Glowing gates of gold, not unlike those at Wayreth, rose up from a knee-high warm, moist fog. Behind them was the source of the radiance that burned Guerrand's eyes. Like raw, uncut minerals, three immense diamond spires sliced through the billowing fog and rose to penetrate the blackness of space. The faceted surfaces reflected the foundation upon which all earthly things were built, as if a mirror had been held to the universe and revealed a skeleton complex beyond compare. Somehow the citadel conveyed that it had acquired its knowledge honestly, that its mineraled walls had risen from the mire of Krynn itself and had been long ago transported beyond the circles of the universe by the gods of magic themselves.
The citadel's pull was strong. It would have been an easy thing to step into the tunnel and join Belize in acquiring the knowledge of the gods. But witnessing the citadel's magnificence had made it all the more important to prevent Belize from entering there. The red archmage was not worthy, if any mortal could be.
Badly shaken, Guerrand jerked away from the influence of the tunnel. He composed himself with a breath before probing the corners of his mind again. The spells he memorized daily were imprinted patterns, the keys for unlocking all magical energies. Guerrand read those simple spell patterns and tapped the energy, but then combined them with the more complex symbols on the plinths, reshaping the whole to a new purpose, a spell of his own making.
At his direction, a new pillar of twisting red light shot from his fingertips and entered Belize's portal. Racing over the bridge, the bright column overtook a surprised Belize and continued on until it reached the point where the bridge was anchored to the moons. Guerrand's column of energy sliced like a knife through the ends of Belize's bridge, severing the link. The archmage's howl of fear and rage shook the stars. He clung desperately to the railings when the bridge whipped like a snake's tail. Guerrand's chord of light rerouted the bridge back to the moonlit hilltop so that it looked like an enormous, star-bright horseshoe.
Guerrand dropped to his knees at last, his energy exhausted, head and wounded side aching. The apprentice looked skyward through rivulets of sweat just as dark Nuitari slid off-center from red Lunitari. The trio of light strands that formed the bridge abruptly rejoined into one column, then snapped in half. The lower portion collapsed upon the earthbound marble plinths, while the upper half shot away to disappear among the stars. Spiralling slowly inward, the gate itself began to darken and shrink, until the vibrant colors which had been almost too bright to look at faded to the dark red-orange of a smith's furnace.
The hilltop grew eerily silent.
"How did you do that, Rand?" Esme breathed, regarding him with new respect. "And what did you do with Belize?"
"I hope he's rotting in the Abyss for what he's done to me," snarled Lyim, then winced from the effort of sending air through his badly bruised lungs.
"Your arm-" Guerrand began, reaching out.
"Is a snake," Lyim finished viciously. "It disgusts me, but no more than the thought of your pity. I couldn't bear that, too."
Guerrand knew no other way to help his friend than to spare his pride, and so he looked away. Just then, the colors about the dwindling gate flared briefly, drawing the trio's attention. A shape tumbled with a loud popping sound through the plinths and onto the beaten grass, rolling to a stop against Belize's trunk. The ground began to shake, and the carved plinths swayed and rocked. Guerrand jumped back to Esme and Lyim just as the marble columns cracked and crashed to the ground, striking the mysterious shape as they tumbled. The swirling colors of the gate dissipated entirely, casting the hilltop back into the dimmer light of the moons.
"What is it?" gasped Esme, nodding toward the amorphous shape.
Steeling himself, Guerrand walked through the shattered blocks of marble and approached the trunk. The young mage's stomach churned as he stared down into the face of Belize, set in the middle of an oozing, flabby, ulcerous body like those Guerrand had seen in the archmage's lab. A shapeless flipper groped up toward the lid of the trunk. What remained of his mouth quivered, lidless eyes rolling from side to side, revealing his agony. Guerrand clapped a hand to his own mouth to keep from retching.
"It appears that the Master of the Red Robes has been following the ways of the Black Robes for some time."
Guerrand's head snapped up at the sound of a familiar voice. Justarius stooped to pick up the burned and tattered sheafs of Harz-Takta's spellbook near what remained of Belize. "Some knowledge is better left unrecovered."
Justarius's gaze upon Belize's body was grim. "He made the frequently fatal conceit of allowing love of himself to supersede his passion for magic. Magic must always come first."
"Wh-When did you get here?" stammered Guerrand, holding fast to Esme.
Justarius eased himself onto a blasted block of the marble plinths, closing his robe against the crisp wind that blew off the strait. "It was quite simple, really. Your comments about Belize's research practices plagued me, until, by the time I teleported to Wayreth, I was certain these were no idle experiments he was performing. Par-Salian agreed that they sounded like the result of gating experiments."
He blew the chill from his hands. "LaDonna recognized the name Harz-Takta. He was a Black Robe a millennium ago, considered too nefarious even for that order."
"That," explained Justarius, "concerned me enough to immediately scry in my crystal ball for Belize's whereabouts, which revealed this place. Hearing Belize's plans, I teleported here, but you had already prevented him from entering the Lost Citadel." The red archmage raised an ironic brow with a look that took in both his apprentices. "By the way, weren't you two supposed to wait in your chambers for my return?"
Esme's face burned crimson. "What's going to happen to us?" she whispered from the circle of Guerrand's arm.
"Considering that Belize's crimes motivated your actions, Par-Salian and LaDonna have agreed to let the matter of your transgressions drop. Under the circumstances, however, I think we must terminate your apprenticeships," he finished gruffly.
"You mean you're kicking us out?" Guerrand cried indignantly
"I mean," said Justarius with heavy emphasis, "I have taught you all that I can. You both handled yourselves admirably against great odds." He nodded his head toward the vast emptiness where Belize's gate had been. "The spell Guerrand devised to defeat Belize was truly inspired."
Guerrand's relief blew out in a breath, and he gave a self-deprecating chuckle. "You mean inspired by desperation."
Justarius shrugged. "The result still demonstrates that you have mastered the visualization technique." He smiled. "Besides, you have a bad habit of bending the rules, a trait you seem to have passed on to Esme." He smiled fondly at the young woman. "It is a quality that makes for difficult apprentices but formidable mages."
"What will happen to Belize?" whispered Esme, regarding what remained of him with undisguised revulsion.
"He'll be given a tribunal to determine his status," explained Justarius. "If found to be a renegade, he'll be executed immediately in keeping with our order's policies. A renegade's unpredictability threatens the delicate balance between Good and Evil." Justarius toed the monstrosity that was Belize. "Frankly, I don't think he'll live long enough for a tribunal. But that is his due."
From the protection of darkness, Lyim asked, "What will happen to his disfigured apprentice?" A snake's soft hiss told that Lyim had lost the most for his part in tonight's battle. "I have no master, no hand-" his voice caught "-and nowhere to go."