Wizards Conclave

"She's all the way down to the foretower. Can you cast a teleport spell?" asked the dark elf.

Je

"Me, too," Dalamar said bitterly. "Looks like we're taking the stairs."

There was no more idle talk as they started down the steps, winding down levels of the Tower. They could feel the frequent tremors and occasionally were forced to grasp the railing as the whole structure wobbled ominously. It seemed to take a maddeningly long time to make the descent.

"Do you think any of the others made it inside?" Je

"We must assume we're alone," Dalamar replied softly. "And that the Irda Stone protects him against our spells. We can't use magic to kill him."

She nodded in grim agreement, as he whipped out a narrow-bladed dagger. "I'll do what I can to distract him- you'll have to get in close to use that.

They came down the last flight of stairs close together, edging toward the i

Somewhere not terribly far away they heard a crash. They started across the floor, trying to pick a clear path, but almost immediately had to climb over a small mountain of debris that lay across their path. They pushed through the rubble, with Dalamar grunting as he pushed one of the larger chunks out of their way. Je

"Why are you here? You should be in the hall, with the others!"

Kalrakin's voice, a petulant screech, reached them from the shadows in the long hallway. He seemed to emerge from a cloud of dust. To Je

Without a moment's hesitation, Je

Je

The ground shook underneath her feet, momentarily staggering her, but she steadied herself and didn't fall. A great slab of wall fell down behind her, but she ignored it, shaking her head to clear the billowing dust away from her eyes. She cast one spell after another, holding her ground, though she knew her spells could not really harm the sorcerer; she opted for spectacles and distractions, determined to keep the sorcerer's attention.

Great blossoms of fireworks exploded through the hall and dancing images of draconians and ogres charged at Kalrakin, issuing bloodcurdling screams. Shrieking with laughter, he swatted them aside contemptuously. The image of a red dragon materialized into the hall, slithering out from one of the side rooms. Crimson jaws spread wide. The sorcerer held up the white stone to meet a great gout of fiery breath. Like all of Je

Je

Then she spotted something that gave her a flash of hope.

The dark elf had burst courageously from the shadows, the knife gleaming in his hand. Quickly and silently, he charged the wild sorcerer.

But Kalrakin saw him coming, must have known all along that he was lurking nearby. The sorcerer merely flipped his hand in a gesture, and a crackling bolt of fire exploded toward the dark elf. Je

It looked like half of his face had been burned away.

The god Nuitari cried out in anguish. He howled his grief like a storm through the known planes of existence. He felt the terrible pain of his favorite son's grievous injury, as though his own flesh had been ravaged. Thunder broke around him, and great storms of rain fell through the cosmos.

The black moon was shedding tears.

"The Master of the Tower is failing," Solinari noted glumly. "And all our pawns fall." His visage was wan, a pale approximation of his usual silvery brilliance.

"The wild magic is too powerful," Lunitari declared, equally dejected. "The sorcerer will slay them all and leave the wreckage of the Tower as their tomb. Our children are trapped, defeated, doomed."

Even as they spoke, the blood of the dark elf Dalamar drained into the Tower of High Sorcery's broken stonework. The gods felt the slow ebbing of his life.

"His life slips away, and with his death our hopes perish," Solinari said. His tone was gentle, even sympathetic toward his black cousin, who was experiencing such grief and failure.

But Nuitari raised his head. Thunder and lightning flared in the black sockets of his eyes, and when at last he said something, it was not to pronounce a message of defeat.

"Yes, if time advances, he will die. But there is one way he can survive," the god of the black moon said. "Let him cast the spell that will bring time to a stop."

Far above the dying Dalamar, Aenell gingerly approached the door on the high platform that had been destroyed at her brother's approach. The broken entryway gaped like a wound. Only darkness could be glimpsed 'within.

None of the other wizards were in sight. All of the ones that had been drawn into the Tower were apparently dead. Never had the young elf maid felt so alone as she did at that time, in that lofty place. There was really no choice, no alternative. She had to follow after her brother.

Hesitantly she reached a hand forward, feeling the abrupt tingle of magic. She pulled back, tried to break away, but it was too late-a powerful spell had trapped her, was catapulting her through space, a teleport spell that was overruling her own will. She fought it with all her might, and lost.

She found herself lying on a cold, stone floor. Other wizards milled about in distress and agitation, including a young Red Robe who was kneeling at her side, asking if she was hurt. The Red Robe repeated her question.

"Can you hear me? Are you hurt?"

"N-no, I don't think so," Aenell replied, dazedly. Sitting up, she looked around. The elf maid recognized, first, that she had been teleported to the Hall of Mages, and second, that her brother was here, too.

He laid on the floor just a few steps away, alive, but gravely wounded.