“Stop mumbling nonsense,” Vand waved the Astor away. “Wait to one side while I dispose of the Torak and the Star of Sakova. Then we shall leave.”
Rejji moved away from the throne while Marak leaned closer to Lyra.
“That’s it!” he exclaimed softly.
“What?” Lyra asked with a puzzled frown.
“Remember the tomes we read about the early days of Vand in Angragar?” the Torak asked. “Vand steadily grew worse as if he had a mental illness. I remember remarking at the time that his vanity would be his undoing.”
“And he cannot stand rejection,” Lyra nodded vigorously. “Let me handle this. Move away.”
As Marak walked away, the blue cylinder surrounding the Star of Sakova disappeared. Vand noticed the spell dropping and turned his curious gaze towards Lyra.
“Even if you defeat us,” Lyra said loudly, “you will not be permitted to enter Angragar.”
“What are you talking about?” spat Vand. “Angragar is my birthright. If you think Kaltara can stop me from possessing the city, you are deranged.”
“Kaltara has put me in your way,” smiled Lyra. “Before you can leave here, you must defeat me.”
“A small task for my powers,” shrugged Vand, “and a situation I have already planned for.”
“I am sure that you have,” nodded Lyra, “but even then you cannot enter Angragar.”
“Preposterous,” spat Vand. “Who is going to stop me?”
“Dobuk will stop you,” smiled the Star of Sakova.
“I am Dobuk’s disciple,” scowled Vand. “You are speaking nonsense.”
“You have been Dobuk’s disciple,” corrected Lyra, “but that time is over now. The Great Demon will choose a new disciple. You have greatly disappointed Dobuk, just like you have disappointed everyone who has ever known you.”
“I have had millions of followers,” Vand shouted, his fists curling in anger.
“And every one of them hated you,” retorted Lyra. “Every one of them rejected you. They all knew that Dobuk had made a mistake in choosing you, just as Kaltara had made a mistake in choosing you before that. You are a failure, Vand. You are unloved, unaccepted, and feeble.”
Vand’s face contorted in rage, and it was obvious that he would soon strike out at someone. Lyra knew that their only chance of survival rested in directing Vand’s anger towards herself.
“You are so feeble that you cannot even best a young woman like myself,” taunted Lyra. “You are afraid to drop your shield as I have done, because you know that you are a failure and would lose to my superior power.”
Vand’s move was swift when it came. Both of his hands streaked out before him and pointed at Lyra. The young Star of Sakova stood motionless as she stared at Vand. For a long moment the two opposing mages appeared to be frozen in position. Marak stared at Lyra’s face. Her eyes were glassy, and she showed no notice of his presence.
“What is going on?” shouted Rejji from across the room. “Vand looks like he is frozen.”
“Lyra is using an ancient Sakovan spell,” explained the Torak. “It is a contest of raw power. Neither can react to anything while they duel, and the loser will die.”
“But what if Vand has the greater power?” questioned the Astor.
Marak stood speechless for a moment as he recalled the story of Lyra’s battle with her father right after she had become the Star of Sakova. She had greater power than Master Malafar, and her father’s life was only saved by Goral smashing a chair over his head. As Marak watched, he saw Lyra’s face begin to contort with pain, just as Master Malafar’s had.
“What does Vand’s face look like?” shouted Marak.
“He looks angry,” answered the Astor, “just like he did when he tried to kill me.”
“No contortions?” Marak asked frantically.
“No,” Rejji shook his head.
“Use your staff to kill him,” urged the Torak.
Rejji dashed across the room and swung his staff at Vand’s head. The staff rebounded off of the invisible shield surround Dobuk’s disciple.
“He is still shielded,” yelled Rejji.
“Still shielded?” echoed Marak. “Yet he still has the power to destroy her?”
“Perhaps your sword would work better,” Rejji suggested.
Marak stared at the fissure in the floor. He wondered if he could possibly leap over it without falling in. Knowing that a fall into the crevice would mean certain death for all three of them, Marak abandoned the idea and paced nervously. Suddenly, he stopped pacing and stared at the long table that had been set up when they entered the throne room. Sheathing his sword, Marak dragged the table to the edge of the precipice. He grunted with effort as he struggled to stand the table on one of its short edges.
“Hurry,” shouted Rejji.
Marak gasped with exertion as he maneuvered the table into position and pushed it forward. The table fell to the floor creating a bridge over the crevice. The Torak raced across the bridge, avoiding the spot where the demon’s acidic spittle had eaten a hole in it. He unsheathed his sword as he skidded to halt next to the throne. With all his might, Marak swung the Sword of Torak at the Emperor’s head. The sword slammed into the invisible shield, and the vibration of the impact was so severe that Marak dropped the sword.
“It won’t work,” seethed Marak.
“Why won’t it work?” frowned Rejji. “Kaltara would not have let us come this far without providing what we need.”
“Well I wish he would tell us,” shouted Marak as he raced back to check on Lyra.
He stared at Lyra and saw her face grossly distorted. Her limbs were shaking violently and Marak swallowed hard. As he lowered his head in frustration, his eyes landed on the Rapier of the Star. His eyes widened and grabbed Lyra’s sword. With a sword in each hand, the Torak raced over the crevice again and slid to a halt next to Rejji.
“We are the Three,” Marak declared with a sword in each hand. “Kaltara has given us everything we need. Join me in attacking this fiend.”
As the three weapons from Kaltara approached Vand, it became clear that the shield could not stop them. Marak handed the rapier to Rejji and gripped the Sword of Torak with both hands.
“Just prick him,” ordered the Torak.
Rejji shoved the staff and rapier into Vand’s side, blood oozing from the rapier’s puncture. Marak spread his legs wide and swung as hard as he could. As the Sword of Torak sliced through the Vand’s neck, his head flew through the air and rolled along the floor. Vand’s body tilted forward and toppled from the throne. Across the room, Lyra collapsed to the floor. Marak dropped his weapon and raced across the bridge and knelt at her side. Lyra’s body trembled. Her limbs twitched, and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling. Marak lifted her head and tried to hold her, but her body was wracked with spasms.
“She needs help,” shouted Marak.
“I am right beside you,” Rejji said softly. “I will go find some healers.”
“How?” Marak gazed up in confusion.
“The doors are back,” pointed Rejji. “Stay calm. I will be right back.”
Tears flowed from Marak’s eyes as he cradled Lyra’s body and rocked back and forth. He knew enough magic to heal a wound, but he could not comprehend what was happening to Lyra’s body. He felt useless.
* * *
“The door won’t open,” scowled Xavo as he stood with Princess Alastasia and Lady Mystic outside the door leading to Dobuk’s domain.
“Stand aside,” ordered Lady Mystic.
Xavo glanced at his partner and nodded as he moved to one side of the doorway. Lady Mystic extended both fists towards the door. The air shimmered for an instant as the magical projectile slammed into the door, but nothing changed. Lady Mystic tried again, but to no avail. The door would not budge.
“It has been a long time since the doors to the throne room disappeared,” sighed Xavo. “Lyra will be dead by the time we reach Dobuk. She might already be dead for all we know.”
“I don’t know what else to try,” Lady Mystic said defensively. “We have tried brawn, and we have tried magic. I do not know what else to do. If we do not distract Dobuk, all is lost. There is no mage alive who is stronger than my father.”