The books floated up out of his grasp toward the balcony, and from its height Dasumia said softly, "Close the doors and bar them, Apprentice."
El glanced up as he turned back to the doors. She was wearing a mask, and her hair was stirring about her shoulders as if winds were blowing through it. Spell-globes floated above and behind her, El saw much of her jewelry hanging in one, and the books were heading for another. Real magic was to be unleashed here.
He settled the bar and secured its chains without haste, giving her the time she needed to be absolutely ready. When facing the spells of a sorceress who can destroy you at will, it's best to give her little cause for irritation.
When he turned back into the room, the last glowspell had dimmed to a row of glimmering lights around the balcony rail, he could no longer see the sorceress who stood somewhere above him.
"It is time, and past time, Elminster, for me to assay this. Defend yourself as you're able…and strike back to slay, not gently."
Sudden light burst forth from on high: white, searing light that boiled forth at him from the face, bodice, and cupped hands of his Lady Master. Did she know of his treacheries?
Time enough to learn such things later … if he lived to enjoy a "later." El spun a hand vortex to catch it and sent it back at her, diving away when its fury proved too powerful for his defense, and broke his vortex apart in a snarling explosion that awakened shortlived fires here and there about the floor of the Hall. El spellsnatched one of them and threw it up at her, in hopes of spoiling another casting. It flickered as it plunged wide, but its brief radiance showed him Dasumia standing as rigid as a post, with silver bands of magic whipping about her…bands that became flailing chains as they rattled free of her and hurtled down upon him.
He danced across the Hall, to win himself the few moments they'd need to chase after him, then put his hands together in a spellburst that shattered them. He'd placed and angled himself so as to spit the unused fire of his spell up at the balcony, wondering how long his dozen or so defensive or versatile spells could serve him against the gathered might of her magic.
This time, some of it reached her, he heard her gasp, and saw her throw her head back, hair swirling, in the blazing moment when her spell-shield failed under the searing, clawing assault of his strike.
Then he glimpsed the flash of her teeth as she smiled, and felt the first cold whisper of fear. Now would come agony, if she could burst through his defenses to bring him down. And sooner or later…probably sooner…she would bring him down.
Purple lightning spat out of dark nothingness in a dozen places along the balcony rail, and lanced down into the Hall, ricocheting here, there, and everywhere. El spun a swift armoring spell but felt burning agony above one elbow, and in the opposing thigh…and crashed bruisingly to the stone floor, biting his tongue as he grunted back a scream. His body bounced and writhed helplessly as lightning surged through it, he fought to breathe now, not to weave spells or craft tactics. Yet perhaps the tatters of his failing, fading armoring could be used to hurl her lightning back…for she'd spent no time to raise another spell-shield for herself.
El crawled and rolled, blindly and agonizingly, seeking to be out of the searing surge of the lightning, to where he could gasp for breath and make his limbs obey.
A rising whistling sound just above his head told El his armoring had survived…and could turn lightning aside quite effectively. He willed it down to above his head, to break the lightning that was holding him in thrall, then moved it to one side, rolling to stay in its shadow.
Lightning clawed at his foot for a moment, then he was free once more. Murmuring a paltry incantation to make his armoring larger and longer lasting, El rose into a crouch to peer at the last few lightnings crawling about the Hall. It was the work of a few moments to deflect these so until they could all be cupped in his armoring and hurled back up at the balcony, raking it for the briefest of instants before they boiled away under the onslaught of the Lady Dasumia's next spell.
This one was a wall of green dust he'd seen before, short-lived and unstable, but turning all living things it touched briefly to stone. El cast a wall of force as fast as he knew how, bringing it into being curved like a cupped hand to scoop dust aside and spill it back up onto the balcony.
As his "hand" moved one way, he trotted in another direction, hurling magic missiles at where his Lady Master must be crouching, to keep her from moving away from the area wherein her dust would be delivered back to her.
A moment later, the glowing green cloud spilled across the balcony, and it was too late for Dasumia to flee. El had the satisfaction of seeing her stiffen and grow still.
An instant thereafter, he was shouting in startled pain as sharp, slicing blades materialized out of the air on all sides. He threw himself to the floor and rolled, shielding his face and throat with tight-curled arms as he willed his forcewall back down out of the balcony like a swooping falcon to batter aside blades and shield him.
Shrieking from overhead told him his tactic had worked, he gasped out one of his two dispel magic incantations to clear the air of flying, razor-sharp metal, then gaped in fresh surprise, as the disappearance of the blades caused a shimmering serpent offered to fade into view in midair and snap down, lashing at his forcewall until it shattered and failed.
As he dodged away from the magical whip, El stole a glance at Dasumia up on the balcony, still leaning stonily out with one hand raised. She hadn't moved an inch. These spells hitting him now must be linked, so that breaking or trammeling one awakens the next!
Was she unaware of the hall around her, in her petrified state? Or could she still exact some measure of control over her magics?
El vaulted a lash of the whip that struck the floor so close by that it left his arm and shoulder tingling and sprinted for the balcony stairs. The whip followed, coiling like a gigantic snake.
He took the broad steps three at a time, sprinting for all he was worth, and was able to dive behind Dasumia's stony feet before the whip could find him. It crashed down beside his face, the force of its strike swirling up remnants of green dust. El found himself growing numb … and struggling not to move slowly, as he entwined one arm around his Lady Master's legs and tried to climb her, whilst the whip raged in the air around him but did not strike … and Elminster found he could not move at all.
The whip fell away into motes of fading light, and there was a moment of peaceful darkness in Balcony Hall.
"If my knees get chilled in future, I'll know who to summon," a familiar voice said from close above El's head, and he collapsed to Dasumia's ankles and the balcony floor, as his limbs were abruptly freed from thrall. She stepped away from him, turned with hands on hips, and looked down.
Their eyes met. Dasumia's held satisfaction and approval. "You're a sword ready enough to go into battle," she told him. "Go now, and sleep. When you're quite ready, you shall duel in earnest, elsewhere."
"Lady Master," Elminster asked, as he clambered to his feet, "is it permitted to ask whom I shall duel?"
Dasumia smiled and traced the line of his throat with one slender finger. "You," she said merrily, "are going to challenge Nadrathen, the Rebel Chosen, for me."
The Blood Unicorn flapped above the gates of Nethrar and the arched gate of the palace at its heart, telling every Galadornan that the King yet lived. As this bright summer day wore on, not a few eyes looked up at those standards again and again, seeking to learn if the ownership of the Unicorn Throne had changed.
For a season and more the aging, childless King Baerimgrim had lingered in the shadow of the tomb, kept alive after being savaged by the claws of the green dragon Arlavaunta only by his great strength and the Art of Court Mage Ilgrist. The once-mighty warrior was a thin and failing husk now, unable to sire children even with magical aid, and preoccupied by ever-present pain.