He was followed by another, and another. By now, the Malaugrym were looking puzzled and alarmed. "What-?" one barked intelligently.
"Mushrooms," another said, watching them smash into the ruins and shatter into pulpy looseness. "Giant mushrooms!"
"But who-?"
Bewildered, angry Shadowmaster mages stared all around, seeking a foe. More of them fell away, helpless to cast spells or fly in fungoid form, to die below, while others snarled, "Some sort of spell to enforce a single shape? Blasphemous! Who would devise such a thing?" and still others warned, "Get back! Away from this place! It must be some spell of the Foe. It can't have a large range!"
More mushrooms fell, and suddenly a Shadowmaster snarled, "You! You're doing it!" and launched a rain of spell-lances at another Malaugrym standing on air not far away. A frantically conjured spell-cloak didn't form in time, and the accused one tumbled backward, transfixed by at least three lances, to spin slowly through the air, lifeless.
Mushrooms continued to fall, and one of the other Malaugrym raised his hands and pointed at the lance hurler. "No, it's you!"
The attack was struck aside by a shielding spell, but on all sides terrified and furious shapeshifters lashed out at each other. Spells flashed and burst all across the sky in sudden boiling fury until a great voice roared out of thin air, echoing all around them. "Cease! Hear me, blood of Malaug!"
Sudden silence fell. All Malaugrym knew the voice of the Shadowmaster High. "Attend me!" the deep voice boomed on, as a few more Malaugrym melted into mushrooms and fell away.
A mighty magic boiled in the air, and the blood of Malaug were swept through the sky as leaves tumble in a gale, flung aside until they found themselves in two ragged groups of a dozen or more on either side of an open space where a lone figure floated, a young Malaugrym sorceress known to some as Dralarca.
"There is the traitor!" Dhalgrave thundered. "Destroy her! She's-"
Dralarca smiled and waved cheerily-and Dhalgrave's booming voice was gone in midword, cut off as if by a knife.
The Malaugrym stared at her, and one more of them dwindled into a mushroom and fell.
After a moment more of shocked silence, all of the mages standing on air spat out incantations at once, waving their arms like a forest of crawling spiders. The air seemed to shatter under the force of so many cleaving, blazing, bubbling, and roaring magics.
Blue-black and vivid purple flashes leapt from where they met, and an instant later all of the spells came flashing back at their casters in a gale of tortured air that flung Shadowmasters across the sky for miles.
When the stars could be seen again, and the last ruined tower of Irythkeep had stopped rocking, the false daylight Dhalgrave had conjured above the clearing remained. In it, the awed Shadowmasters could see the small figure of Dralarca standing calmly, waiting for them. She waved a casual hand, and the nearest Shadowmaster became a mushroom.
As the fungus fell to earth, Eldargh turned to Huerbara, whose teeth were chattering in fear as she clutched Taernil, and rumbled calmly, "Is your magic good enough to hurl antimagic that far?"
She nodded once, white-faced and mute. The old giant turned to the Shadowmaster standing on his other side. "Yabrant?"
"Yes. Count us in together. And Taernil, if you have any sort of attacking spell, hurl it her way first, to mask us. Useless, mind. I'm sure it'll be coming back at us soon."
Eldargh counted them in. Three antimagic fields rolled out in the wake of a stinging cloud of red fire-mites, as another two mushrooms fell away from on high.
Other Shadowmasters had launched attacks, too. A scarlet flash, fading to pink, cut the sky before their own spells hit home, and for a moment there was a confusion of whirling bones in the air around Dralarca as someone's spell went wild. Yabrant paled at the sight. "Magic's starting to twist, here. This may be our only chance."
Then an explosion rocked them as old Halar was blown apart by his own returning spell, not far away. One of his hands tumbled past, trailing flames, and Huerbara buried her face in Taernil's chest with a little scream, shuddering uncontrollably.
A multitude of small flashes lit the air near Dralarca, and Taernil's cloud came drifting back at them, fading away before it reached the spot where they stood. At that moment a gasp of fear and hatred from many throats heralded their work. The false seeming of Dralarca was gone, and in its place stood a wild-eyed woman whose silver hair danced around her like silver flames. She wore black robes that were more tatters than garments, and she laughed, hand on hip, and bowed to Eldargh. "Well spun, sir!"
"The Simbul! It's the Queen of Aglarond!" someone shouted, and the woman smiled and nodded.
Then she threw her arms up, her eyes flashed, and two rings of crimson light burst from her palms to run slowly down her arms and fade away around her torso. Something was growing there, a web of pulsing red beams of light encircling her-no, encaging her!
"What's that?" Yabrant whispered slowly. "Has someone caged her?"
"No," said Eldargh in a deep, despairing voice. "Oh, no."
From that web of light they saw a beam stab out, and then another. One leapt across the sky and struck Eldargh before Yabrant or Taernil could move or speak, and a cage of red beams sprang into being around the old Shadowmaster.
Yabrant frowned and quickly wove a shearing force-blade, but when he swept it across the humming, thickening cage, there was a flash and he was hurled back, minus his sword arm.
After a moment, looking both shaken and thoughtful, he grew himself a new arm. By then the cage had begun to shrink and darken.
"Farewell, old friend," he heard Eldargh rumble, and the giant's head turned toward him.
"You will be remembered," Yabrant hissed quickly, straining to see and meet Eldargh's eyes as the giant darkened and shrank within the dimming cage. There were other cages now, he knew, but this web of spells held one of the few kin he cared about, and he could do nothing to save Eldargh.
The cage was shrinking swiftly now, as Huerbara whimpered, draining Eldargh's life essence as it dwindled. It shrank to a thumb-sized globe of light and then winked out, leaving of Eldargh only a little drifting dust.
Yabrant turned to Taernil. "We must leave this place. Help me spin a gate!"
As they worked magic in feverish haste, they heard the Simbul's merry laugh followed by the call, "A little fire, Malaugrym?"
They tried to ignore the roar and crackle of flame- adorned with screams-that followed, though Taernil stammered an incantation that almost ruined their whole effort.
And then a green flame seemed to grow in the air before them, rising swiftly into a spindle. Taernil almost leapt for it before it was fully formed. Yabrant held him back with a hastily grown and ungentle tentacle, and snarled, "Take Huerbara through before you!"
Taernil snarled back at him in wordless fear, eyes wide and staring, but did as he had been ordered. Yabrant looked back once as he followed, and saw a handful of other gates opening in the sky. One of them suddenly blossomed into an explosion that sent Shadowmaster bodies tumbling through the air as the Simbul laughed wildly.
Yabrant shivered and let the gate take him. It was not a time to tarry, or he'd be just one more of the kin who would die this day-and just how many was that by now? — before that human witch was finished.
"Ye gods!" Thaern gasped to his left, face paling, but Randal Morn looked quickly to his right, alerted by an unfamiliar sound. After a moment, he realized it was Brammur, on his knees and praying to all the gods he could name.
He started to chuckle and then decided that prayer might not be such a bad idea. Before he could go to his knees, however, the world exploded in thundering voices and rolling balls of fire, and he froze with the dozen men around him and stared up into the sky, at the many dancing, spell-hurling figures that stood high above the ground in a drift of daylight that should not be there.