Richard Baker: Prince of Ravens

In the center of the plaza, Myrkyssa Jelan faced Dresimil Chumavh. “I have seen that no spell can harm you,” Dresimil snarled at the Warlord, “but Lolth strengthens my hand, human. Let us see whether you are immune to my mace.” An aura of pale white fire seemed to surround the drow marquise, empowering her with the Spider Queen’s blessing; the silver scepter in her hands flew and struck like a switch of willow, but each blow shattered flagstones or pulverized blocks in the walls. It was all Jelan could do to avoid Dresimil’s attacks.

Jaeren and Jezzryd’s grasp on the wild mythal grew ever stronger, and Jack felt his hold beginning to slip. Jezzryd shielded his brother, guarding for both of them, while Jaeren bent his full attention to Jack’s destruction. One opponent Jack might have been able to stand against; after all, it was his mythal. But two working together were rapidly overwhelming him.

“Excellent, my brother!” Jaeren shouted within the coruscating sheets of raw magic. “Feed me more strength, so that I may finish this impudent human!” Jezzryd heard his twin and responded, pouring his strength into the mythal. Jack’s knees buckled and he sagged to the floor, fighting for nothing more than sheer survival.

Behind him, Dresimil cornered Myrkyssa. “And you were supposed to be impossible to defeat,” she laughed, and drew back for one blow of overwhelming strength. The silver mace rose high into the air, and then came down-but instead of attempting to parry the blow that could not be stopped, Jelan dropped her katana, reached up with her hands to seize Dresimil’s hands on the grip of the mace, and allowed herself to fall under the blow. With all her strength she pulled down on the mace, adding her strength to Dresimil’s Lolth-granted might, and allowed the drow noblewoman to overbalance. Dresimil struck the cold flagstones face-first, landing on her head and shoulders as she flipped over Jelan. Dresimil struggled to right herself, but Jelan was quicker. She seized the katana on the floor beside her, gripped it at hilt and mid-blade, and punched ten inches of its chisel-like point through the mail covering Dresimil’s chest.

Myrkyssa Jelan rolled to her feet and stood. “And you supposed that magic made you invulnerable,” she said. “Give your dark goddess my regards.” She looked for another foe, just as one of Dresimil’s bodyguards nearly killed her with a sword-slash across the ribs. Jelan cried out and staggered back, a hand clapped across her wound, but before the dark elf could finish her, a small crossbow quarrel appeared in his left cheek, and he sagged to the ground unconscious. Arlith bared her teeth in a fierce grin from her place at the edge of the plaza and drew back her string for another shot.

Emerald fire crackled around Jack, mere inches from consuming him. He felt his strength beginning to give out … but Myrkyssa’s ploy suggested a desperate gambit. Rather than directly resisting Jaeren’s power, he abruptly shifted the nature of his defense, throwing his effort into deflecting Jaeren’s attack toward the mythal itself and recklessly drawing as much power as he could to aid the effort. The mythal’s magic was caught, absorbed, and magnified to be returned an instant later. With each heartbeat the magical conflagration doubled and redoubled in strength.

Jaeren sensed the danger. “You fool, stop!” he shouted at Jack. “You will destroy us all!” He tried to arrest the mythal’s power and regain control of its energy, but Jezzryd was slower to perceive the danger and worked to shield his brother with ever more determination. Now Jack and Jezzryd worked together to stoke the fires of the mythal, while Jaeren frantically tried to rein in the mounting power. Before Jack the mythal stone grew completely transparent, the stone only a hint of dark glass encasing a blazing emerald fire that was too bright to look at. Bolts of green incandescence escaped from the blaze, lancing randomly across the plaza to pulverize ancient ruins or strike down unlucky warriors. Drow and surface adventurers alike retreated from the fierce blaze. Half-blinded by the day-like brilliance and fighting without the leadership of Dresimil, the dark elves wavered and began to break.

The others standing near felt the mythal’s strain, too. Halamar turned a stricken look on the rogue and shouted, “Flee, Jack! It’s going to shatter!” But Jack hardly heard him; his blood sang with the mythal’s unquenchable fire, and for one dizzy instant he teetered on the brink of the precipice. Then, suddenly, he felt the crumbling of the last wards and checks designed long ago to preserve the mighty device from being consumed by the magic it controlled. He released his grasp on the mythal and staggered back; Jaeren and Jezzryd could not spare even the eyeblink of attention it would take to destroy him, as the drow sorcerers tried to bring under control something that had slipped all bounds of mortal magic.

Shimmering cracks appeared in the mythal stone, and everyone still fighting in the plaza, drow and non-drow alike, abandoned their duels to distance themselves from the incipient disaster. Jack staggered away, suddenly exhausted beyond all measure. He had no idea what would happen when the mythal failed, but whatever it was, there could surely be no harm in being as far from the stone as possible. He decided on a sturdy old wall that looked like it might offer some shelter … but then he found his feet rooted to the ground. He looked back in horror, and saw Dresimil Chumavh-lying on the ground, blood bubbling from her lips-holding a fist clenched in front of her, her eyes fixed on him. “Not so fast, Jack,” she rasped. “You can die where you stand, or you can help my brothers contain the mythal.”

Jack strained to escape the spell of holding, but it was useless-he was unable to take another step. He glanced once more at the mythal, now turning black with the virulence of its power, and averted his face. Just then, Myrkyssa Jelan ran back onto the plaza, and moved to shield him from the mythal with her body. “You are insane!” he shouted against the howling of the unrestrained magic.

“On the contrary, I have confidence in my curse,” she replied. The mythal gave one final tortured blast of energy toward the cavern ceiling, and Jelan suddenly hugged Jack as tightly as she could, shielding him. Then the mythal exploded. Wild magic lashed and flailed the ancient ruins, shattering buildings and bringing huge falls of rock and dust from the cavern ceiling far overhead. Jack felt the mythal’s end as if someone had reached into the very core of his being and severed some taut cord with a sharp knife. Jaeren and Jezzryd, standing only ten feet away, simply disintegrated in the wash of arcane power. Dresimil was blasted into an unyielding stone wall with enough force to break every bone in her dying body; drow and adventurers a hundred yards away were thrown from their feet. But the raving emerald streams passed around Myrkyssa Jelan … and Jack as well, guarded by her antimagic.

Echoes of thunder rolled through the cavern as blackness descended once more. Jack blinked away bright green after-images that dotted his vision and found his feet free to move. He pulled away from Jelan with a simple nod of thanks, and then looked around the plaza. Slowly, his surviving comrades were standing up and checking themselves for injury. Halamar and Kurzen appeared unharmed; Narm lay unconscious, apparently knocked out by a chunk of flying masonry, and the priest Wulfrad had been crushed under a cart-sized stalactite that lay broken around his body.

“Jack! Jack!” The rogue looked up and saw Seila and her father hurrying down the avenue leading to the plaza, columns of armsmen flanking them on each side. “Are you hurt?”