A ruby port your harbor,
Hoist three sheets to the wind.
Lyim certainly was three sheets to the wind, and it felt marvelous. He had certainly earned such indulgence. Unlike the song, though, his harbor was no longer port wine, but Hillfort. He would soon sign upon another rocking ship, where there would be no wine at all until Palanthas.
The prospect threatened to depress him, so he cast it aside. Instead, he threw back his head to bellow out another verse, but a flash of unnatural light farther down the coast, up where the moors turned into cliffs, made him pause.
A trick of the wine? Of the aligning moons? Lyim shook his head and blinked fiercely. The lights remained. Curiosity, and a willingness to postpone the start of the dreaded sea voyage, brought Lyim to veer left from the shore. It took only minutes to cross the heath to where the hills began. He scrabbled, loose-jointed, up the rolling slope, closing on the odd, colorful flashes. The frigid breeze that rose instantly, inexplicably, went unnoticed in the warmth of drunkenness.
In the peculiar brightness of the moons, Lyim could make out several moving figures farther up the hill, near what looked to be a pair of enormous, rectangular boulders. He squinted, but his vision would not clear sufficiently, forcing him to creep closer. Lyim hid behind a trampled shrub, unsure if he was approaching magical friends or foes.
The apprentice was close enough now to hear heated conversation. "… dispatched the invisible stalker after you and that wretched apprentice Par-Salian saddled me with."
"So you have been trying to kill me…"
The voices were familiar, yet incongruous here. As if in a dream, Lyim peered around the shrub. What he saw turned the wine in his veins to ice and sobered him instantly.
Belize stood guard over Guerrand, who was trapped inside a bizarre cage of tentacles. The scene was too unexpected, too shocking, to believe. What were they doing here… and together? Was it possible Belize had learned of the trip made on Guerrand's account and was exacting punishment? The reasoning was too ridiculous, and yet it was the only connection he could draw between his master and his friend. Something warned Lyim to listen just a little longer before stepping forward to demand an explanation.
The apprentice's horror mounted as Belize revealed that he'd arranged the death of Guerrand's brother. Lyim still could make no sense of these events, could find no cause for Belize's actions. But he could no longer deny Belize's opinion of him, which made it easy to decide where his own loyalty lay.
Events on the hillside only spiralled further out of control. Lyim watched Guerrand abruptly slash through the tentacles and escape his cage. Charging at Belize with his sword, Guerrand was stopped when his weapon turned into a branch of wood. A massive, interposing hand rose up before his friend, and still no useful idea came to Lyim's mind. Then, in an even more bizarre turn of events, a bird smashed into Belize, but it was Guerrand who inexplicably crumpled to the ground, holding his side.
The impetuous apprentice believed any spell would be better than this peculiar indecisiveness. Needing no components for the one that came to mind, Lyim muttered, "Boli sular," and held his breath against Belize's reaction.
Guerrand held his ribs and fought against the horrible burning in his right side. The pain spread through his chest and did not stop until it reached his right shoulder. He knew the torment he felt was an exact reflection of Zagarus's injury, so he twisted around painfully until he could see where Zag had fallen to earth. Guerrand's familiar lay in a crumpled heap, but his wings fluttered fitfully as he struggled to right himself. After a few awkward attempts, the gull simply fell back and lay still. Guerrand looked inward, expecting an emptiness of the soul. He sighed in relief; Zag lived. The bond-the inexplicable presence-he'd felt since conjuring the familiar was still there.
Then Guerrand noticed the small statuette of Esme, lying on the ground next to the sea gull. She was away from Belize, safe at least for the moment.
The ache in Guerrand's side was beginning to throb so that it took all his reserves to turn and look back toward the plinths. The gigantic hand still stood between him and Belize. Lying prone, the apprentice got glimpses of Belize poring over his trunk again.
Just then, an unaccountable scream of rage burst from Belize. Guerrand saw the archmage frantically clawing at his face. When Belize pulled back his hands, his eyes were entirely black, like olives, lifeless and unseeing.
"Who dares blind me?" Belize roared, turning slowly as if he could yet see.
Guerrand was confused. Who, indeed, had cast a blindness spell on Belize?
Snarling his frustration, the archmage resigned himself to the consequences of the simplest spell he could use to restore his sight. He knew the radius of the dispelling magic would remove all of his ongoing enchantments, but he cast it quickly anyway. A bright light he could not yet see grew to burn the darkness from his eyes. In a blink, the small shaft of radiance flew away from the archmage and struck the gigantic magical palm; the hand dissipated into swirling smoke and then was gone. The light raced on, over the empty cage of tentacles, sending them slithering without a trace back into the ground.
But the magical dispel was not finished yet. The bright shaft switched directions and streaked nearby to where the statuette of Esme lay. The figure shifted, then grew instantly, until the woman herself lay upon the hillside. She remained deathly still, as if yet a figurine, men blessedly coughed and convulsed and stirred to life. Shaking her head to clear it, Esme struggled to her knees and looked about in confusion.
"Esme," hissed Guerrand. "Over here!"
Spotting Guerrand, the young woman, hindered by her splinted leg, pulled herself slowly to his side. She touched his whiskered cheek tenderly, a weak, relieved smile her only greeting. "What happened to Zagarus, and how did I get away from Belize?"
"You couldn't see anything as a statue?" Esme's head shook. "Zag saved both our lives. He swooped on Belize and yanked you from the mage's neck to distract him from killing me." Guerrand winced as he shifted his wounded side. "It worked pretty well, too, except Belize hit Zag with a magic missile-and me, since we're linked. I'm afraid my right arm is pretty useless."
Esme looked fretfully from Guerrand's arm to the still sea gull. "He's not-"
"No, just unconscious. Zag doesn't deal well with pain."
"Belize is trying to open a gate that will let him into the Lost Citadel," she told Guerrand without preamble. Tearing two wide strips from the hem of her tunic, she hastily wrapped Zag's right side and wing. "I don't think we can kill a mage of his ability, but perhaps we can delay him until the convergence is past."
Guerrand frowned. "There seems to be another mage-"
"Digas ne vimi!"
Both apprentices looked up in fear at the sound of Belize uttering another incantation. But his spell was not for them. The archmage's red-robed arms were stretched wide in the direction of the sea. A strangled gasp reached their ears from the other side of the plinths.
Guerrand and Esme both dragged themselves to their feet in time to see Lyim Rhistadt being yanked by some invisible force from a copse of shrubs.
"How did he get here?" asked Esme.
Guerrand shook his head, gaze never leaving Lyim. "It's a long story."
Suspended ten feet above the ground, Belize's apprentice kicked and writhed against some monstrous, invisible grip. Despite his struggles, Lyim was lifted higher still, then floated helplessly toward Belize.
"Y-You're crushing me," rasped Lyim. The apprentice's ribs contracted perceptibly beneath the invisible grip, making it nearly impossible for him to draw a new breath. The young mage hovered just above his master. Belize regarded his apprentice with an expression more triumphant than surprised.