He struggled up the steps, his robes tangling his feet and causing him to falter. His trembling fingers brushed against the cool stones in a gesture of farewell.
“We have been together so long, you and I,” he whispered to the walls.
Outside, the first rays of the setting sun were touching the rooftops of the city and the trees in the Shoikan Grove. The guardians in the grove let him pass unchallenged. “Flee,” he whispered to them as he made his way to the gate and out onto the bustling city streets. “Flee or die.”
“Flee!” he called to the people, his voice rising.
At first the passersby ignored him, prattling amongst themselves about their purchases or discussing what they would cook for dinner. A few hovered outside the door to an inn, ogling a menu board in the window. But those nearest the sorcerer saw him lift the staff high into the air. They heard him speak words they couldn’t understand, and they felt a tremor beneath their feet.
“Run!” someone called.
The people moved back like a wave receding from the sand, leaving the dark-clad man standing alone before the tower. But few ran so far away that they couldn’t watch what was transpiring, their curiosity overcoming their common sense. Most took cover inside buildings, their faces pressed against the windows. Some huddled in doorways or under awnings.
His fist clenched the staff in a death grip and the words flowed furiously from his lips. His eyes glowed with an intense light, and the tower shuddered like a pained old man.
The sorcerer sobbed. His breath came in uneven rasps and tears welled up in his eyes. “Fall,” he urged. “Please, fall.”
Somewhere behind him he heard the loud chatter of a Palanthas group that had refused to take shelter.
“What’s he doing?” a woman cried.
“It’s magic!” a man barked.
“But magic is dead!” another called.
“It must be the staff!” retorted the man.
“Flee!” the sorcerer called to them. He drove the staff down into the ground repeatedly. “Down!” he shouted, “down!” And, as if in response, the cobblestones shook beneath his knees, and the tower quaked and groaned.
Screams erupted from behind the sorcerer. He barely heard the sound of retreating footsteps. The gawkers were no longer brave enough to watch. Then he heard nothing but the moaning of the tower as it started to fall. He looked up to see cracks appear in the sky above the tower; its invisible barrier was shattering like an egg. Shards of glass from the tower’s windows burst into the air and pelted the street below.
A spiderweb-fine crack appeared in the cobblestones between the sorcerer’s knees. It spread, racing toward Shoikan Grove and through the open gate. The crack began to widen. The ground vibrated, and the sorcerer watched through a haze of tears as stones from the grove’s wall were pitched into the still-widening fissure. The trees of the grove heaved and toppled into the crevice. The grass flowed into the crack like water, taking with it the wildflowers and berry bushes the sorcerer had once so carefully tended.
Pops and hisses cut through the cacophony, evidence that the tower’s magical wards and guards were being simultaneously released and obliterated by the quake.
The sorcerer grabbed his side, screaming. The sound was echoed by the tower as it collapsed upon itself. The blood-red minarets fell inward first, swallowed whole as the black marble ruins began to melt down to the ground.
Glass shattered from somewhere behind him, and he heard a child wail. An awning flapped and tore free from a building facade, flying past him to disappear into the black, molten mass.
He tried to stand, but the vibrating ground threw him onto his back. Looking up at the dust-heavy sky, he saw a shape that he could barely make out.
A large bird? No. The dragon.
The sorcerer rolled onto his stomach. Digging his thin fingers into the cracks between the cobblestones, he pulled himself along, away from the inward pull of the tower.
A great boom rocked Palanthas then, signaling the end of the Tower of High Sorcery. The reverberations continued to damage the building facades, shaking free balconies, chimneys, and roof tiles.
The sorcerer reached the side of a building and turned to see the large crevice in the ground seal itself, burying the remnants of the grove. His eyes followed the line of the fissure as it closed, racing toward the tower. But the line led his eyes only to a round spot of mirrorlike obsidian material. That was all that remained of the Tower of High Sorcery.
Coughs racked his body as he tried to steady himself. For an instant he wondered if the damage he had unleashed was worse than what the dragon would have done. But he knew otherwise. No one had died, that he was sure of. Not only was the tower’s magic beyond the dragon’s grasp now, but the contents of the Great Library had also disappeared. At the moment of the tower’s demise, the books simultaneously departed.
He looked at the flat, shiny black spot and thought of all it contained, the remnants of the tower and the paintings of the old wizards who had once studied there and walked by the sorcerer’s side.
“Goodbye,” the sorcerer whispered to the ruins as he huddled against the building’s cold stone wall.
In the sky above Palanthas, Khellendros raged. The tower was destroyed and its remains buried. His path to the Abyss was lost.
“Kitiara!” he cried.
Lightning streaked the sky and darted down to Palanthas’s cobblestones, shattering the sidewalk in front of an inn where a crowd huddled. Dark clouds gathered to blot out the setting sun, and a fierce storm began. Frightened citizens barred their doors as the rain started. It was soft at first, but its force quickly grew until the rain was pummeling the city. It washed away the dust and dirt from the magical earthquake and mingled with the sorcerer’s tears.
6
The Coming of Malystryx
The warrior stood on a peak overlooking Palanthas and watched Khellendros bank away from the city. He was drenched by the blue dragon’s storm.
“I thought he was the one. Pity.”
The warrior looked vaguely like a man, but he was solid black and featureless, as if cut from a piece of wet slate or obsidian. His glowing, ruby eyes followed the retreating form of the dragon until it was a speck on the horizon. Then he peered down through the sheets of rain at the black puddle that was once the Tower of High Sorcery.
“The blue was too soft,” he growled. “When he did not get what he wanted, he should have destroyed the city. He had the power and the right to seek revenge.”
The warrior balled his black fists, which for an instant glowed orange like hot coals. “There was no one in Palanthas who could have challenged him. Only the sorcerer, and he spent all his energy destroying the tower. They are all such silly, pathetic fools.”
A large crowd milled about on the street, humans primarily, though the warrior could pick out a handful of elves and several kender in the bunch. They were commoners for the most part, clad in simple tunics and leggings of brown and gray. Their clothes and their expressions were haggard and worn.
Curiosity helped a few of them brave the potential danger and slowly approach the area where the Tower of High Sorcery had stood several minutes ago. Finally, a pair of eager kender rushed forward and when the two got close enough to look down into the reflection of the hard obsidian surface, they saw a reflection of the tower locked inside. All remained still, but their fellows held back for a brief moment, waiting to see what might happen.
When it was clear that nothing more would occur, the warrior began to watch another pair of overly-curious kender as they searched the area that was once the Shoikan Grove. The warrior suspected the others in the crowd had heard the tales of the creatures lurking in the tower’s surroundings and decided to stay away. The kender weren’t so easily cowed.