Elminster - The Making Of A Mage Part 18

There was a soundless flash. The mind flayer had worked some spell of its own, seeking to break free of its globe, but the glowing magic had prevailed. The tentacled thing crouched down in seeming pain. Elmara frowned and gestured at it, and the mind flayer's prison of light scudded across the chamber, gathering speed as it spun toward the globe that held the dragon. The great wyrm was thras.h.i.+ng its tail, wriggling its shoulders, and roaring silently, trying to shatter the cramped confines of light about it. Its jaws flashed fire as it caught sight of the watching men on the balcony. Hatred glared in its gaze as it snarled at them.

Then the two globes rushed together, and the world shattered.

The Blades roared as a light brighter than they'd ever seen blasted into their eyes. They were staggering back even before the balcony shook beneath them, and they fell, blinded by the flash of the bursting globes. Only Asglyn, the Sword of Tempus, who'd expected spellfury of some sort and had closed his eyes in time, was able to see the mind flayer struggling in the dragon's jaws, hissing and burbling in futile spells before those teeth chomped down, once.

What remained of the purple body fell away in a dark rain of gore as the dragon opened its mouth and roared its rage. The third globe was already rus.h.i.+ng in at the dragon, the beholder's eyestalks writhing as it prepared for the battle it knew would come.

Asglyn had a brief glimpse of Elmara, face a mask of sweat, jaw clenched in effort, driving the globe along the path she'd chosen. Then the priest shut his eyes tight, just before the flash of rending globes came again. It was followed by a second flash that lit his face with its heat. When Asglyn dared look, he saw the beholder wreathed in flames as the dragon beat its huge wings and raked at the eye tyrant with reaching claws. Stabbing rays of radiance leapt from the beholder's many eyes. The dragon's answering roars held a rising note of fear amid its fury.

Asglyn looked about him. Gralkyn was slumped almost against him, hands jammed to eyes as he knelt behind the rail. Tarthe was shaking his head, fighting to clear his vision.

"Up, Blades!" the priest hissed urgently, and then stiffened as the voice of Elmara sounded inside his head.

"Hurl everything that can pierce or slash at the tyrant's eyes, as soon as the G.o.ds make ye able!"

Asglyn hefted his heavy hammer, his favorite weapon borne through a hundred battles or more, and hurled it with all his might, end over end, in a careful, climbing arc, so that it might fall into the great central eye of the beholder. It spun through the air but he never saw if it struck home; he had turned to scramble about the balcony, shaking and slapping his dazed and groaning companions and hoping somehow they'd escape with their lives.

Elmara's next spell brought whirling blades into being from nothingness. They flashed and spun about the waving eyestalks of the beholder like so many fireflies. El saw more than one eye spurt gore or milky liquid and go dark before the madly spinning eye tyrant blasted the shards into drifting smoke with a ray that leapt on to stab at a certain young mage.

Leapt-and rebounded, slicing silently back into the roiling tangle of dragon wings and scaled shoulders and claws, and the darting, spinning, snarling eye tyrant. The dragon roared in pain, but El could see none harm the beholder.

The dragon spat fire again. As before, the gout of flames seemed to splash away over an invisible s.h.i.+eld held in front the eye tyrant. Yet that s.h.i.+eld was no barrier to the dragon's claws and tail. As Elmara watched, the tail slapped the beholder end-over-end across the chamber, its eyestalks curling and struggling vainly. It pa.s.sed near the balcony where the Blades stood, and more than a few of them hurled daggers, darts, and blades just above and before it so it rushed helplessly into the stream of whirling steel. The monster squalled in pain and fury as it tumbled to a halt. What eyes it had left turned toward the nearby balcony.

Bright beams and flickering rays of feebler radiance flashed, and the Blades cried out and ran vainly about the balcony in terror. It shook and shuddered under them, and most of the rail was suddenly gone, melted away in the fury of the eye tyrant's attack.

Yet no searing spells tore into the men, though the crash and flicker of variegated lights was almost blinding. Magic spat and crawled all along the balcony before rebounding back at the struggling spherical monster; Elmara's last spell was doing its work.

