Richard Baker - Final Gate

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.

“Insolent dog!” he snarled-and the terrible burning brand that filled Araevin’s eyes vanished.

Gasping for breath, Araevin slumped to his knees. He could feel blood streaming from his wounded face, but the awful power that had held him motionless was gone. Fight it off! he railed at himself. I must do something before he destroys us all.

“The ondreier ysele,” he murmured. The Word of Potency… a comparatively simple high magic spell that added strength to lesser spells. From his knees, Araevin focused his mind and will and fanned the embers of power burning in his soul. Shining like a silver beacon, he shouted out the Word of Potency. The spire top rocked with its raw might.

“No!” Malkizid whirled back on him, raising his taloned hand to counter what followed.

But Araevin had judged his moment right, catching the archdevil at the exact moment his attention had been fixed on Donnor. Before Malkizid could raise a defense against the Word of Potency, Araevin struck again with a spell of integument. The Branded King vanished in an instant, hurled headlong into a dimensional prison that glittered once in the air where he had stood before fading out of view.

Nesterin stared in amazement. “You defeated him, Araevin!”

“No,” Araevin gasped. “The dimensional maze will restrain him for only a few moments. We must be gone from this place before he returns.”

He looked up at the shard, still waiting overhead, and tried to find the strength for a spell to deal with the remaining fragments of Malkizid’s elemental shield. Think, Araevin! Think! he exhorted himself. There had to be a way.

Maresa looked over to Araevin. “Can you get it?” she asked. Red blood ran down her snow-white features from angry cuts across her face, but she was still on her feet.

“I don’t have a spell to overcome the last shield.”

The genasi glanced up at the shard, and frowned. “Only the wind remains?”

“Yes, I unbound the rest of the spell.” Araevin staggered to his feet, still furiously searching for some way to deal with the elemental shield. If he couldn’t come up with anything, they would have to retreat and try again later… but Malkizid would be waiting for them next time.

Maresa spread her arms wide, and lifted herself into the air. Without a moment’s hesitation, the genasi levitated herself toward the sphere of shrieking, howling wind. Araevin stared in horror.

“Maresa, no!” he cried. “It will tear you to pieces!”

She ignored him and flew straight into the spinning gray globe. Araevin cringed, expecting to see her flung out of the elemental shield-but instead the winds seemed to simply part around her. Her long white air streamed softly behind her head as it always did, seemingly unaffected by the hurricane raging around her. She reached out and seized the last shard of the crystal, and just as swiftly dropped back down through the sphere of wind. She alighted next to Araevin, and extended the shard to him.

“Can we go now?” Maresa asked.

“How did you-?”

“I’m a genasi, you idiot, a daughter of the elemental air.” Maresa looked over to the place where Malkizid had vanished. The dimensional prison was becoming visible again, brightening as it returned to reality. The archdevil would return in mere heartbeats. “If you have a way to get us all out of here, this would be a good time.”

Araevin set his astonishment aside for later. “Quickly, join hands!” he told the others.