Arch Wizard

Chapter Thirty-Two

Your Majaesty, I am no Doom of Falconfar," the black-bearded man in the robe protested, spreading his hands like a merchant proclaiming his innocence in a market-stall. "I can work small magics, honest magics, spells no velduke nor knight nor drover need fear save some hidden power, some dark secondary effect. When I am hired to blast down a hanging rock or enlarge a storage cavern, I do so with all the care I can, and-"

He shrieked, threw up his spread hands as all the color fled from his face in an instant-and toppled forward to fall flat on his face on the floor.

"Falcon-cursed hedge-wizards," one of the king's bodyguard growled, striding forward from beside King Melander Brorsavar's throne to nudge the sprawled and silent man with one gleaming-booted toe. "Get up, man. Your dramatics impress His Majesty not. Get up."

"Thalden," the King of Galath murmured gently, "stand clear from yon mage. Touching him may be neither safe nor prudent."

His knight obeyed in some haste, turning a puzzled frown to hs king.

"Majesty?"

"He was not indulging in dramatics," Brorsavar murmured.

"Look; is his nose not broken?"

A thin thread of blood was running out from under the motionless head, to flow its unhurried way across the tiled floor of the court.

"Falcon," the knight muttered, drawing back. "What struck him down so, d'ye think?"

In reply, King Melander silently spread his hands just as the fallen wizard had done, to signify he knew not. The knight barely had time to see the gesture, and no time at all to catch any courtiers' eyes and decide if a polite chuckle was appropriate, when there came a stir from beyond the nearest entry arch, and the guards barring entrance there.

"Let me through!" someone snarled angrily. "Majesty! Urgent news!"

The King of Galath made a brief, beckoning gesture to signal the archway guards to let the new arrival through.

It was one of the court scribes, a man neither young nor humble. He had never before been known to appear before the throne sweating and wild-eyed with fear, but he was in such a state now. Melander wordlessly extended his hand toward the man, palm out, signifying that the scribe should speak.

The scribe bowed low, almost falling in his nervous haste, then went down on one knee, and then blurted out in a rush, "Great King, all the wizards you hired to scry the realm and map it have collapsed! All of them, at once, dashed senseless to the floor as if by some giant hand!"

"Dead?" Brorsavar asked calmly.

"N-no, though some of them bleed from mouth or nose or eyes, M-majesty," the scribe stammered. "One of them was clutching his head and mumbling, and we tried to question him. We shook him and spake loudly in his ear, but he fell dumb and dreaming like the rest. We heard him say just this: 'a great Shaping, and it begins.' Majesty, I thought you should know."

Then the scribe's gaze fell upon the man lying not far from where he was kneeling, and a little shriek of fear burst from him.

"Easy, Nollard," the King of Galath said soothingly. "Rise, and go take wine from our stewards yonder, and drink."

He stood, and added in a dry voice, looking out across the court, "I begin to fear that many of us, as this day unfolds, may have cause to join you."

Through another archway came the muted thunder of running booted feet, and the cry, "Majesty! Grave news!"

King Melander Brorsavar smiled wryly. "And so, as they say, it begins."

Malraun the Matchless sat up in bed, awake in an instant, alarmed. Though Darswords was quiet around him, something was very much awry.

In distant Harlhoh, something had shattered the very foundation-spells he'd cast when strengthening and warding his tower.

Which meant a wizard more powerful than any he knew of, anywhere in Falconfar, was at work with destroying spells-or something else had caused the tower to shatter and fall.

Either way…

He bent and kissed the bound and helpless Taeauna. Not out of any great affection, but so as to most swiftly and efficiently strengthen his mind-link with her, so it could be used to snap back to her body if he needed to flee in haste from trouble. Surrounded by all of the greatfangs bred by that idiot Narmarkoun, for instance, or-

Shrugging away such useless speculation, he closed his eyes and said the word that would take him in an instant to Malragard.

So it was that he never saw the flash of triumph in the eyes of the bound Aumrarr behind him.

Lorontar had been waiting a long time for Malraun to do this.

The wizard Narmarkoun stood alone in a large and gloomy hall in Yintaerghast, staring at a glowing sphere of his own conjuring that floated in the air before him.

He'd laughed aloud when Malragard had fallen. Oh, would Malraun be furious! The man of Earth, wandering alone and halfwitted, somehow avoiding all the traps that had claimed the lives of veteran warriors, high-priced thieves, and the most daring of Stormar wizards-for-hire. Only to do this.

Nicely Shaped, indeed!

The dolt Everlar was still alive! He'd somehow brought the tower down around his ears-crushing most of Malraun's prized beasts, mind! — yet not been himself crushed in its fall! There he was, coughing in the dust, staggering away from the heap of gowns he'd snored on and-

But hold!

As the dust eddied and drifted, and Rod Everlar came stumbling out into a relatively clear area of floor, another figure appeared in midair just above him, literally standing over him.

