“If they can’t fly or teleport,” said Seiveril, “we’ll surround them and deal with them one at a time.”
A warm light flooded over the battlefield, and Seiveril looked to the east. The sun was climbing above the horizon, slipping into a narrow strip of open sky below the overcast. As the sunlight touched the field, the brilliant spirits of the guardians of the vale grew dim and translucent. The spirits slowed their pursuit and hovered for a moment in the sky. Then, silently, they turned toward the sunrise and vanished in motes of golden light, striding back into the radiant forests of Arvandor. The last of the warriors looked down on Seiveril and touched the hilt of his sword to his lips in salute before he vanished, too.
“Thank you, Father,” Seiveril murmured to the sky. He shook himself, finding new strength in his tired body with the bright golden light of dawn. “Felael! Sound the pursuit! We have more work ahead of us this morning!”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
18 Eleasias, the Year of Lightning Storms
High magic blazed around Araevin like a mantle of white fire. Like heat rising from a blacksmith’s forge, the incandescent power enfolding him left the chamber around him shimmering and dancing. The spire itself seemed to tremble with each word of the kileaarna reithirgir.
“Araevin! We are running out of time!” Donnor had to shout to make himself heard over the roar of the mighty magic in the room.
“You must hold them off a little longer!” he managed to shout back at Donnor, trying not to let his friend’s warning distract him.
His companions fought a desperate skirmish to keep Malkizid’s servants out of the room, but Araevin could spare them none of his power. Attacking Malkizid’s elemental shield took all of his strength, and he feared that if he stopped to aid his comrades he would not be able to begin again.
Wielding lances of argent fire with his mind, he hammered at the defenses of the third shard. He struck at the orbiting boulders first, hurling them aside. The great spiked stones crushed masonry and shattered the tiles of the floor when they landed. Araevin risked a quick glance over his shoulder and saw that a pair of winged devils harried Nesterin and Maresa near the top of the stairwell. The next stone sphere that he tore out of Malkizid’s warding spell he sent hurtling at the flapping monsters, crushing one against the wall.
The spinning bands of fire he dealt with next, using the shield’s own waters to quench them. One by one he guided each arc of flame into collisions with the half-globe of shimmering water that revolved slowly around the center. Steam hissed and poured away from the elemental shield, giving Araevin a glimpse of the last defense-the vortex of wind. The furious cyclone sucked in the plumes of steam, growing cloudy as it did so. Lightning danced and crackled within.
“We could use your help, Araevin!” Maresa called.
The genasi fought with rapier in one hand and wand in the other, lunging forward to stab and slash, darting back to pummel her opponents with bright darts of magic. She was no mage, but she had skill enough to put a wand to good use. Unfortunately, more of Malkizid’s servants were pouring into the room.
“I almost have it!” he shouted back to her. “Donnor, can you block the stair?”
The Lathanderite had been fighting a few steps down out of Araevin’s sight, but he retreated back up into the chamber at the top of the spire. Black furrows raked his armor in at least two places, and his sword burned with furious white radiance. Seizing the golden sunburst of Lathander that hung around his neck, he raised it high and called out, “Lord of the Dawn, ward us from our foes!”
Hundreds of golden sparkles danced around the cleric, slowly beginning to grow larger and revolve around him. In the space of a moment, they flew and whirled too fast for the eye to follow, each one a spinning razor of golden light. With shrieks of anger, the infernal monsters trying to fight their way into the chamber recoiled, not before some had been slashed to ribbons by Donnor’s spell.
“Finish your work, Araevin!” the cleric shouted.
Araevin turned his attention back to the shield of winds, the last barrier in Malkizid’s elemental ward. Carefully he began to unbind the spell. The last shard hung in plain sight now, glowing softly with the proximity of its sister shards. He had only-
A font of ebon flame sprang up from the flagstones, almost directly beneath the floating shard. It blazed and danced in a shout of black power, and it took the shape of a tall, pale seraph as cold as marble. A seeping wound marked his forehead, dripping black blood.
“You believe you can defy me in my own citadel?” the pale lord snarled. “Your punishment will last a thousand years, fool!”
Araevin recoiled a step before the dark king’s vehemence. “Malkizid,” he murmured.
It seemed that the master of the tower had indeed returned. With a grimace of frustration, he allowed the kileaarna reithirgir to gutter out, not yet completed. He would need every ounce of his strength for the struggle to come.
The archdevil studied his face for a moment. “You must be Araevin Teshurr,” he observed. His voice was eerily beautiful, even in the depths of his anger. “I see that the telmiirkara neshyrr has left its mark on you. A shame, since I might have made something of you otherwise.” He bared his teeth in a feral grin, and the terrible wound across his brow began to gleam darkly.
“Strike, my friends!” Araevin cried.
He heard the sharp thrumming of bowstrings, and arrows flashed at Malkizid. The archdevil parried one with a quick motion of his black sword, and simply stopped the others with his outstretched hand. Araevin wove his hands together and intoned the words of a powerful spell, conjuring a spellchain of green energy around Malkizid. The links settled closer to the archdevil, but Malkizid countered and shifted the spellchain away. In the blink of an eye it appeared around Jorin Kell Harthan, who was approaching the archdevil with his swords in his hands. The Aglarondan cried out in dismay and stumbled to the floor as Araevin’s spellchain ensnared him instead.
“You are a fool if you think you can defeat me with your spells,” Malkizid gloated. “Who do you think taught Saelethil Dlardrageth his lore? I tutored the Vyshaanti archmages when the world was young! You are not their equal.”
Araevin ignored Malkizid’s boasting and started on another spell, seeking something that the archdevil could not deflect. But Malkizid simply stared at Araevin. The brand above the archdevil’s brow burst into black flame. It demanded Araevin’s attention, and when the sun elf’s eye fell on the brand Malkizid’s towering malevolence and will struck him like a physical blow. Lines of fire seemed to burn themselves into Araevin’s face as he stood transfixed by the archdevil’s terrible visage. He felt his friends behind him fighting their own silent struggles against Malkizid’s black stare.
Behind him, Nesterin cried out, “Corellon, it burns!”
“Corellon himself placed that mark on my brow, elf,” Malkizid hissed. “You quail so after only an instant of the torment I have endured for twenty thousand years?”
Araevin ground his teeth and fought down the pain. He tried to grope his way toward a spell, any spell, but it was impossible. The grip of Malkizid’s terrible will was simply too strong. He looked up at the third shard of the Gatekeeper’s Crystal, spinning slowly within its cocoon of shrieking wind.
So close! he thought. So close!
The archdevil stalked closer, shifting his grip on his ebon blade. Behind Araevin, Donnor let out a grunt of agony-but then the human stumbled through the verses of a holy prayer and invoked a ring of golden light. The light washed over Araevin harmlessly, but seared Malkizid’s marble flesh and left a great smoking scar across the archdevil’s torso.
Malkizid roared in anger and staggered back several steps. He wheeled around, fixing his attention on the Tethyrian.