Those Blades who could see well enough hurled more daggers, but in the fury of roiling magic around the balcony, most of these vanished in sparks and fragments or simply sighed into nothingness. Through the hail of blades, the furious dragon clapped its wings and rushed down at the beholder, seeking to slay the thing that had caused it such pain. As it came, it breathed fire again. The blackened eye tyrant rolled over in the streaming storm of flame so all its remaining eyestalks pointed straight at the great wyrm. Rays of magic leapt and thrust, and the oncoming dragon began to scream. The beholder rose a little to get out of the way as the dragon hurtled helplessly past. The wyrm crashed into the wall so hard that the Blades were hurled from their feet. The eye tyrant's eye-rays stabbed mercilessly at the thras.h.i.+ng dragon.

The beast seemed much smaller by the time it managed to flap free of the wall again, smoke rising from its body. Crushed balconies fell away in rubble as the dragon moved, its scream a raw and terrible sound of agony. Then its cries began to fade. The awestruck Blades saw bits of the dragon's straining body vanish as if it were just so much ice melting in the heart of a fire. It dwindled swiftly, lifeblood boiling away into nothing in the face of the cruel powers bent upon it. Beyond the fury of flas.h.i.+ng magic, the Blades could see the floating figure of Elmara, arms waving in careful haste as she cast another spell.

When the dragon vanished in a last puff of dark scales and boiling blood, the beholder turned with menacing slowness toward the mage and rolled over so that the broad ray of its central eye could strike at her-the eye that drained all magic.

Caught in that spell-draining field, Elmara fell, arms waving. The watching men heard her sob in fear. The beholder swiftly rolled over again to bring its eyestalks to bear all at once on the sorceress, as it had done to the dragon. As the Blades on the balcony desperately hurled blades, s.h.i.+elds, and even boots at it, they heard the cold, cruel thunder of its laughter.

Rays and beams flashed out again. Through that bright fury, the Blades saw Elmara raise one arm as if to lash the beholder with an invisible whip. The wand she held flared into sudden life.

The beholder shuddered under its attack and spun wildly about. The Blades ducked desperately as its rays sizzled across the balcony, but Elmara's barrier still held, and the rending magics rebounded back at the eye tyrant.

Tarthe and Asglyn stood shoulder to shoulder at what was left of the balcony rail, tense and helpless, all their weapons hurled and their foe beyond reach. Through narrowed eyes they saw Elmara draw a dagger from her belt and soar up at the beholder like a vengeful arrow. Eyestalks wriggled, and explosive light burst forth anew. The flying mage was thrown aside by the violent force, and the dagger in her fingers suddenly flared into flames.

She hurled it away, shaking her hand in pain, but in the same motion swept her hand into the front of her bodice. There was another dagger-no, the broken stub of an old sword-in Elmara's hand when she drew it forth. She tumbled in the air through a roiling area of intersecting rays and raced in toward the beholder.

Waiting spells burst into sudden life around the blade in her outstretched hand, coiling and flaring as Elmara struck home- and her tiny steel fang sank into a hard body-plate as if she were thrusting into so much hot stew.

The beholder shrieked like a terrified courtesan and hurled itself away from the sorceress. El was left tumbling alone in the air as the eye tyrant flew blindly into the nearest wall, snarling in pain.

Elmara s.n.a.t.c.hed a wand from her belt and darted after it. Straight among the eyestalks she plunged to touch the thing's rolling body just above the hissing, snapping jaws. Then she kicked herself away and flew clear. Behind her, the beholder began to repeat its actions backward, rolling back to strike the wall again. Then it hurtled back to where Elmara had stabbed it.

It hung there a moment-and then rolled back at the wall again to crash and then roll away in an exact duplication of its previous movements. Fascinated, the watching Blades saw the monster's flight repeat, cycling through its squalling collision with the wall over and over again.

"How long will that go on?" Tarthe asked in wonder.

"The beholder is doomed to smash itself against the wall of the chamber over and over until its body falls apart," Asglyn said grimly. "That's not magic many wizards dare to use."