It was Malraun, here by his own teleportation magic.

Narmarkoun snarled out wordless hatred, watching the Matchless One start to step down from the invisible, momentary platform of force his magic had created. Once Malraun set boot on the tiles of Malragard, the teleport spell would end and he'd be free of its force-echoes, free to work magic. Magic that would undoubtedly slay the meddling Shaper.

Malraun's foot came down, his other leg started forward-and Narmarkoun astonished himself.

Although he'd intended to bide here, watching all and awaiting his best time to strike, Narmarkoun found himself crying out an incantation he did not know, words and runes he'd never seen before.

It was if a door had opened in his mind to shine forth bright amber radiance through his head, a light he couldn't turn to look at however desperately he strove to… the spell he did not know was done and unfolding, more power than he'd ever felt before was flooding through him-and where had it all come from? — and he was trembling like a leaf in a storm wind, mouth open in slack-jawed amazement.

As the lambent sphere of his spying-spell showed Narmarkoun scenes of distant Earth, of his six servitor Dark Helms snatched bodily out of the strange glass castle they were scouring out there, bloody swords in their hands-and the lorn with them, a limp and dripping corpse in their wake.

As the blue-skinned Doom watched in mute wonder, the six warriors and the lorn hurtled at him and then flashed past him, hurtled along through a whirling tunnel of translocation, howling flows of magic Narmarkoun had called into being without knowing how. Flows that whispered a name as they whisked the six and the one to Malragard, and literally flung them at Malraun, dashing that wizard headlong across the tiles.

That name was "Lorontar."

Malraun raised his right hand, too angry to keep this Shaper as a useful captive. He would lash the man to death, lash him with lightnings, burn off his hands and feet yet use spells to keep this Rod Everlar awake in screaming suffering!

Malragard had been beautiful, and it had been his, and no one, no one, would take it from him and not pay the priii-

Lightning crawled up his fingers and spat sparks into the air, and he snarled and brought his hand down to hurl them at Everlar.

Who ducked, dodged, and fell hard, spinning and scissoring his feet around to sweep Malraun's ankles out from under him.

He crashed to the tiles, shouting in anger, and scrambled up to-

Do nothing to Everlar at all, as dark and heavy armored bodies slammed into Malraun in a tide out of nowhere, a tide that hacked and sliced and spat curses as it crashed into him.

His breath was gone, all thoughts of his spell with it, and Malraun numbed an elbow on hard tiles, then cracked the side of his head on tile hard enough for tears to come unbidden, and-something large and wet that stank very much of lorn blood slammed down on him and slid with him ere it bounced off and was gone.

Laughter, and running feet, and dark swords swinging down at him-

He rolled desperately, yet felt wet fire through his shoulder as a sword sliced deep. Falcon shit!

Malraun felt for the mind-link, desperate to take himself back to Darswords and away from these Dark Helms, to win time enough to breathe, Falcon spit, then high time enough to work a blasting spell that would-

Amber light flared along the link from Taeauna, light that became a smile and two dark, gimlet eyes that stabbed through Malraun like Dark Helm blades. Silently laughing at him as it came.

Yes, Malraun the Matchless, I am who you fear I am. Lorontar of Falconfar, THE Doom of Falconfar-and your Doom.

Those words were soft, yet thundered like fire through Malraun's head. Before he could do anything, the power just behind them struck.

And all Falconfar dissolved in amber fire.

Rusty held up the flashlight. It was heavy, of stout metal encased in rubber-and might manage him one parry.

Then he would die.

This Dark Helm was no overconfident, reckless fool, but a veteran, patiently herding Rusty and Sollars back across Holdoncorp's Security Office, away from any way out of here.

Slowly and patiently cutting off all escape, knowing he could slay at will. Pete Sollars stumbled to his knees in fear, and burst into tears-but the Dark Helm stepped back and gestured curtly with his sword until the crying "eyes" scrambled up again. A veteran, avoiding any chance of a "trip me by rolling at my ankles" ploy.

The Dark Helm advanced again.

Rusty Carroll drew in a deep breath, stepped forward with flashlight in hand, and prepared to die.

The sword swept back, the Dark Helm sidestepped faster than any dancer Rusty had ever seen, that sword came in at him so fast that he almost fell getting the flashlight into the right spot to parry, and-

The Dark Helm was suddenly gone. Vanished into thin air in a silent instant, one step away from carving Rusty Carroll in two.

Suddenly, in silence and without warning, his spying spell winked out. Narmarkoun stared in disbelief at the dark and empty air where the glowing sphere of his magic had been a moment ago, showing him Malraun being hacked at by Dark Helms in the ruins of Malragard.

Then there came a flash, light that cloaked him, whirled him around, and spun him-elsewhere.

Leaving the great castle of Yintaerghast dark and deserted once more.

