"No," said a deep, dry, slightly husky voice from behind the wizard. "It wasn't the poor Shaper. It was me."
Malraun whirled around. "Klammert?" he asked incredulously.
"This was Klammert, and will be again, very shortly."
"Lorontar!"
"Indeed. Not quite as dead beyond dead as Arlaghaun thought he'd just made me. Overconfidence seems to run rampant among wizards, these days. You, for instance, thought you'd just stroll in, seize the Aumrarr, and thereby lure the revealed Dark Lord to willingly follow you, into your clutches. Narmarkoun, who's watching us all right now, is just as convinced that you'll be walking right into his little trap."
"Oh?" Malraun's voice was soft, his eyes glittering. "And what is oh-so-wise Lorontar convinced of, just now?"
"That all the spells Arlaghaun cast and held in abeyance, to take effect at the time of his death, will come down on the head of this poor wretch I've possessed. Such a waste of apprentices."
And that was when the room exploded.
A tall and blue-scaled Doom of Falconfar absently caressed the smooth skulls of his dead wenches, as they pressed in ardently around him, and settled himself deeper into their icy embraces. Their companionship would have to suffice; aside from Narmarkoun himself, there were no living men or women for many days of travel from this room.
"And about now," he murmured into their endless grins, expecting no reply and receiving none, "ah, yes, there, unnoticed in all the tumult of unleashed magic, the shadowy wraith of Lorontar races from the burning body of the unfortunate Klammert into the Aumrarr. Whom Malraun will now carry off, little knowing that by doing so he dooms himself. Lorontar knows the Dark Lord will try to come to Malraun, who knows not that Lorontar wants Malraun. Neatly done."
He turned away from his spell-spun scene of the sobbing, reeling Taeauna, as it showed Malraun snatching her and opening a ring of purple fire in the midst of all the roiling fire and lightnings.
"Yet a mistake, Lorontar. You may gain control over Malraun's magic and servitors, yet in doing so you have forewarned me, and Narmarkoun is not an overconfident fool. Though I look forward to the luxury of becoming one, when I am Lord Archwizard of Falconfar."
Behind him, unregarded in his fading scrying, Malraun and the Aumrarr vanished through a swirling, dwindling iris of purple fire, leaving a despairing Rod Everlar reaching vainly for them.
Rod stopped grimly in front of the magic mirror. Thankfully, Arlaghaun and Lorontar hadn't destroyed it in their spell-battle, though the far end of the hall, behind him, was twisted and blackened.
He clanked at every step, clad in ill-fitting but hummingly magical armor, and staggered under the weight of all the magic he was carrying.
He might need it all to rescue Taeauna.
He didn't even know where this Malraun laired, but the mirror should show him where Taeauna was, and if the orb in his left gauntlet did what Klammert's notes said it was supposed to do, he could use it to control one of the gates of Ult Tower to go to whichever place he was thinking of.
"Taeauna!" he snarled at the mirror, picturing her face. "Show me Taeauna!"
The scene of a castle against racing white clouds obediently dissolved into a darker scene of a torch-lit chamber full of Dark Helms.
They stood in a ring, laughing, no swords drawn. In their midst, in the center of the ring, was a woman clad only in manacles, who swung a sword at them all desperately; a sword that harmed them not, as it sprang back from spells that were protecting the warriors.
Rod clenched his teeth as their laughter rose higher, and looked again at Taeauna.
She was crying as she swung the sword.