"I don't doubt it," Ithym put in from beside them. Then he gasped and pointed out into the center of the vast open chamber.

Elmara had retrieved her staff and flown into the heart of the last, smaller globe. One skeletal hand leapt at her eyes, but she smashed it aside. The second hand was already darting in at her from behind; they saw it dig bony digits into her neck as she whirled around, too late.

Elmara flung her staff away and spat the words of another spell, one hand flas.h.i.+ng in intricate gestures. The skeletal hand was crawling its steady way around to her throat as she wove the spell-and the hand she'd hit away was flying at her face again, two smashed, bony fingers dangling uselessly.

Tarthe sighed in frustration. Elmara was struggling, a hand at her throat, jerking her head from side to side to keep the other bony claw from piercing her eyes. Her face darkened, but the Blades saw motes of light spring into being around her, growing brighter.

Then, without sound, both skeletal hands fell into dust, and the globe around them faded away entirely. As its magic failed, the Blades heard Elmara gasping for breath in the sudden silence-and the first winking lights drifted past their shoulders from the pa.s.sage behind them.

The Blades drew aside in wary surprise. The many-hued lights that had cloaked Gralkyn emptied themselves from the doorway in a steady stream, drifting along the pa.s.sage and out into the open center of the chamber, heading for their sorceress.

"Elmara-beware!" Tarthe called, his voice hoa.r.s.e and cracked.

Elmara cast a look at him, saw the lights, and stared hard at them for a moment. Then she waved a dismissive hand and turned back to the floating book.

Across the chamber, the trapped beholder threw itself helplessly against the wall again and again, the wet thuds of its impacts marking a steady beat as Elmara bent to peer at the pages.

As her fingers touched the book, the moving lights suddenly rushed forward with a loud sigh. Elmara stiffened as they enveloped her.

The Blades saw the book drift out of her motionless hands and close smoothly. A band of s.h.i.+ning metal crawled out of one end of the binding, darted smoothly around the tome, and tightened. There was a flash of light, and the book was bound shut.

The lights around the floating sorceress began to wink out, one by one, until they were all gone. Elmara shook herself, floating in midair, and smiled. She looked fresh, happy, and free of pain as she ran her finger along the metal band, tracing a runic inscription it bore. The Blades heard her gasp excitedly, "This is it! This is it! At last!"

The mage bound the book to her stomach with the length of climbing-cord she wore wound around her waist and retrieved what weapons she could find before she flew back to the balcony. Her companions eyed her with awe and new respect for a long moment before they stepped forward to reclaim their blades and embrace her sweat-soaked body in rough thanks.

"I hope it's worth all this," Dlartarnan said shortly, eyeing the tome and hefting the familiar weight of his sword. Then he turned away in disgust, striding back down the pa.s.sage they'd taken to reach the chamber of balconies. "I hope this place holds something I can value as highly-a handful of gems, perhaps, or-"

His voice trailed away, and he lowered his sword in confusion. The room on the other side of the doorway now was not the dark room where they'd first found the lights, but a larger, brighter chamber they'd never seen before.

"More wizard tricks!" he snarled, whirling. "What do we do now?"

Tarthe shrugged. "Seek another balcony, perhaps. Ithym, look into yon room first-without putting yourself or anything else across the threshold-and tell us what you see."

The thief peered for long breaths, and then shrugged. "A tomb, I think it. That long block, there, is a stone casket, or I'm a dragon. There're at least two other doors I can see-and windows behind those screens . . . they must be: the light changes, like cloud-drifted sunlight, not like conjured light."

They stared at the oval silhouette-screens, and the draperies behind them, glowing, backlit. The room was still and empty of life or adornments. Waiting.

"Ondil's tomb," Tharp said in tones of slow doom.

"Aye, but a way out, if all else fails," Tarthe replied, voice calm, eyes darting all round. His gaze fell on Elmara, standing silent in their midst, and he shook his head slightly in disbelief. He'd seen it all happen, but he still wasn't sure he believed it. Perhaps some of those ridiculous tavern-tales old adventurers loved to tell were true, after all....