Rod Everlar rolled desperately across cracked and rubble-littered tiles, trying to get away from Malraun.

Who was stiffening and shrieking out sudden wild cackles of laughter, gibberings of maniacal glee that made even the Dark Helms flinch back from him. Foaming at the mouth, his eyes gouting sparks, the wizard spread his hands and fed them lightnings that sent them flying, broken and burning, swords clanging down far away across the rubble of Malragard.

Rod ran out of space to roll to, fetching up against a great heap of fallen stone in time to see the wizard throw back his head, his face a bright mass of sputtering, leaping lightnings, and roar in triumph.

Malraun spread his hands again. Wands and scepters and small things of bright metal burst from here and there amid the rubble, racing through the air to his waiting grasp.

He flung most of them down as they arrived, in a great bouncing and clanging at his feet, but kept two of the longest, deadliest-looking things: scepters with heads like horned orbs. These he promptly aimed at a certain spot far across the tiles.

An empty spot, so far as Rod could tell.

Then there was a flash, and a tall wizard with blue and scaly skin stood there, looking bewildered.

"Narmarkoun!" Malraun crooned, in a voice deeper and older than the Matchless One had ever sounded before-and unleashed the scepters in his hands.

Narmarkoun had time to scream. Just once.

Once, before a whirling, tightening sphere of deadly clawing magics from the scepters drew in tight around him, rending and tearing. He was a sobbing cloud of red mist by the time his smashed and broken body was driven back across the tiles to what was left of a wall and through it, leaving a gaping hole and a flickering glow beyond. By then, a great smear of gore spattered across a more distant wall was all that was left of Narmarkoun.

The scepters failed, belching out puffs of sparks, and what had been Malraun let them fall. They struck the tiles without clangor, bursting into spattered ashes.

Then the wizard turned to Rod Everlar. His face raged with lightnings no longer, and wore a calm smile. Above it were two burnt-out pits where his eyes should have been.

"Rod Everlar," he said almost gently, "I am the true Archwizard of Falconfar."

"Lorontar," Rod whispered, getting up slowly, and looking around without much hope for rubble substantial enough to hide behind.

"Lorontar," the ravaged wizard agreed, strolling slowly across the tiles. "I've been hiding in the mind of the one called Taeauna for a long time, now. Now this body is mine, though I'm afraid the mind of Malraun is… broken."

He smiled a wide and crooked smile. "So I believe I'll have your body, now. Worry not; I have no intention of smashing your mind as I did Malraun's. It's far too valuable to me. I'll just enslave it instead."

"Oh?" Rod asked, backing away. "You want to write crappy fantasy novels?"

Lorontar's smile was almost pitying. "Once I have your dream-powers," he explained gently, as if addressing a small child, "two worlds will be mine to rule."

Then there was a sudden weight in Rod's head, a merciless surge of power that smashed into Rod Everlar.

He gasped, or thought he did, as amber fire raced over him and through him and-

The fire wavered and split, Rod felt pain and confusion that was not his own swirling over him… and-

Lorontar's mind was hurt, mentally staggering. Rod fought not to be buried under sudden floods of memories not his and emotions that threatened to drench him in darkness.

Taeauna had thrust at Lorontar from behind with all her fury and hatred, through the still-open link, and had struck deep.

The body that had belonged to Malraun fell on its face, clawing feebly at the tiles and working its legs as if still upright and running. Through its open mouth came a strange, incoherent sound.

Rod could run again, and he turned and did so, slipping and sliding in rubble and crying out, "Taeauna? Taeauna?"

There was no reply.

He found himself at the head of a staircase, now open to the sky and half-choked with a shattered roof that until quite recently had sheltered it. Looking back, he saw that Malraun-Lorontar-was on his feet and staggering blindly after him, arms outthrust like some sort of mindless walking corpse.

He could hardly help but see something else, too.

In the sky overhead, almost blotting out the bright morning light with their great bulk, were six greatfangs. Three of them were larger than the rest, and the two biggest were…

Holy Falcon!

. . twice as large as Malragard had been.

They looked angry, their wings beating with furious haste and their jaws snapping often, biting at the air as they circled over the ruins, eyes glaring down at Rod Everlar.

Then the largest of them all rolled its great shoulders, tucked in its wings, and plunged down out of the skies in a long, terrible dive, great jaws parting.

The fire was back in Rod's mind again, faint but furious, roiling up to make his arms and legs tremble.

He fought to step forward, to hurl himself down that staircase. His head was turning, despite himself, to look back and see the staggering thing that had been Malraun come lumbering closer, reaching for him…

With an angry shriek of his own he fought off Lorontar's will long enough to turn his head the other way.

The jaws rushing down to engulf him looked as large and dark as the night sky, now.

Closer… closer…

Rod Everlar wrestled for control of his own body, trying to fling himself down the stair, and wondering if he'd get to safety in time.