Dalamar The Dark

As if she weren't enough, lately there had risen another who conspired in spite of both gods, a mage whose power had grown strong in the few years of his young life. Raistlin Majere. If the Silvanesti elves had found reason to thank and praise him for lifting Lorac's Nightmare from their land, Par-Salian knew that no one had reason to be grateful for him now. He was the Blue Lady's brother, though not her ally. His sister had ambitions to rule nations. Raistlin's ambition was deeper and more terrible. What form it took, the Conclave of Wizards did not know. They did know that he had the strength to break the curse that, ever since the Cataclysm, had sealed the Tower of High Sorcery at Palanthas and take that stronghold for himself.

"Your dark elf," he said, stretching his arms high, working shoulders weary with bending over books. "Will he be worthy, Lado

She walked past the banks of candles to the window. Outside, the twilight glowed, warm and fragrant with the scent of the forest, a magical forest, a Guardian Forest such as those that once stood to ward all five Towers of High Sorcery. The one that had warded Daltigoth had caused intruders to fall into dreamless sleep. That around Goodlund's tower inflamed the uninvited with uncontrollable passions. When Istar had reigned, the forest guarding the tower there induced a simple forgetfulness so that intruders failed to remember why they'd come that way. Not so gentle the forest around the Tower at Palanthas. Shoikan Grove was home to spectres and monsters and dread, so deep madness was the only way out. And yet, though five towers were built, only two remained. It was not impossible to imagine that Wayreth's tower, too, could fall one day.

Turning from the window, Lado

That most dangerous of mages… She did not speak his name. She never did unless the speaking was unavoidable. Lado

"Your dark elf-"

"Dalamar Argent."

"Dalamar Argent, then. I haven't heard it said he's had much formal training. How much could he have, really? Ylle Savath of House Mystic would have put out her own eyes before teaching him dark magic, yet here he is in black robes, calling himself a mage."

Lado

Wind sighed through the forest. An owl cried in one of the towers on the warding wall. Far away in Palanthas, ghosts groaned in Shoikan Grove, doubtless music to the ears of the renegade mage who would make ghosts of the plans of gods and men.

"And what must be done with your dark elf?" Par-Salian asked.

Lado

On that matter, they agreed.

"Very well," said Par-Salian, "you may leave the matter to me. Where is he?"

"Still waiting in the reception area in the foretower."

Par-Salian shrugged. "As good a place as any, then."

She smiled and praised his sagacity, then she settled comfortably into a corner of the large chair near the window, listening to the night and the owls while the Master of the Tower returned to his reading. The discussion of her dark elf ended, she still had that dwarf to consider. If she could have him banished from the Tower, she would do that in the instant, but he'd done nothing to earn that, at least not yet. This trip to the Tower he'd come bearing gifts, magical artifacts he'd found in his travels.

"And books for the library," he'd told her, sweeping a bow to mimic the respect he did not feel. "I spend so much time there, it seemed only right to offer something in return." He'd smiled, a pale ski

By Nuitari's night, she thought, how much longer can that pile of rotting flesh and bone live? She shivered a little. The carcass of him didn't have to live long at all, did it? Only the mind to slip in and out of the avatars he made for himself.

The breeze drifting in from the forest brushed chill on her skin. An owl cried suddenly, sharp and piercing; a rabbit screamed, caught. Lado

Tramd o' the Dark, he called himself. Tramd Heading For the Abyss, Lado

Outside the window, the three moons rode the sky, each the sign of one of the three magical children, Solinari, Lunitari, Nuitari. They went on balanced paths, in unbroken rhythm swinging across the sky. They were always the image of the balance that kept the world turning, the seasons passing, the magic ru

We are beset, she thought. On one side by a Dragon Highlord who would rip the world apart and deliver the bleeding corpse into the hands of the Queen of Darkness; on the other by a mage who has taken possession of a Tower of High Sorcery and thought it might be a good idea to challenge the gods themselves, those of Good, those of Neutrality, those of Evil.

A book thumped closed.

The Master of the Tower of High Sorcery rose from his desk and dropped a chaste kiss upon her cheek as he passed. Gone to see to the dark elf, she thought. Then, smiling, she settled back against the pillows to watch the moons travel.

The dark elf and the dwarf… perhaps there was a way to settle all things at once.