"Let's try to get to another balcony," Gralkyn suggested. "I can reach at least four of them-more if El flies a rope to their rails."

"Aye, we must get out of here, now," Ithym said, "or no one at the inn will ever hear about our wizard destroying a beholder, a mind flayer, and a dragon-just to get something to read!"

As Gralkyn swung over the rail and dropped lightly onto the balcony below, the laughter from above him was a little wild.

Eleven.

A BLUE FLAME.

The most awesome thing a wizard can hope to see in a lifetime of hurling down towers, calling up fiends, and turning rivers into new beds? Why, the blue flame, lad. If ever ye see the blue flame, ye will have looked on the most awesome sight a mage can behold-and the most beautiful.

Aumshar Urtrar, Master Mage said to an apprentice at Midsummer Year of the Weeping Moon The cold hand of doom was tightening around the Brave Blades again. They could all feel it. They'd tried nine balconies now, and every door led somehow into the same silent tomb chamber. It lay across their paths like a waiting pit, patient and inescapable.

"Magic!" Dlartarnan spat, crouching down on a balcony and leaning on his drawn broadsword. "Always magic! Why don't the G.o.ds smile on a swung sword and a simple plan?"

"Mind, there!" Asglyn said sharply. "Tempus puts valor of the sword before all else, as well you know, and presuming to know better than any G.o.d, Dlar, is a fast leap into the grave!"

"Aye," the priest of Tyche agreed. "My Holy Lady looks well on those who complain little, but take advantage of what befalls and make their own good fortune!"

"Well enough," Dlartarnan grunted. "To please both your G.o.ds, I suppose I'd best lead the way into this tomb, and be the first to go down. That will make Tempus and Tyche both happy."

Without another word he rose from his haunches and strode into the tomb chamber beyond, his blade gleaming in his hand.

The other Blades exchanged glances and shrugs, and followed.

Dlartarnan was already across the chamber and at the nearest of its two closed doors, prying at the frame with his blade. " 'Tis locked," he snarled, putting his weight behind his blade, "but if-"

There was a loud snapping sound. Blue fire burst from the door, racing briefly up and down the frame. Smoke rose from the blackened thing that had been Dlartarnan of Belanchor before it fell to the floor. The warrior's ashes rolled away in dark gray swirls as his bones bounced on the flagstones. The skull rolled over once and came to a stop grinning up at them reproachfully. They stared down at the remains, stunned.

"Tyche watch over his soul," the Hand of Tyche whispered, lips trembling. As if in answer, Dlartarnan's twisted, half-melted sword fell out of the door. With a cry like the sob of a young maiden, it struck the flagstones and shattered.

Elmara swayed, then fell to her knees and was sick. The comforting hand Ithym put on her shoulder trembled violently.

"Perhaps a spell to try to open the other one?" Gralkyn suggested, voice high.

Asglyn nodded. "I have a battleshatter that may serve," he said quietly, "Tempus willing."

He bent his head briefly in prayer, leveled one hand at the remaining door, and murmured a phrase under his breath.

There was a splintering crash. The door shook, but did not burst. Dust fell from the ceiling here and there, and a long, jagged crack split the flagstones with a sharp sound that smote their ears like a hammer. The Blades reeled back, staring, as the crack raced out from the base of the tomb toward the door. Asglyn was running away, face tight with fear, when sudden fire blazed up from his limbs.

"Nooo!" he cried, sprinting vainly across the chamber. "Tempussss!" Flames roared up to scorch the domed ceiling high overhead, and when they died away, the priest of Tempus was gone.

Into the shocked silence, Tarthe said, "Back-out of this place. That magic came from the tomb!"

Tharp was nearest the pa.s.sage back to the balcony, so it was only a breath later that he plunged through the doorway-and froze in mid-stride, limbs trembling under the attack of some unseen force. The Blades watched in horror as the warrior's bones burst up out of his body in a grisly spray of blood and vanished near the ceiling. What was left collapsed in a boneless heap, blood raining down around it as Tharp's helm and armor rang on the floor.

