Richard Baker - Farthest Reach

Across the hall from her, Nesterin stepped out of his own alcove and peppered the creature with arrows. More rained down from overhead, where Jorin shot over the edge of the gallery. And Maresa barked the trigger words of her wands, pummeling the worm’s snout with bolts of magic.

The creature hesitated for a moment then it lashed out with astonishing speed, firing a pair of long, silky strands from pores in its head right at Nesterin. The star elf ducked under one, but the other struck him in the left thigh and clung to him. Nesterin cried out in revulsion and tried to pull away, but the giant worm gave a small toss of its head and jerked him off his feet. It started to reel in the star elf, retracting its strand and dragging him in with irresistible power.

Nesterin dropped his bow and struggled to draw a knife at his belt, grimly ignoring the terrible rasping maw of the worm as he sought to free himself.

“Let go of him!” Donnor Kerth called.

He stepped out from behind his pillar and dashed over to the strand by which the worm was dragging Nesterin. He gripped his sword and struck a mighty cut at the strand. It parted with a snap, sending Nesterin reeling backward. The worm moved farther into the room and fired two strands at Donnor. Both struck the Lathanderian’s shield, and with a savage oath the human knight shook the shield off his arm before he was dragged off his feet. The shield skittered across the floor to the huge monstrosity in the doorway.

“Ilsevele!” Maresa cried. “It’s too dumb to know that we’re hurting it! What do we do?”

Ilsevele shook her lank hair out of her eyes and looked up at the genasi in amazement.

How in the world should I know? she thought. But she didn’t speak her thoughts aloud. Instead, she paused for a moment then called back, “Try fire!”

She changed the spell she was about to lay on the arrows on her bow, and instead chanted the words to a fire spell. Her arrows glowed cherry-red and began to smolder. Quickly she raised her bow and let them fly. They struck together as flaming bolts, and the worm bucked and twisted, crushing masonry and shaking the whole building. Overhead Maresa changed to her fire wand and seared a great black swath across the monster’s quaking flesh.

Donnor Kerth dashed at the huge monster, chasing after his shield. He sang out the words of a holy invocation to Lathander as he ran, and the broadsword in his hand burst into a brilliant yellow corona of flame.

“Burn!” he shouted. “Burn in Lathander’s holy fires, foul monster!”

He hacked into the worm’s snout, carving great black slashes through its body as his broadsword flared with the heat of the sun.

The worm shuddered and began to retreat, pouring itself back out of the room. It carried away Kerth’s shield, shredding the metal war board to pieces with its teeth as it moved away. The Lathanderian howled in outrage and redoubled his efforts, but the worm flowed away and retreated into the darkness outside.

“It took my shield!” he snarled.

“Better your shield than our friend Nesterin,” called Jorin from above.

Ilsevele lowered her bow and watched the creature flee. “Is everyone all right?” she asked.

“I will be, as soon as I get this damned stuff off my breeches,” replied Nesterin.

The star elf continued to saw at the remnant of the strand that clung to his garb. The stuff was like a cable made of glue, tough and sticky at the same time, and his knife blade kept catching in the stuff. Ilsevele moved over to lend him a hand.

“Thank you,” Nesterin murmured. “I hate to say it, Ilsevele, but the longer we remain here, the more likely it is that we will meet with disaster. Is there any chance you could hurry your friend Araevin?”

Ilsevele looked up to the shining mist in the center of the hall. “I would if I could,” she answered. “But for now, he seems to be out of our reach.”

Araevin streaked over a hellscape of seething lava and billowing clouds of foul vapor. For the first time he perceived what lay outside the white walls of Saelethil’s palace in the heart of the selukiira.

This is Saelethil’s soul, he realized. This is the part of himself that he preserved for five thousand years in the Nightstar, hoping that his evil might endure long after his physical defeat.

I am the failure of a dark hope nourished for five millennia.

Araevin grinned to himself. He liked the thought of disappointing Saelethil Dlardrageth.

He caught sight of white walls and golden domes glinting amid the ruddy firelight below him, and he altered his course to descend into the heart of the place. With his cloak streaming behind him he alighted in the golden courtyard of Saelethil’s palace. The monstrous mockeries of vines and flowers that filled the place shrank from his presence.

“Saelethil!” he called. “I have performed the rite of transcendence. Come forth!”

Behind him he felt a cold and sharp sensation, a gathering of malice that grew stronger in the space of a few heartbeats. He turned and watched as a column of black mist poured up out of the ground to the height of a man. It roiled violently before materializing in the shape of Saelethil Dlardrageth.

“I am here,” he said.

Araevin gazed on him without lowering his eyes, and perceived the demonic corruption of the Dlardrageth high mage. Saelethil’s very form fumed with intangible streams of spite and hatred, a black thundercloud of ancient anger hidden behind the veil of a noble-born sun elf.

I see more than I did before, he told himself. This is what the telmiirkara neshyrr has given to me.

Saelethil looked on him, and in that moment Araevin saw many things in his eyes: recognition, a grudging measure of respect, a bonfire of hatred and envy, and finally, a shadow of fear.

“I see you have followed the path I set you on,” Saelethil said. “You have purged yourself of the flaws with which the gods have afflicted all lesser creatures. Only the most powerful of mages learn how to set right what the gods made wrong in the first place. I suppose I should congratulate you, Araevin.”

“Save your congratulations,” Araevin answered. “I am still myself.”

The daemonfey archmage snorted. “You are no more an elf than I am. We are exactly alike, you and I. You have tempered yourself like steel in a smith’s fire. I did no more or less than that when I chose my path.”

“I am your antithesis, Saelethil.” Araevin allowed himself a cold, hard smile. “Morthil’s rite invoked the powers of Arvandor instead of the Abyss. I fear you no longer.”

Saelethil’s eyes flashed in anger. “Then you are a fool, Araevin Teshurr. You believe that you have not damned yourself with your pursuit of power, as if there were a difference between a demon’s embrace and an eladrin’s kiss! You have surrendered your soul. What does it matter to whom you surrendered it?”

“I did not come to bandy words, Saelethil. I came to study the spells of Aryvandaar, not debate your twisted views on good and evil. Now, show me what you have been hiding all this time.”

The Dlardrageth glowered at Araevin for a moment, but then his face twisted into a cruel smile.

“Ah,” he said to himself. “Now that I did not anticipate. The irony of it!”

He laughed richly, expansively, and the poisonous flowers of the garden quaked and trembled in reply.

Araevin frowned. Saelethil’s persona in the Nightstar was bound by laws the archmage had laid down long ago. That was why the selukiira had been bound to instruct him instead of destroying him when first he set his hand to the stone. Yet clearly Saelethil had discerned something new, something that pleased him greatly, and Araevin suspected that he would not like it at all.