“No!” Zollin shouted as he heaved back on his reason and awareness. It reminded him of working with Quinn, struggling under the heavy weight of a thick beam of timber. So many times as a child with his father he had been shamed by his lack of physical strength, but this time things were different-this time he was strong enough.
The swirling mass of debris went bolting toward Gwendolyn, battering her through the air. Zollin was sure she had a bubble of protection around her, but the force of the flying debris knocked her back from where she hovered, trying to seduce him with her power. He watched as she went flying, even over end. Unfortunately, she soon regained control and moved toward her injured sister.
“Zollin?” Brianna called from below. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he shouted back. “I’m fine, but Gwendolyn got away.”
“Okay, I’m seeing to Tig’s wings.”
Zollin didn’t answer. He was watching Gwendolyn. The sorceress had not fled as he had expected her to do. Nor had she seemed interested in healing her sister, who lay moaning on the broad, flat roof of the castle. Gwendolyn began to walk in circles, chanting. Zollin couldn’t hear what she was saying, but he could sense something happening. It was old magic, dark magic.
He could feel it stirring. Dark clouds began to form in the sky above the castle and spread over the city.
“What’s happening?” Brianna asked as she hurried up beside Zollin.
Tig, with fully healed wings, soared out of the tower, circling it several times before coming to a graceful landing on the small section of roofing that was still intact.
“I have no idea,” Zollin said, “but it can’t be good.”
* * *
Offendorl opened his eyes. His vision was blurry and his mouth tasted like vomit. He was lying in the dirt, staring up without really seeing the roof of the tower. He rolled over, his chest still aching, but the awful weight was gone. His breath came in ragged wheezing gasps, but he could move. He rolled over, then waited while his head seemed to spin a little. He let his magic, which felt weak and small, search his body for what had happened. One of the thick arteries leading to his heart had split open and blood was flooding out with every beat of his heart. He healed the artery and siphoned the blood in his chest cavity back into his circulatory system. It was tedious work and required all his mental attention. Finally he opened his eyes again and struggled onto his hands and knees.
Flames shot from the upper window of the tower, but Offendorl was oblivious to the magical battle happening above. The ringing in his ears drowned out all other sounds. He crawled forward and used the side of the massive tower to pull himself up to a standing position.
Once again he was forced to wait while the world spun and tilted around him. He used the tiny bit of magic he still controlled to inspect his body. He could feel his heart beating, but it was so weak it was like trying to bail water from a sinking ship just by using your hands. His blood was still moving, but slowly. He allowed his magic to strengthen the dying muscle and immediately he felt better. He could sense that the heart was working more efficiently. His lungs weren’t working well either and his body was crying out for more oxygen, but he knew he would have to wait for his magical strength to return before trying to heal anything else. He stumbled forward, his legs feeling both heavy and weak.
Offendorl had just managed to stagger out of the courtyard of the Torr when the roof came falling down. The rending of the ancient stone had been deafening, but the falling debris shook the ground and made the elder wizard double over in fear. He covered his gray head with both arms and staggered further from the chaos. His magical power was slowly returning, like the ocean tide coming in. He felt the magic flowing through him, and although he knew he needed rest and nourishment, he also knew there was none to be had in the Grand City at the moment.
He staggered away from the tower, ignoring the magical battle above, and returned to the inn where he’d stayed the night before. It was empty, as he had expected it to be. Havina was long gone with her new prize, and the innkeeper’s wife had probably fled in fear. He found a pitcher of ale and sat heavily on one of the many benches in the common room. He drank and felt his strength growing, both physically and magically.
Then the room began to dim. At first Offendorl thought his sight was being affected by his heart again, but this time it was different. There was no pain in his chest and he could still see clearly-the room was just getting dark, as if it were twilight and no one had lit the lamps around the inn.
He stood and walked as quickly as he could to one of the windows. Black clouds were spreading across the sky. And then Offendorl felt the ancient summoning magic. He had felt it once before, as a young wizard who was just learning to control his power. It was during one of the many struggles for power between the wizards of that lost age. He didn’t know what would happen, but he knew whoever was using the summoning spell had to be stopped. He tossed the wine aside and hurried outside. The sky was dark and it was becoming difficult to see, but Offendorl followed the sensation he felt. It was like being in a large pool of still water that had suddenly been disturbed.
The elder wizard of the Torr pushed away the thoughts of discouragement he felt. He had seen his precious books and scrolls among the debris that had fallen from the top of the tower. He knew that his home, his refuge from the world, had been destroyed. There was so much to regain, it almost felt like he was lost forever. Discouragement rose up like a tidal wave. He felt as if he were staring at the end of his rule, the end of his unnaturally long life. But he refused to accept that fate. He would not die quietly, nor would he slink away to eek out a half life in hiding.
It was fully dark when he wearily climbed the broad steps that led to the royal castle. He wasn’t sure what he could do. His magic was churning, but using it was like touching red-hot coals. Still, someone was working magic that was long since forgotten, and he could not allow it to happen. The Torr had been formed for just this purpose. The summoning magic sprang from the very heart of evil. It was not a power that was ever intended to be set loose on the world of men. He went to the massive wooden doors of the castle and pushed. The heavy doors resisted only for a moment, then they swung open and Offendorl lurched inside.
* * *
“Who is that?” Brianna asked, pointing down toward the narrow, winding streets below.
“I have no idea,” Zollin said, glancing away from what Gwendolyn was doing on the roof for a moment. He knew he needed to do something to stop the sorceress but he wasn’t sure how. Long ago he had learned to recognize magic in other objects and even people. His staff, filled with magical power after being hit with lightning in a storm, had radiated a strong, powerful magic. The willow tree in the forest near his home in Tranaugh Shire had been full of a wonderful, life-giving magic. The white alzerstone ring had seemed to emit a power that repulsed magic. Now, he could feel the magic that Gwendolyn was working, and it sent a shiver of fear up his back. It was so dark it made him feel like he was gazing into a tomb.
“It’s the wizard!” Brianna exclaimed. “The same one who attacked us.”
“You mean Offendorl?”
“Yes, the wizard who has been controlling Bartoom,”
At the mention of the great, black dragon’s name, Tig roared defiantly. “Where do you think he’s going?” she asked.
“To the castle,” Zollin said. “I don’t know if he’s going to help her or stop her, but that’s where he’s going.”
“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Brianna said.
“Me too,” Zollin agreed. “I think you better take the dragons and get clear of the city.”