worked a miracle."

  Coryn studied Bernardus. His hand on the staff was bony, tightly wrapped with papery skin. His nose was inflamed, his eyes rheumy and watering, and grinning at her he revealed only two or three brown stubs of teeth.

  Yet those bony arms embraced her with undeniable strength, and his breath smelled sweet as he whispered into her ear. "May all the gods rejoice, child, that a true daughter of Solinari has come forward to lead our order out of the darkness."

  "Thank you, Grandfather-" She lapsed into the honorific of her tribe without thinking. He seemed touched. "And welcome back to our tower."

  "Aye, lass. Let's see what can be done about this place." He frowned as he scanned the damaged facade. Still leaning on his staff, he hobbled across the courtyard, muttering and shaking his head.

  By this time other figures, one or two at a time, were emerging from the woods and approaching the gates with various degrees. Coryn was taken aback at the sight of one dwarfish figure, swathed in a black robe with the cowl pulled low to mask the hateful sun. He limped grotesquely, and when he reached the shadow of the gates, two bent, crooked hands pulled the hood back.

  Coryn gasped aloud as she beheld a scarred, eyeless face, surrounded by a thin patch of scraggly beard. A wide gash of a mouth gaped in a leering grin, and as that horrid face looked her over, up and down, she drew her robes more tightly about her breasts, and took a step backward.

  "A young one, huh?" wheezed the dwarf with a harsh, breathy bark-a sound that Coryn only recognized as a laugh after several seconds. "Dalamar knows I sure likes 'em young! So where is that dark elf scoundrel?" The dwarf's sightless sockets swept across the courtyard. Clearly he could not "see" anything, yet he grinned in satisfaction when his "gaze" fell in Dalamar's direction. "Ah, there he is!"

  The dwarf shuffled into the courtyard, toward the blank-face of the foretower. He stopped and turned to face Coryn, enacting an elaborate bow.

  "Willim the Black, at yer service," he said with the same hacking chuckle, lewdly emphasizing the last word. Coryn watched, speechless, as he limped toward the foretower.

  By this time, Jenna was warmly hugging another newcomer, a red-robed woman, smaller and much older than the Red Lady of Palanthas.

  "Rasilyss, my old teacher," Coryn's companion murmured. "May Lunitari be blessed-I never thought to see you again!"

  "Bah, girl—you know I never sleep on the Night of the Eye. Yet it has been many years since those moons gave me a thrill such as this one past. I had no choice but to come."

  "I know, dear. And thank you," Jenna said before reluctantly breaking the embrace. "Do you remember another of your students, Scharon, of the Icereach?"

  "Of course," Rasilyss replied as her eyes fell upon Coryn. "I see a resemblance before me that quite takes my breath away."

  "She is my grandmother," Coryn said with a stab of worry. "At least, she was. I have not seen her for many months. I fear her health is failing."

  "Have faith, girl. We old grandmothers can be stronger than you know."

  "Thank you for the kind words," Coryn said. "And welcome back to the Tower of Sorcery."

  There were many more of them coming, now, representatives of all three robes. Most were humans, and the great majority of these were aged, appearing to be considerably older than Jenna. Those who were not old were surprisingly young, in their early twenties or teens, and they gawked around them in wide-eyed wonder as they filed through the gates and bowed to the two robed wizards who met them.

  "Ah, these youngsters are the legacy of the previous Head of the White Robes, Palin Majere," Jenna explained. "Many are the students who passed through his academy in Solace- before it was destroyed in the darker hours of the age."

  Coryn glanced with interest at some of these fresh-faced students, all of whom met her inspection with expressions approaching awe. A young man, with a red peach-fuzz beard, hastened to kneel at her feet and take her hand, thanking her for the summons. A stout woman in an oversized white robe bowed formally to Coryn, and she batted away the tears in her eyes-tears of gratitude, Cory knew. She was a young person, but twenty years of age or so-old enough to make the White Robe feel acutely aware of her youth in the presence of all of these more experienced magic users.

  Two elves came up to her, a surprisingly youthful-looking male and female bearing more than a passing resemblance to each other. "I am Adramis, and this is my sister Aenell. We heard your summons, Mistress, and it has brought us more joy than we have known in four decades."

