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.