The five remaining Blades looked at each other in horror. Elmara moaned and closed her eyes, face pale-but no less white than Tarthe's, as he reached out a rea.s.suring arm to grip her shoulder. Othbar, the Hand of Tyche, swallowed and said, "Ondil slays us with spells spun from his tomb. Undeath and fell magic will take us all if we do not set our feet right."

Tarthe nodded, face sharp with fear. "What should we do?

You and Elmara know more of magic than the rest of us here."

"Dig our way out of the chamber?" Elmara asked faintly. "The doors and windows he must have covered with hanging spells that wait to slay us, but if he's not expected us to pry at the flagstones, he may have to rise from his rest to hurl spells at us."

"And when he rises, what then?" Gralkyn asked fearfully. Ithym nodded grimly, echoing the question.

"We strike with everything we have," Tarthe said, "both spell and blade."

"Let me cast a spell first," said Othbar. His face was very white and his voice shook. "If it works, Ondil will be bound into his tomb for a time, unable to work magic-and we can try to get out."

"To have him sending spells and beasts after us for the rest of our lives?" Ithym asked grimly.

Tarthe shrugged. "We'll have the chance to gather blades and spells enough to fight him if he does, where now he slaughters us at whim. Ready weapons, and I'll try these flagstones. Othbar, say out when you're ready."

The priest of Tyche fell to his knees in fervent prayer, bidding the Lady remember his long and faithful service. Then he p.r.i.c.ked his palm with a belt knife, and caught the falling drops of blood in his other hand, intoning something they could not understand.

A moment later, he crumpled to the flagstones, arms flopping loosely. Gralkyn took an involuntary step forward-and then recoiled, as something ghost-white rose in wisps from the priest's body. It roiled in silence, growing taller and thinner-until a ghostly image of Othbar stood facing them. It pointed sternly at the four surviving Blades, and then at the windows. They watched in awe as Othbar's shade strode to the casket and laid its palms on the stone lid.

"What? Is he-?" Ithym was shaken.

Tarthe bent over the body. "Yes." When he straightened, the warrior's face looked older. "He knew the spell would cost him his life, I would guess, by what he said," Tarthe said, and his voice quavered. "Let's begone."

"By the windows?" Ithym asked, tears in his eyes as he looked back at the ghostly figure standing by the tomb.

"It's the way he pointed," Tarthe said heavily. "Ropes first."

The two thieves undid leather jerkins to reveal ropes wound many times around their bellies. Elmara took hold of one end of each rope, and the thieves spun around and around until the ropes lay in loose coils on the floor. Ithym caught up two ends and tied them together.

Then, gingerly, the two thieves approached a window, looking back over to be sure there was nothing visible that might spring at them. Ithym carried the coil of rope on his shoulder, and Gralkyn held one end of it in his hands as he approached the window.

He touched the end of the rope to the ornate wrought iron of the window screen, and then to the draperies beyond. Then he followed, gingerly, with one gloved hand. Nothing happened.

The oval window-screens depicted scenes of flying dragons, wizards standing atop rocky pinnacles, and rearing pegasi. With a shrug, Gralkyn chose the nearest one with a pegasus on it and swung the screen aside on its hinges. They made a slight squeal of protest, but nothing else befell. His blade parted the draperies beyond-to reveal bubble-pocked gla.s.s, and through it, a view of the sky and the wilderlands. Cautiously the thief probed the window opening with his blade, peering about for traps. Then he said, "These were not made to open. The gla.s.s is fixed in place."

"Break it, then," Ithym said.

Gralkyn shrugged, reversed his blade, and swung hard. The gla.s.s burst apart, shards flas.h.i.+ng and tinkling everywhere.

Sudden motes of light shone in the air where the window had been, spiraling, slowly at first... and then faster....

"Back!" Elmara shouted in sudden alarm. "Get ye back!"

The light of the activating spell flared before her words were half out-and a force of awesome power s.n.a.t.c.hed both thieves out through the small opening, rope and all, smas.h.i.+ng their limbs against the walls as they went, as if they were rag dolls being stuffed through a hole too small for them. Ithym had time for one despairing scream-long, raw, and falling-before hitting the rocks.