  "Thank you, and welcome," Coryn replied.

  "Solinari, in his wisdom has chosen well," offered Aenell, holding her brother's hand in one hand as she reached out the other to clasp Coryn's. "Bless you!"

  All the arrivals looked at the Tower with horrified expressions, and soft comments of disapproval and distress could be heard. The wizards in the courtyard spread out to look upon the Tower from all angles. They were growing angry, Coryn realized, and their numbers made her feel much more hopeful.

  Here came another dwarf, also a Black Robe, who was followed by several more elves in a small band, a mixture of red and white. Now they were appearing in droves, shuffling by and murmuring their gratitude.

  "The Tower has suffered terribly," said one elder White Robe, a tall and slender man who introduced himself as Galarant. "Even in comparison to the suffering inflicted upon the whole of Ansalon, this is blasphemy and desecration. Bless Solinari and all the gods, that we may take this place back."

  "Yes, Grandfather," Coryn said. "With his help, we will prevail."

  Just then, something exploded in the courtyard. Coryn heard shouts of alarm and saw a residue of dust floating in the air, marking the spot of a violent impact. Two wizards, a White and Red Robe, lay near that place. The Red Robe was twitching and groaning; the White Robe, her garment stained with blood, lay still.

  "Damn him—not the slightest warning. A blast of wild magic came from up there," said Galarant, pointing toward a lofty parapet. "I saw the sorcerer for a moment; then he cast the spell. Then he disappeared."

  "Spread out!" someone called—Coryn thought it was Jenna—and the wizards were already instinctively obeying.

  "There!" cried one of the elf twins, pointing toward a different parapet. Kalrakin stood there, glaring down at them from perhaps halfway up the tower. Several wizards were taking to the air, spells of flying lifting them quickly skyward. Others cast quick spells of attack: lightning bolts, magic missiles, and other violent magical onslaughts, which surged upward.

  The wild sorcerer laughed aloud. He held up his right hand, where the Irda Stone glowed brightly. One lightning bolt, lancing through the shadows of twilight, blasted into Kalrakin and simply vanished, causing the stone to pulse briefly brighter. The other spells slammed home and each one disappeared, sucked into the powerful enchantment of the ancient artifact. With each attack the stone shimmered and glowed even stronger until, after the volley had faded away, the object gleamed furiously in the sorcerer's hand.

  By this time several of the flying wizards had closed in. A Red Robe was in the lead, a man who lunged for the sorcerer with his hands outstretched. Kalrakin laughed loud again
, and his wild magic pulsed; a stab of brilliant light flashed out, tearing through the flying wizard's flesh with brutal violence. Immediately the man fell backward, smoke and flames trailing from his ruined robes. Coryn hoped the poor mage was already dead before he violently struck the unforgiving paving stones.

  Other brave flyers veered away. One White Robe-Cory recognized old Bernardus—cast a series of potent missiles that vanished, one after the other, into the artifact. The attack served one purpose, at least, in that the rest of those wizards who had taken to the air were able to dive and swerve out of the sorcerer's line of sight. Bernardus pressed home his onslaught, but then Coryn moaned with horror as a well- aimed bolt of wild magic ripped into his frail body. He, too, tumbled, smoking and charred, out of the sky.

  "Fall back!" cried Coryn. "Back to the gates!"

  Kalrakin disappeared in a blink. Coryn looked around wildly, expecting him to appear somewhere in the courtyard. Apparently he had retreated back into the Tower, however, for there was no sign of him on the ground.

  One by one the wizards drew back from the area just below the Tower walls. Some were limping and several—old friends of those who had been slain—were sobbing quietly. Others glared in fury and hatred at the now vacant balcony from which the sorcerer had launched his vile attacks. Slowly they gathered around the gates, still within the courtyard but, they hoped, out of range of their enemy's attacks. Even if they were in danger here, none were willing to leave the courtyard. After coming this close to their hallowed hall of learning, they were unwilling to quit and retreat.

  By now it was almost full night, and the black spires loomed like ghastly tombstones. Black and White and Red Robes mingled within the gossamer gates, muttering and cursing. "How can we fight this?" someone asked.